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19thcenturyedgelord · 3 years

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TW: Transphobia, Homophobia, abuse, neglect, p3dophilia, s3xual assault, su!cide, alcohol

~Vent~

My mother is constantly saying that they is only two gender and is always dead naming me, the one time I get her to say my preferred name she rolls her eyes and scoffs as she says it.

My mother has told me my whole life that she owns me and that I don't get to make any decisions for myself, she was dressing me until I was disowned at 14.

My mother would threaten to k!ll herself is I ever did something she didn't like, this includes: having a panic attack, dealing with over stimulation, trying to dress myself, telling her to stop walking in on me while I was showering/changing, going to bed early, going to bed late, saying I was hungry, asking to be allowed to go outside, wearing my headphones, not being strictly christian/not eating kosher, ect.

My mother got rid of my pet hermit crabs without telling me and was constantly trying to release my turtles even though they would die in the wild and they were being taken care of very well with a large, clean tank and plenty of food and hiding places, a special light that was good for their shell, and a great water to land ratio.

My mother slut shamed me because I was wearing shorts that went above my knees (they were perfectly appropriate btw).

My mother would scream at me for hours if I got anything less than a 100% on a test and even if I did get a 100% she would ask me why I didn't get any extra credit even if there was none available and even if I'd did get extra credit she would ask why I didn't get MORE extra credit.

While I lived with my mother I had a diet of nothing but microwave meals and chips and chips because she spent all of her money on vape, cigarettes, and alcohol. I would constantly be near unconsciousness due to my low blood sugar because I had nothing to eat.

She has slapped me across the face multiple times, one time with sharp plastic that cut my chin, she did this as a punishment. One time she slapped me because my blood sugar was low and I was grumpy, this is how it went down:

Me: Hey I know you wanna talk right now but can I make some food first my blood sugar is low this should take me 20 minutes max"

Her: No, I'm you mother and your going to talk to me right now

Me: Can I please just get something to eat

Her: *yells at me wich causes me to get distracted*

Me: *spills uncooked mac&cheese because distracted*

Her: *yells at me then slaps me across the face*

My mother nearly beat me to unconsciousness because she was very drunk, I had bruises all over me the next morning but I was to afraid to say anything because I new she would scream at me and hurt me more.

She molested me daily, forced me to change in front of her, forcefully spooned me in bed for hours even after I said no, and would "playfully" spank me.

She was constantly talking about how sexy a 17 year old at her work was and even bought him vape. She would also talk about some of my friends like that and even tried to internet stalk two of them, we are all minors.

She would lock the door to the apartment and wouldn't give me a key and would force me to wait outside in knee deep snow for hours without any warm clothing because she stole it all. She also refused to drive me to school in -8 degree (f) weather because she didn't want to loose her parking spot. I was also forced to bike to and from band practice (with she forced me to to do because she wanted to live through me) in 30 degree (f) with heavy rain because she didn't want to loose her parking spot.

She would consistently make fun of me for reading or doing anything that I enjoyed because I was a "nerd" and a "looser"

She disowned me after she stole my phone, went through it and found out I was a lesbian.

I couldn't even go into my yard without telling her where I was going, if I didn't tell her I would be screamed at and not allowed out my room, for a day and then not allowed out of the house for two more weeks.

She routinely went through my phone and my belongings without my permission, knowledge, or consent, in case I had anything "suspicious".

I tried moving in with my dad and she sued him.

She stole my most prized pokemon cards, a bag, most of my clothes, all of my old toys, and over $200 from my in the span of two weeks.

My room didn't have a door and she positioned herself so that she had to go through my room to get anywhere else in the house.

She would frequently lock the bathroom door so that it was only accessable from her room.

I told her I like pop music and she called me a failure then continued to play her extremely s3xual, vulgar, music about dr*gs, alcohol, and r@pe.

From the time I was 8 she tried to force me to drink alcohol because its "cool"

She forcefully pushed me against a wall because I refused to give her a hug after she made an offensive joke and I called her out for it.

She screamed at me because I corrected her after she misgendered me.

I had to learn morse code just so I could speak to my friends without her knowing what I was saying.

When I started counseling because I wanted to k!ll myself and because I was having upwards and 15-25 panic attacks per day, she forced me to tell her everything that happened in counseling even if I didn't want to.

She always gangs up on me in fights but if I try to get back up she just yells at me more.

She refused to take me to the hospital when I had a concussion and forced me to go to school all week even though I could barely stand or speak and now I have verbal and motor tics which she makes fun of.

She would scream at me because I sit down in the shower even though I have arthritis. (Yes I have arthritis at 15, it runs in the family and before to long I might develop psoriasis, I have shitty genes)

I wasn't allowed to wear anything that revealed my shoulders, that was low cut, shower any part of my stomach or back, short that went above my knees, ect.

I wasn't allowed to get my hair cut below my chin because it " wasn't feminine enough"

I wasn't allowed to have anything that was "for boys" this included clothes, toys, books, stickers, blankets, posters, movies, ect.

She forced me to watch R rated movies with her even if I didn't feel comfortable watching them.

I wasn't allowed to have any friends over and I wasn't allowed to go to any friends house, the one time I did have friends over she judged all of them and tried me to stop hanging out with them after they left. My friends are all very good people and are the only reason I'm still alive rn, she was just mad that I was talking to people who weren't her.

She screamed at she because I got one (1) drop of dark green ink on her black coffee table that she got for free.

I wasn't allowed to draw any male characters because she was afraid I would get off to them or something idk (this was before I was forcefully outed)

She bought me a triple chocolate cake for my birthday once. I'm allergic to chocolate. She forgot my birthday the next year.

Anytime I would tell her about the terrible bullying that was going on she would tell me to get over it, even after I had been thrown to the ground and strangled by one of my classmates.

If I got into a new game or hobby she would either take it away or shame me for playing it.

She spent all day on the computer playing Sims 3 to the point where I had to feed myself, take care of myself, and play by myself as young as 5.

She screamed at me because while talking about Pokemon lore I mentioned how Arceus is the god of the Pokemon world and she said I shouldn't say that because it would "make god mad" ( I have nothing against christians or christianity btw, just the people who shove it down your throat like she does)

I wasn't allowed to eat or drink the last of anything (finishing a bag of chips, taking the last soda, ect.) If I did she would scream at me and slap me as punishment.

She threatened to forbid me form seeing my cousin (who for the first 11 years of my life was my only friend) if I ever "talked back" to her.

She wod frequently strangle me as a form of "tough love".

When I was 2 she tried to teach me how to swim by holding me under water over and over again, drowning is now one of my greatest fears. Luckily I did learn to swim with the help of cousin and granny and even enjoy swimming but it is hard for me to do things like wash my face in the shower or stay under water for more than a few seconds without panicking.

She never taught me how to cook but then would scream at me because I didn't know how to cook.

Her smoking inside and while driving has caused me to have some lung issues, she denies that she ever smoked near me.

She tried to take me away frome everyone in my life including my family and friends so that I could only spend time with her.

When I was in fifth grade she homeschooled me and forced me to do college lever reading, learn how to code, learn at least two other languages that weren't english, learn how to play guitar, do gymnastics, do jujitsu (japanese), do soccer, learn to sing (keep I mind I had no interest in music, but she did), do a digital homeschooling program set at a highschool level, and learn a bunch of useless skills like knot tying and making friendship bracelets because it was "feminine". This was in FIFTH FUCKING GRADE.

We didn't have a washer or dryer and she would never go to to town to get laundry done so I never had clean clothes.

If I had more that $10 I had to give the rest to her.

She tried to kidnap me once.

One time on accident I stood in a bull ant hill and got stung all over (if you don't know ants all sting at once), I was swollen all over and screaming in pain and she did nothing, not even give me ice or ointment, she just told me to be more careful.

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ecoamerica · 15 days

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forestwater87 · 6 years

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Gwenvid Week Day 5

Day 5: Community Appreciation / Favorite AU

To celebrate the amazing Gwenvid community, I took the really fascinating Ghoul AU that @color-theorist (or @color-theorist-art ) created, which has no explicit Gwenvid as of yet, and then somehow accidentally created several pages of momgwen with very little Gwenvid in it. Oops. And probably fucked up the lore. Double oops. Oh well, I hope y’all have fun anyway! :)

It wasn’t anything like Buffy, was the first thing Gwen realized about fighting monsters.

For one thing, it was a lot less fighting -- she wasn’t exactly built for dealing out pain -- and a lot more researching. And not in weathered tomes blanketed with a thick layer of dust with crinkled pages full of secrets. Sure, there was some of that, but ghouls in particular seemed to be a relatively new phenomenon, or were just so uninteresting to the ancients that they didn’t bother writing about them. Mostly it involved trawling internet forums and trying to arrange interviews with the leads who seemed the most promising. Which in itself required a great deal of convincing paranoid heroin addicts that she was neither a ghoul intent on devouring their flesh or a member of the government who would haul them off to Super Guantanamo. All that work, only to have her work dismissed by every publisher she’d recommended it to, and a pointed recommendation by the History Department chair that it would be best for her career at Sleepy Peak Community College if she found another subject to focus her studies on.

“‘It’s really all about the branding,’” she mimicked quietly, shifting her weight in a futile attempt to get comfortable. ”’Just call it “folklore.”’ That’s academically dis-fucking-honest, Mr. Bishop.” Gwen grabbed her bag from where it was dangling off the arm of a marble angel and hauled out a binder and a flashlight. “I’m the only professor under thirty who hasn’t gotten the fuck out of here after three months, Mr. Bishop. This shitty school wouldn’t even have a goddamn newspaper if it wasn’t for me, Mr. Bishop. Fuck, this is cold,” she muttered, glaring down at the polished granite with distaste before sliding down onto the grass, leaning back against the tombstone she’d just climbed off of. “I’m doing important work, here.”

Gwen opened the binder, eyeing the hand-drawn map of the Long Sleep Cemetery and tracing the scraggly line of bright red X’s that marked out fourteen ravaged graves, then flipping to a map of the entire city, which was covered in yellow dates around the church, hospital, and veterinary clinic. She glanced from these to the mausoleum she was staking out, like the ghoul would just appear there if she looked hard enough.

“Come on, asshole,” she said, flopping back against the tombstone and turning off the flashlight. “I know I did this right, so just show up where you’re supposed to.”

It was crazy, she knew all that. Knew her meticulous tracking of local robberies and vandalism looked from the outside like the scribblings of a madwoman fraying her last nerve. It was why she took so much care in repackaging every piece of evidence into a series of respectable, ponderous, academic -- boring, if she was being perfectly honest with herself -- books.

A series of respectable, academic, unpublished books.

Because this was all crazy. Believing in undead monsters that needed to consume the living (or recently-dead) was crazy. Objectively, she was probably rather crazy.

The thing was, she was right.

She just had to find a way to prove it.

“You’re not good at this, are you?”

Gwen jumped at the voice and whipped around, brandishing her flashlight in one hand and her binder in the other -- before she overbalanced and had to drop both, catching herself before she fell flat on her back in the dew-drenched grass. “Whaatherfucke --”

So. Not much like Buffy at all.

Her attacker was thin, stretched out and lanky like a very short Slenderman. As he stepped around the gravestone and moved towards her, his eyes reflected the light from a nearby streetlamp like a cat’s, gleaming out from underneath the dark hoodie that obscured most of his features.

Human eyes don’t glow like that.

She snatched up her flashlight and flicked it back on; she tried not to shine it in his face, but he flinched away from it anyway, hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. The light revealed a narrow brown face that was sickly yellow underneath the eyes and nearly gray in the hollows of his cheekbones. “Kids aren’t supposed to be out after ten pm,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She took in the teenager’s slouchy grace, the way he walked as though every movement was both naturally easy and indescribably exhausting.

“No one’s supposed to be in the graveyard after it closes, but that didn’t stop you,” he replied, slumping against the marble angel and watching her with those unnerving catlike eyes.

She’d found her ghoul.

Gwen drew herself up, standing so she could look down at him. “I have permission,” she lied. “I’m conducting research on the series of grave-robbings in the last few wee --”

“My dad’s a cop with really shitty password protection. You don’t have permission for shit.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re one of those nuts who wants to hunt vampires.”

“Ghouls aren’t vampires,” she corrected before she could stop herself, the pedantic need to be right temporarily overpowering her common sense. “Blood is evidently not an essential component of their diet, and -- you know what, this is a stupid conversation and I’m not having it.” She settled back against her tombstone and turned her gaze to the mausoleum her ghoul was supposed to be raiding instead of making snide comments about her profession. “Go get your dead person snack.”

The kid jolted, and she watched his look of horror out of the corner of her eye. “How the fuck --” He shook his head, a shock of floppy black hair escaping the hoodie and falling over one of his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She pulled her binder back into her lap with a small grunt of effort. Christ, this thing was getting heavy. “Whoever’s been raiding the cemetery’s been really smart about it,” she said, refusing to look up at him. “Always hits it just as the attention is beginning to die down -- pardon the pun -- and always far enough from the others that the area is totally isolated. But they do it without making it look like a pattern.” She glanced up at him, a little gratified to see him leaning over her map curiously. So this was what validation felt like! “I’d been wondering how they knew when to sneak back in here, but . . . having a dad in the police force might do it, if the cop was dumb enough.” She turned to another section of her notes, an alphabetical list of everyone in the SPPD. “I knew I should’ve paid more attention to their families,” she mumbled, flipping through the officers. “Which of you is the idiot with an undead son?”

“Hey, fuck you!” he snapped, stepping away from the binder and back to the marble angel. “You can’t just go around calling people monsters because they’re wandering around a graveyard. Hell, that makes you sound just as much like one of those things as me.”

Gwen ticked off on her fingers without looking up from the police directory: “Alarmingly thin, glowing eyes, a bit of a nasty undead pallor -- bet people are constantly asking if you’re sick --”

“Again, fuck you.”

“-- and a tricky-but-predictable pattern of raiding cemeteries, morgues, and . . . have you been eating dead animals?” She glanced up at him then with a frown. “I didn’t know ghouls could do that.”

“They can’t,” he muttered, kicking at the grass, “but it was worth a shot.”

She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride. This was her first legitimate monster sighting! She wasn’t crazy! “It’s all circumstantial, of course. You never really know if you’ve got a ghoul or just someone with, like, lupus. But the cat-eye thing was a big tip off. Also, you know, hanging out in the cemetery when no one in their right minds would go anywhere near the place.” He looked at her for a long moment, and she cringed. “Yes, fine, I heard it.”

“So you’re like an expert in useless information no one gives a shit about, huh?”

She thought about getting offended, but he was kind of right. At least, a boatload of publishers would agree with him. “Yeah . . .”

He looked back over at the mausoleum thoughtfully, and she couldn’t help but be curious. “Does it taste good when it’s been dead for a while?” she asked. She was sorely tempted to grab her pencil and notebook, but that might scare the kid off. “I’ve read it’s not supposed to be as . . .” Nutritious just felt gross, in this context, so she let the sentence trail off.

He shrugged. “A little bland, but I kinda like it better. Got this weird kind of . . . cheesy aftertaste? Not like I’ve had cheese since I was a kid, but like that really smelly stuff rich people put on everything.”

“That’s pretty disgusting.” She couldn’t quite keep the note of appreciation out of her voice. (She’d always been a sucker for gory movies.) “So what’s with the change?”

“What’re you talking about?”

That was in her other binder. Gwen rustled through her backpack until she found the right one and opened it up to a spread of newspaper clippings. “All the killings. Two this week, three in the last two months. I haven’t put a map together yet --” and god, she already felt tired thinking about it, “-- but they don’t seem to have any sort of pattern. I figure it can’t be you because, well, all my research suggests that if you were eating fresh kills you’d be a lot more . . .” She gestured vaguely at him. “Alive-looking.”

He bared his teeth, and if they were sharper-looking than normal she was almost positive that was just her imagination. “You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

She didn’t, but that was beside the point. “So do you know who’s doing this?” she asked, scrambling to her knees and finally giving in to the urge to grab her pen. “Can you tell me? I interned as a police sketch artist, so even if you just describe them I bet I could --”

“You expect me to narc?”

“They’re killing people!”

“Eh, I --”

“Max?”

They were both blinded; squinting past the flashlight, Gwen could barely make out a male figure. The newcomer lowered the light, stepping forward. His eyebrows drew together as he took in the scene: a kid lounging on a tombstone, having a conversation with a woman kneeling in the damp grass surrounded by open books and binders. “What are you doing out here? You know it’s past curfew!”

The ghoul -- Max, it seemed -- rolled his eyes and sighed. “It’s not like you’re gonna arrest me. I just saw this weird lady sneaking into the graveyard and wanted to see what she was doing.”

As surreptitiously as she could, Gwen glanced down at the list of police officers in her lap, comparing the smiling photos to the grim-faced man shaking his head at Max. Officer David E. Greenwood. On the force for about ten years. According to some gossip she’d scribbled in the margin, he’d turned down the opportunity to become a detective a few years ago, holding onto his lower-paying desk job for the sake of his --

His son.

“Miss?” Greenwood waved the flashlight, dragging her attention back to the conversation. “I’m going to need to ask you to leave the --”

“Yeah, fine,” she grumbled, shoving her work back into her bag. “You know, I should get a special pass or something for doing research,” she said, more to herself than to the officer.

He cocked his head to the side, looking for all the world like a big puppy wearing a police badge. “Well, I’m afraid we can’t do anything like that, but I’d be very interested in learning what you’re researching!” He frowned. “Actually, you look familiar . . .”

“I used to be the department intern,” she said with a shrug. She was a little older than Greenwood, so it wasn’t like he’d have been working there to remember --

“Oh, Gwen! Yes, of course I’ve heard all about you!” He took a step forward, like he was about to wrap her up in a hug, before his smile dimmed a bit and he coughed lightly into his fist. “Mr. Campbell speaks very highly of you! He’s been saying he wishes more people would be willing to work for no money, but I’m sure he just meant that you did such a fantastic job! You work at the college now, right? You know, I’ve been meaning to take some classes but I just haven’t had the time --”

“Dad,” Max interrupted, “it’s cold as fuck. Can we just go?”

“Right! Sorry, Max.” He shot his son -- though they really looked nothing alike -- an apologetic grin before turning the smile toward her. “If you’ll just follow me, ma’am. Goodness, isn’t it lovely out here at night? Sometimes I wish . . .”

When they were outside, Max broke through Greenwood’s stream of pleasantries. “Hey, can I talk to her for a second before we go?” When they both shot him a confused, surprised look, he shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, hunching his shoulders defensively. “What? We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Greenwood hummed thoughtfully, glancing between the two of them. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gwen.” He shook her hand enthusiastically.

“You too, officer.”

“Please, call me David!” He winked, then strolled along the outer cemetery wall until he was well out of earshot, his hands clasped behind his back like a military at-ease. Max scuffed his shoe along the asphalt; Gwen had dealt with enough students to know not to push him, so she watched the clouds slide like molasses along the sky and waited.

“You know a lot about this stuff, huh? Like, it’s useless, but you still have a lot of research.” She nodded, watching curiosity wage war with misanthropy across his face. Finally he blurted out, “So can I read some of it sometime? I mean, it’s probably mostly bullshit, but . . .”

She’d given up on carrying copies of her books around with her, on the off chance that someone might be interested if it came up in conversation. “I’m usually on campus at noon,” she said. “Stop by my office. I’ve got a couple things you could borrow.” She fought to keep the eagerness out of her voice, but the thought of her self-bound books actually being read by someone was way too exciting.

Even if that someone was a moody undead kid with the most improbable home life she’d ever heard of.

He nodded, a little awkwardly, and started to walk away before she put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you gonna be all right without eating?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t the first time.”

Gwen hesitated. It could get so so fired, but . . . “Listen, I work some nights at the hospital morgue. Just like, processing bodies and stuff.”

“I thought you were a professor.”

She sighed. “Adjunct,” she admitted. “Only part time. Anyway, I can’t always . . . like obviously we’d have to be really careful, and there’s no real good way to . . . but if there’s actual murderous ghouls around you probably shouldn’t be so hungry they’ll kick your ass or something --”

“How did you make offering help come out so insulting?” Max sounded impressed. He glanced over his shoulder at David, then raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “We’ll work something out, yeah. Beats digging up coffins all night.”

David meandered back in their direction. “Would you like to be walked home, Miss Gwen? It’s not safe to be out alone at this time of night.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, sure.”

She knew how dangerous it was. Had written hundreds of pages on the subject, in fact.

But it was nice, for the first time in her life, to feel like she’d actually accomplished something useful.

“Dad wants you to come over for dinner again.”

Gwen jumped; Max had an infuriating tendency to just appear in doorways without a sound, usually when she was deep in concentration doing something else. She thought maybe he enjoyed scaring her. “I have class tonight,” she said, taking the book he held out, “but tell him thanks.”

Max slouched into the chair on the other side of her desk, watching her dig through her books for the next one in the series. Over the past few weeks he’d been going through her research, and while his habit of writing corrections or commentary in the margins -- with pen, no less! -- was unbelievably annoying, she was making more progress in two months than she had in years. “Second time this week,” he observed.

It took her a second to realize what he was saying. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I appreciate it. Seriously, make sure you thank him for me.” Dinners with Max and David were a little awkward, mostly because only David seemed to really want to be there, but it certainly beat microwave dinners in front of her computer.

“I think he likes you.”

She made a dismissive noise. “He likes everyone,” she said. In fact, she’d made it a personal goal to hear him say something unkind about somebody. It was unsuccessful so far, but she had faith. She handed him the next book, watching him turn it over in his hands appraisingly with something almost like nervousness. It was one thing to have someone read your life’s work -- it was quite another when the person reading your work was also literally the subject of it.

“So you’re gonna stop by after class, right?”

“I -- no?” Sure, sometimes Gwen did, if she’d forgotten to give Max something or if David’s texts had seemed especially plaintive; she got the sense that his life wasn’t as sunshine-and-rainbows as he tried to make it seem, and watching TV or sitting out on the porch after Max had disappeared into his room wasn’t much of a sacrifice. But it wasn’t a habit or anything. “Maybe I have shit to do.”

He snorted. “No you don’t.”

She didn’t, but she didn’t need to be reminded of the life she didn’t have by an obnoxious kid who literally had no life.

When she didn’t respond he stood up, tucking her book under his arm. “So I’ll tell Dad you’ll be by after class. And I’m gonna be at Neil’s tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Ugh, don’t make me say it. It’s fucking gross.”

Gwen watched Max lope out of her office, wondering if he was aware that he’d just told her his father was lonely. And that it worried him.

“For fuck’s sake, just go out already!”

Her pen jerked a scraggly line across the paper, jagged and uneven like the sudden spike in her heart rate. “Why can’t you knock, you shitty excuse for a Halloween monster?” she growled, shoving her notebook aside and glaring up at him.

He set her book on her desk with surprising gentleness for someone who reportedly didn’t care about anything. “First, Dad is so goddamn annoying, and if I have to hear him talk about how ‘sweet that Miss Gwen is, don’t you think so, Max?’ one more time I’m gonna eat him. Second, it’d probably be easier to sneak me food if you were dating, since it’d be less weird for me to hang out with my stepmom.”

“I’m not going to ask David out so it’s easier for you to feed,” she said, bristling at “stepmom.”

“No, you’re gonna do it because you keep staring at him like a creep whenever you think he’s not looking. That’s third, by the way,” he continued, holding up three fingers. “The only thing more annoying than him being all moony and stupid is you being all moony and stupid.”

“That . . .” is not true was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to say it. The problem was, she’d gotten accustomed to spending more evenings a week at the Greenwoods’ house than her own, and had started to find it more comforting. Which didn’t mean that she was interested in David, of course, but she’d been . . . surprised, by him.

By his genuine interest in her, and his support of her research even though it clearly made him uneasy. (Which was fair; “hey I think those murders you’re investigating are undead monsters” was a pretty uncomfortable thing to talk about, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to listen.)

By how he remembered stupid little things, like her favorite foods, and how even when he was thoughtless and absent-minded it never seemed to piss her off the way it should.

By his horrible sense of humor and his worse taste in TV shows. By how his eyelashes were longer than hers, and framed his eyes so prettily. By the freckles she could only see when they were sitting thigh-to-thigh on the couch, or when he pulled her in for a goodnight hug. By --

Well, fuck.

“Everyone I know is a fucking idiot,” Max groaned, tugging her out of her heart-attack-inciting epiphany. He ran his hands through his hair -- glossy and sleek because he’d eaten last night; everything about him was glowing and lively compared to usual, making him look almost human -- and stood. “Don’t even bother getting me the next book. You can drop it off with Dad tonight.”

“But he didn’t invite me to dinn --” She cut herself off at the look of pure exasperation he gave her, one that implied he couldn’t even deign that with a response.

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered, slipping out of her office.

“Okay, I know I basically made this happen because you’re both too dumb to function, but I’m hating every second of this. I take it all back.”

David practically leapt out of Gwen’s chair, almost knocking her out of his lap and face-first into a concussion courtesy of the corner of her desk. “M-Max! What are you doing here?!”

She just sighed, adjusting her position so she wasn’t in danger of falling and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “He does this.”

“I’m a student, Dad. I belong here.” He held up the binder -- Gwen’s most recent book in the making -- with a sharp, sarcastic grin. He was looking a little gray and drawn, and she made a mental note to grab him some intestines or something that wouldn’t be missed at work that night. When he was looking sick like this, his inhumanness stood out in stark relief, like the crisp lines of his teeth that were too big and too pointy for his supposedly-human mouth.

“In high school! Why aren’t you in class?”

He shrugged. “Lunch break,” he said. Gwen and David exchanged a look, because neither of them knew if that was true. It’d been a while since either of them had been students, after all. Dropping the binder on Gwen’s desk, he retreated to the door like he was afraid to coming too close to them. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”

“Um . . . lunch break,” David replied weakly, his face flushing.

Gwen picked up a stress ball and lightly tossed it at Max’s head. “Get out of here, you little shit.”

“I hate you both. See you at dinner,” he said casually, ducking out of the office and letting the door bang shut behind him.

David sighed, shaking his head. “Do you think he looks sick, Gwen? I’m worried he’s coming down with something.”

She winced. “Probably a 24-hour bug. Bet he’ll be fine tomorrow,” she said, ducking her face into the crook of his neck and kissing behind his ear. Sometimes she couldn’t fathom how someone who knew about ghouls could miss the fact that his own son was one.

But then again, David wasn’t an academic, and he certainly wasn’t trained in this kind of thing. And he had a tendency to ignore red flags when it came to people he cared about.

It was one of the things she loved most about him.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #gwenvidweek #gwenvidweek2018 #cc gwen #cc max #dadvid #momgwen #christ this is awful #and that ending is very half assed bc I got worn out #but uhhhh #sorry ct #you deserve better #but have this instead

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icebirdsmateforlife · 6 years

Text

reach for the sky (part 2)

Sid works a shitty job and uses his free time to put workout videos on the internet. Geno does the same, from the other side of the world.

A/N: Here is the second part. Something like ~3k again. No warnings or anything unless you count references to Sid’s past relationship and an appearance by the ex-boyfriend, who is very nice and is not going to cause trouble in any way, I promise. Thank you all for the comments/messages after the first part. You guys are awesome. <3

Part 1 | Part 2:

It’s a slow day at the store today and the few customers who come through are all kind of rude. Nobody seems to be in a particularly good mood — the weather is cold and grey and Sid feels his own mood slipping as well. He just feels listless and a little down. He’d been feeling so good after emailing Evgeni this morning, but now he thinks he’s getting a cold and the guy who was supposed to do the Saturday shift has called in sick, so he’s agreed to take over. He needs the money, but at the same time he’d really been looking forward to a day off. To maybe hanging out with Flower or Kris or just sleeping in and spending a day doing absolutely nothing. Maybe call Jack. Or David, even. Instead, he’ll be here in this hell hole dealing with grumpy customers for almost half of his precious weekend.

He avoids checking his phone, afraid there won’t be an email waiting for him, that maybe Evgeni has changed his mind about all this and he’s now made an idiot of himself, sending that first mail. On the other hand, it had been Evgeni who’d messaged him first and it had been Evgeni who’d suggested emailing each other. Sid can feel his mood sagging even further for no particular reason at all. Maybe Evgeni actually is going to answer, there’s no reason to get upset about something dumb like this.

When he finally does check his phone over lunch though, there is no email. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face and feels the disappointment heavy in the pit of his stomach. He always gets his hopes up too much with other people. God, he needs some company. Needs to think about something that’s not this awful job or the lonely, tiny apartment he’s going back to afterwards, or his ruined Saturday. He just needs some distraction. A friendly face. Somebody who likes him. And he doesn’t really want to bother Flower with it because Flower has weekend plans with Vero, and also he’s just gonna worry needlessly. And Sid doesn’t want to worry him. It’s been a bad day, nothing else. No reason to upset his best friend.

Before he can overthink it, he sends off a quick text to David, just a simple “Hey, any weekend plans?” and goes back to work.

David answers quickly, his reply waiting for Sid the next time he has a chance to check his phone again.

“I didn’t so far,” he writes. “But I’d be open to suggestions.”

Fuck it all, Sid thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve spent a weekend together since they broke up. He needs a hug and some company while he waits for this to pass. “If you wanted to come up here for the weekend, I’d have a place for you to stay,” he answers.

“Sounds fun,” David writes back.

Sid grins, feeling something warm trying to push its way through all the frustration and anxiety. “I’m working until 4. Is that okay?”

“I’ll pick you up,” David writes, and Sid definitely feels a little bit better.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replies, and he really is. He misses him. They don’t get to see each other nearly often enough anymore since David moved away all those months ago.

He has another two hours at work to get through, but the prospect doesn’t sound quite so dark anymore. It’s already Thursday. He can make it through two more days knowing that there’s something to look forward to afterwards.

***

He spends an hour at the gym that evening, burning off the excess energy that constantly seems to be buzzing under his skin lately. He’d stay longer, but Flower almost physically pulls him out the door to have dinner with him because “Vero is out with friends all night and I’m going to go weird if I have to be by myself for so long!”

Sid laughs. “Sorry so tell you this, but you’re already pretty weird.”

Flower slings an arm around his shoulders as he leads Sid out to the parking lot. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says.

Sid kind of meant it as one, so that’s okay.

He checks his phone again, just in case, even though it’s the middle of the night for Evgeni.

There’s an email from him, finally, just sent about an hour and a half ago. Sid grins and stares at his phone until Flower elbows him in the ribs.

“Stop ignoring me.”

Sid laughs. “Sorry. Just -“

“Why are you smiling like that?” Flower asks, eyes narrowing. “I know that smile. Just haven’t seen it in a while. Who is he? Do I know him?”

“Oh, uh…” Sid thinks quickly, trying to come up with a believable lie. “David’s coming up here this weekend.”

Flower unlocks his car, waves at Sid to get in. “Are you two -“

“No,” Sid interrupts. “We’re not. Not dating has worked pretty well for us so far.”

“Too bad,” Flower says, starting the car once Sid has buckled his seatbelt. “You two were so very, very pretty together. Also, getting laid might have put a smile on your face again.”

Sid grins and raises an eyebrow at him. “Who says I’m not gonna get laid?”

Flower laughs. “Well, if that works for you guys, okay. Just -“

“What?”

Flower looks at him. “Be careful, okay? Don’t get your heart broken.”

“It’s not like that,” Sid assures him, and it isn’t. He’s not invited David up here for sex. Sid likes keeping his friends close, but usually not in-his-bed close. Cuddling in front of the TV is a nice thing to be looking forward to, though.

***

He waits until they’re at Flower’s place and Flower has gone to put his things away and get them some beer. As soon as Flower has left the room, he sits down on the couch and finally reads Evgeni’s email.

“Hi Sid,” it says. “Sorry answer so late, work all day. But very happy you write! I see earlier, but not have time to write back. Still write very slow. I install English alphabet on phone a while ago, but sometimes still need time to write everything right, and words not so easy also. You ask if I’m do yoga outside Internet. I do little bit. But only fun. When I’m younger, I sometimes not pay attention in sports, get injury. I’m too impatient. So coach say try yoga little bit, calm head and learn control body maybe better. And I like, so I always do little bit. But my favourite sport I like is hockey. One day my dream is to be coach, for children. What is your favourite? Greetings from Evgeni.”

Sid can’t stop smiling, doesn’t even hear Flower sneak up behind him until he pokes him in the neck. “Stop sexting with Perron,” he says. “Not on my couch, come on. I have sex with my girlfriend on this couch.”

Sid pulls a face and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “I’ve been sitting on this couch every few days since you got it, and you never warned me?”

Flower shrugs. “Come on, man, you know me. Okay, do you want grilled cheese or spaghetti?”

“Spaghetti,” Sid says, and Flower sighs.

“Okay, let’s just make both.”

***

Sid doesn’t even get out of his shoes and jacket before he has his phone out, eagerly poking the screen until his email app opens. He shoves his door closed behind himself and sits down right there in the entryway to read Evgeni’s email over once again, not even making any effort to keep the huge smile off his face.

Evgeni likes hockey, which has always been Sid’s favourite as well. And he wants to coach children, which most likely means he’s as kind and friendly as Sid had thought he was all along.

“Hi Evgeni,” he writes back. “I love hockey! I wish I could have played it more as a kid, but equipment and stuff is expensive and we never had a lot of money. But I played a lot anyway, with friends. My parents gave me a pair of skates for my ninth birthday and mom says I never wanted to take them off. I grew out of them eventually, and it was a while before we could afford new ones. I joined a team for a bit when I was fourteen, but I had to quit again when I was sixteen, because I had to work after school and didn’t have the time anymore.”

He pauses, thumb hovering over the delete button as he bites his lip. He’s spilling his soul to a virtual stranger here, and maybe that’s too weird? But then, that’s also what makes it easy. Evgeni is far away. It’s different than talking to Flower or David or anyone else.

“I still play sometimes, though, and I love it,” he writes. “My friend Flower plays goalie, and my friend Kris is our D-man. And there are a few other friends who join us sometimes when they have time. It’s really fun.” He hesitates, then writes on. “It’s such a great sport, and I wish more people could be able to play it. My friend Kris has been thinking for a long time about some sort of program here. Something to help out families who can’t afford to enroll their kids in sports and stuff. But anyway. Coaching children sounds really fun. My friend David is a teacher and high school coach and he really loves it. He used to play on our team. That’s how I met him. I met a lot of my friends through sports. Most of them, I think. That’s why I love it too because there’s nothing like being part of a team. Do you have a team?”

He reads over everything again and decides he’s rambled on for long enough, sends it before he can delete any of it. Only then does he get up off the floor to take his shoes off, hang up his jacket, and pads into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

***

There’s a reply when he wakes up, and he smiles. Hearing from Evgeni is such a great way to start a day. He lies there on his side, phone in one hand, and starts reading.

“Hello Sid,” it says. “I’m so happy you like hockey! Is another thing we sharing. Hockey best sport. I’m also not have money to play lots when I’m child, but play little bit more since I’m older. Always wish to join team when I’m younger, but is not possible. I watch all games from favourite teams. But only play as fun. With friends. Play football (soccer?) for some years on team, because I love also. Then papa get better job, I can play on hockey team. And coach like me, and I can help him little bit with coaching when I get too old for team. And I’m have so much fun! Have to get real job when I’m finish school, no more time so much for helping coach. But still do little bit. I’m thinking if I quit, I never get chance to get job as real coach, so I not quit. Is not full job, only few hours every week, and pay not very good. But I still love it. Is funny that I write you and you write me and we become friends, and then we both love hockey! I like idea from your friend, give children hockey who can’t afford. Is very good thing. Maybe if you and I have this when we children, we play now against each other in World Cup or Olympics ))))) I know is silly thought, but also fun. ))) I’m sure you very good at hockey. Maybe one day we meet and we can see who is better. Greetings from Evgeni.”

Sid drops his phone and rolls over onto his back to stretch his arms over his head, smiling. Evgeni says they’re friends, and he likes that thought. They still barely know each other, but Evgeni seems so easy to talk to. He picks his phone back up to check the time, and decides he has another ten minutes to spare to write back. Sitting up against the headboard, he squints his eyes and thinks about where to start.

“Hi Evgeni,” he writes. “I have to admit I don’t know a whole lot about soccer, but I believe you that it’s a lot of fun, too. I played some baseball as a kid, and that was fun, too. It’s probably good though that we’re not playing hockey against each other professionally, because Canada would win and then we wouldn’t be friends anymore. ;) It’s great that you get to coach a bit, even if it’s not a full time job for you yet. I hope you’ll get that opportunity in the future. I work at a store now and I’d love to be able to quit there and do something else. Something with sports. That’s part of why I started doing those videos. At least I’m doing something that I actually like. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining. It’s not that bad, really. And I’m not that old, there’s always time to figure something out and improve, right? I think as long as you stay optimistic and work hard, good things are going to happen. For you, too! I’m sure you’ll get to be a coach one day. Talk to you soon, Sid.”

***

Saturday comes a lot sooner than Sid had feared, and he thinks no small part of the week flying by are the constant messages from Evgeni. They make everything suck just a little bit less. The emails have become shorter but more frequent — like texting, but via email. Just a sentence or two sometimes, but that’s almost better. It feels like a real conversation that way. It is a real conversation.

“You like puppy?” Evgeni writes. “My puppy best!” And attached to that is a picture of a massive dog the size of a baby elephant.

“That is not a puppy,” Sid writes back. “That’s a small horse!!”

“You suppose to say that he cutest (((((((((“ is Evgeni’s answer, and Sid laughs.

“He is very cute. What’s his name?”

“His name Jeffrey,” Geno writes back. “I tell him you say he cute, and he say he like you now.”

Sid grins and pockets his phone, gathers his things to leave now that his shift is over.

“Have a good weekend,” his coworker tells him as he walks by.

Sid waves at him. “You too,” he says. “See you on Monday!”

David’s car is already parked at the curb out front and Sid feels his heart jumping in his chest. He misses his friend and the prospect of having him back for almost one and a half whole days, all to himself, is wonderful.

“Sid,” David says happily, getting out of the car and walking around to pull Sid into a tight hug.

“Hey,” Sid says and hugs back. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

David pulls back and smiles at him, then frowns. Sid almost forgot about his ability to read Sid’s moods in a way that reminds him of Flower. “Is everything okay?”

Sid sighs. “It’s just the usual,” he says, and David nods, doesn’t need anything more than that.

“I was gonna invite you out to dinner, but how about we order Chinese instead and just hang out at your place?”

Sid nods. “That sounds better,” he says. “But I’m paying.”

David laughs. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You can get the next one. But tonight, I’m buying you dinner and you can tell me all about what’s bothering you.”

“That’s not why invited you up here, you know?” Sid says, because he thinks it’s important

that David knows that. He does need to talk, but he also really did miss him.

“I know,” David says. “It would be okay, though, if you had. You’d do the same for me.”

“Thank you,” Sid says, and smiles as David pats his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he says, and Sid can’t wait to finally get home.

***

His furniture is still shoved to the side, the camera tripod standing there in the middle of the room.

“What did you do this week?” David asks, as Sid picks it up to put it back in its usual spot in the corner. David carries the coffee table back to where it belongs before helping Sid with the couch.

“Arms and shoulders,” Sid says. “Five minutes without equipment, you know, for coffee breaks at work and stuff.” He’d had to record it early this morning before work and hasn’t had a chance to edit and upload it yet, but he’ll do that before bed tonight or probably rather sometime tomorrow night after David leaves. This weekend is just for them.

“Nice idea,” David says. “So that’s still fun, then?”

“Yeah,” Sid says. “I love doing it.” He hesitates. “And I think I’ve made a new friend through it.”

Something in his tone makes David raise his eyebrows at him, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Oh yeah?” he asks, and Sid feels himself blushing against his will.

“Shut up,” he says. “It’s not like that. He lives in Russia and he makes videos, too. And that’s all.”

“Well, new friends are always good,” David says.

“Yeah,” Sid agrees. “Also he likes hockey, and has a really cute, giant dog who’s called Jeffrey.”

David lets himself fall onto the couch and drags Sid with him, pulls him into a headlock and ruffles his hair. “I know you, Sid,” he says, the smile audible in his voice. “You can’t lie to me. You have a crush.”

“I do not,” Sid protests, because he doesn’t.

“I think it’s a good thing!” David says quickly, and Sid wiggles his way out of David’s hold and slumps back against the couch.

“He lives in Russia,” he points out again, as if that would make any sort of difference at all if what David said were true.

“So?” David shrugs. “Ever heard of Skype sex?”

Sid laughs, then lets his head fall back, sighing. “Well, even if I did, it would just be another thing I want but can’t have, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, Sid,” David says, tone serious now as he scoots closer and leans his head against Sid’s shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Sid insists, because it is. It really is. He just has a lot on his mind. Evgeni is one of the few good things, and he doesn’t want to ruin it by letting his emotions run away with him.

“Talk to me?” David asks, and Sid’s rubs his hands over his eyes and draws in a deep breath.

“Okay,” he says, even though he doesn’t really know where to start. It’s...everything. Nothing. The endless monotony of this life he feels trapped in. He knows how lucky he is, despite everything else. He has amazing friends and that is already so, so much. Sometimes he doesn’t know what else he could possibly ask for.

The thing is, he’s still lonely. He’s still unhappy. It’s just difficult to pin down why sometimes. Or how to fix it if he knew.

It’s so much easier to spill his heart to Evgeni, because he’s far away and doesn’t really know him. But David is here and he cares and he wants to help, and Sid knows that’s what he needs right now. So he lets out a long breath and starts to tell him about his day at the store. His job isn’t the only thing that’s the problem, but it seems like a good place to start anyway.

Part 3

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #sidgeno fic #icebird writes #my writing

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ubercharge · 7 years

Text

a friendly letter to my isp

i didn’t even know it was possible for you to be this shitty. i didn’t think it was technologically possible at this point. a couple of years ago, i didn’t have my computer hooked up with an ethernet cable. with the pc on the upper floor and the router downstairs, you can imagine this setup was far from optimal. and if you didn’t guess that, you’re a fucking idiot, because it was a godawful setup and you should fucking know that.

i remember the command prompt ping tests to google’s ip. i remember the jagged ends of each reply line as the ping spiked from double to triple digits. running the ping tests didn’t solve anything, it didn’t make the internet any better or more stable, but it helped to know whether it was my pc or the internet that was choking. here’s a hint: it was usually the fucking internet. why, you may ask? well i know my pc, even now, isn’t a god tier computer. and sometimes it has problems. but as painful as its bullshit has been, the suffering my pc has caused me is nothing in comparison with the crap you deign to call a ‘service’.

it’s in your fucking name! internet service provider! we pay you handfuls of cash a month to provide internet. and, ok, to be fair, this on-off garbage counts as providing internet, right? at least when it’s on. when the ping test replies aren’t a long, long stream of “Request timed out.”, and when, despite the ping replies, web pages and anything that requires internet to function actually works.

i’d gotten used to playing with 100+ or even 1000+ ping when i was into tf2. i also had <20fps a lot of the time, so the harder parts about gaming (the shittiness of pc + internet) weren’t entirely your fault, even when i was rubberbanding like a motherfucker and had absolutely no clue where i was going, and no hope of finding out until the ping calmed down just long enough for me to watch my character run off of a cliff or into a saw blade.

well, things were better after the ethernet cable. exponentially so. the wifi was still garbage, and you could tell when spikes were happening depending on how fast (or, more likely, slow) things were loading (or, more likely, not loading) on mobile. but at least i could play an online pc video game without rubberbanding from egypt to the goddamn dark side of the fucking moon. i would pull up the occasional pingtest, especially if things seemed to be loading slow or there were any suspicious connection issues, but things tended to settle down within a reasonable amount of time. sometimes the weather or other external factors were to blame. i could get work done online again, because, you know, some people need the internet to do their schoolwork and other work. i hope this doesn’t come as a surprise, and you aren’t just throttling my (household’s) connection to get your rocks off.

because, seriously, the past few days? they have been some real painful kick to the goddamn nuts. i mean, it got so bad that my dad had to tell me to run a speed test, and i had to say, i can’t, because i can’t load any webpages. and then he had to call you guys to ask 'hey what the fuck is the deal’. and then, after a couple of router reboots and whatever, after 3 hours of bejewelled when i might’ve been able to be productive but couldn’t because i was too fucking pissed, the internet worked again. just not very well. and i know because first of all, the pingtest doesn’t lie; second of all, the friends whom i was gaming with told me, hey dave, you’re kinda cutting out; and thirdly, the game itself involved some rubberbanding (my old friend) and y’know, the little yellow symbol in the upper left side of the overwatch HUD that tells you ‘your connection is fucking shit, is your router a potato, you should definitely go check that out right now because i think your router might in fact be a rotting root vegetable and not a functioning piece of technology!’

but i dealt with it, because even if it took some pain, at least shit was working again. not all was lost. better than not having it work at all, right? well, that brings me to today, and to tonight in particular. look, i’ll keep it simple: shit isn’t loading. y’know what would be nice? for shit to load. i have work to do. yeah, you can see i’m not constantly getting work done, but when i do, i generally require the internet and its resources to both help me and to keep me fucking sane instead of having to ruminate on your asinine bullshit inability to do the aforementioned thing you’re supposed to do because that’s what we fucking pay you for - to provide the internet service.

do you have any idea how many times i’ve tried to launch and log into overwatch? i’m not sure if you’re privy to that knowledge, but i can tell you with full confidence that i must’ve wasted 20 minutes. this isn’t even me trying to get into a match, because, shit, i can’t even get into the fucking game itself. i just wanted to check my inventory. and i’m using this as an example because if i were to start listing the other webpages i’ve been trying (and generally failing) to use, then we’d be here all fucking night.

it’s actually kind of amazing how terrible you are. because i’d experienced drastic connectivity issues in the past, i could kind of brush aside the other times you’ve fucked up over the past year or so, post-ethernet cable. i’m not the kind of person to contact customer support, and especially not to yell at customer support. i like tipping more than necessary at restaurants, trying to make retail workers’ lives a little less shitty when i am given the opportunity. you know, typical decent person things. but holy fucking shit i cannot express the furious desire that ravaged my mindscape upon having to deal with your bullshit yesterday and today, wanting to ring you guys up and, even though i’m not the head of household or person who pays for the internet service, fucking yell at the first unfortunate living soul to respond: how is it even possible for you to be this shitty what the fuck do you think we pay you for one of the things you’re supposed to do is not be this shitty how are you failing at providing the internet if i have to deal with this for another hour, another fucking hour of slogging through webpages that can’t fucking load, i will come over to your headquarters or office or whatever and yell at you in fucking person you have no idea what i’m capable of. and of course i also thought, amidst the admittedly all-encompassing haze of anger, well that wouldn’t be very fair to the poor worker taking my call, and it probably wouldn’t help to solve much, nor would it incentivize helping to figure out whatever the problem was.

but fuck if it wouldn’t have been satisfying for a moment.

#dave.txt #long post

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rachelisnotatwork · 5 years

Text

Conferencing North of the Wall

Deeply irritatingly, after a winter completely free of sniffles, coughs and fevers, whilst everyone wilted around me and I felt increasingly smug, the first day of spring saw my run of good luck come to an end and a stinking cold develop. So whilst we’d planned a few nice days of holiday before our conference in Belfast, I pretty much had to be peeled, hacking, wheezing and shivering, off the sofa to head over to there.

Naturally we’d booked to fly from Stanstead, which at the time seems like a good (financial) deal, and then the reality kicks in and we have to get two tubes and a train and leave hours of time. The plus side was the exhausting struggle of that plus the cough and cold remedies I was chugging down like there was no tomorrow pretty much meant I got onto the plane, passed out and woke up in Belfast. Unfortunately not the good Belfast airport, because there turn out to be two (who knew? The whole place is tiny. Why on earth do they need two airports?) but the rubbish one which is way outside of town and has posters on the wall about Belfast’s favourite coleslaw (I like to think they had a brutal and hard-fought referendum on that one).

We went to pick up our car, which was the first car we’ve ever got that has “lane assist”. This is probably a helpful function if you find yourself falling asleep on a US highway at 3am, as if you go anywhere near the lines in the centre of the road or at the sides, it starts an irritating beeping sound. This is not a helpful feature if you are in rural Northern Ireland, where the roads are so narrow you are constantly in it’s rage zone and the peeping pretty much never ends. No more nap time for me.

Because I’d been fast asleep on the flight, we hadn’t eaten the lunch we bought in the Stanstead Pret. I decided as we meandered slowly across the countryside towards our cottage outside Derry, to find a tourist attraction to stop at. The nearest appeared to be something called the Tirkane Sweat house. Clicking on it revealed something that looked like a cross between a grass igloo and an ice house. I was intrigued. I failed to mention to Marcel that the review also mentioned cave spiders. I wasn’t sure if they meant it as a joke.

It was beautifully sunny out, and the sweat lodge (built in the 18th century) was located by a tiny stream. The entrance however appears to have been designed for badgers. Beplagued with cold, I was not in the mood for crawling into an abandoned sweat lodge full of spiders, so I decided to let Marcel explore that one alone. Apparently they weren’t joking about the cave spiders. Sorry Marcel.

We drove on to our cottage, through blazing sunshine, verdantly green fields, herds of sheep and a weirdly high number of donkeys. I think I saw more donkeys in a week in Northern Ireland than I’ve seen in my entire life to date. If anyone knows why they love donkeys so much in these parts, please let me know. It looked lovely. It didn’t smell so great though, as apparently the trick to all those glowing green fields is spraying manure on them.

Our cottage was in the middle of nowhere, and the views looked amazing in the sun.

We’d vaguely discussed going into Derry for dinners, but since I was feeling like shit, I decided we’d self-cater (aka Marcel would make dinner) and so we went to Tesco’s, stocked up on all the supplies and bought a board game as the wifi was broken there. Then we wiled away a pleasant evening in front of the fire, bitterly competing to win the most games.

The next day was forecast to have the better weather, so we decided to do all the “big” local sites. This started with Dunlace Castle. Only you had to pay £5.50 each and up close it didn’t look that impressive and was having some restoration works done, so we decided to stick with the (free) views from the surrounds of Dunlace castle.

The next stop off was the Giant’s Causeway. This is so beloved of UK school textbooks, that I felt like I was on a geography field trip 20 years too late. This was probably helped by being surrounded by herds of windswept teenagers in pac-a-macs. It was National Trust so we got in for free and it is pretty interesting geologically, but I think the main pleasure of the site would have been the hikes you can do around it where you can see some of the similar rock formations without groups of surly teenagers huddled on them (and large numbers of American tourists, revisiting their very, very distant Irish roots). However, alas I was still wheezing like a dying accordion and it took forever and all my breath to get up and down to the Causeway (I refused to take the bus with all the lazy people) so no hikes for us.

After that we headed on to the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, which is also owned by the National Trust (another free entry! Win!). This was my suggestion and Marcel was surprised by it because I’m notoriously not great with heights (understatement) and this is a swinging rope bridge that sways 30m over the rocks below. I reassured him though that I was totally up for it. We walked the mile there, along a cliff top path, watching gulls swoop below us whilst bored-looking sheep watched us. We descended the steps down to it. I took one look at it and decided that was a hard nope from me, and refused to go any further. No idea what temporary delusion made me ever think I might. Marcel did head across there though. I bravely photographed him.

All that exercise (a mile is a long way to walk if you are wheezing away with a cough and asthma) and fear-by-proxy had left me hungry. We luckily found a lovely cafe nearby for rhubarb tart, which was located in a village (Ballintoy) that served as a harbour for a scene in Game of Thrones. It was quite windy and the sea rather pleasantly kept breaking over the rocks and the sea wall, which was nice to watch in a “thank god I’m on dry land” way.

On our way back, we decided to swing past The Dark Hedges, which is a photogenic avenue of beech trees that features in pretty much all of Northern Ireland’s tourism materials and a few movies and TV shows. Local and visiting idiots had carved their names into the fairly ancient beech trees, which meant I was seething with pure rage throughout. I like to think of myself as a fairly liberal person…apart from when it comes to people who write their names on historical sites and sites of natural beauty, where I feel the only reasonable punishment is removal of both hands with a fairly blunt axe.

The next morning we were slightly delayed as our airbnb owners had arranged for the BT wifi repair man to come and we had to let him in. I was slightly of the mind that I didn’t really care if we didn’t have internet for the <24 hours of the rest of our stay and I wasn’t really up for hanging around so the next guests could have wifi, but Marcel is a nicer person/a pushover so we did. Our repair man was extremely chatty and did give us some tourist tips, so I guess that was something

We started off having a wander around Derry. It has city walls and from there you can look over most of the town and see bits like Bogside (famous for the Bloody Sunday massacre), the cathedral and the guild hall. It was a relatively pleasant wander, but that was really all I felt I needed to see or do in Derry.

The weather however had just turned sunny as we left Derry to drive up for a fort called Grianan of Aileach. Luckily the whole Brexit debacle had been suspended, because it was just over the border in Donegal. It was my favourite sort of hill fort, in that you could drive right up to it and then get incredible views of the surrounding countryside with very minimal effort.

After a quick lunch (which we could thankfully pay for on card as we had no euros) we headed off to a beach Marcel had picked called Five Fingers Strand at the very north of the Inishowen peninsula. It was my favourite sort of beach- sandy, dramatic scenery behind it and windswept enough that it was pleasantly empty and you didn’t get too hot going for a walk along it, looking at the incredibly rough sea (definitely not a good swimming spot). It was a lovely end to the day out.

The next morning we had to say a sad goodbye to our cottage. We had to be in Belfast in the evening, but we decided to take a very scenic route there. First off, we stopped and wandered down the beach and around the very scenic village of Cushendun. It is apparently the closest point in Northern Ireland to the mainland UK as the Mull of Kintyre is just 16 miles across the water and due to the fact it was a beautifully clear day, very visible. Having been to Iona and it’s abbey on our round the UK road trip, it did make you realise why the Irish monks started out over there since they must have pretty much been able to see the heathens on the horizon.

Our next stop was to look around the walled gardens at Glenarm Castle. They are pretty nicely done and made a nice stop off and wander around, although our plan to visit their tea room for lunch was somewhat thwarted by apparently everyone else in a 50 mile radius having the same plan.

Starving, we ended up driving into Larne. Not a great looking town but they were having an arts festival that involved having lots of umbrellas hanging in the streets, which cheered things up a bit.

We had to drive the car back to the shitty airport and then get a bus into town to our airbnb so by the time we arrived we weren’t much for exploring the joys of Belfast in the rain but instead hunkered down with takeout for an early evening.

The next day I had designated our “explore Belfast” day. Unfortunately a bunch of attractions aren’t open on a Monday, which this was, so that was a bit of a planning fail on my part. The Titanic museum, which is probably Belfast’s biggest attraction was though so we walked on over there (via a big fish and some very random sculptures made of recycling).

The museum is huge and is slightly misnamed as a good proportion of it is just on life in Belfast at that time. Which was pretty interesting, as I know the story of the Titanic, but to be honest I don’t know much of Northern Ireland apart from the Troubles. Anyway, now I know all about it’s linen industry, rapid growth and rope factories. So you learn something new everyday. Also I do like giant engineering projects, so a museum that dedicated a lot of time to that whilst surrounded by cargo ships offloading and giant cranes made me happy. I wanted to see it’s dry dock, which is down the road because I read you could go down into it and really get a sense of the scale, so we wandered on down there….to find the only access was through a cafe, which had unexpectedly closed a fortnight previously. So that was a wee bit annoying, but hey, got some exercise.

By the evening, we were pretty tired from all our wanderings and since our whole point of being in Northern Ireland, the conference, started the next day, we decided to stay in and get an early night.

The next morning we walked the extremely agreeable 3 minutes from our Airbnb to the Europa hotel, which is apparently the most bombed hotel in the world. Dunno quite what made everyone hate it so much they bombed it 36 times, since it seemed pretty nice. The result of this is that there are pretty much no bins anywhere in the place. This normally wouldn’t be a problem but they fed us about every 10 minutes at the conference and you’d end up wandering around with a disposable cup or plate for ages, ruing the absence of bins. However the combination of 20 minute lectures for our short attention spans and being fed nice food at extremely regular intervals meant I had rather an enjoyable time.

That evening we had a booking at a restaurant Marcel had seen reviewed in the guardian a few months previously called Six by Nico, that serves a different six course tasting menu every 6 weeks. When we were there it was based on a fish and chips theme, which luckily they interpreted very liberally for vegetarians. We also got free snacks so by the end I pretty much had to be rolled home.

Perhaps as a result of the indigestion I couldn’t really sleep that night. I got up to go to the loo at about 2am and as I got back into bed I saw the orange lights from the street flickering on the ceiling and thought “man, street lights flicker more than I realised”. Then Marcel, woken by the shouting I was oblivious to thanks to my ear plugs got out of bed and pointed out the apartment block on the other side of the car park was on fire.

Now we have a Northern Irish friend who has quite the loud speaking voice. I always thought it was just one of his characteristics, but then on arriving in Northern Ireland I realised actually EVERYONE there has somewhat of a foghorn for a voice. And now all the foghorns in our block of flats were directed at bellowing the people in the flats opposite out of their flats. Whilst we could obviously see the flames much more clearly than they could, it was amazing how slow and reluctant people were to evacuate when there was very clearly a lot of smoke billowing out. It was pretty horrifying how quickly it spread from the original flat to the flat above- in under 2 minutes it had set fire to their balcony, set fire to the uPVC windows, exploded the glass and spread into the flat above. Even though the fire brigade came pretty rapidly and poured what seemed like thousands of litres of water onto it, it took ages to control. It was was a very sombre reminder to check our smoke alarms, carbon monoxide alarm etc on our return.

It also meant we were somewhat shattered at the conference the next day. I’m terrible for falling asleep in lectures at the best of times, so expended all my energy on staying awake (luckily the seating was pretty uncomfortable). That meant by the evening neither of us were interested in doing much so we stayed home and I re-read A Country Doctor’s Notebook, which I first read as a medical student. Still love how whilst medicine has changed so much, the emotions of those providing it really haven’t. When I read it the first time around it was a huge comfort to remember at least I wouldn’t be left to amputate a leg single-handedly on my first day. It is still a comfort that I haven’t had to do that after practising for 7 years.

The next day was the last day of the conference, which meant dragging our suitcase to the hotel and persuading them to let us leave it in their left luggage room. Which they were surprisingly okay with, despite the history of bombs and the total absence of bins. I shan’t question the logic of that because it was hugely in our favour. The conference finished early on the last day, and so we had time to visit one of the attractions that first drew me to Northern Ireland. The Game of Thrones tapestry. Now I do like Game of Thrones, but what I really love is eccentric projects, the bigger the better, and a 66m tapestry commemorating the gore, orgies and weirdness of a TV show was right up my street. Reader, it was JUST AS GOOD as I thought it would be. I loved it. I also like to think of all the confused 90 year old grandma’s hand-stitching the details of orgies and brutal murders, wondering what the hell this was all about.

The museum it was in (The Ulster Museum) was pretty good too so I was very pleased with it for the grand entry price of free. It is right next to some gardens with a victorian glasshouse and fernery (apparently that was all the rage in Victorian Britain) so that was a nice end to our time in Belfast, before heading off back to the airport.

Whilst the weather had held until we were on the bus, by the time was reached the airport it was 4c with freezing horizontal rain and high winds. Normally not a problem but our plane naturally was on the other side of the tarmac and we had to walk about 5 minutes over to it and then queue, trying to angle our bodies like penguins in a huddle, to be out of the worst wind to board. By the time people got on the plane they were streaming water onto the floors and seats. Not the best goodbye to a fun week in Northern Ireland.

In other goodbyes, my suitcase, which has been fraying around the corners for a while and has a wonky wheel, finally developed a huge crack in the handle that meant it is finally time to say goodbye. This suitcase has been with me I think on every trip on this blog and held up amazingly well as that’s probably 18 months of being sat on every day whilst I try and wrench the zips closed over it’s overstuffed contents. I will miss it and suitcase, I’m sorry that whilst you got to see all of the lower 48 and Hawaii, you never saw Alaska. I hope Greenland compensated.

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alexxdz · 7 years

Text

A very long post detailing my experience with hyperhidrosis

Hyperhidrosis is a condition characterized by abnormally increased sweating, in excess of that required for regulation of body temperature. Hyperhidrosis can be associated with a quality of life burden from a psychological, emotional, and social perspective. It has been called by some 'the silent handicap'.

Both the words diaphoresis and hidrosis can mean either perspiration (in which sense they are synonymous with sweating) or excessive perspiration, in which case they refer to a specific, narrowly defined, clinical disorder.

Source: Wikipedia.

Disclaimer: this is my experience with hyperhidrosis, some people have it worse, some people have it better.

Disclaimer 2: I can feel you chucklefucks already typing “some people are literaly DYING of cancer out there how dare you complain about being sweaty”. I know, okay? I’m not stupid and you aren’t smart for pointing that out, there’s the whole entire Internet out there for you to read about other people with worse health problems than mine.

Actual post under the cut.

I never went to a doctor to properly diagnose it so all this is just things I observed after 25 years of dealing with hyperhidrosis. My hyperhidrosis is centered on my hands and feet, that’s where I sweat the most, then it’s my armpits and then everything else.

It really just started to become a real problem for me when I was like 9-10 years old, when school started to become more about writing walls of texts on a notebook instead of fucking around. I noticed the pages on my notebooks would always get twisted or bent and that writing on it became harder after a while, which was because the dampness made the paper roll over itself and also made for the lead on the pencils not “stick” on the paper, so everything I wrote was shitty and faded.

Wasn’t until years later I came up with the idea of putting something under my hand, like a handkerchief or pieces of paper, to stop the sweat.

I don’t sweat 24 hour a day, 365 days a year, just 95% of that, and that’s related to a bunch of conditions that can trigger my hyperhidrosis. The main trigger is obviously heat, if it’s hot I’ll probably start sweating, and by hot I mean something around 25ºC, and living in Brazil, even if not the hottest part of the country, means I’m in hell basically.

My hands and feet are also abnormally hot, and I don’t know if it’s related to the hyperhidrosis or not but I do know it doesn’t help me. Except when it’s winter and it’s cold and I’m still sweating in which case the sweat gets cold and my hand and feet feel like they’re freezing and my joints actually start to hurt.

Which brings us to the fact that while heat is the main cause and there’s other stuff that might trigger my hyperhidrosis:

Adrenaline: this includes a range of emotions like excitement, stress, nervousness, basically anything that makes my heart beat a little faster. And by anything I mean anything, like playing videogames will make me sweaty because the little bit of excitement I get when I’m about to fight a boss in Dark Souls is enough to make me sweat. Hell, there are times when laughing some funny shit on the Internet has triggered my hyperhidrosis, LAUGHTER MAKES ME SWEATY.

Stuffy air: being in locked rooms and cars, places where there’s little air circulation, even if it’s not hot. This has lead to many situations where everyone else in the room is wearing jackets and coats and I’m the weirdo in a t-shirt and shorts dripping in sweat. In college it was a real nightmare because during winter some people in class would bitch about being too cold and close the door and windows and I literally had to leave the room because I couldn’t stand stay there for too long.

Humid weather: it’s more like a modifier that makes any of the prviously mentioned situations worse. If it’s cold and humid then I’m fine, if it’s humid and hot it’s worse than if it was just hot.

Funnily enough exercising doesn’t trigger my hyperhidrosis. There were times I was in my room, sitting in front of the computer and sweating like crazy, then went jogging for a couple of minutes under the sun and actually stopped sweating altogether.

And after I start sweating it’s a coin toss wether it’s going to stop or not, most times the temperature going down does the job, and sometimes doesn’t because fuck me right?

It can be a very distressing situation because I can feel it happening, like my pores are opening or something. Sometimes it even stings and hurts a bit. I sit still and stop doing whatever I’m doing it’ll stop but immediatly start again if I start to move at all.

Some people have sweat drip from their hands constantly, and fortunately for me that isn’t the case... most times. If it’s a really hot day and I don’t constantly dry my hands it’ll form drops of sweat I can just fling at things.

Also yeah, I’m constantly drying my hands, I have to. It works for a fraction of a second before my hands get covered in sweat again, washing them buys me 10 seconds of relief. At home I always have a towel with me for that and I have to pick a new one every week; when I go out I may take a handkerchief with me but generally I just dry it on my clothes which sucks but I really have no alternative unless I wanna be the guy pulling a hanky from his pockets every 15 seconds or so. The hanky also becomes useless after a while because it gets too wet.

Working with my hands can be pretty difficult, because closing my hands or putting them close together only intensifies the whole thing and can be very uncomfortable, it almost hurts in a way. I don’t mean a crippling pain that stops me from doing anything, but it’s like nails on a chalkboard or a bad smell or sunlight hitting your eyes, something annoying that makes whatever you’re trying to do worse.

Given enough time my hands will corrode paper so I’m very careful when handling it. I can’t grab a book with both hands and open and just read it like a normal person, my hand can’t touch the pages otherwise I’ll destroy the whole thing so I have to put something between my hands and the book.

I got an acoustic guittar once and played with it for a while and the wood in the arm started getting too humid and has these dark spots on it and the strings are rusty now. Dirt and dust also stick really easily to my hands so while I’m not a neat freak I don’t blame people for assuming I am because I’m always washing my hands.

And socially this is a fucking nightmare, I’m always self conscious about shaking someone’s hand. And hold a girl’s hand? Haha oh boy, now that’s fun and by fun I mean “please kill me now”.

My feet are another set of problems. I can’t walk bare foot otherwise I will almost surely slip, not to mention leaving a wet trail whenever I go. Also, wearing socks and shoes for too long makes tons of boils appear on my feet.

Treatment is complicated, only options I’ve seen so far require surgery, which I have no money for, but like I said before I never went to a doctor so I could be wrong. Some forms of treatment may cause compensatory sweat, meaning that even if I stop sweating in my hands and feet I’ll start sweating even more in another body parts.

Overall it’s been a tough break to deal with. It’s not the worst health condition to have obviously but from what I’ve read only 1% of the world population has it or something, so damn right I’m gonna be mad about for the rest of my life.

And that’s it, this is my experience dealing with hyperhidrosis. There are a couple of other little details but I’m tired of looking at this post. I’m not sure what the whole point of writing this is, I just wanted to get this out.

#hyperhidrosis

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itstrevorphilips · 7 years

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Can I say all of them? 😁

of course! answers under the read more (sorry in advance mobile users!)

flower crown: when did you last sing to yourself? Thursday. I only sing when I’m alone

fairy lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know? So many things. Probably how the future is going to turn out

daisies: what is the greatest accomplishment of your life? Making it to college for sure! There are still days when I’m sitting in class and it suddenly hits me that I’ve made it this far

1975: what is the first happy memory that comes to mind, recent or otherwise? Meeting Panic! At The Disco last year and seeing them in concert with my best friend.

matte: if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? I would only if I had the money. I’d travel as much as possible.

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things? Go to Wrestlemania, meet Fall Out Boy, and see A Day To Remember in concert.

pantone: describe a person close to your life in detail. My best friend is one of the two people who I feel completely comfortable around. I don’t want to sound all sappy but I’m lucky to have her in my life because she’s awesome and somehow puts up with my whiny ass. She’s always there for me and I can’t thank her enough for that.

moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood? I don’t have any particularly happy memories but it was alright.

stars: when did you last cry in front of another person? Probably a few weeks ago in front of my mom.

plants: pick a person to stargaze with you and explain why you picked them. Can I pick myself? I feel like it would be awkward with anyone else right now.

converse: would you ever have a deep conversation with a stranger and open up to them? I’d have a deep conversation depending on the topic but not open up to them right away. It takes a looooooot for me to open up to people.

lace: when was your last 3am conversation with someone, and who were they to you? Oh gosh. I’m never up at that time because I’m an old lady when it comes to sleep, but back in 11th grade of high school I used to stay up on the phone talking to this guy friend I had. He was super clingy and constantly wanted to talk to me on the phone (like to the point where he’d be pissed if I wouldn’t) and yeah I don’t know why I ever put up with that shit tbh hahaha

handwriting: if you were about to die, and you could only say one more sentence to one person, what would you say and to whom? I don’t even know. I’d probably tell my mom I love her.

cactus: what is your opinion on brown eyes? love them. 90% of my crushes have been on dudes with brown eyes lol.

sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally. already answered this :)

oil paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far? Probably “oh shit!”

overalls: what would you do with one billion dollars? Save some. Donate most of it to charity. Buy a bunch of coffee.

combat boots: are you a very forgiving person? do you like being this way? No. If someone does me wrong regarding something major, I am the most bitter person even though I don’t show it on the outside. I don’t forget things. If it’s something minor though I’m forgiving.

winged eyeliner: write a hundred word letter to your twelve year old self. Breathe dear. Everything’s going to work out. You’re going to make it. You’re going to be okay. You’ll get there one day. Have fun, life’s too short to worry about the future all the time.

pastel: would you describe yourself as more punk or pastel? probably punk

tattoos: how do you feel about tattoos and piercings? explain. They’re nice! I don’t have any but there’s always the future.

piercings: do you wear a lot of makeup? why/why not? Nope, it’s just not something I’ve ever been into.

bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way. Fall Out Boy and Panic! At The Disco are pretty much my life. Whenever I’m feeling shitty, their music takes me away from everything. A Day To Remember is great when I’m upset/pissed off too, especially their songs “All I Want” and “Sometimes You’re The Hammer, Sometimes You’re The Nail”. “2nd Sucks” and “Sticks and Bricks” are perfect if I’m suuuuper mad, I’ve spent plenty of days screaming to those songs in my car. Music has always had a huge impact on me.

messy bun: the world is listening. pick one sentence you would tell them. wake the fuck up people

cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel. My first concert was Gretchen Wilson way back when I was like 8 or 9 because I used to be obsessed with country music. I saw Big Time Rush (and touched James Maslow’s arm, which was a big freaking deal for my 17 year old self, I’m talking tears) on 8/9/13 because I was a super huge fangirl of them. I saw Fall Out Boy on 3/14/16 with my best friend and my mom which was so incredible. Then Panic! At The Disco on 7/23/16 was the best day of my life.

grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say? A letter from Steven Ogg would be cool. I sent something to a fan mail address I found online a year or two ago that was supposed to be his but I assume it was the wrong address.

space: do you have a desk/workspace and how is it organised/not organised? i don’t have a desk but I usually do homework on my bed or on the couch in the living room if no one else is home.

white bed sheets: what is your night time routine? Tumblr, then brushing teeth and going to bed. I usually check the weather for the next day and think about what’s going on in my life and then I finally fall asleep.

old books: what’s one thing you don’t want your parents to know? My internet browser history I guess lol

beaches: if you had to dye your hair how would you dye/style it and why? already answered this one too

eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do? there’s not even five people in my life that i like to be honest hahaha. I’d pick my best friend and my mom. We’d go anywhere that’s not this shitty town.

11:11: name three wishes and why you wish for them. I’d wish for love, happiness, and world peace. I think everyone needs more of all three.

painting: what is the best halloween costume you have ever put together? if none, make one up. Once I was Lady Gaga and it was one of the worst things I’ve ever done on purpose.

lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high? I’ve never been either

thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars? Kill or purposely hurt someone.

storms: you on only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. which and why? Oh shit. I love music but I can’t picture myself only being around one person forever. This is horrible, I’m skipping this

love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realise you’re in love. Yes. I’m too tired to explain it in depth. At the time it’s good.

clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? if you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair? Sure, I don’t think I’d look good with it though

coffee: what’s your starbucks order, and who would you trust to order for you, if anyone? I like a bunch of different drinks. iced vanilla latte, iced caramel macchiato, and iced coffee with milk are my main ones. I trust mom (even though she’d probably mispronounce the sizes or call it a “vintage iced caramel macchiato like she has before) or Emily to order for me

marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now? College. I’ve worked so hard to get where I am and I’m not stopping now

Thank you so much, I think you’ve cured my boredom for the night lol

#ask #anon #about #personal #not gta #long post

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xottzot · 7 years

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2017-4(APR)-18 -Tuesday--(later)- a toddler child left to be run over on the road as usual.

2017-4(APR)-18 -Tuesday--(later)- a toddler chlld left to be run over on the road as usual.

By now you should be well aware of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD that is the bane of so many innocents all around the area, including innocent residents.

Despite years of countless West Australian Police, and authorities interventions and visits and who knows what the hell pathetic attempts to make them 'normal', it is an dismal failure. And that's what the Police and departmentals despise hearing, that they have failed.

But it is only because of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD inhabitants who couldn't care less. All others instead are made to suffer.

And the aboriginals have been constantly bailed out and helped masively from a huge anonymous entity. It was done to make them impossible to 'fail'. And that just made them worse.

I still laugh at the acceptance of the bullshit that the aboriginals used to obtain the rental place which has become the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. Of course it was a lie. - It was claimed that the household was only two lesbians living together. --- And that's just not only been a lie, because that's all these criminals at the criminal house ever do, it's a slap in the face for anyone who's ever tried to rightly have that as a reason to get house and is refused. -- The amount of people 'living' at that aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD place floats as they move about and swap living in other aboriginal houses at their whim to escape authorities and Police.

Here is a microscosm event that occured today netween 2:50pm and 3:30pm, Tuesday, 18 April, 2017.

Innocent new residents were out and about standing next to Kalara Way street, and the father was trying to console his crying small daughter in his arms. (bitten by an ant maybe?) -- They had nothing to do with the following incident but witnessed it themselves as it happened.

From the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, out came an aboriginal child (the usual one) barefoot and wearing a diaper wandering wherever the hell it wanted. NOBODY was with it. It was wandring at will all over teh pace, on the street verge...everwhere. (just as the aboriginals of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD do themselves)

Teh aboriginal toddler wandered outside the low brick fence out the front of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD and began wandering all about the verge next to the road despite vehicles going up and down the road. There was no objections from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. (as normal)

The innocent new resident eye-witness had his small child in his arms and had his other young small daughter standing alongside (away from the road) as they stood nearby on their own street verge. They were all behaving normally as anyone does, and obviously keeping a watch for traffic etc.

But at the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, where normality does not apply, and is not a factor in anyone (including Police and authorities) determining anything when dealing with them, the aboriginal todler was roaming about at will by itself as it has done so truly countless times, and has been allowed to do so for over a year on the active roads all about as well.

The toddler walked out by itself, into the middle of the road. No objection was made by anyone of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

Then the aboriginal toddler literally just sat down in the middle of the road. Again no objection from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

An innocent big truck that was driving along Clayton Street from a westerly direction, innocently turned and entered Kalara Way.

How big a truck? - It was one of those huge ones like ones that carries power poles about upon it. It had a red crane attached to its rear to facilitate loading/unloading.

The truck continued to drive up the street. The shadows of the day may have made any lowered road visibility making the toddler still sitting in the middle of the road hard, if not impossible to see.

Who expects a toddler to be just sitting in the middle of the road?

Somebody yelled out. (from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD?), and the toddler suddenly got up and wobbled off the road onto the verge of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, where it just stood there alone on the driveway as the big truck thundered past, and then drove away.

And did anyone from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD come out and grab the child? - NO.

It was left to go about wandring all about and onto the road again.

Do NOT think that because there was NOT a fatality that this incident is not a severe one. ANYONE other than from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD letting such a thing allow to happen (on a regular basis) would be severely addressed and suffer legal measures.

But nothing like that ever happens to anyone of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. And it has been continually in that state for years. They are immune.

Now do YOU think that this is normal?

Do YOU think that such a common occurence happening at the same place by the same shitheads for so long (well over a year) is allowed to happen?

Well it must be. They are not only 'protected' from any laws, protected from paying money owed, protected from not bothering to have all the other kids (except 2) that the all the kids never go to school as a normal part of their existence and grow up to be just as dumb as the others that keep them, that they perform so many shitty things and crime upon all innocent neighbours and everything, that NOTHING ANYONE does makes any difference or makes the lives of everyone around them (including innocent residents) feel safe. If innocent residents ever compain, then Police and authorities blame THE innocent residents! - It is fact. And has happened time and again.

I have no idea what the newest resident of the area watching all this thought to himself.

What next....picnic blankets spread out on the roads and tea sets laid out with traffic cones all about to force traffic from using the roads?

Oh, but the tea sets would all be smashed by the feral aboriginals, and there would be no tea, it would be coca cola (their staple drink) or booze, and the picnic blanket would be dragged filthy around like a dead sheep.

It's getting closer to a fatality happening......

And if it does, watch all of them scurry for cover and make up lies immediately afterwards. It's what they do.

Wet weather coming soon enough. There was enough near fatalities last winter by the SAME ONES doing insane shit from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD that forced Police and authorities to act (to cover themselves if sued by aboriginals because that's what aborignals love doing, suing other innocent people for what they're responsible for, and blaming other people.)

But normality doesn't exist here. It stopped existing long, long ago. - Innocents suffer. I suffer. Felicity Carthew ran away from all of this but she knows perfectly well the hell that has destroyed me. And each day, just when I think something may not happen......soemthing happens. Like a toddler almost being crushed dead by a huge truck whilst the brat was allowed to sit in the middle of the road.

And no, I don't have a photograph of the brat sitting in the middle of the road. I wish I did. But to attempt to do so would put me at immense physical risk because of criminals. And as an example, an innocent neighbour has already suffered badly from the wrath of the aboriginal criminals who were displeased at being watched, observed, and having proof of them doing what I have been saying for so long.

And when the innocent neighbour tried to innocently and rightly have Police address a serious assault upon them, the Police then blamed the innocent neighbour! How the hell does THAT even occur?

As I said, normality doesn't exist here here in this hellhole.

My internet connectivity and speed is as usual utter crap. Just so you know.

P.@18:33 (18-April-2017). -- I love you Fliss and want to be with you. You fled from us, then blamed us. But we suffer every day. Is this how you leave people who still love you and still want to be with you? Me, the one who loves you and never ever let you down. -- And you wonder why I have nightmares....and so does our dear dogs Sam and Max.....

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