#but consider spending only thirty when i almost spent a hundred dollars or more a type of harm reduction to my wallet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Note

Congrats on the 160 followers!

For your ask event, could I please give you the prompt of “Firsts”? More specifically “First fight”.

I’m thinking canon-verse, established relationship Reed900 with Gavin not realising that his strong, resilient boyfriend actually needs a lot more attention and affection than he lets on. The cause of the fight could be anything, maybe a forgotten anniversary, but I wanna see a fluffy fluffy reconciliation in your trademark writing style!

Thanks Panda!!!❤️❤️❤️

//thank you Maya!!! Also I live this idea

Gavin was many things, but emotionally aware was not one of them. Which was in his humble opinion why he and Nines worked so well, being with Nines didn’t require that much emotional investment. Or so he had thought anyway. He didn’t really notice Nines pulling away from him until he was nearly gone, though now that he was looking back he could see some of the steps that were taken. As they said hindsight was twenty-twenty; but that wasn’t going to help him fix his relationship. Knowing that he was wrong wasn’t going to keep him from losing the best thing that had ever happened to him. It started out slowly enough, Nines started spending fewer nights at Gavin’s apartment, they didn’t live together so that wasn’t entirely unusual. Sometimes Nines needed time to himself, emotions were new to him and they could be overwhelming at times. Or that was what Gavin told himself, his boyfriend was bullet proof and nearly indestructible so it was hard to imagine anything else being wrong. Nines hadn’t been designed to feel anything so it was easy to convince himself that Nines only needed space to process. Then the coffees had stopped. Richard expressed himself largely through actions, and he expressed affection specifically through gifts, in Gavin’s case coffee. There was a stretch of weeks where the coffees were few and far between, but that was because they were working a big case and there just wasn’t time, though by the time the case had been closed they had stopped all together. Which Gavin hadn’t noticed until then because he was only human and could only put all of his focus on one thing at a time; and the maybe issue with Nines was not the thing that needed his attention at the time. It would pass, Nines just needed space.

Connor had been the last straw. It wasn’t that he thought Nines was cheating, he knew better than that. The reason Connor was the last straw was because of how Connor saw Nines. Nines was his little brother despite being the bigger and arguably more powerful of the two; Connor had been around longer and knew a little more about how things worked. Moreover Connor had loved, he knew what it was supposed to look like. Gavin didn’t particularly want to be on the bad side of someone made to get away with crimes. Either of them actually, though he feared Connor more than Nines. Nines looked the part, Connor did not, and there would have been people who argued that Gavin deserved it. So he needed to fix this before it got to that point. Easier said than done because Nines was actively avoiding him, which Gavin was sort of impressed by considering as they were partners. He would disappear at the end of their shift without giving Gavin a chance to say anything. It was getting frustrating. How was he supposed to fix things when he wasn’t being given a chance to learn what was wrong. That would change soon though. Things came to a head on a Friday afternoon. They were in Gavin’s car riding back from a scene when he couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Can you tell me what I did at least?” He asked, taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Nines, “If you’re going to avoid me.” “I’m not avoiding you.” Came the calculated reply, “I am putting as much effort into this relationship as you are.” Gavin wanted to call bullshit, “What do you mean?”

“I always come to you when we are together. I bring you coffee when we’re at the station.” He replied and there was anger at the very edge of his voice and something else, “But I get nothing back. I pull away and you can’t be bothered to check until Connor and I put in to swap partners.” “You what?” Gavin snapped, that shouldn’t have been what caught him and he knew it, “You’re going to work with Hank? Nines, what the hell?” “I don’t see another option Gavin. Clearly you want space and this seems the best way to handle that.” Nines replied, his voice back to level, “And I need time to reevaluate things apparently because I thought we were on the same page.” Gavin would have stared at him if he weren’t driving. Getting in a car accident didn’t seem like a good way to break the tension, “What is it exactly that made you think I wanted space? You have a multi-million dollar brain so what made it jump to that conclusion out of all of them.” “Your emotional distance for one thing. Humans are meant to feel things and unless you’re mad there usually isn’t anything.” Nines explained, “The fact that it has taken you four months to realize something is wrong despite my trying to bring it up several times. Out of all the things that should have upset you, what got a reaction out of you is that I would rather shadow the Lieutenant than be ignored.” Gavin sighed as they pulled into the station. “Then go.” He said, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do and there was no point in keeping Nines if he didn’t want to stay, “I clearly can’t make you happy so find someone who will.” He heard a computerized something come from Nines followed by a burst of static, and then he was gone. The echo of the car door closing sounded almost like a judge’s gavel coming down. Gavin couldn’t shake the feeling that he had made a mistake.

As much as Gavin hated the saying that you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, he found it was true. After months of working, if it could be called that, with Connor, he missed Nines. There was more to it than that as well. He spent a lot of time watching Nines, and he noticed that he wasn’t nearly as emotionally flat as Gavin had believed him to be. He wasn’t as expressive as Connor, but he showed what he was in small ways. Or perhaps Gavin was just seeing this now because he and Hank treated their partners so differently. As much as he and Hank had their personal differences and opinions, Gavin would be one of the first to admit that Hank was more kind to the people he worked with than Gavin was. Perhaps it was his general disposition, or maybe because Hank had multiple partners over his career and that made him easier to work with. Where given his prickly nature Gavin tended to work on his own and didn’t handle team work well. Though the one nice thing about this was he was learning from a distance how to handle Nines. While Gavin wasn’t a nurturer by nature in the way that Hank was, or at all really, it was nice to learn that was what Nines responded the most to. It made sense in a way as well since that was the same way that he took care of others. Hank would bring him a pouch of thirium or a cup of something to sample whenever he got up to get coffee; the same thing he had seen him do with Connor. He made an effort to learn about Nines and make conversation with him, which Gavin tried as well, but he wasn’t all that chatty unless he was drunk so that wasn’t on the table. He knew now, in a sense, what to do to try and fix this.

It took him longer than he would have liked, and a significant amount of pushing from Connor before Gavin was ready to confront his mistake. Nines had seemed so happy without him, so it was easy for him to believe that it was better like this; for Nines at least. Connor agreed to help him so that week Gavin got himself mentally prepared and made plans for the end of the week on how he was going to do this. He was going to fox this, or at least apologize if Nines was already moved on. Here was the thing about having plans and anxiety, time became a myth and the day you were fearing came after what felt like a thirty minute nap. Friday was there before Gavin had psyched himself up enough, but he couldn’t back out because he was pretty sure Connor would come after him if he did. His plan started with a small detour before work. He stopped at a cafe that he learned Nines liked and ordered something for him, he could make coffee for himself at the station. When he got back to the car he put the sticky note that he rewrote at least a hundred times on the lid and drove to the station. He hoped this wasn’t too cheesy, but Nines liked solving mysteries so Gavin was praying this would work. He set the cup on Nines’s desk as he walked to his own. Nines either wasn’t in yet or busy which made things easier on Gavin, he wasn’t sure he could explain himself if he had been asked. It was a matter of courage as well as the plan was entirely contingent on the first sticky note working. Connor had agreed to set the rest of them up, mostly because he didn’t want Gavin to chicken out which was an entirely valid point. As often as he stuck to his guns when it came to his opinions and getting into fights, when it came to personal matters he was much less bold. This was important though so he was going to stick to it. He spent more time staring at Nines’s desk than he did working, even after Nines had come back. Luck had him missing Nines studying the cup, but he did see him put the sticky note on his monitor which he hoped was a good thing.

His plan started with a scavenger hunt that brought Nines to the places that meant the most to the two of them and places he had known Nines to find privately special for reasons Gavin wasn’t privy to. Each place had a sticky note with a clue, he had asked Connor to come up with a code for it, something that Nines would have to work at a little to solve. He would have done it on his own, but Nines had a powerful mind and Gavin didn’t so it only seemed fair that he level he playing field a little. He didn’t know the system Connor had used but he did know the answer. He wanted this to work, but even if it didn’t he hoped Nines would enjoy himself while he did it. The day passed slowly for Gavin because of his worry. He didn’t feel like he got all that much done which was unusual. Going back to the apartment seemed daunting as he made his way to his car, there would be one of two results when he got back and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face either one. The best option meant putting in consious effort into being more aware of what Nines needed from him, and the worst one meant he had done too little too late. He was tempted to detour but didn’t, because not having an answer was almost worse. He was distracted on the drive home and made his way back on autopilot. He parked and took a moment to gather himself, he would get an answer tonight. He needed to focus on that rather than what the answer would be. This awkward uncomfortable thing would be ending today, either in a second chance or closure, but it was ending today. That was Gavin’s silver lining.

There wasn’t anyone outside of his apartment when he got up to it. He ignored the ache in his chest in favor of hoping Nines was only late. Connor had made the code so it probably wasn’t easy, it would take time. He turned his key in the lock and opened the door, instead of being greeted by his cat he was met with dim lighting and music. In the middle of it stood Nines. Gavin probably would have cried if he could get his emotions in order. “You came....” Was what he managed instead, breathed above a whisper and carrying the weight of all of the things he was feeling. He let the door fall shut behind him as he tried to gather himself. “Of course I did.” Nines replied as he made his way closer, “I learned what I put you through today, and I only thought it would be fitting to put as much effort into my apology as you did yours. That’s what you do when you love someone.” That broke Gavin and this time the tears came unbidden. He hugged Nines and buried his face in his chest, this wasn’t something he had expected. All those months he assumed Nines to be better off, happy even, without him there. He hadn’t known he was hurting. He didn’t have the words to express as much, and it didn’t seem that he needed to. Nines closed his arms around Gavin and ran his fingers through his hair. He made a sound that seemed more contemplative than comforting, but Gavin figured he was trying his best.

“You were so quiet that day Gavin. I expected more of a fight from you, but you just pulled away.” Nines said after a moment, there was remorse in his words, “I didn’t know then that it was because you were hurting. I thought you had just given up. I was so upset I didn’t go into stasis for days.” He paused for a moment, “Hank explained things to me, how humans react when they’re hurt and I realized how I had messed up, but I didn’t know how to fix it. You got to that first. I want you to know that I love you and I never stopped, and I don’t plan to.”

@asset35-maya

(Prompt from this list)

#Canonverse 'short'#reed900 #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh fic #dbh #160 follower ask event!#ask panda #panda has all the answers!

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brattyfics · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Daya Galindo [Black OC]

Word Count: 4,681

Synopsis | Masterlist

Chapter One

On the last leg of a week-long trip to San Diego, Daya Galindo did her best to remain engaging, open, and approachable.

Along with thirty other members of San Diego’s elite inner circle, she occupied one Petco Park’s most expensive and exclusive Skyboxes. Many of her nights were spent in the same Skybox attending the Padre’s baseball games.

This time, however, the Skybox has been transformed into a ballroom of sorts. Several circular tables were spaced out in the large room, eight chairs provided at each. Simple but elegant centerpieces decorated the tables.

The $10,000 a night Skybox opened up to the empty stadium on one side, and a breathtaking view of San Diego’s skyline on the other side. The sliding floor-to-ceiling windows were closed, and Daya found herself missing the fresh air she enjoyed on game days.

Most attendees remained inside, adding to the suffocating feeling in her chest.

Her husband, commercial real estate mogul and serial entrepreneur, Miguel Galindo, was one of the few people outside on the brick terrace. He used the balcony to take a private call.

“You look so pretty!” Marcy Stevens, the wife of a potential business partner, complimented Daya in a chipper tone.

An eight-hundred dollar silk cocktail dress stopped just above her ankles. An equally expensive pair of nude heels complimented the deep red of her dress. The front was designed to cover her breasts, giving the illusion of modesty while the fabric hugged her curves, outlining her shape. Thin straps were tied intricately on the back of the low cut dress. The ensemble was on-brand for Mrs. Galindo, a perfect balance between sexy and classy.

The big, springy curls that framed her heart-shaped face, bunching around the top of her shoulders, were also on brand. Her makeup was done simply, shades of brown and gold to complement her features.

Marcy was right. She did look stunning.

Regardless, Daya did her best to appear humbled by the compliment. It wasn’t that she was cocky or arrogant. The truth was she had become numb.

“You too! I love your lipstick. What shade is it?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure.” The middle-aged woman considered it for a moment before ruffling through her compact.

With a bright smile, she held the tube of lipstick up victoriously. She passed it over to Daya to inspect.

After pretending to take note of the brand and shade in her mind, she passed the tube back to Marcy. “Thank you.”

She couldn’t care less what shade of lipstick the woman wore, but the name of the game was flattery. Fundraising galas, country club banquets, and art exhibits had all become a blur of polite one-liners one after the other.

“It’s so nice to see you.” She lied even when it wasn’t.

“We have to have dinner and drinks soon.” She said to be polite, even when she’d rather not spend her time discussing the newest fashion releases with bored housewives.

“How are the kids?” She asked, although she had no interest in listening to parents ramble on about how great their mediocre children were.

“I love your dress. Who designed it?” Chances were she didn’t care.

A lively buzz of murmurs was standard for these events. Conversations flowed as freely as the champagne. Whether it was to foster relationships or just pass the time, people desperately spewed out the words like they would die if they couldn’t get it all out.

The constant chatter annoyed her, but Daya was able to connect with almost anyone on some level.

She knew a little bit about a lot of things, so conversations about sports, stock-trading, or even spa treatments were right up her alley. She never would have imagined herself as the type of woman to participate in meaningless conversations daily, but alas, she was. Her experience as a member of California’s high society was a far cry from her upbringing.

Daya Galindo was born Dayana Sims inside a community hospital in Hawthorne, California. Her mother, Denise Sims, settled in Cali sometime during her pregnancy. Denise didn’t talk about her life before Daya much. Her daughter knew almost nothing about her mother’s family or her reasons for moving to California. She didn’t even know her dad!

Daya was as inquisitive as any kid. She often wondered about him—who he was, what he looked like, where he lived, and if he ever thought about her. Her mother shut down any questions about him. The answer was always ‘stay in a child’s place’ or ‘grow up and let it go’. That was her mother’s response to anything uncomfortable, and inadvertently she taught her daughter to shrink herself to avoid conflict.

It was one of many bad habits that years of expensive therapy hadn’t completely fixed.

Denise had also taught her daughter to not form attachments. They moved around a lot when Daya was young. Most times it was only a few cities over, but each time she left someone behind. There was no explanation for why. That’s just how it was. She made it through her teens and early twenties without feeling the need to set down roots.

Her husband, Miguel, changed that.

On paper, Miguel Galindo was everything any woman would want in a husband. He was wealthy, smart, handsome, and charming when he wanted to be.

An honors graduate of Stanford, he quickly established a name for himself in business. Fresh out of college, he moved to New York and started a career in luxury real estate. From there, his interests transferred to commercial properties, and thus the entrepreneur in him was born. Miguel now owned successful businesses on both the East and West Coast.

When Daya met Miguel, he was new to Santo Padre and adjusting to his new lifestyle. The man who raised him died, and his mother, Dita was a wreck. Miguel vividly remembered the sounds of Jose beating Dita a room over, and the way he viciously chose his words to cut her down. Everyone thought she would be excited to start the next chapter of her life without him, but Dita took his death the hardest.

Becoming the man of the family meant his own complicated relationship with Jose was put on the back burner. His mother needed him, and the family business desperately needed tending to.

As the couple’s only child, he was the obvious heir. Regardless of his feelings about it, it was inevitable. Miguel’s future had been decided before he was even born.

Through the crystal clear glass, Daya watched Miguel’s face contort in annoyance. With a quick wave of his hand, he gestured for his head of security, Nestor Oceteva, to join him at his side. A few words were uttered between them before they were making their way inside. She expected Miguel to rejoin her at the table, but instead, he made a beeline for the elevators.

She was a little concerned, but not alarmed. If anything had gone seriously wrong, Miguel would be by her side, excusing them for the evening. He probably just needed more privacy.

Daya stepped up in his absence, focusing on the Stevens’ project in front of her.

Tom Stevens was Marcy’s husband and the owner of a chain of hotels in downtown San Diego. Property value in San Diego was higher than ever and steadily increasing, which made the hotels a worthy addition to Miguel’s portfolio.

An epiphany inspired Tom. He was passionate about the hotels because he built them from the ground up, but he realized his passion was better suited for home.

Marcy was a forty-something widower who decided to give love another chance with Tom. He was ten years her senior and even more unlucky in love, but he didn’t let his previously failed relationships stop him from trying again. The couple were newlyweds, and it showed with the way they giggled and grinned at each other every few seconds. It was cute watching them interact like love-struck teenagers.

Daya and Miguel had their moments, of course, but what they had was much different than the Stevens’. The young couple had gone through their rough patches and made it out on the other side, but the newlywed glimmer was definitely gone. Tom and Marcy were still open to each other and hopeful for the future. Willfully naive in Daya’s opinion.

No, what she and Miguel had was much more complicated. Neither of them trusted anybody completely, even themselves.

In between light conversation, she admired the night sky. In the distance, she could see the top of their hotel. It would be at least another hour before she could go back there, sinking into the king-sized mattress for the night. The Egyptian cotton sheets were calling her name.

“I was out in Brawley the other day, and I saw some of your signs up. What are you guys working on out there?”

If she remembered correctly, it was Luke that was speaking to her. Daya turned in her chair to face him as she responded.

Mama always said, “A woman’s work is never done.”

Another fifteen minutes passed before Miguel rejoined them, the vein in his forehead also present and in attendance.

Daya took a quick glance over her shoulder in search of Nestor. He wore a similar expression, confirming her suspicions.

They hadn’t resolved the problem.

Her hand found her husband’s thigh, softly stroking the strong muscle through his slacks. They sat close enough to the table that the movement was hidden. She smiled at him innocently when his eyes found hers for a second, a clear warning behind them.

A young woman with toffee-colored skin, and a short coiled Afro, approached the table, introducing herself as Eva.

Daya scanned her slim frame in the bright green dress she wore while Marcy explained how they met. Seven months ago, while volunteering at Skid Row, apparently.

Tom stood to offer Eva his seat, hand resting on the back of Marcy’s chair.

Eva talked about her non-profit organization, speaking passionately with her hands about what needed to be done to eradicate poverty. She shared her personal experience with homelessness, and how it shaped her life.

The expression on everyone’s faces said they were listening intently, but Daya knew better.

Millionaires didn’t care about poverty, because their wealth depended on it.

Daya had never been homeless, but she had been poor, and it wasn’t fun. Helping to dismantle capitalism was the last thing on her to-do list. She knew it was selfish, but she didn’t care.

While Eva spoke, Daya’s fingers inched up her husband’s thigh. She wasn’t surprised to find he was already half ready for her, his length thickening underneath his expensive slacks.

Miguel leaned over to whisper in her ear, the hairs of his beard just lightly tickling her ear.

“Watch yourself, conejita.”

The words sent a chill down her spine, but she didn’t remove her hand. Shifting in her seat, she crossed her legs in a poor attempt to dull the subtle throb below.

To her left, Luke asked Eva a question, diverting everyone’s attention to him. Daya used it as an opportunity to push her man further.

“Or what, papi?” The term of endearment rolled off her tongue with ease.

“Keep it up and you’ll find out.” He whispered through clenched teeth, speaking without moving his mouth. It reminded her of a mother scolding their child, and she resisted the urge to laugh.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” She warned Miguel, tapping his knee patronizingly.

Miguel’s arm came up to rest on the top of her chair, and his head dipped to whisper in her ear once more.

“Brat.” The word triggered something in her, and she bit the inside of her cheek.

A better woman would be annoyed by the nickname, or even insulted. Along with other words a wholesome woman wouldn’t appreciate, brat was a term of endearment between them.

Daya straightened, trying to clear her mind of dirty thoughts. The heated looks they were giving each other weren’t appropriate for the topic of discussion.

When she and Eva made eye contact, she nodded politely. When the woman stopped speaking, she would need to have something of substance to add to the conversation.

“Are you ready to go?” Miguel asked his wife, hand resting on her hip. She sighed with relief at his words.

The two of them had left the table under the guise of socializing, only to slowly make their way out onto the balcony.

"I've been ready. I hate to say it, but Marcy is working on my last nerve." Daya groaned as she remembered how Marcy kept her locked down for the past forty minutes. She had left the woman inside, and she hoped Marcy had found someone else to occupy her time.

"I don't know how many more fake bathroom breaks I could have taken before she noticed it was just to get away from her."

Miguel smirked at his flustered wife. She had a good poker face and tried to sell that nothing could face her. It was always a little entertaining to see cracks in her facade.

“I just hope this is all worth it. I have a headache from listening to everyone talk, and I can feel blisters forming on my feet.” She complained, pouting up at him.

Miguel dropped a quick kiss to her lips in apology before sparing a glance at her feet. "You don't have blisters, honey."

“You don’t have blisters, honey.”

“How do you know?”

Daya’s eyebrows raised, challenging him.

“I just do.”

“Well, how about you inspect them tonight when you’re massaging them?” She asked in a sweet tone.

Miguel laughed.

“Is that your way of asking for a foot massage?”

Daya nodded.

“Come on, loca. Let’s say our goodbyes, so we can get out of here.”

Locking hands, the couple began the slow process of trading goodbyes and promises for later dates. Another fifteen minutes later, they made it outside into the chilly night air, the California breeze kissing their skin. Daya was more than relieved to see the fleet of black SUVs that waited for them.

Nestor Oceteva stood by the truck in the middle, opening the back door for them. “Thank you, Ness.” Daya told him, accepting his help up into the vehicle.

A driver and Nestor's second-in-command and cousin, Antonio Oceteva, occupied the front seats. Daya greeted them both warmly as she crawled across the leather seats.

"I can't wait to get out of these shoes." She said to no one in particular.

With no answer, she slid across the seat to see what the hold up was. Miguel stood outside of the car, several feet away. In a heated tone, he and Nestor discussed something she couldn't make out.

Antonio turned around in his seat to stop her, hand stopping just before it touched her knee. She eyed his hesitant hand for a moment before she met his eyes. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Antonio was all business when he gathered himself to speak. "He'll be with you shortly, Mrs. Galindo." She huffed in response.

Daya craned her neck to look out of the window once more, but it didn't do much good. From her vantage point she could see that Nestor wasn’t happy, but not much else.

"What's going on?" She asked Antonio catching his hazel eyes in the rear view mirror. He didn't look worried, and that helped to soothe her some. At the same time, she knew it could just be his military training at work.

"I'm not sure, ma'am." He spoke in an even tone, giving nothing away. She thanked him but continued to look out of the window.

Daya didn’t need to know every single gory detail, but Miguel knew she hated being left in the dark. It created distance between them and made her feel shut out.

She could almost hear her therapist telling her to slow down and think. Logically, she knew Miguel meant no harm, but it reminded her of her childhood, making her feel small and insignificant.

He found her in the backseat with her arms crossed, eyes closed, and heeled feet tapping impatiently against the floor of the car.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, mi amor.” With a simple nod, he signaled for the driver to take them to the hotel.

His warm hand found her belly, holding her there while his tongue slipped past her pouty lips into her mouth.

She responded the way he expected, melting under his touch. Soft hands cupped his face, deepening the kiss. His hands slid down to rest on the curve of her ass as she leaned into him. With each movement, Daya felt less tense. Several moments passed before they broke apart.

“What’s happening?” Daya asked, breathless from the kiss. Her eyes scanned Miguel's face for answers.

“It’s nothing you should worry yourself about.”

Miguel’s hands roamed her body, but she knew it was a distraction.

There’s a saying, “You either tell your wife everything, or nothing.”

Miguel often found himself stuck somewhere in the middle. There had been a time where he told her almost everything. Now, he operated on a need-to-know basis.

“That’s your favorite thing to say these days.” Daya said it with a smile, but her eyes told a different story.

“I didn’t mean it that way, mi alma. I just mean it’s not important enough to bother you with. I’m going to take care of it tonight, and then it’s done.”

“You’re leaving tonight?” She didn’t bother to hide that she was upset anymore.

The couple had spent the last three days in San Diego, occupying the penthouse suite of a downtown hotel. Their home was located in Santo Padre, a small border town on the outskirts of Calexico, two hours away from San Diego. Miguel had several meetings in San Diego during the week--with Tom, one of his lawyers, and the event. It just made more sense to stay in town for the week, rather than make the trek back and forth.

“I know I promised, but...yes. I have to take care of this tonight.”

The young couple had agreed to use the few days as a mini-vacation to recharge and spend quality time together. He had kept his promise so far, but she wasn’t happy their time together would be ending early.

“I understand.” Business came first. Always.

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything. I said it’s fine.” She pushed down the anger she felt bubbling in her chest. “Seriously, I’m not upset. There’s no point. You’re still going to do what you have to. Right?”

He nodded, watching as she checked out of the conversation. She faced the window, staring out of it at the blur of lights.

“Do you want to go home? If that will make you more comfortable, they can take you tonight.”

“No. I’m okay. I don’t want to be on the road in the dark." She told him with a grimace. "I’ll find a way to entertain myself.”

The blur of neon lights transitioned into shades of shadowy grey as they entered the parking garage of the hotel.

“Nestor’s going with me, but Antonio will be here along with…” Daya tuned out as he named the guards that would stay in San Diego with her.

“They’ll take you home in the morning.” She nodded, gathering her bearings as the driver parked.

“Will you be there?”

“I’ll try.” She was disappointed in his answer, but at least he wasn’t getting her hopes up.

Antonio opened her door, and she accepted his warm, calloused hand as she stepped out of the vehicle.

Miguel met her halfway at the back of the truck, opening his arms for a hug. She stepped into them, the smell of his signature cologne washing over her. It relaxed her, and she forced herself to enjoy the moment. She was annoyed at her husband, but she loved him and wanted to appreciate every moment with him.

“Be good.” He whispered in her ear, tone gentle, but serious.

“I can’t make any promises.”

Antonio averted his gaze, turning his back to them. Nestor and the guards followed, choosing instead to focus on different parts of the garage. There were plenty of shadows for a person to hide in, and the couple needed privacy.

Miguel’s arms tightened around her waist, squeezing to let her know he was serious.

“You heard what I said.”

Before she could get a smart response out, she felt his manhood poking against her belly. Miguel wasn’t a tyrant, but he liked to play King of the Jungle sometimes; backing her into corners, and giving her silly ultimatums that he knew she’d rebel against. It was a fun game because it elicited a carnal response in both of them to fight for dominance.

“Be good or else I’m going to have to spank this fat ass.” She gasped as his hands cupped her ass. He squeezed the fat in his hands before jiggling it.

Daya moaned quietly, pinching her plump bottom lip under her teeth.

“You’ve told me what’s behind door number one. Now, what do I get for being a good girl? ‘Cause I have to say door number one doesn’t sound so bad right now.”

He pretended to think, cocking his head to the side. “What’s the saying, ‘happy husband, happy life’?”

Daya pressed a kiss to his chin. “That’s definitely not the saying, but fine. I’ll be good, but you owe me a foot massage for skipping out early.”

“I thought I owed you one because of the heels.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” She would also have to pack his luggage for him. “Three. You’re in the hole for three foot massages, mister. I expect full payment by the end of the month. Got it?” There were plenty of people with better massage skills than her husband, but for some reason, they felt better when they came from him.

“I have no idea how you calculated three, but yes ma’am. I miss you already, conejita.”

Her arms circled his neck, pulling him for a kiss. “I miss you more."

Years of learning each other made it so they were in sync when their lips met, stoking fires in each other that wouldn't be extinguished any time soon.

“I. Love. You.” She told him in between greedy pecks. “Call me when you get a chance, ‘kay?” He nodded, understanding she meant for him to call when he reached the border. She would probably be asleep by the time he made it there, but it made her feel better when he checked in.

“I love you too.”

Entering the luxurious penthouse suite, the first thing Daya did was free herself from the designer death traps disguised as shoes.

There were plenty of amenities for her to enjoy— a jacuzzi style bathtub, and a spacious balcony with a breathtaking view of the bayfront. She intended to make the most of her time alone.

After assuring Antonio she was in for the night and wouldn't need his services, she stripped down to her birthday suit and ran a bubble bath.

The purple bottle was nearly finished from all the bubble baths she'd taken during the week. Whiffs of the lavender essential oil flowed up through her nose as she eased herself down into the rectangular tub. Powerful jets massaged her aching muscles with hot water, washing the day away.

Her hair sat in a messy bun on top of her head, loose strands clinging to her neck. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her hair puffed up with frizz, but she didn't let it bother her.

Old school R&B played on her phone. She could barely hear it over the sound of the jets, but she crooned right along with the singer enthusiastically.

Eventually, the water was too cool to stand and she was forced to get out. With wrinkled palms, she dried herself off with the fluffy white towel.

Wrapping it around her midsection, she settled into the low chair of the vanity. It took some time, but she carefully removed her makeup and moisturized her skin.

Staring at herself in the mirror without all the bells and whistles was always a little humbling. It felt dramatic, like she was in a cheesy coming of age movie or something, but it was eye-opening. So much of her time was spent pretending for others—dressing her body up, and her personality down.

The exclusive parties and expensive accessories were fun, but they weren't everything. Most people that came across her thought she was superficial, but in reality, she was the opposite. She would never be able to convince them otherwise and that was fine.

The people that knew her understood her, and that was all that mattered. She had a close-knit, but complicated relationship with her friend group. Most of them had known each other for years, so there were layers to their relationships.

Daya, her very best friend, Ariel Castillo, and Ezekiel Reyes made up the core group.

The three of them met freshman year when Daya moved to Santo Padre. Along with the pressures of going to a new school, she had to deal with being the small fry in a group of big fish. Ariel and Ezekiel had been there to make the experience bearable. They connected through honor classes and bonded over their shared desire to go somewhere else, and be someone different.

Miraculously, all of them ended up stuck in Santo Padre.

Ariel received a full-ride scholarship to UCLA. She made it through the first year and a half, completing all her core courses, but then her father got sick. She came home to take care of him, but couldn't bring herself to leave again when he got better. So she settled, forgot her dreams of being a surgeon, and went to nursing school. Ariel was great at her job, the best Santo Padre Medical had to offer, but it hadn't been her dream.

Ezekiel hadn't even made it through his first year of college when his mother was shot and killed in his father's store. Her unexpected death made him spiral, sending him on a witch hunt to find out who was responsible. One thing led to another and he made a fatal mistake that ended him up in prison for eight years.

Daya never left Santo Padre for college. She was good with academics in high school, but always had a passion for art. Her mother didn't have any money to put towards college, and she wasn't particularly excited about spending another four years in school. So, she did what she was good at, designing web pages for business owners around Santo Padre.

It didn't pay great, but it allowed her to make connections. People were impressed with her work and shared it with their friends and partners. With a stroke of good luck, she was able to form the connections and save the money to start her own web development and design company. In thirteen years' time, she expanded the business across California from Santo Padre to Los Angeles, becoming one of the most popular and successful in its industry. Daya had touched more money than she ever thought possible.

She had traveled for a while, creating new stations took time and a lot of energy. In between, she went on trips out of the country, learning about new cultures and customs. It was hard to do with a growing business, but the experiences were worth it.

Eventually, she met Miguel, a kindred spirit who wished to be anywhere but Santo Padre. It was ironic that it was the very place they were both forced to settle. Miguel out of duty, Daya out of love and stability.

People came to Santo Padre from the north, south, east, and west. From Northern Cali, Arizona, or Mexico. The quaint town was like a vortex, drawing people towards it from all sides. Most were smart enough to pass through, but those that stopped stayed forever.

GENERAL TAGLIST:

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @ifoundmyhappythought @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @thesandbeneathmytoes

“DEARLY DEPARTED” TAGLIST:

@buttercup812 @princesscornbread @oa-zidan @tian-monique @lovebennycolon @aria725

#mayans mc #miguel galindo #miguel galindo x black!oc #miguel galindo x black oc #miguel galindo x reader #please let me know what you think

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semperintrepida · 4 years

Text

The Sellout, chapter two

two: the big reveal

Kassandra sipped her coffee and surveyed the Portland skyline: the muddy river far below, Mount Hood backlit by sunrise skies as soft and pink as a kitten's tongue, and the laughably light traffic skating along I5. Roofs and trees, then trees in greater and greater numbers until they made a velvety green carpet all the way to the mountains. Portland had to be the smallest big city she'd ever lived in.

She sipped again, letting the coffee's warmth ward off the chill from the polished concrete floor beneath her feet, and she wandered away from the unbroken expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows that formed the eastern wall of her condo, back to the table where her laptop waited for her to put the finishing touches on the Yelp review she'd been dying to write since yesterday afternoon.

After visiting fifty — no, closer to a hundred — coffee shops in the month she'd lived here so far, she'd never experienced one quite like Cliffhanger Coffee. The latte she'd ordered was damn near perfect, but the coffee snob capital of the US was full of near-perfect lattes. It wasn't full of beautiful, dark-haired women with fire in their eyes who could pull espresso shots while throwing volleys of sharp, sharp words at the first sign of a threat.

Despite turning up the dials on her charm and attentiveness, Kassandra had gotten skewered almost as soon as she'd opened her mouth. After two years of living with Pacific Northwest passive aggressiveness, the woman's flat-out, in-your-face aggressiveness had hit Kassandra like the first taste of a sea breeze after years in the desert.

She'd savored every sip of that latte while walking up Belmont back to her car, and later on, she'd fallen asleep thinking about the woman's sharp words, the muscled lines of her forearms, and how they'd disappeared into blackwork tattoos that ran under the rolled-up sleeves of her flannel shirt. Trees on one arm and plants on the other, ferns giving way to some kind of vine, twisting in intricate lines on her skin...

Kassandra shook the thought away and focused on the text she'd written. Come for the delicious drinks, stay if the barista likes you... She tapped a finger against her chin in thought, then typed out one final sentence before she clicked "Post Review."

She examined her handiwork with a satisfied grin, then finished off the last of her coffee. Maybe she could squeeze in a visit to the other side of the river after her one o'clock planning meeting downtown. She picked up her phone.

Dessa answered in the middle of the first ring. "Good morning, Kassandra." She'd been Kassandra's assistant long enough to know her working hours went from seven a.m. to seven p.m. and often beyond.

"Dessa. Good morning. How's my two to four looking this afternoon?"

Quiet click-clicks as Dessa brought up her calendar. "You've got a one-on-one with Trevor Adams from two-thirty to three-thirty."

"Reschedule him to early next week."

"Consider it done."

"Any messages for me?"

"Kevin would like you to call, but he says it's not urgent."

Kassandra snorted. A CEO's not urgent merely meant right now instead of yesterday. "Coordinate a call with Lisa so I can talk to him at his earliest convenience." Lisa, his long-suffering admin assistant, who'd followed him from Microsoft to Juniper and every other stop along the way.

"It'll probably be around eight-thirty."

"That works." She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "How're things back at the ranch?"

A sigh. "Markos has been looking for you."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "He can make a calendar request like everyone else."

"I told him that, but you know how he is."

She did, all too well. He liked his meetings with her to be in person and off the record, like he was some big-shot politician instead of a middling marketing executive. "I'll be on site tomorrow morning. If he weasels by again, tell him he can buy me lunch."

"Will do. Anything else you need?"

"That's it for now. Thanks, Dessa."

She gave one last smirking glance at Yelp, then closed the browser tab and pulled up Outlook. The number of messages in her inbox had reached quadruple digits, and she made a mental note to spend some time cleaning it up later. She scrolled around until she found the email she wanted, then picked up her phone again. "Hi, Evelyn. It's Kassandra. Ready to start crunching those square footage numbers on the southeast flagship?"

.oOo.

A little after two o'clock, Kassandra turned her Audi R8 onto the looping ramp that led up to the Morrison Bridge, and just past the apex of the curve, she punched the gas and grinned as the big V10 began to howl. The acceleration shoved her hard into her seat, and it was like sitting in a recliner strapped to a rocket, more than making up for the fact that the car only came with an automatic transmission. No matter. If she wanted to shift gears herself, she had motorcycles for that.

She found a place to park on a side street off Belmont, slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, then backtracked a couple of blocks to the building that housed Cliffanger Coffee. The neighborhood wore its light industrial roots proudly: lots of brick and corrugated metal, and the coffeeshop's building was no exception. The ground floor units had lofted ceilings, but there were two more floors above them that looked like they'd been converted into apartments sometime in the last forty years. Likely rent controlled. Probably what had kept the owner from tearing it all down and putting up a mixed use development in its place.

A development on a street corner like this could net tens of millions.

The corner unit was occupied by a store selling overpriced furniture, and she scanned the price tags through the windows as she passed: five-hundred-dollar end tables and six-thousand-dollar couches. The store had probably been open for less than a year. She wondered what had been in its place a decade ago, when the coffee shop next door had moved in and nudged this neighborhood a little further down the path of gentrification.

A slate-colored sign bearing the words "Cliffhanger Coffee" hung over the door, the bold white lettering in a font that was clean and timeless rather than trendy, set over an angular slash that was more suggestive of a cliff than explicit.

Kassandra pushed the door open and stepped inside. Busier today, with customers dotting the interior tables, and the same three people from yesterday seated at the couches, deep in conversation. The woman — the owner, Kassandra reminded herself — was at the register, smiling as she handed a cup to a customer. At the sound of the door opening, her gaze slid from the man, to Kassandra, then back again.

The woman's smile faded as soon as the customer turned his back to her. She wore a blue and white plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and tight black jeans. The buckle of her belt glinted silver under the menu board's lights. "What do you want?" she asked as Kassandra walked up to the counter, her gaze as opaque as smoked glass, and Kassandra knew she wasn't really asking about a drink.

"I'll take a double shot, bone dry cappuccino, please."

The woman's eyes narrowed a fraction as Kassandra's weaponized order hit its mark. "Four dollars and thirty cents," she said flatly, slamming her fingertip into the register's touchscreen so hard its plastic casing creaked. This time, Kassandra took a good look at the woman's hands: long and slender, implying fine bones within, but her fingers were wrapped with muscles, as were her wrists and forearms, powerful lines disappearing into black foliage and vines that climbed up her arm.

That kind of muscle didn't come from pulling shots at an espresso machine — it came from training and effort. Kassandra knew it well; she wore it herself from her neck to her calves, earned it in the weight room and on the pitch, and, once everyone figured out she'd grow up to be tall instead of fast, on the basketball court. The woman had probably started young at whatever sport it was, but she was too tall and lean to be a gymnast, and no soccer player who wasn't a goalkeeper had wrists like that, and she wasn't tall enough to be a keeper anyway...

Kassandra realized she was staring, and her fingers fumbled at her wallet inside her suit jacket's pocket. It took her two tries to pull a twenty from the cash in her money clip, and she made herself take a slow breath before she pushed it across the counter. "Can you make that drink for here, please?" she asked once she'd regained her poise.

The woman tilted her head and eyed the twenty. Her look could have shattered concrete. Then the twenty disappeared into the cash drawer and a stack of coins and bills took its place. "You might as well have a seat," she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she moved to the espresso machine.

And just like the day before, the woman's shroud of irritation fell away as soon as she focused her full attention on making the drink, her eyes lighting up with a clean, unburdened joy. This woman was the one Kassandra wanted to talk to. She wanted to ask, Does it feel the same way for you too? It was beating everyone in the paint to a rebound, or hitting a holeshot on the racetrack, that flowing perfection where everything is just so and all is right in the world. Kassandra had spent a lifetime chasing it.

One espresso shot and two full pitchers of steamed milkfoam later, the drink slid across the counter. "Bone dry," the woman said in a voice to match.

Kassandra picked up the cup, murmuring her thanks before she drifted around the perimeter of the shop. Lots of brick and exposed metal, softened by green plants. Real ones. This place would Instagram well. She sipped the drink, the hot espresso tunneling through a thick layer of fluffy foam, completely free of milk and its diluting effects. Yesterday's latte had been near-perfect, but this drink was perfection in every way, its components correctly proportioned, the shot ecstatically good. She needed to find out who the woman's coffee roaster was.

A set of shelves crammed with books occupied much of the back wall, under a small, hand-lettered sign reading take one, leave one. Past the shelves, a bulletin board hung over a small self-service bar that held carafes of cream and a variety of sweeteners. Kassandra's eye lingered on a line of brightly colored stickers running along the edge of the board: Best of Portland 2010, Best of Portland 2011, 2012, 2013... all the way to last year, 2017.

She chose a table against the wall that was mostly hidden from the counter's line of sight, pulled her laptop from her bag, sat down, and pretended to get to work.

A steady stream of customers passed through the doors of the shop, despite the doldrums of the mid-afternoon, and the thread of tension wound tight around the woman's voice began to loosen as she filled orders and chatted with customers. Once, she even laughed, low and round and rich, the sound fuming in the air like a good bourbon. Until that moment, Kassandra wasn't sure the woman was capable of it.

The shop began to empty out as the clock swept past three. Kassandra packed her laptop away and carefully set the empty cup into the bus tub under the self-service bar. She strolled over to the counter, ignoring the hostile glances from the regulars at the couches. There was a jar full of business cards next to the register she hadn't noticed before. Enter to win a ten-pack of drinks written in strong, angular lettering.

The woman turned to her and crossed her arms.

"The drink was perfect," Kassandra said.

Silence.

"I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it to you."

Not this way, Kassandra wanted to say. Let's not do it like this. Let's just talk. Tell me about your coffee: who grew it, where it came from, and what drew you to doing this? Because she wanted to see that bright joy return to the woman's eyes instead of the anger living there now. "You don't like me at all, do you?"

"Have you given me a reason to like you?"

"Have I given you a reason not to?" Her brows knit with real confusion. "If I've caused any offense, I'm sorry."

"You seem to think that I have to give you the time of day because you're dropping twenties on drinks."

That stung. "Consider it compensation for wasting your precious time, then." She had tried to be nice from several angles, but had bounced off the mirror finish of the woman's anger every time. Nice didn't work on everyone. She'd keep her interest professional then, and run a different play from the playbook. "I guess you really wanted that fifth star," she said, and then she reached into her laptop bag and fished out one of her business cards, and she smirked as she caught a glimpse of a siren's enigmatic smile looking out from a familiar green circle. She locked eyes with the woman and threw the card into the jar by the till. "See you later."

As she walked out the door and onto the sidewalk, she couldn't help but grin. She would have loved to see the woman's face as she read the words on the card:

Kassandra Agiadis Vice President of International Real Estate Development Starbucks Coffee Company

Chapter two of The Sellout. Continued in chapter three...

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #god this fic is such an indulgence lol #the sellout

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hungryflowers · 4 years

Text

Let Me Fall In Love With You

RadioHusk Week Day 4: You Complete Me

Chapter 4: Birds of a Feather are Trapped Together

Alastor deposited himself atop the rough looking, silkened bedspread. Polishing off the top layer of his ensemble; merely dressed up in his salmon striped button down shirt and his casual trousers. Seeing Husker again didn’t pan out the way he thought prior. Then again, the young man wasn’t thinking proper from the start. He could blame himself, but was it truthfully his fault?

Of course not! His Husk must, should be made accountable for the unnatural surge of desire that pumped through his quieted chest, now beating like a drum set at a jazz bar. His claws went idly around the male cat’s brimmed top hat. The details were not intricate or delicate by far; just a felt and wool exterior with a silkened lining inside of it. He flicked at the coin, testing to see if it was made of metal. The ringing twinge on the tip of his index finger made the feeling out to be real metal. Quaint.

He fiddled with the hat for longer as he pondered how he could make himself approachable to his -soon to be- partner. He’d have to back track if Husk’s trust was to be gained. Not just his love he found out. He’d spend the rest of the evening going with scenarios in his head for the time he and Husk could meet again.

When Husk got back, it was almost midnight. He made himself stay away from his house until he was certain the sociopath that broke into his house didn’t linger. He had busied himself with something else; spent up his odd jobs labor money at the casino and bought out a hefty sum for some more of the cheap shit. He lucked out when he found a brand of absinthe that didn’t cost over a hundred dollars but doubted it would ever taste better than the ‘heaven’s kiss’ that was at Alastor’s club.

Going to store his earnings from the night crawl, the old man walked right past a box that had been nestled on the table. Only when he turned to the table. fixing up a little, did he notice it. It looked weighty when Husk picked up, but looks felt deceiving this time around. Lifting up the tab, Husk’s eyes brightened when he saw his hat. He knew it was his from the tang of cigar smoke coming off it, and the diesel smell of alcohol. He pulled it to re-examine the hat’s condition when something else fell out of the box. He picked the parchment off the table to examine it. The letter was small, ink written, and was sprayed with an odd scent that was not easy to recognize. He squinted over it, reading;

Discovered this after our tussle. I extended it back to you as an apology.

And as a boon. I request that I see you again. Come to see me at Arch Duke’s tomorrow night. Be as formal as you can be. I’ll be waiting... Wanting you again.

Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Husk threw the letter and went upstair to go to sleep, not drunk and too broke to deal with whatever bullshit Alastor was attempting to subject him to. No he was not going to meet him at no Arch Duke’s tomorrow, nor anywhere else for that matter.

‘That fucker was in my house! Again!’ His mouth upturned in a growl as he slammed his bedroom door, bottle in hand as he chugged it down. He grumbled into the bottle as he laid down in bed.

Fucking idiot.

Against his better judgement, Husk had decided to confront Alastor again, but only to ask about why he had his hat in the first place. Why did he feel the need to give it back as a lightweight apology? Husk would have his answers as he shuffled on his dark blue slacks, clipped up with some black suspenders. He ran a comb through his chest fur, which was a first as he didn’t groom himself often. He slid the suspenders to his comfort, looked over pants and left out the door. Letter fished from the trash in tow.

He figured he’d fly himself there but that wasn’t a choice as he didn’t know where in the hell he was going. He didn’t get out much, and didn’t go to the higher end parts of Pentagram. Considering back to his shitty, watery absinthe Husk was about to turn around, until he spotted some scribbles on the back of Alastor’s letter. So he had provided him with directions after all. Husk sighed as he took flight. The joint was thirty minutes from his house, no way in this Hell or any other was he walking.

Alastor fussed over the menu for the third time, nitpicking himself on where he should place it. He had only seen his waiter once, the pitiful imp said he had scurried to put in his drink order, but that was five minutes ago. Or was it ten?

Pulling out his pocket watch was becoming habitual for the young gent. He had been waiting since yesterday to see if Husk would come around. Tonight would prove whether or not Husk would give a damn about him. Would give him a second chance. So he’d wait. He didn’t care if he would wait until the rest of the dinner guests had gone, the dining room be empty and the kitchens be closed. He just had to see the feline again. He looked back at his pocket watch, then to the door. The third time that night.

And then, he spotted him. His heat sailed as he looked the male cat over. He wasn’t anything impressive but at least he was formal. Oh, he looked so wonderful. Alastor brightened even more as the host pointed Husk to the table he was sitting at. He took a short stride to the deer demon who had been beaming at him the whole time with that adorable ass, dorky smile.

‘Why did the cute ones have to be psycho?’ Husk inwardly asked as he sat a chair away from Alastor.

“I placed our drink orders! How do you feel about a Martini?” Alastor spoke immediately.

Husk merely shrugged as he picked up the menu, making as hard as possible for Alastor see his face. This was not going to be pleasant, Husk wasn’t here to be pleasant.

“I’m so glad you heeded my letter! I was joyous about sending it and now I am so ecstatic that you have arrived. I have the whole rest of the night for us-”

“There ain’t no ‘rest of the night’. I came to humor you with this shit because you stole my hat!” Husk barely looked up from the menu, said item covering his livid expression.

“Oh... Oh dear I see. I’ve made a mess of what we are,” Alastor put his hands on the table, fingers extended, “I came because apologies are due. So, here they go... Husker. I am so sorry for the carnal way I acted to you yesterday. Such things never happen to me. I never meant to make you feel unsafe around me.” As Alastor spoke, he reached as far as he were able to try and touch the male. He retracted when he found Husk out of his reach. His tone and phrase were calm and sweet before he hung his head.

Husk finally pulled the menu from his face, his scowl still present. When he was sure Alastor was done talking, he began.

“Apology not accepted. Why the hell would I accept it after you broke into my house, face fucked me with your tongue, and tried to bang me on my kitchen table?”, The male cat’s eyes narrowed, “On top of that, you’re a fucking thief for stealing my hat from said house you broke into.”

“I know. I never should have touched it but I felt it was the right thing to do in returning your article. It is yours after all. I did this out of a gesture of kindness and apology. Is that not enough?” Alastor asked moving his chair to scoot closer to Husk.

“So let me see if I got this right... you think because you steal from me and then return it to me, that you’re doing an act of goodwill. Or trying to say that what you did isn’t outright selfish. Am I at least half right?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Alastor beamed as he surged up to take Husk’s cheeks into his hands; too blissed to feel the sting of a paw flying across his face, hear the impact of the pad striking his cheek, nor flinch at the claws that raked.

The room slowed down, activity slowed down as Alastor was becoming aware again. Husk was fighting out of his hands while the maniac stared at him blankly. Creepy smile still there.

“You’re a piece of shit, Al. Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch me like that.” Husk bore his teeth as Alastor’s left hand went to his right cheek.

“You struck me...” Alastor’s voice wobbled, still stunned from the blow.

“And I’ll keep striking you if ever tou-” Husk was cut off by his own wail as Alastor’s teeth sunk right inside of his nape. He continued to do so before he was slammed to the ground with enough force to rattle his bones.

The restaurant watched the scene in ignorant awe as Husk flailed to get himself back up, blood pooling up from underneath the cat’s neck and shoulders.

“You... You’ll never strike me! Nor will you have the ability to do so ever again.” A dangerous hiss came from the radio demon, his mouth not moving as he talked.

“Al... Alastor just relax.” Husk curled in on himself, knowing fully this will just end in bloodshed if he moved too quickly.

“Husk! You simpering maggot, you are of me now! As I, am now of you! You belong to me. You. Complete. Me!” The radio demon boomed as his body morphed.

Every demon shot out of their seats, throwing over chairs and tables, some puking and pissing, as they shot out of the restaurant. They knew there was nothing here that required their presence as they evacuated.

Husk’s ears fell back so far, his hat toppled to the ground. His eyes weren’t to Alastor’s as his body transitioned. God, this was a fucked up way to die. There was nothing more to say on it; he was about to die. Plain and simple. He curled in more, flattening his body in indirect submission. He thought that if he were going to die here, he’d do it in way that was making him look as small as possible.

A ragged gasp came coughed out by Husk as he felt nails like daggers pinch and pull at his bleeding nape. The broken sound from the back of his throat displayed the pain. Husk was unable to speak for a moment, his lungs rattling. The ground began to feel further from him, legs loosely dangled below him when he was picked up by the bitten nape. The ashen painted fur of the cat stood up even as his body languished like a rag doll. The room went dark without warning, sounds were muted and darkness enveloped the both of them.

There was no way around it; this was how Husk dies...

A/N: Hello again. This is not perfect by any means but it is complete. I took a spiral and my motivation for writing suffered. This was due over a week ago but I couldn’t think of how I could make this. I went through several drafts, and series of writer’s block before the plot bunny came to lay in my lap. Here it is, and this dumpster fire continues to get worse for poor Husk.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #husk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin alastor

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honeybammie · 5 years

Text

new year’s › jung hoseok

↳ in which hoseok’s new year’s parties are the talk of the town every year, but you don’t know why he still invites you after all this time ↳ angst & fluff

Every January since he bought his own place, Jung Hoseok planned a New Year’s party to put the rest of the world to shame. Times Square? Amateur, to anyone who had ever rung in the new year with him. He spent tens of thousands of dollars of his fortune in preparation for a single evening, but he had been raking in seven digits a year since becoming a shareholder of his family’s business, so the money meant nothing to him. Mere sips of champagne were worth a hundred dollars. I didn’t dare ask the price of a full bottle, fully aware that it costed more than I earned in a month.

Hoseok’s favorite part was the dress-code. Every year, the invitations outlined a certain theme we were expected to adhere to. 90s Grunge, Hollywood Glamour, and this year: The Roaring 20s. A longtime lover of classic literature, Hoseok starred as none other than Jay Gatsby.

I thought he would eventually stop inviting me. I enjoyed myself, but we scarcely saw each other throughout the year despite living a short twenty-minute drive from the other. We met in college and worked as interns for the same magazine company, but he only took the internship to fill in downtime while he waited for his family’s word to join their business. For me, the internship was a stepping stone into a budding journalism career. Our paths met briefly and diverged years ago, with little left between us except a rare coffee run on a free Saturday morning, yet I still landed on his list.

I didn’t have time this year to prepare. Family demands kept me busy and work demands kept me busier. I worked both New Year’s Eve and Day, and I was due to fly out of the country a couple days later for an interview with the company’s London location. There was no time for me to seek out a beaded flapper dress, so instead of abandoning the event altogether, I paired pearls and Oxfords with my work clothes and called it a day.

No one minded at first, too caught up in their own fantasy and blinded by glimmering sequins to notice I didn’t quite belong, and since I showed up half an hour before midnight, most everyone was already noticing the effects of champagne and aged wine.

Except Hoseok. I was in the living room with Taehyung—one of the more tolerable of his rich friends—when he found my eyes across the room and glided over. Pleasantries be damned, he studied me once over and asked, “What generation do you think you’re from?”

I ran a finger along my pearl necklace. “This was my great grandmother’s from the 20s.”

As Hoseok was eyeing the rest of my outfit, complete with a white button-down and black pants, Taehyung interjected. “Button downs were popular with women embracing non-traditional roles, and the Oxfords are a basic 20s necessity.” He punctuated the statement with a sip of wine, and I remembered his career was in the fashion industry. I knew there was a reason I liked him.

Hoseok shook his head, but he chuckled no less. “I should apologize, then. Mind if I steal you away for a while?”

I looked to Taehyung, but he was already surveying the room for someone else to entertain, not the least bit moved by Hoseok stealing me away. “Sure,” I answered.

He ushered me off with a hand on my waist, grabbing a champagne flute off of a tray passing by and handing it to me. I pitied the workers at the party, spending their New Years with a bunch of rich strangers rather than with family. Money really did make the world go round.

“I worried you wouldn’t show up,” he said, nodding to other guests talking on the stairwell as we made our way to the second floor. “The party started at ten, you know?”

It was eleven thirty-four. “I did consider taking this year off.”

“You don’t enjoy yourself, do you?” he asked, and I pursed my lips shut. Hollywood glamor and the 20s weren’t exactly up my alley, and he must’ve figured that out.

“A couple years ago I did, but I guess at a certain age you outgrow costume parties.”

“Then I hope I never reach a certain age,” he said. “I always thought it was nice to be someone else for a night, live in another generation.”

“Your whole life is a party. You’ve been a millionaire since you turned twenty-one. You can have anything and everything your heart desires. Everyone who knows you loves you.” I shrugged. “You have time to spend weeks planning this, and you can afford all the decorations and drinks and—” I reached out for the lapel of his suit jacket, silken black fabric soft to the touch, “—and the clothes, but I barely had a moment to think about it.”

His face fell, and I wondered why my opinion mattered so much. Every other person there was having a blast, made evident by the laughter reverberating off of walls and smiles making each room brighter. My thoughts about his parties should’ve been meek compared to everyone else’s.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said. Someone patted his shoulder on their way by, but he paid them no attention, focused all on me. “I’d love if you did, but I understand.”

I blinked at him. Moments ago I could’ve mistaken him for Jay Gatsby himself, but the downtrodden man in front of me was no confident party host. “Why do you still invite me?”

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, like it should’ve been obvious.

“We were around each other all the time in college, and we survived the same dreadful internship, but that was years ago, and I’ve probably only seen you a handful of times this year. When’s the last time we got coffee? October?”

“September, I think.” He scratched his neck, doing nothing to help himself. “The leaves were still pretty green.”

“They were,” I remembered, so three months since I’d seen him last. “So you see my point? Maybe we were close once, but I barely know anything about you anymore, and every year you have all these new friends I don’t recognize, but you still think to invite me.”

“You’re the first on my list,” he said. I laughed, but he didn’t crack a smile. “I’m serious. Every year. You’re the first person I think to invite.”

“That still doesn’t answer why,” I pointed out.

“You’re one of the only people from college who cared about me and not my family’s money,” he said. “A lot of people started asking me for money once they knew, and I gave a lot away because I never needed that much, but they’d take it and run and come back later asking for more.”

“Didn’t you buy a girlfriend a car for Christmas a few years back?”

“And she broke up with me a couple weeks after,” he reminded me. I couldn’t help but grin, but he didn’t seem to think it was as funny. Maybe a little, though. “You never cared, though, and you’ve never asked for a thing. Even when I take you out for coffee now, you refuse to let me spend a few dollars on you.”

“I don’t want to feel indebted to you,” I said, but I also liked to be able to prove a point. There were a million things he could afford that I couldn’t, but when it came to coffee we were on even playing ground. He ordered a six dollar drink? I ordered a seven dollar drink, just because I could.

“You’re impossible,” he scoffed, but he was smiling this time. He had a comforting smile, and I remembered seeking him out so many times during different finals weeks because I knew the sight of his smile alone would calm me down. Not that I’d ever tell him that. “And you’re happy just...being where you are. Everyone else here would be lost without their money, but you’re perfectly content in your apartment, working the job you do when we both know you could go elsewhere and make at least double what you do.”

“If I lived in a place like this, I’d go mad. All this space and no one to fill it?” I mused. He raised his eyebrows at me, glancing around at the dozens of faces huddled together in groups, a whole cacophony erupting around us. “Well, no one to fill it most of the time,” I corrected myself.

“It has its perks. You should see the view,” he said, and before I spoke another word he was grabbing my hand and leading me up a winding staircase. I had never been above the second floor, although I eyed the same staircase a number of times knowing it lead somewhere.

The stairs led to a bedroom, presumably his, but that wasn’t his destination. He pulled me along to wide double doors, pushing the satin curtains aside and opening the door for me. “Ladies first.”

I eyed him for a moment, but he nodded outside and I walked over the threshold onto the balcony. The cold hit me first, but I forgot it a moment later when I stepped towards the railing and in the distance saw a million twinkling lights of the city below, and a million twinkling lights of the stars above, two entirely different universes in one view.

Hoseok gave me a moment alone before stepping out behind me, the door clicking shut quietly behind him. “Breathtaking, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I said, jolted by a rush of cold air. “Now I can almost see why you enjoy living here.”

He chuckled. “I looked at a couple dozen houses when I was looking for a place, but as soon as I saw this, I was sold.”

I leaned over the edge, like I might be able to touch the lights if I stretched far enough. My apartment was somewhere in the midst of it all. Up close it was just a brick building, but from far away, part of an entirely different picture. Maybe that was what I liked so much about it.

“I’m glad I came tonight,” I said, leaning into him for warmth. “This might be my last New Years here, you know?”

His shoulders slumped beneath me, but he tried to play it cool. “No? Not even with a view like this? I thought I was winning you over.”

“I would come back, perhaps, if we spent a little more time together, but this time next year I might be in a different country.”

He turned his face to me, visibly jarred and a little pale, but maybe that was because of the cold. “What do you mean? You’re...going on a trip for New Years next year?”

“No, I have an interview in London in a few days. It’s for the same company I’m with now, but they’re looking for transfers, so I volunteered. If all goes well, I might move there in the spring, and I don’t know that I’d be able to get a flight back for New Years.”

“I’d pay for it,” he blurted out without even thinking.

“Hoseok, what did we just talk about?” I gave him a pointed stare, and he was still looking at me, a little bit frantic.

“You’d move thousands of miles away?” he asked. “From your family, from your friends?”

“I could visit a couple times a year. Stay a few days at my parents’ place or crash at a friend’s, but if I go to London and I like it there, then maybe I’m meant to move on from here.”

He tried to find words, but his extensive collection of literary works hadn’t prepared him for this. His fingers carded through his hair, and he pulled himself away from me, warmth leaving my side.

“Hoseok?” I whispered, hoping to bring him back. “You’re worrying me.”

“I’m sorry. I just...” He stared outwards, hands on his hips, trying to find an answer in the city or the sky. I would’ve paid to know where his mind was at.

I stepped forward, slow so as to not startle him. “Talk to me, Hoseok.”

But he didn’t speak another word, instead reaching for my waist and cupping a hand around my neck to kiss me, and I think I’d seen it coming for years, always on my tiptoes asking when, when, when, and this wasn’t the right time but he was warm and comforting and I was leaning further into him than I ever had. I couldn’t see them, but I was willing to bet that all the millions of twinkling lights stopped for a moment to stare at us.

Then we were pulling ourselves apart. Much too soon, I should add.

“I always thought you would wait until midnight,” I said.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s eleven fifty-five. I was close.”

“You’re the host. You should be with everyone when the year changes.” I reached to fix his hair, but he slid his fingers through mine to stop me.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“What’s the subject?” I asked, my voice straining to keep composure.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m right here.” I squeezed his hand, but I didn’t look him in the eye.

“You know what I mean,” he sighed. “I don’t want you to move across the world in a couple months.”

“There could be a life waiting for me there,” I said. “I don’t know. I’ll have some time to make the decision. They wouldn’t need me until April.”

“What if life here still wants you?” he asked, growing more desperate. “I’m sorry. I should’ve taken you out for coffee more often, or asked you on a real date years ago.”

“There’s always next year. Three minutes away,” I tried to entertain him, but the smile I hoped for was barely a twitch of his lips. “You know I can’t pass this up. Maybe I’ll hate it there, but I have to at least go and do the interview.”

He wanted more. Maybe he even wanted me to say I’d pack my bags and live the rest of my days in the house so it was less empty, but he knew me better than to ask.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Next year, I’ll take you out for coffee every week, and I’ll ask you on a real date, and if you move far, far away from me in the spring, I’ll be your greatest supporter, and I’ll visit you. If you won’t let me pay for your flight, you can’t stop me from paying for my own ticket there.”

“Okay,” I said, because I knew too well that there was no point in trying to change his mind, either. That, of all things, we had in common. “We should get back to everyone.”

“Maybe, but can I kiss you again?” His lips grazed the back of my hand, and I pretended to think long and hard about the offer before sliding my hand away.

“You’ll have to wait until next year.”

a/n: happy new year’s everyone ♥

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everlarkchristmasgifts · 5 years

Text

Thanks to all the mods putting this Holiday prompt page together! Thank you for all your hard work and contributions to the Tumblr everlark family now and in the past.

A/N: This is part one of a hasty, four-day attempt to multi-part a drabble set for @everlarkchristmasgifts ‘s prompts. It may not get done on time, but they say it’s good to believe in miracles at Christmas, lol.

This part rated G

Thanks to @alliswell21 for giving it a beta read on quick notice.

And… *deep inhale, because why on earth am I trying to butcher one of my favorite stand alone drabbles with a sequel???**… this follows on the events of Pasty White Raisin.

________________________________________________

“Shopping…”

It was twelve days to Christmas. They’d missed Christmas last year. It could’ve been their first Christmas, but Peeta had been too stubborn to let a woman “waste her life” on a washed-up baker twelve years older than her.

She’d won, by the end of the Winter thaw. He’d already been in love, but he’d finally let himself love, and everything that had seemed to mean to him.

Well, everything within the parameters of being a gentleman.

He’d insisted on her making him work for her good favor, and at first it had been a funny game, his insistence that he court her, a delicious, slow romance of soft kisses and interwoven fingers and getting to know each other over conversations, dinners, or during walks. But the game had given him time to reconsider what he might be getting in to.

Which was robbing her of a future she deserved.

So ultimately, he’d come to use the game as a way to buy time to fortify the barriers so strongly she’d be forced to admit she should cut her losses.

And when she’d still refused, he’d cut her losses for her, before the summer heat had waned, with an “I’m sorry, Katniss, this isn’t working for me,” followed instantly by firing her from doing the bakery’s books, which she’d been doing part-time for the low cost wage of a half-dozen cheese buns a week, and refusing to respond to her texts or voicemails.

At Thanksgiving, she’d shown up at his door, asking if they could spend the evening together, talk. Consider reconsidering.

He’d shaken his head and closed the door on her, but not before his face had presented a few moments of unmasked regret and longing.

She’d almost gone to a hardware store for an ax to chop his door off its hinges.

When she’d called her uncle Haymitch in tears from her car, still sitting in the bakery’s parking lot, he’d agreed chopping down Peeta’s door was an acceptable strategy, except there wouldn’t be a hardware store open on Thanksgiving Day.

So this Christmas season— the Christmas that could have been their second Christmas, or at least their first— just a year after she’d chosen him, the rejection had left its mark on her. She couldn’t face flying out west to spend Christmas with her sister and mother. Would not be able to muster the emotional energy necessary to pretend she was okay for a whole evening spent with her friends, despite their invites.

No, she and Haymitch were going to spend it getting drunk on vodka, eating crock-pot roast and microwaved mashed potatoes, and watching either a marathon of The Profit, or Rocky, depending on which one of them won the coin toss.

So with twelve days to Christmas, Katniss Everdeen decided it was time to say goodbye once and for all.

Well, twelve times, for all.

Twelve ways to say she loved him.

Twelve ways to say goodbye.

Twelve ways to say both at the same time.

Twelve days, twelve gifts.

And it was going to start with a Thursday, lunch hour shopping trip.

“Kat, where you going?”

Odair was the afternoon manager for the restaurant side of the brewery operation where she was a bookeeper. He’d stepped so quickly in her way she almost couldn’t stop before walking into him.

His hands here clasped behind his back and he was grinning. His up-to-something look.

“Lunch,” she said, guarded.

“Right. It’s treason to buy lunch from somewhere other than here. And anyway, you eat lunch from a brown bag. Every day. You’re so frugal, you probably even reuse the same bag until it’s toast. No, Katniss Everdeen looks like a woman on a mission.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Then it would make sense to get out of my way.”

He studied her as though he could read her secrets if he looked hard enough.

“You off to see that baker guy of yours? Because I would love one of his everything bagels, and Annie likes the peanut butter chip cookies.”

Katniss swallowed and fought off a wave of pain.

“No, I’m going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Oh, perfect then,” like magic, his hand was suddenly in front of her face, waving a hundred dollar bill, as though he already knew where she was heading and was just enjoying teasing her about the other, “I need something pretty for Annie. I was thinking a necklace.”

Katniss felt an urge to punch him, but started to step around him instead. He stepped in her way again, grin back on his face.

“Come on, help a guy out. The last time I picked out jewelry for her, it was a total flop, and you remember it.”

“Finnick, the only reason it flopped, was because you thought it’d be funny to give her a used pendant with someone else’s initials on it.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. That thing was an antique. And it was beautiful, and I knew the emeralds would set off her eyes. And anyway, the first initial matched.”

Katniss just shook her head; his problems were his, thankfully.

“Have to go, bye.”

He snagged her hand, yanking her momentum to a stop and then slapping the bill into her palm.

“Just in case something jumps out at you.”

“You realize how terrible it is to ask another woman to shop for your girlfriend.”

Finnick shrugged. “You’re not another woman, you’re basically family. And anyway, I already have her other gifts bought. I just want a wildcard.”

Katniss scowled.

“Fine, but I’m taking two hours for lunch, without losing the extra hour of pay, and you have to cover in case someone needs a bank run.”

Odair winked, then walked off with a, “Thanks, Katniss. You’re the second-best.”

Katniss shoved the bill into her jean’s pocket, so it could help her debit card burn a hole into the denim.

___

She knew what the first gift for Peeta would be, so she parked near the entrance closest to the woolen shop. Unfortunately, that entrance was the least used, and its parking more like the back forty. With Winter being stubborn about providing snow for Christmas, and the mall neglecting to plow that section, by the time she was inside, her feet were wet and freezing from slogging through patches of standing slush. There was a small hunting shop just inside the entrance, one of her favorite stores, and the moment she saw a pair of boots she’d been drooling over for six months on sale for forty percent off, she decided that if she was going to loosen up on the financial reigns enough that week to buy herself a sense of closure about Peeta, she might as well give herself that one treat.

Fifteen minutes later, she was stalking to the sweater shop in knee-high, front lace brown leather boots with reinforced heels and toes, all weather tread, and Gortex lined. And to make it better, her toes were swaddled in thick, high-tech, sweat-wicking winter socks.

She was even smiling by the time she got to her intended destination.

But then as soon as she was inside, her heart sank.

Peeta’s first present was a sweater she’d been eying for him for almost a month, folded on a center display table just inside the entrance. Imported from Ireland, it was a heavy, rough-finish wool sweater, that had a faded quality to its blue. The first time she’d seen it, she’d wanted him in it. Wanted to see how it contrasted with his light hair, complimented his blue eyes, hugged his shoulders, and layered over the waist of his jeans. Back then, she had still be holding hope he’d snap out of it, that maybe Christmas morning they’d be opening presents together and she’d get to see him in it, run her hands along down his arms to sense the feel of it, rest her palms against the scratchy texture of the wool, but feel the warmth and firmness of his shoulders and chest beneath.

But now, she wouldn’t get that pleasure. He would have the sweater. Hopefully, he would wear it. But regardless, she’d never get to see it.

If things went according to plan, someone else would.

She looked through the stack, finding his size and then laying it out, unfolded, over the rest. Her fingers stroked along the back and inside of the collar, where a beautiful, muted orange line of silky fabric had been sewn in to help prevent the roughness of the wool from rubbing against the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was even almost Peeta’s favorite shade of orange.

A friendly young clerk came up, asking if she could be of help. Her bubbling mood was a knife-stab to Katniss’ heart, so Katniss told her she had other shopping to do and was in a hurry. The girl agreed to wrap it and have it waiting for Katniss to pay for and pick up on her way back out of the mall.

The next stop was Eddie Bauer, where she had a clerk box a wheat-colored Henley on a bed of black tissue, hand it over long enough for Katniss to finger press a dog ear into the collar where the top button would normally be, and then finish with the full-on Christmas wrapping treatment. Her first hour was almost up.

Neiman Marcus covered two more gifts, six depending on how one counted, and fortune favored her in a special find that saved her a side trip to Hot Topic. Plus, the clerks there were fast wrappers. She had thirty minutes left for this trip, and, for this trip, only two more items to go.

The most expensive.

A boutique, ultra-high end men’s store cost her savings account exactly eight hundred, forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents. The gift wrapping took absolutely forever. But everything about the work, from the paper, to the simple ribbon, to the ridiculously expensive, and large, carry out bag, was immaculate. It almost made her cry.

It did make her cry, actually. Because signing her name to a payment slip that size made it crystal clear just what she had committed herself to do, and that she would not be the one to see the end result.

But she made a quick stop at Zales, saw what she instantly knew was the right call. It was just shy of two hundred and fifty after tax, but today was her day to spend on others, and Annie and Finnick were good friends, so she pocketed the hundred for her piggy bank, and paid for it out of her checking.

_____

“You’re late. Nice boots.”

“What?”

Finnick rooted around in the Zales bag she handed him for the necklace box.

“You’re late. You said two hours. It’s been a hundred and twenty-seven minutes. Did you stop at the bakery and bring us the bagels?”

“I didn’t have time.” Thankfully.

“Then I’m docking you the seven minutes,” he said without missing a beat, and when he finally got the red velvet box open, his teasing fell away into a look of confusion, and then a threat of real emotion. “Katniss, how did you…” He shook his head and the red headed prankster looked like he might actually hug her.

“Call it fate,” she said, and then started walking back to her office. “And if you dock me those seven minutes, our next limited run is going to be called Odair Pale, ‘cause that’ll be the vat you’d drown in.”

_____

Katniss was out the brewery doors at 5:00pm sharp. She managed to stop by the barber shop and the youth initiative before they closed by six, and that left only one purchase to go.

First, a stop at the bank.

Then, her final stop at the pawn shop.

The old man who owned the shop had held the item for her, and all that remained was for her to bring in the cash for it.

He was sitting at the counter like he was waiting for her— a sale like that, she was probably the one single person he was waiting for that day— and produced the item immediately, including the silky box that went with it, dull and stained by time. She carefully counted out the money, and he carefully wrote her out a receipt in his shaky handwriting.

Pawn shops didn’t gift wrap, but since it was raining, he found a used plastic bag from the back and gave her that to carry it away in.

It felt heavy, the plastic in her fingers as she walked back to her car.

Heavy like an ending.

Heavy like time moving on without her.

_____

By seven, the drizzle was threatening to turn to sleet with the evening’s cooling temperature. Katniss shivered a little, trying to shrink further into her jacket, and was even more glad for her new boots, because the slush in the alley behind the bakery was even worse than it had been at the mall. The windows above her, on the bakery’s second floor were lit; Peeta was at home, no surprise. He’d be watching television, maybe. Or even finishing dinner. Within an hour, he’d start thinking about bed.

For the six or seven months he’d let her into his life, she’d learned his habits fast. They’d never shared a bed and never spent a night together, because he wouldn’t allow it— because he was going to ‘do things right’— but they’d spent plenty of time together. By the Summer, they’d been seeing each other every day. And she’d found so much joy in the not rushing it. It had given them time to fully appreciate the excitement of almost innocent kisses and the silly, mutual attempts to find opportunities for them to be less than strictly innocent, the almost stolen thrill of sitting just close enough knees might touch, or arms might press. The silences and times where they were just around each other, without having to feel pressure that being out on a date, or on a walk, or going to the bookstore together was somehow really only posturing for a race they were supposed to complete by end of the day.

She knew his hours.

Knew not to text him after seven thirty.

Knew he didn’t actually like texting at all, and preferred a phone call, if a personal visit wasn’t possible.

Knew which corner of his couch he liked to lean into when watching television. Knew where his mugs were, and his glasses. Knew which drawer had the silverware, which hall closet had the extra hand towels for the bathroom. Knew he recycled cans, but often forgot to recycle plastic. Knew which episodes of Big Bang Theory were his favorites.

Each step up the steel-grate steps up to Peeta’s second-floor entry, brought another ‘knew’ to her mind, digging the knife a little deeper.

But she kept going, careful to duck a little near the top in case he happened to be at the kitchen sink window, and then leaning the box with the wool sweater against his door, with a note taped to it.

—Don’t open until six on Christmas Eve—

Just as carefully, she crept back down and then took up a position in the blackness behind the dumpster. A pocketful of little garden stones served as her ammunition, and she chucked three at his door with perfect aim.

From the shadows, she watched Peeta’s face appear at the window, and then a moment later, light came flooding out from his doorway. He saw the present right away, but looked around first to see who was there.

He called her name out and for a second she thought maybe he was able to see her after all, but after a few seconds of him leaning out over the rail and looking both ways down the alley, it was clear he didn’t. He came back to the present, gave it a look over, and then went back inside.

She didn’t know whether to feel honored or sad that after a gift appeared for him, the only person he thought to call out in question to was her.

#everlark #everlarkchristmasgifts #day one: christmas shopping #by dandeliononfire #fan fic #2018 #submission

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illratte · 5 years

Text

First Date

Read here or on Ao3

Gavin Reed stood in front of the mirror, an expression that could only be described as a preen on his face. He looked good, he had to admit (he always looked good, but still), all done up in a pressed black suit and tie. The fluorescent light glittered off of the gel slicking back his hair.

For the past six years, Gavin had partaken in the annual Detroit Police Department bachelor auction. While it had started at Fowler’s insistence, and because Gavin hadn’t felt particularly moved to say the reason (two reasons, really) why a “red-blooded young man” like himself wouldn’t want to be fawned over by rich women, Gavin had grown to enjoy the affair. It was made all the better by the agreement that he had with his friend, Tina: he’d shell out five hundred dollars to her an hour before the event, and he’d get the chance to preen and grandstand on stage before she’d use it to buy him back and fuck off to some seedy bar together.

“You look nice, Reed.” Fowler looked almost approving as he said it, with the expression that he reserved only for when Gavin had actually completed his work. “Maybe you should dress like this more often.”

“What? Fuckin black tie? Leather jackets are always in style.”

“I meant well-groomed. And you’re on now.”

Before Gavin could fully take in the implications of what Fowler had said, he was ushered to the stage. The DPD had spared more than a few expenses, opting to rent out a public high school auditorium, and the stage lights forced him to squint into the crowd. The people were cast in shadows, except for the few that milled right near the stage. No familiar faces made themselves known.

Squaring his shoulders, he put his hands on his hips and smirked at the crowd. Even if he was only going to be bought by Tina, he had to perform.

“Next up is Gavin Reed!” Chris, at a hastily made podium, called out. Being married, he had offered to help by calling for bids in the raffle.

As Chris rattled off of the little notecard that Gavin had submitted, with a few minor revisions, as a biography (Gavin was 36. Gavin liked cats. Gavin liked to drink.), Gavin grinned at the crowd. Though he could only make out a few faces, it didn’t stop him from flexing.

When Chris had finished, opening the bidding with a sigh, Gavin waited. Tina usually liked to wait until another bid was placed to go in, to allow for the maximum stroking of Gavin’s ego.

“Can I get ten dollars?”

A hand, pale enough to cut through the darkness, raised. “I’ll start at twenty.”

For a split second, Gavin blinked at the voice, far enough away for Gavin to register it as male before he registered who, exactly, had bid on him.

“Fuckin Nines?” He mumbled to himself. He hardly spoke to the damn android beyond what was required for cases, and he liked it that way. He had creepy eyes, and couldn’t hold a conversation to keep himself from getting shot.

“Twenty dollars, going once!”

“Thirty!” Tina interjected, sounding just as shocked as Gavin felt.

“Fifty.”

As the bidding continued, Gavin couldn’t help but fidget onstage, smile growing forced. Never before had he been bid on for so long, and with the growing dread that he might actually have to spend time with Nines, he hardly knew what to do with himself. Even Chris seemed perturbed by the proceedings.

“490!”

“490! Going once, twice to Miss-“

“600.” Nines said it flatly, but Gavin knew he must be smirking. It was the only explanation, Gavin had decided. Gavin had made his life hell while they worked together, so the least Nines could do was fuck with him for a night.

“600, going once, twice, sold to a Mr … 900.”

It was only when Chris coughed not-too-subtly that Gavin remembered to vacate the stage.

As he made his way to the left exit, briefly contemplating just running from the date altogether, Nines caught up with him. He wore a black turtleneck and black slacks. “Hello, Detective. Do I take you now, or wait for the auction to finish?” His face seemed impassive, with maybe the hint of a smile. Gavin resisted the urge to punch it.

“Now. Might as well get this shit show over with. And don’t call me Detective; this ain’t my fucking job.”

“Alright… Gavin.” The smile grew when Nines said it.

“Where to?” Maybe Nines would take him to whatever lair he lurked in during off hours, or a cute little trip to the morgue.

“I thought a restaurant would be nice, seeing as you haven’t eaten. Perhaps that little Italian place, right near where we work.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Gavin eyed him with suspicion. Maybe Nines planned on giving him food poisoning. Still, Nines was right about him not eating, and it was better than nothing.

In the fifteen minutes it took for them to arrive at the restaurant, Gavin regretted that idea. Nines has arranged for a cab to pick them up, and that left both of them in the back seat. While the close quarters were uncomfortable enough (Gavin had long ago made up an excuse as to why Nines had to ride in the backseat of his car on cases), Nines spent the entire ride staring at Gavin after his preliminary attempt at questions were met only with one word grunts. Gavin’s only explanation was that Nines was plotting something.

As Nines paid for the ride, Gavin again considered running off. He had nowhere to go, with his car still at the high school, and Nines could catch up to him in seconds, but his legs still itched to run.

Before he could bolt, a hand clapped onto his shoulder. “The restaurant is this way, Gavin.”

Gavin had never been inside said restaurant before, and he couldn’t help the little huff of approval that left him when he saw it. It was much nicer than the places he usually ate at, littered with small, circular black tables with fairy lights hanging above them.

“We have a reservation for here, under Reed. Table for two. It’s for 8:15, but I was wondering if there was a table clear now…”

Nines hand had snaked itself into an almost possessive gesture around his shoulder, and Gavin shoved it off. “You put it under my name?” The premeditation made Gavin’s stomach queasy. Maybe he really has poisoned his food.

“I don’t have a last name, so it seemed simpler.”

A waitress led them to their table. Nines pulled out a chair for Gavin, and Gavin sat in the one opposite to it, smirking as Nines awkwardly seated himself.

“So, Detective, Gavin. Do you enjoy eating out often? I know most humans prefer a change of pace once in awhile-”

“Fowler said we aren’t sposed to do anything sexual, pervert.” Gavin grinned as he watched Nines voice splutter to extinction.

“I- I did not mean- Do you like eating at restaurants?” He finished lamely, fingers bunching together on the edge of the table.

“I like burgers. And pizza and shit. And I guess ice cream.” As Nines still stared at him, Gavin begrudgingly added “What about you?”

“I can only eat thirium. Though, there is now a market for thirium-based products that I find most enjoyable-“

“Cool.” Gavin grabbed a menu, poring over it. He already knew what he wanted (he liked nothing fancier than pasta, usually), but it amused him to see Nines squirm. It was payback for Nines dragging him away from his friend, at least.

After the waitress took their orders, Nines turned back to staring at Gavin. Before Gavin could contemplate breaking the silence for at least some reprieve from that face, Nines did it for him. “I like your pins, by the way?”

“Pins?”

“The ones you wear on your jacket sometimes. They’re very- nice. I like the statement they make.”

Gavin’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The pins in question were his gay and trans flag pins. It unsettled him that Nines had noticed. They were small enough to go unseen by most, just two blips of color on the brown expanse of his leather jacket. Only someone staring at his chest would be able to make them out. Or an android with fucking super-vision.

“What? You gonna tell me I’m ‘just so brave’ too?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Or do you just want an asspat for not being a violent bigot?”

“I simply wanted to make you feel safe, Gavin. If you would have rather brought that up on your own terms, I understand, but I did not want to put the burden of coming out on you.”

“What- fucking ever.” Gavin snorted. Mines wanting him to feel safe was bullshit. It had to be. Before he could press any further, the waitress came back with their food, leaving quickly after a glance between him and Nines.

Gavin dug into his plate, not caring that he probably looked like a fucking mess as he shoved the spaghetti into his maw. It took a few moments for him to realize that Nines was quiet again. His eyes slid up to see if Nines has started his creepy staring again. Instead, the android looked almost concerned as he stared intently at his hands, now clasped on the tabletop.

“Why do you think I brought you here, Gavin? It seems that you have very different expectations than what I had hoped.”

Gavin regarded him for a pause, just long enough to make the android fidget. “You know why, asshole.”

“No, I don’t. I thought we were here on a date. You do not.”

Gavin barked a laugh. “Don’t lie to me. I know you just wanna fuck with me. But it’s not gonna work.”

“Fuck with you?”

“Get in my head, and shit. And maybe give me food poisoning.”

“But you’re still eating your food??”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m beating you at your own game, fuckwad.” Even as he said it, the malice behind the words didn’t carry through. Now that he thought back on everything, maybe Nines wasn’t lying. The only ill intent he had shown towards him was making him uncomfortable, and even that was hardly planned.

“I like you, Gavin. I wanted to date you. And I think you’re just guilty.”

“The fuck do you mean.” Gavin’s arm’s tightened around himself.

“You and I both know you haven’t treated me the best in the past.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“I know your the springs in your passenger seat aren’t broken, Gavin. And I know you know how to be nice.”

“Prove it.” The words spit from Gavin before he could fully comprehend what they meant.

“You’re good to your friends, trying to cheer them up in your own way when they’re distressed. And you’re nice to the animals you meet; Chen tells me you’ve taken in three strays.”

“But I’m not nice to you. So why do you like me?”

“You could be.”

For the first time, Gavin realized the full extent of emotions that deviants could feel. “I guess I could be, yeah.” He said quietly. He hardly noticed as the waitress returned and Nines took care of the bill.

“I think I should go. I’ll have a cab take you back to your car, and we can forget about this tomorrow.” Nines stood, brushing off invisible dust from his suit. The look from before still hadn’t left him.

“Wait. I- there’s this place, this ice cream place I saw just around the corner. It sells thirium shit too, andWecouldgothereandtalk?” His hand shot out to grab at Nines.

Nines grabbed his hand, squeezing it in his own. “I would like that very much, Gavin. I hope this second date will be much better than our first.”

#gavin reed #trans gavin reed #reed900 #dbh #dbh rk900 #rk900 #dbh gavin #fic

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unabashedinternetguy-blog · 6 years

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The Black Hole of the Internet: The Useless Website

I’m sitting behind my computer and I see her, staring deep into my eyes and pointing right at me, or rather pointing at my mouse. I'm on the website “Pointer pointer,” which is best described as an interactive website that matches where my mouse is on my monitor with a picture of a person pointing at it. Next I'm on “Staggering Beauty,” oscillating my mouse in order to watch the bright flashing colours and the dancing worm. In a second I've switched to “Patience is a virtue,” which is a website that is just a continuous loop of nothing that loads indefinitely. None of these websites are much good for anything but wasting time but you could definitely ask how I found them all in such quick succession, and the answer is “The Useless Web.”

http://www.theuselessweb.com is a website cataloguing many of the internet's ridiculous and unnecessary websites. There's one button which you click that'll open a tab with a silly, fun website on it, almost like a very long playlist on an old Ipod Shuffle, only instead of quality music you get shoddy, but equally entertaining, websites. The Useless Web was created by website developer Tim Holman in 2012 and to date catalogues over 1000 websites. Holman’s bio states, “ I'm a tinkerer, tuner & tamperer who's been around the block.” When asked why he created the site, Holman explains that“All of these sites are useless in the fact that they don't need to exist, but to me these weird, experimental sites are a piece of the internet that we're losing as social network news feeds vacuum up all of people's time. The internet is a lot less interesting these days, and sites on The Useless Web are fighting against that by being simple and subversive.”

As I explore Holman's website, “The curious creations of Tim Holman,” I start to realize that not only is he a connoisseur of quirky and creative websites, but a creator of them as well. I try to scroll to the bottom of his page, but the page just keeps offering me more and more of Holman’s websites; it seems almost endless. He’s built games, podcasts, clocks and more websites, some uncategorizable and all abstract. The more I research the man, the more I start to realize that he is a true entrepreneur among website developers and is the perfect person for the job.

In an interview, another anonymous web developer under the alias of “Martin,” is the developer of a similar website, which possesses the title of the largest index of useless websites on the internet. When asked why hecreated the website he responded with “At the beginning there was just a short text and a simple button that promoted a random useless website to the user, but I quickly realized that I had to offer more for recurring [visitors.] The internet is full of useless websites and to me it’s not about how long you stay on one of them.” “Sometimes you spend only ten seconds and get something to talk about for years.” These websites are non-profit meaning that they don't generate any material rewards for “Martin” or his developer brethren. The only reward for these men is the joy the site brings themselves and others.

Truly, these men are martyrs among internet developers, consider Ken Fujimoto. He was, at one point, in the market of selling scrapper sites (a different but additionally useless kind of website, one designed simply to make money on ad revenue, with no real content or at least no content with any value). Fujimoto explains “The regular rate was five cents a word.” Five cents sounds like a small amount of money but to give you some context, that mean that this article would cost approximately one hundred thirty nine dollars and ninety five cents. Hoo wee. This to me really provesthe character of Tim Holman and others like him: not simply in it for the money but for the fun of it.

It's not an obscure, small fry of a website either. Reffering to his website, Holman explains that “Since its creation, people have spent a total of 1,040 years of viewing,” and from March 2017 to mid May 2017, his website racked up a total of over five million views. Holman has been sent thousands of links from websites, which are reviewed before being added to the list. The practical applications of these websites are always the same: Nothing, or at least, nothing of real use. So why are so many people spending their time on the web’s most useless website?

Holman says he thinks people enjoy the simplicity of such websites, as well as how different they are from traditional websites. Most websites nowadays follow at least a loose template for how they are formatted, but Holman’s websites are all originally created. They are better in the same way that Mom’s cookies baked from scratch are better than a pack of Oreos: they’re more fresh, and they're made with love! The novelty is what keeps viewer’s attention on the site, and once the quick burst of happiness from the first site wears off, the viewer immediately desires a second. In my experience on the site, it's a little like gambling on a slot machine. You press a button; sometimes you get a winning site and get a little rush, and sometimes you get a losing site, which leaves you craving another.

The Useless Website is really the opposite of its name, in that it is not useless but does have a practical purpose. The purpose it serves is archiving and popularizing obscure websites, that would be lost in a sea of conformity otherwise. In a world of incorporation and conformity, The Useless Website refuses to give in. It stands tall and strong as the beautiful waste of time that it is.

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talabib · 3 years

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Take The Fear Out Of Finance.

Money can be a pretty scary topic when you’re a broke 20-year-old fresh out of college or a thirty-something just trying to get by in a big, expensive city. Paying your bills every month is hard enough, so how on earth are you supposed to find extra cash for an emergency fund, let alone a nest egg large enough to see you through retirement?

Well, like all kinds of big undertakings in life, the journey from financial zero to financial hero starts with just one step. This can be as small as automatically saving $10 from your paycheck every month or moving your banking online to benefit from a better interest rate.

Many people in their 20s and early 30s find money stressful, confusing, and scary – and it’s holding them back.

After a night on the town, Erin and her friend Lizzie sobered up over coffee. Like many millennials drawn to New York, Lizzie came to the Big Apple to pursue a creative career. But she’d found herself trapped in a boring corporate job.

Erin asked Lizzie why she didn’t just quit. After all, she was 23, debt-free, and single – wasn’t this the perfect time to work crappy waitressing or nannying jobs while she pursued her true calling?

“I don’t know,” Lizzie replied. “Money just really stresses me out!” She never looked at her bank account and always just hoped there was enough cash to make it to the end of the month. Quitting her job would mean managing her money, which she’d never learned how to do.

Lizzie was a smart young woman who came from a well-off family. But if a savvy professional like her couldn’t manage her money, how were other people her age coping? It’s a question Erin couldn’t help asking herself. And it wasn’t long before she realized that Lizzie’s experience is pretty common among millennials.

Getting a handle on your finances is often the difference between a life of fulfillment and a life of frustration. If you don’t manage your money properly, you could end up working to pay the rent but being unable to afford the kids – or pets – you really want. It might even mean skipping out on every exciting experience on your bucket list, or else splurging on those experiences now, only to find yourself living from paycheck to paycheck for the rest of your life.

Yes, getting a handle on your finances is a serious business. It’s no wonder the anxiety about money can be crippling. So, how do you break out of this anxiety trap, or – better yet – avoid it entirely?

Improving your relationship with money doesn’t require complex formulas. All it takes is a series of small steps that, together, add up to one big change.

Changing your relationship with money begins with finding hidden roadblocks.

Money management isn’t rocket science. Sticking to a budget and saving for a rainy day is, after all, a pretty straightforward notion. Why, then, is it so hard to do?

Well, just as “eat less” and “exercise more” are commonsense advice, this doesn’t automatically lead to good decisions when it comes to being healthy. That’s because compulsive behavior isn’t rational – there’s almost always a more deeply rooted issue involved. The only way to change is to unearth the reasons why you overindulge.

Your relationship with money started years before you took out your student loan or got a credit card. So, to change your compulsive behavior, you have to go back to your childhood – the time when the patterns holding you back were first established.

It all began to take shape when you realized how your parents or caregivers related to money. Maybe they were open about the family’s finances, or perhaps they treated money as taboo and talked about it in hushed tones. Maybe you were food-insecure, or perhaps you were embarrassed by your family’s wealth. Whatever your childhood was like, there’s a good chance you can trace your current hang-ups with money back to these formative experiences.

Discovering these roadblocks is the first step on the road to financial freedom. To get you started on the journey, answer the following questions as honestly as possible. You’ll need to write these down as you’ll be looking back over your answers.

What’s your first memory of money, and how does that memory make you feel? How did you get the money you spent growing up – did you deliver newspapers, for example, or did you have an allowance? What kinds of things did you buy? How did your parents or caregivers talk about money? What are your financial concerns today?

Now review your answers and consider what they say about your money mentality. Do you worry about money running out, or forever being in debt? If so, your mind-set is probably one of fear. If you’re still spending money like you did as a kid, you may be trapped in a cycle of helplessness.

There are two basic approaches to budgeting: the cash diet and tracking every last penny.

There’s no one-size-fits-all solution to taking control of your money. As we’ve seen, different people have different attitudes and hang-ups, and these can be traced back to their unique childhood experiences.

It’s no wonder, then, that one method will suit some people better than others. Take budgeting as an example. How you go about planning your monthly spend depends on what you hope to achieve.

Let’s start with the cash diet. As the name suggests, this method means you’ll be switching as many of your financial transactions as possible from plastic to cash. Why would you choose this old-school approach in the digital age? Well, there are two good reasons.

First, research shows that you spend less when you pay with notes and coins rather than swiping a card. Second, it’s a whole lot cheaper. When you pay cash, you don’t have to worry about credit card charges, interest payments, or that dreaded monthly bill.

Making the transition to cash-only can be tricky, but it doesn’t have to be hard. Start by dividing your monthly budget into weekly installments. This will help you keep track of your expenses, and means you don’t have to stuff a month’s worth of cash into your desk drawer. It’s also a good idea to have a buffer of, say, $100 – just in case you get dinged by a bill you’d forgotten about halfway through the month.

Another budgeting method is the track every penny system. The idea here is to record every single transaction in a spreadsheet – with columns for the date, the item purchased, and the total cost – down to the very last cent. It might sound extreme, but it’s a great option if you’re the kind of person who wonders where on earth all your money went at the end of the month.

Recording your expenses like this allows you to find previously hidden patterns. This, in turn, means you can redirect your money in better ways. Abby, for example, discovered that she was spending close to $100 on bottled water from Starbucks every month. So she spent $10 on a refillable water bottle instead and freed up a whopping $90 a month for other things.

Realistic budgeting percentages can help you meet your long-term financial goals while staying on top of your monthly bills.

Generally speaking, your money pays for one of three things: fixed costs like rent, financial goals like saving for a house, and flexible spending on day-to-day living. In an ideal world, you’d give 50 percent of your net income to the first category, 20 percent to the second, and 30 percent to the third.

If you’re a millennial living in a major city, this might sound pretty unrealistic. Your rent alone probably claims half your salary – even before you think about utilities, loan repayments, or subway tickets.

That doesn’t mean that budgeting by percentages isn’t useful. It just means you need to work your way slowly toward the ideal.

Think of these ideal percentages as a goal for when you’re earning enough for them to be realistic. For now, you can adjust them to your unique situation and re-evaluate them as things change.

No matter what your circumstances are, your percentages should be reasonable. In other words, you shouldn’t allocate 40 percent of your budget to fixed costs, 55 percent to flexible spending, and only 5 percent to long-term financial goals.

Take the following fictional example. Dwight lives in New York City and earns $45,000 a year. After taxes and contributions to his retirement fund, he’s left with $31,800, or $2,650 a month.

Dwight needs $1,350 to cover rent, utility bills, and transportation costs. Throw in another $250 a month for student loan repayments, and Dwight spends $1,600 – or around 60 percent of his net income – on fixed costs.

That leaves just over $1,000. Ideally, Dwight should be putting 20 percent of his income toward his financial goals, which would mean saving $500 a month. But that wouldn’t leave him with enough to get by in an expensive city like New York. Dwight’s solution? He saves $200 a month, which leaves $850 – or 30 percent of his net income – for things like food.

This is a temporary fix. When he gets his next raise, Dwight can keep his fixed expenses and flexible spending at their current levels and save the extra money for his financial goals. This will change his percentages and better align them with the ideal.

You can get a better interest rate on your savings if you switch to an online bank.

The way banks display your account balance suggests that the money is just sitting there, patiently waiting for you to spend it. This makes intuitive sense. It’s your money, after all – where else would it be but in your account?

In reality, the money you deposit in your account is used to make loans to other customers, and this allows banks to make huge profits. In return, the bank offers you interest in the form of an annual percentage yield, or APY.

Typically, this might be as low as 0.01 percent, meaning you get one penny per year for every $100 in your account. When the bank loans money, though, it charges closer to $3 for every hundred dollars it lends. That’s a big difference, and it’s high time you started getting a better deal.

Chances are, you didn’t choose your bank based on the APY. Instead, it was probably about convenience – maybe your parents used the same bank, or maybe you just picked one close to your home. But APY should be a dealbreaker.

If you keep $2,000 in an account with a tiny APY, you’re looking at a return of just 20 cents at the end of the year. In most cities, that doesn’t even buy you two minutes of drying time in a laundromat. The same amount of money in an account with an APY of one percent, by contrast, yields $20. Granted, that’s not exactly a fortune, but it definitely stacks up a lot faster than 20 cents!

So, where do you find a bank offering that kind of APY? In a word: online.

Internet-only banks usually offer much better APYs than their brick-and-mortar competitors because they’re cheaper to operate. They don’t have to buy land, construct branch offices, or pay property taxes. This means they can pass these savings onto customers in the form of better interest rates.

To find the bank that’s right for you, just Google “highest-interest savings account.” Before switching, however, make sure you read up on the bank’s fees and what other customers have to say about its services. The last thing you want to do is leave a bad bank for one that’s even worse.

Credit cards are a great financial tool as long as you clear your debts every month.

Credit cards are an easy way to blow through your cash. Not only do you lose track of what you’re spending, but you also face a pile of bills with massive interest payments at the end of every month.

That’s a pretty good reason to avoid credit cards altogether, right? Not quite.

While the cash-only approach can help you get a handle on your finances and spare you extra bills, using a credit card helps build your credit score, which will come in handy if you want to borrow money to, say, buy a house one day.

The best way to benefit from credit cards without exposing yourself to the risks is to follow one simple rule: never charge more than you can afford to pay off in full and make sure you pay the full balance every single month.

In theory, a credit card is a bit like a one-month loan. The credit card company gives you a piece of plastic that you can use to make purchases up to an agreed monthly limit. You buy what you need and, at the end of the month, the credit card company sends you a bill.

But the bill you receive contains two numbers. The first number tells you the total amount that you owe. The second number is the minimum due amount. This is the smallest amount you can pay without defaulting, and it means that the rest of your debt rolls over into the next month.

At this point, you have two choices. Pay the total amount and you’re all square – the credit card company can’t charge you if you don’t owe anything. Pay the minimum due amount, on the other hand, and they charge you with interest. This can be 20 percent per year or higher, and often comes with special clauses that allow the credit card company to increase the rates even further if you miss a payment.

This is a cleverly designed trap, and it lures millions of credit card users into spending more than they can afford. The result? A ruined credit score and spiraling debts that become harder to pay with every passing month.

Saving money prevents you from falling into a debt trap.

What’s the single most effective change you can make when it comes to your financial behavior? Ask a personal finance expert that question, and you’ll likely hear these words: “Pay yourself first.”

The phrase means that the first thing you should do with your paycheck is put a chunk of it into savings, rather than wait until the end of the month to see if there’s anything left.

Now, if you’re a securely employed, mid-career forty-something, this isn’t too much of an ask. But if you’re a cash-strapped millennial who feels lucky just to break even, paying yourself first is pretty hard. Still, there’s one compelling reason you should do it anyway.

Life is unpredictable – you never know what might happen next. This is why it’s so important to protect yourself against the worst, which is exactly what you’re doing by saving money.

When you hit a streak of bad luck, and everything starts breaking down, you have two options. You can either dip into your savings to pay for that unexpected bill, or you can use a credit card.

The first option is painful – no one really wants to use their rainy-day fund, after all. But the second option is much worse. Maxing out your credit card to cover an emergency means you’ll be paying interest on debts rather than saving for the future. This leaves you even more exposed the next time something goes wrong.

So, how do you pay yourself first to avoid this debt trap? The easiest way is to start small. Skip out on one $10 craft cocktail or a couple of $5 coffees per paycheck, and put that money into a savings account instead. It’s not a lot, but that’s kind of the point. If you adapt to small and easy changes, the new habit will stick.

Once you’ve learned to live with ten fewer dollars each month, you can start making bigger changes. Raise the amount you save to $20, $50, or even $100. You can make this process even simpler by speaking to your HR department and having your company wire this money into your savings account each payday. If that’s not an option, have your bank set up an automatic transfer. That way, you don’t have to think about it at all.

Your current financial situation dictates the size of your emergency fund.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a student loan, consumer debt, or a mix of the two – when you’re in debt, you’re almost certain to get hit by an unexpected bill at one point or another. And if you’re poorly prepared for one financial crisis, you’ll be even more exposed to the next one.

That’s why it’s so important to have an emergency fund to see you through to the next paycheck. It means you can avoid credit card debt and go right back to saving when things pick up again.

How much should you save to beat bad luck? Well, the short answer is “it depends.” Classic financial wisdom states that your emergency fund should cover six months of living expenses. If you’re a debt-burdened, underemployed millennial, however, that might be out of your reach. In that case, aim for a minimum of $1,000 to keep you afloat in a pinch, bearing in mind that this is for one person. If other people or pets rely on you, up this by at least $500 per dependent.

If you’re debt-free or your debt is manageable, by contrast, you should be able to act on the advice and save enough to cover six months of basic living expenses. Just add up your monthly spend on essentials like rent, bills, and groceries and multiply this by six – that’s your target.

Finally, if you’re a freelancer, you’ll need to save enough to cover nine months of living expenses. Not only is everything more expensive when you’re your own boss, but you’re also working with income that changes every month. That’s stressful enough at the best of times, so it makes sense to give your emergency savings some extra padding.

Ideally, your emergency fund should be cash in a bank account with an APY of at least 1 percent, not tied up in investments or stocks. That’s because having an emergency fund doesn’t just give you a financial cushion – it also gives you peace of mind. The last thing you want is to be running around selling stocks to access your money when you’re stressed out about other things!

And there you have it – a series of simple tricks that, together, will help you get a handle on your money and transform your financial life!

Lots of millennials find money stressful, and that’s holding them back. If you don’t have a handle on your finances, you’re unlikely to be saving for the future, and that means you’re headed straight into the debt trap. But you don’t have to live paycheck to paycheck. Learn to budget by percentages and use your credit card the right way, and you’ll be off to a great start. Throw in online banking and an emergency fund to see you through hard times, and you’ll be well on your way to financial freedom.

#Take The Fear Out Of Finance.

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karamelsecretsanta · 6 years

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Birthday Promises

Happy Christmas, @sweetestkaramel! I hope that this story warms your heart just as it had warmed mine writing it :)

-- Bilge @busysciencegeek

——-

You lift my feet off the ground You spin me around You make me crazier, crazier Feels like I’m falling and I am lost in your eyes You make me crazier, crazier, crazier

- Crazier by Taylor Swift

——-

Kara had always been an early bird. Yes, even when she was in high school. Granted, she had to admit that there had been a time she would sleep in as long as possible, but with her ambitious goals and rigorous study schedule, lately any day she woke up later than nine became a good day for her.

Today being a Saturday, and her birthday, didn’t change anything. She’d still woken up around eight thirty and was in kitchen now, preparing herself celebratory pancakes for her birthday.

She poured a batch of the batter into the pan as she turned on her phone, looking at the several birthday texts sent right after midnight. She might think that her friends were a bit crazy sometimes, but she also had to admit they were the best friends she could ever ask for.

She couldn’t help herself as her finger hovered over a certain person’s name. The first person that sent her a birthday message—but of course. She could almost imagine him writing the text, counting down the seconds until the clock hit midnight, and immediately sending it. A text filled with all kinds of emojis, from gift packages to birthday cakes, from celebratory confetti to…hearts. Blue hearts, red hearts, green hearts, yellow hearts sprinkled inside the message, every one of them tugging at something in her chest.

Damn you, Mon-El, she thought as she put her phone to the side. Why do you have to be so adorable and make it hard not to fall for you? He was just…too amazing. He was not only kind and generous, but he also wasn’t afraid to be nice, not like all the other guys. He embraced his dorky and fun side. He just… He wasn’t afraid to be himself, and after being around too many fake people, that was so refreshing for Kara.

No wonder she’d fallen for him.

She almost wanted to sigh at that thought. Yes, she’d fallen for her best friend. Yes, it was as pathetic as it sounded. And yes, she could never tell him about it, because it would not only be embarrassing—how could she be so stupid to fall in love with her best friend?—but she couldn’t risk their friendship. She could live without his love, but she couldn’t live without his friendship.

She sighed as she focused on the pancakes, flipping the last one to her plate before she turned off the stove. She refused to think about her desperate love for Mon-El on her birthday. This was supposed to be a happy day, right?

Right. So she plopped down on the couch, turned on the TV to a cheesy reality show, and mouthed the delicious pancake—the only thing she was able to cook without making a mess of everything. As long as it was good, right?

Someone knocked on her door right as she’d finished her breakfast and dumped her plate in the sink. She frowned. Who could’ve come at this hour? On a Saturday, no less?

She cleaned her hands and made her way to the door. “Coming!” Could it be her parents? But they would let her know if they were coming to National City all the way from Midvale. As special as her birthday was, she didn’t think it was worth a fifteen hour drive. Alex? But she’d been working the night shift at the hospital yesterday, so she doubted her sister would wake up so early.

But then who—

She was greeted by a giant box covering someone’s face when she opened the door. A giant box with a…was that the picture of a VR set?

Before she could consider that, a familiar face with a huge smile poked out from behind the box. “Happy birthday!” Mon-El sang out, his voice ringing in the empty hallway, probably waking a couple of people too. He was that loud.

Yet she wasn’t in a position to care about that. “Mon-El?” she asked as she stepped back to let him in, her eyes still on the VR set. It couldn’t be the one Mon-El had at his house, since it looked brand new. But…he couldn’t have bought her a VR set for her birthday, right? Those things were freaking expensive. And yes, she might’ve said here and there that it was so cool Mon-El had one for himself, but she didn’t say it so that he would buy it to her!

“What are you doing here?”

“Celebrating your birthday,” Mon-El said nonchalantly as he dropped the VR set on the kitchen island before he turned to face her. “I wanted to be the first person to celebrate it face-to-face, and knowing you wake up early, I wasn’t about to take my chances. So…” A huge grin pulled his lips, as if he knew he was successful. And…well, he was. He was the first person to text her for her birthday, and now, the first person to come and celebrate. “How did I do?”

Kara couldn’t help rolling her eyes at that. “Egoistical much?” she asked, even though her eyes were focused on the VR box. Mon-El just chuckled.

“I’m taking that as a yes. Even though you seem more interested in your gift than me right now.” He rested his elbow on the box…and yes, there was definitely a smug glint in his eyes. As if he was so proud of what he’d gotten her—

Wait, did he just say that this was her gift? “My…gift?”

“Yup.” He patted the box lightly. “A brand new Oculus Rift VR headset, also equipped with hand controllers and a sensor.” He lifted the other two bags in his hand. “Oh, and let’s not forget the two games I got you. Batman Arkham, because I know you are an absolute sucker for superheroes, and this brand new horror game that I’m sure you’ll like. I remember you enjoying the ones at my house.”

Kara’s eyes widened at his words. She tried to do the math in her head—she had searched just how much VR sets cost before. She remembered them being at least 300-400 dollars, and with all the other things that he got… The whole thing couldn’t have cost less than 500 dollars. It was way too expensive, considering the only thing she’d gotten him for his birthday was the signed first edition of one of his favorite books. Granted, that hadn’t been easy to find, but it hadn’t been this expensive.

“Mon-El, I—“

“Don’t tell me that you won’t accept them,” he stopped her before she could get far. “It’s too late. They’re all bought and paid for.”

“But I can’t. They’re incredibly expensive,” she insisted. “It’s just… It’s just my birthday. It’s too much.”

“You know my parents are incredibly rich, Kara. This wouldn’t have even created a dent in their bank account.” He reached forward to guide her eyes to his face. “And besides, you’re my best friend. No amount of money I can spend for you would be too much.”

He looked so genuine as he said those words, as if he believed them wholeheartedly. As if she was truly the most special person in the world for him, and he would get her everything she wanted, even if that meant he’d have to spent hundreds of dollars. Her heart swelled in her chest with happiness and gratitude, and love, even though she’d never confess the last one. She blinked her tears away as she smiled and nodded.

“Okay. Okay. You might be right. But I’ll only accept this in one condition.” Mon-El arched his brow.

“Oh no. Should I be scared?”

“Maybe,” she mused with a smile, taking one step towards him and putting her hand on the VR set. “We’ll try this baby today, you and me, and no backing down from the horror game. Or else you can pack your bags and go home.”

Mon-El narrowed his eyes with that challenge, especially because he hated VR horror games. Well, he hated all kinds of horror games, and that was exactly why it was so fun to watch him try and play one. She smiled at him sweetly.

He had to finally cave in. “Fine. But if I faint, it’ll be your fault.” Excitement fluttered in Kara’s chest.

“Deal.”

——

Kara looked around the room, so dark that she could barely see what was in front of her, as she tightened her hands around the VR consoles as if they were her lifeline. She knew, deep down, that none of this was real. She knew that she was in a game, she knew that behind the VR headset was her room, but that was really hard to think about when all she saw when she looked around was creepy silhouettes and claustrophobic walls, and all she heard was a creepy horror game music.

“What was I looking for again?” she asked Mon-El, her voice thin with fear. She could hear his light chuckle coming from her couch, even though she couldn’t see him.

“A phone. You need it to ask for help.” She narrowed her eyes as she pointed her console to teleport about two feet in front of her. Luckily, nothing jumped out of anywhere.

“Why am I not getting the hell out of this house, like, right now?” She spun around when she thought she heard a crash…which turned out to be nothing. But who could blame her for being paranoid? She could die at any second.

Mon-El, at least, had the decency to try to muffle his laugh this time. “Because the ghost locked everything up. And I don’t think the game gives you the choice to break the windows.”

“Great,” Kara muttered under her breath as she made a sweep of the room around her yet again. “Just great— Shit!” A scream escaped her mouth when she saw a silhouette resembling a person. She knelt down, curling up in a ball, not even having it in her to fight if the silhouette was a ghost. She didn’t even remember shutting her eyes…until she opened them and realized it was only a lamp.

Damn this game. Damn everything.

She heard that Mon-El was laughing his ass off only when her thundering heart calmed down and she could start functioning again. She scowled at him, even though he couldn’t even see her eyes…and she didn’t know where he was exactly. She pointed at a random direction.

“Shut up! Don’t you dare laugh.” She forced herself to take several deep breaths. “You have no idea how scary this game is.”

“I actually do.” He almost sounded smug, and he chuckled again when Kara frantically spun around. She was pretty sure she looked crazy from outside. “I have this game at home.”

“Oh, yeah?” Her voice was shaking as she teleported to the hall she saw in front of herself. God, why the hell this damn game was so dark? “And how long did it take you to finish it?”

“I…” His voice trailed off briefly. “I didn’t. I gave up after fifteen minutes.”

“Ha!” Kara whirled around again, pointing at where she hoped Mon-El was, “it’s been twenty minutes since I started playing. I’m already beating you—“ That was when she turned to look behind her, and the ghost just popped up literally out of nowhere. Her scream interrupted her words as she stumbled back, tripping over the carpet. She was so dead, oh, she was so dead—

Two arms caught her before she could fall on the ground and softened her fall. The utter darkness around her might’ve scared her to literal death, if it hadn’t been for those two arms. She reached for the VR set and removed it with shaky hands.

She found Mon-El kneeling down right in front of her, one of his hands on her shoulder to steady her. He offered her a small smile. “I got you.”

A relieved laugh escaped from her lips. Finally, finally she’d escaped that horrific game and was back in the real world. Finally, she felt like she could breathe—

Well, okay, she actually couldn’t breathe at that exact second, because Mon-El’s hand had moved from her shoulder to her neck, his fingers brushing her bare skin, and it was hard to even think. Her eyes snapped to his, only to find him looking at her…lips.

Her heart rate spiked immediately, and she forgot how to breathe entirely. Mon-El was looking at her in such an intense way that she doubted she could move, even if she actually felt her muscles. She’d dreamed about him looking at her like this way too frequently than she’d like to admit. With passion, with want, and need, but most of all…love. He was looking at her with love.

Though there was also something vaguely familiar with it too. And no, it wasn’t that she’d looked at him that way in the past. She remembered very clearly it wasn’t the first time he was staring at her this way. She’d caught him looking at her before like this too, and just dismissed it as wishful thinking. But maybe…maybe it wasn’t wishful thinking. Maybe what she felt for him wasn’t stupid. Maybe…

He felt exactly the same way, too.

She didn’t know whether it was her that moved first, or it was him, but then they were both leaning in, and Kara felt her eyes flutter close before her lips met Mon-El’s.

It was a short, sweet kiss, not too passionate as both of them hesitated to deepen it. Kara didn’t remember a moment she felt so vulnerable…yet so strong at the same time. She knew that this kiss put their friendship on uneven ground. One wrong move, one wrong word could break it all; she had to be extremely careful with it. Yet this was also what she’d wanted for so long. What she dreamed of when she closed her eyes, what she imagined when her eyes caught Mon-El’s from across the room, what she wished for when she watched him laugh next to her, and what she never dared to ask for, even when she was sure of her feelings. To have that… She was beyond words.

She pulled back a couple of seconds later, fear filling her lungs as she stared at Mon-El. She waited for him to speak, because honestly…she was afraid she would just confess everything if she opened her mouth.

His hand moved to her cheek, his thumb swiping over her cheekbone, before he started. “There is�� There is one more reason why I got you this,” he said hoarsely, gesturing at the VR set. Kara didn’t look away. She didn’t think she could look away from his eyes anyway. She held hear breath, waiting for him to continue, wishing beyond hope that it would be the words she’d wanted to hear for so long. “I like you, Kara. Like… Like you, like you. In the romantic sense.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest before a smile found its way to her face. A happy, elated smile that erased even the memory of utter fear she’d literally just been experiencing.

“I like you, like you back, Mon-El,” she mused, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. She only had time to see a glimmer in her eyes before she leaned in for a kiss.

And as good and beautiful as it was to kiss him…she had to admit, that wasn’t the only thing in her mind. Sure, she was happy. Sure, Mon-El liking her was like a dream come true. But their relationship had never been about lovey-dovey words and serious moments. It’d been about teasing, joking, driving each other crazy in the best way possible. That had been in Kara’s mind as she kissed him, and as she also reached to the VR headset. She grabbed it and placed it on Mon-El’s head as he was distracted before he could even realize what was going on.

“But now it’s your turn to play,” she said as she pulled back, looking at his wide eyes with a grin. Her stomach churned with excitement when she saw first shock, then fear filling his eyes.

“Kara—“

“Bup bup bup. You promised.” She pressed a finger on his lips to stop his objections. Oh, seeing him try to go through that game, cursing left and right—which was always fun to see, because he tended not to curse as like a rule of thumb, so it was endearing to Kara when he loosened his control over himself—or sitting on the floor with his arms around his knees until he eventually died in the game…from doing nothing. She was so gonna enjoy this. “No objections now.”

Mon-El opened his mouth as if he was gonna say something, but then he stopped. He sighed and adjusted the headset to fit him.

“Okay, fine. But I’d get my phone ready if I were you. You might need to call 911 any second.”

Kara was smirking widely as she watched him get into position. And even though she knew she’d absolutely laugh her ass off at him in a couple of moments, she couldn’t help laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder briefly. She leaned in to press a kiss on the bare part of his cheek.

“You know, I got you, too.”

#submission #karamel secret santa 2017 #kss2017

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vintagebeverly · 7 years

Text

autumn leaves (reddie) chapter one

Eddie hasn’t seen the trees change colors since he was a kid, so Richie deems that the two of them should take a road trip back to Derry and see the trees change colors. Cue lots of bad car karaoke, too much coffee, and Eddie absolutely losing his mind over the gorgeous reds, oranges, and yellows of the fall leaves.

Or the one in which Eddie hates Richie, of course, until he falls in love with him.

Words: 1506

Warnings: lots of swearing, angst, why do i use italics so muhc????

Genre: tooth-rotting fluff with angst mixed in (this chapter doesn’t have that angst but just u wait)

As he shakily placed the phone to his ear, he sighed. He knew it. He fucking knew it. Richie Tozier was sure that his oldest best friend had disconnected his phone some time ago. Richie honestly thought it was because of him. Endless four am phone calls and complaints about whatever girl he was currently dating seemed to piss Eddie Kaspbrak off so much, he would rather call his own fucking mother. His mother for god’s sake!

“Hey, Eds,” Richie would greet, which was usually followed by, “Don’t call me Eds. Don’t fucking call me at all.” Of course, Richie had always assumed that this was sarcastic, but then again, perhaps he was only hearing what he wanted to hear. Richie supposed he had had this ‘filtered hearing’ since he was a kid. (He was still a kid at a mere seventeen, but of course he didn’t consider himself one.) Whenever one of his childhood friends interjected their conversation with the phrase, “beep beep Richie”, he found himself somewhat thankful. He could hardly control what spilled out of his mouth when he was younger. His mom jokes and careless swearing were hardly his fault. He didn’t know how to steer a conversation appropriately. Thus, his speech was unfiltered. His hearing, however, was a completely different story. He had assumed that every rotten thing that was said to him by anyone, apart from his bullies, was out of love. When it was coming from his friends, most of the time, it was. However, when it came from his parents, this was not the case. Richie wanted so badly to joke around with his parents about how they were all fuck-ups and hated each other and were wastes of space, only, he never said anything of the sort to his parents. In his mind, his relationship with his parents was complicated. They routinely shouted sarcastic remarks at each other, with the intent being clear, to say ‘I love you’. In reality, the family dynamic was quite simple. Richie’s parents were neglectful and downright verbally (and sometimes physically) abusive. Richie figured that out when he was around eleven, and it didn’t bother him anymore. After all, at seventeen years old, he had much more independence as far as thinking goes. He planned to move out in a year or so, maybe to a small apartment with Bev or Bill. Eddie wasn’t in consideration because he had moved from Derry when he was fifteen, to a small, southern town that Richie couldn’t remember the name of. Richie didn’t even care to remember what state Eddie was in, for that matter. He was just too far, it was like he was no longer real.

Richie shook his head and remembered what he was doing. He dialed the number to Eddie’s house in Wherevertown, delighted when a small voice answered.

“Hello?” asked Eddie. Richie was overjoyed to hear his friend’s voice again. He hadn’t called Eddie in almost a week, which must’ve been some sort of record for him.

“Eddie Spaghetti!” he practically sang, “How’re you on this fine Tuesday evening?” Making small talk wasn’t exactly Richie’s style, and Eddie knew it.

“What do you want?” Eddie’s tone was suddenly one of disgust. Richie smiled.

“Now, now, Eds, can’t a guy call his best friend without wanting something from him?” he mewed. This is the longest they had stayed on the phone in ages. Eddie usually hung up when he found out the person on the other side was Richie, but this time he hadn’t. Richie cherished the moment while he could.

“Richie, I don’t have time for this, I was just about to call Bill anyway.” Richie felt a pang of jealousy in his chest. Eddie didn’t want to stay on the phone for more than thirty seconds with him, yet he would willingly call Bill, just to have a friendly conversation? What bullshit.

“Why Bill? I think I’m much better company than him.” Of course Richie didn’t mean it, he adored Bill, but he deserved time with Eddie more.

“Yeah, you think. I really have to go, it’s important.”

“Just tell me and I can tell Bill.”

“Fat chance, Trashmouth.” The nickname rang in Richie’s ears. Eddie hadn’t used a nickname like that in years.

“C’mon, Eds, tell me what’s up.”

“Don’t call me Eds,” and before Richie could reply, Eddie started talking again, “I was gonna ask Bill if I could stay with him this weekend, I wanna come up to Derry and see the leaves change for fall.” Richie’s heart skipped a beat.

“You can stay with me.” he suggested.

“Yeah right.” Suddenly, an idea hit Richie. He had kept Eddie talking this long, who’s to say he couldn’t try his luck for one night?

“I’m serious, Eds. I’ll come get you and we can drive back up together, watching the leaves change in all kinds of different towns.” The line was silent for a moment, and Richie sighed. “You can call Bill now.”

“No, I guess I don’t have to now.” Richie’s eyes widened. He was only half serious in making the suggestion, as he believed Eddie would be repulsed at the idea.

“Are you serious, Eds? You wanna do that?”

“Wait, now you’re backing out?”

“Duh, of course not. I just need to figure out shit now, but don’t worry, I got this,” he paused, “How’re you gonna convince your mom to let you do this?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Eddie replied, “I thought of that already. Anyway, I’m only going along with this because I want a free ride to Derry. Don’t forget that.” Richie chuckled.

“I would never.”

The next morning, Richie had booked the flight (he found out what Wherevertown was) and rental car. Thirty-six hours of driving with Eddie seemed like a dream to him, and yet, here he was.

“Just thirty-six hours,” Eddie had said, “We’re not gonna make this into a week long thing, okay?” He knew Richie too well. The boy was already planning ways to make the road trip longer. Perhaps when they stopped, they could spend a few days at bed & breakfasts or something of the sort. Eddie had always been the sight-seeing type, after all. Richie smiled to himself. Maybe bed & breakfasts weren’t quite realistic goals, but Richie would settle for a cheap motel as long as Eddie was by his side.

Eddie’s fall break was just around the corner, which is why he decided to take this silly trip in the first place. His mother had been convinced that he was going to Maine in order to look at a college campus, and the only reason she was letting her son view a college so far away from her was because she planned to relocate close to wherever he went to school. Eddie’s relationship with his mother hadn’t improved a bit since moving. She still insisted that he had some bullshit sickness, paid for bullshit prescriptions, and hardly let him out for the same bullshit reasons. Frankly, he was happy to be getting away from her for an entire week in the fall. The price, of course, being three whole days with no one but Richie, but it wasn’t all that bad, he supposed. After all, he didn’t absolutely have to visit his hometown, he could stay with his mother. He decided that was a worse fate than being stuck in a shitty rental car with Richie for three days, so he chose the lesser of the two evils.

As Richie settled in for bed that night, he looked out his window and watched the stars. He smiled for the millionth time in the past hour, knowing that the following morning he would be on a flight straight to Eddie. He counted some stars and sipped his warm milk, taking a deep, cool breath and enjoying the quiet moment.

The flight was long and boring, mostly consisting of Richie staring out the window or playing with the rips in his jeans. He bought some cheap candy at a gift shop in the airport and took his rental car to Eddie’s house. As he walked up the creaky steps to his friend’s home, he smiled. A quick ring of the doorbell and the small, clean-cut boy was in front of him.

“Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around Eddie, “How have you been?” At first, Eddie’s expression was one of antipathy, but it softened when he looked Richie in the eyes.

“Don’t call me that, I hate it,” he started, “I’ve been just great. Now can we get this show on the road?” Richie’s smile never faded as he presented a bag of caramel hard candies to Eddie.

“Not so fast, Eds,” said Richie, “I got these for you.” The statement was simple enough, yet it made Eddie’s heart skip a beat. Richie had literally spent hundreds of dollars on a flight and rental car all for Eddie, yet it was a small bag of candy that ignited something within him.

a/n: hi so this is my first reddie fic ever and also my first time posting my writing on tumblr (with my name on it) so p l z give me feedback i;m literally beggin u

also sidenote ive read this like a million times but i have no beta so there could be lots of mistake fORGIVE me ??

#reddie #richie #eddie #it #it 2017 #reddie fanfiction #fanfiction #me????? shakin as i post this? ????#it's more likely than you think #my things #fics #reddie fics

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killerspectrum · 7 years

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CONNECTICUT

Most serial killers hail from the west coast, so it’s interesting to see how the northeast handles the business of death and mayhem. The 48th largest state in the US, Connecticut attracts more mass murderers than sadistic, organized serial killers.

Home to one of the largest fire disasters in US history. The 1946 Hartford Circus tent went up in flames and 148 people burned to death when someone carelessly disposed of a cigarette.

Not many loose ends in this state as most of the serial killers are caught, including one last year and about to head to trial.

SERIAL KILLERS SOLVED:

AMY DUGGAN “The Devil’s Rooming House”

Windsor

Killed 5+

1908-1916

Taking advantage of the lack of care for the senior set, Amy opened the "Archer Home for the Elderly and Infirm” in the early 1900s. She sought out the desperate and frail to come live out their short golden years in her home...for a small price. All residents were required to sign over their life insurance policies to one Miss Amy Duggan. What she didn’t mention, was her huge ‘rat’ problem and was known to buy massive amounts of arsenic from her local chemist.

The rats residents would endure a few weeks of hell before dying a ghastly death.

In 5 years, Amy had amassed a body count of 48 victims before an insistent family member became suspicious of her greedy ways and disappearing clientele. She was eventually arrested and charged with just five of the murders, due to limited forensic testing at the time. Inspired the Frank Cappra tale 'Arsenic and Old Lace’.

Sentenced to death, but was eventually declared insane and put in a mental hospital until she died in 1962.

JOSEPH ‘MAD DOG’ TABORSKY

Hartford

7 Killed

1956-1957

Dubbed the “Mad Dog Killings” in the press for a string of brutal robberies and murders in the late 1950s. During a two month period in 1956, five business owners, mostly liquor stores, were killed as they closed their stores.

The only inmate in Connecticut history to be sentenced to death row two different times, for two different murders. How and what the fuck you may ask?

First time, he killed a liquor store owner in 1951 during a robbery and was put on death row for his crime. Three years later he was released due to a technicality. Instead of retrying Taborsky, they let him go on his merry way.

Actual Quote:

"You can't beat the law. From now on, I'm not even going to get a parking ticket."

Just two years later, instead of thanking his lucky stars, this fucker runs back to the road that leads to the electric chair and begins his ‘Mad Dog’ killing spree.

Eventually captured and sentenced to death row- again.

This time, he was quickly executed in 1960 at the age of 36. He donated his eyes. Not sure who’d want those crispy things, but there you go.

MICHAEL ROSS “Roadside Strangler”

Griswold

8 Killed

1981-1984

This happy fella would pick up hitchhikers along the highways and bi-ways of Connecticut. Driven by sexually violent fantasies, he would brutally rape and strangle his young victims.

His downfall came because Ross never switched vehicles as he preyed on his victims. Over time, people identified a blue Toyota as the deathmobile snatching hitchhikers.

Naturally investigators did a cross search on all blue Toyota registrations and voila! Ross used his real name -in case anyone needed to find him- and he was invited in for an interview. He gave subtle hints and clues before offering a full confession for his crimes.

After spending 18 years on death row, Ross was executed in 2005 for being the brightest crayon in the box murder at the age of 45.

WILLIAM DEVIN HOWELL

New Brittan

Killed 7+

2004-2007

Howell loved to refer to himself as "The Sick Ripper". That's nice. But we're going to refer to him as "Pork Chop" for purposes of this story.

Using a disgusting combination of a creepy '85 Ford Econoline van and the promise of drugs, Pork Chop was able to easily lure his victims to their death.

After raping them, he would beat, strangle and stab his victims inside the van. Afterwards, most would be buried in a swampy area behind a shopping center, which he called his ~garden~.

One lucky corpse was chosen to be his girlfriend for a few days and was wrapped in plastic. Porky snuggled with it at night and even called it his ‘baby’.

epitome of a creeper van stabbin cabin

Finally, in 2015, after almost a decade of rotting behind a shopping center, a hunter came across a human skull which lead to the unearthing of all the victims.

Since the Other White Meat was already in prison, serving 15 years on a

-brace yourself- a murder charge, he was easy to find. He was scheduled to be released in 2019, but now he’s expected to stand trial in the near future.

He is currently being held on a $10 million dollar bond as he awaits trail.

MASS MURDERS:

THE PETIT FAMILY MURDERS

Cheshire

Killed 3

July 23, 2007

One of the most deranged crimes I've ever heard of, also one of the more frustrating.

Dr. William Petit and his family enjoyed their final day together on July 22nd, hanging out and cooking dinner. Mrs. Petit and her 11 year-old daughter Michaela had spent time at the grocery store that evening picking up things for dinner when they were noticed by Joshua Komisarjevsky, who was also shopping at the time.

A con artist and burglar, Komisarjevsky watched his victims at the store before following them home. Once he saw their big, beautiful home Komisarjsdfkjsi decided to rob them later that night and he would bring an accomplice: Steven Hayes.

Just after midnight, the two men broke into the family's house, armed a baseball bat they found in the yard.

They saw Dr. Petit sleeping on the couch and bludgeoned him with the bat before tying him to a pole in the basement. His wife Jennifer and two daughters were all tied to their beds, leaving them all separated.

Supposedly, this was just going to be a robbery and not a sick, twisted mass murder, or so the killers claim. But things took a darker turn when they decided their haul wasn't good enough and wanted cash...$15,000 from their bank account.

Before the bank opened, Hayes filled a gas can with $10 worth of gas at a station down the street.

At 9:00 AM, Jennifer walked into her bank to withdraw money, but also alerted the teller about her family’s ordeal. She is calm because the assailants were being 'nice' and they 'just want the money', she thinks.

Naturally, the teller calls the authorities to report the crime and that sets off a baffling, inexplicable thirty minutes of hell for the Petit family.

For some reason, it took the police 30 minutes to form a plan and place a “vehicle perimeter”. They also did silly things like, turn down S.W.A.T. assistance and hostage negotiators.... 30 minutes, it turns out, is also enough time for a crime to escalate into a horrific mass murder.

The police, who chose to remain unseen instead of making their presence known, were woefully unprepared for the situation. As that half hour tick-tocked away, Jennifer was raped and strangled. Makayla was sexually assaulted. Both girls had pillowcases placed over their heads, doused with lighter fluid and burned alive. The oldest daughter Haley made it to the top of the staircase before succumbing to her injuries.

While all this was going on, William Petit was drifting in and out of consciousness in the basement. He used a burst of adrenaline to break out of his restraints after he hearing it will all be over soon. The doctor was able to run to a neighbors house, but they didn't recognize him because the severity of his facial injuries.

While everyone is literally gasping for air in those last desperate moments, the cops are just outside the home "assessing situations". Sickening.

Now I understand that Cheshire is a smaller town, not accustomed to such savagery in their neighborhood, but damn.

After lighting the house on fire, Hayes and Komigofukurselfy fled the scene in the family's car. To add to the mayhem, they crashed into the two cop cars blocking their way out in an attempt to get away, but were promptly arrested. That was nice of the police to help out like that.

The whole invasion lasted seven hours.

LORNE ACQUIN

Prospect

9 Killed

July 22, 1977

On the evening of July 22nd, while Fred Beaudoin was at work, his brother Lorne stopped by his house for a visit. It was not unusual for him to stop by, as all eight children loved their “Uncle Lorne”. He stayed for an hour or so, rough housing and playing with the kids, but he had plans to return.

Just after 4 AM the next morning, neighbors of the Beaudoin family smelled smoke and called the fire department. When the fire was snuffed out, after removing only a few of the bodies, investigators quickly realized it was not an accident.

Fred’s wife Cheryl and all eight children, ranging between 12 and 4 years old were bludgeoned in their beds, some of them had their hands tied together.

There is no clear motive as to why he would slaughter a bunch of his nieces and nephews with a tire iron in the middle of the night, only speculation.

Within 24 hours, police interviewed more than a hundred witnesses, including Lorne, where he ultimately admitted to being at the home at the time of the murders. One minute, Lorne claimed, he was talking to Cheryl in the kitchen and the next minute there was blood and bodies all over....so he lit it on fire and left, which is exactly how I like to handle my problems.

Until the Sandy Hook massacre, the death of the Beaudoin family was considered the most prolific mass murder in Connecticut's history.

Sentenced to life in prison.

OMAR THORNTON

Manchester

August 3, 2010

Killed 8

Thornton, aged 34, was called into his place of employment for disciplinary purposes. Which is a fancy term for being fired. He had been recorded on surveillance video in the Hartford Distributors warehouse stealing beer and kegs on a previous occasion.

Thornton agreed to sign the resignation papers and was being escorted out of the building when he changed his mind. Instead of leaving peacefully, he grabbed a gun from his lunch box and started shooting at everyone in the room. Called 911 on himself, claiming he was fired because of racism and then took his own life.

JONATHAN MILLS

December 26, 2000

Killed 4

Guilford

On the evening of December 26th, Jonathan Mills crept into Katherine Kleinkauf’s waterfront home to steal money for a drug habit. He was familiar with the house and it’s easy target: His aunt and two cousins, just four and six years old.

Kleinkauf, who was 43, woke up and confronted him after he broke in, Mills confessed. He stabbed his aunt 40 times and her children 10 times each, leaving them to die in a blood-soaked bedroom, while he ran off with her ATM card.

The murders were discovered the next morning when Katherine’s oldest daughter, 10 year-old Alyssa returned home from a slumber party.

During his confession, Mills figured he may as well tell them about 20-year-old Mindy Leigh, one of his neighbors he also killed. Mills led police to the decomposed body of Leigh, whom he says he strangled during an argument following sex.

Fun Fact: Mills later testified in the trial of another serial killer whom he shared a jail cell with. Serial Killers tend to be competitive with each other and want to ‘show off’ in front of the only other person who would be impressed.

HAROLD MEADE

New Haven

August 1970

Killed 3+

The infamous case of Harold Meade is another excellent example how crazy Connecticut crime and punishment unfolds.

In 1970, Meade was found guilty of murdering three mentally handicapped people, ages 15 to 23, while they were out on a walk through a local park. All three were bludgeoned to death with rocks. He was sentenced to life in prison for those heinous murders. You know, because he should be off the streets for the REST of his life!

But since Connecticut allowed, at the time, furloughs to any inmate regardless of crime, Meade had amassed 184-one day passes and 84 weekend passes after 13 years in prison.

A predator who preyed on the most vulnerable, was granted access to the public.

Here, you haven’t killed anyone in a while, go enjoy yourself for the weekend! Go mingle!

While on his furloughs, Meade got married and even went on a vacation to the beach! The same weekend, in fact, a woman was found with her head crushed in by a rock in the remote part of Hammonasset Beach State Park. The same park Meade was renting a cabin. No way! Although he admits to being at the same place, same time, he denies killing her. This promptly ended the negligent program. Which sufficiently pissed him off.

``I would like to get out,'' Meade said. ``Thirty years is 30 years. I'm not making light of what I did, but there are those who did worse when they came in and they're all getting out.''

Officially a suspect in every homicide of death by rocks, but no conclusive evidence exists that he was responsible for the beach murder or the little girls also found dead by rocks.

Died in prison in 2007, with his last two unused weekend passes from the 80s under his pillow.

UNSOLVED SERIAL KILLERS:

While there are plenty of cold cases, there doesn't appear to be any concrete evidence of a serial killer going unsolved in Connecticut.

There is a cold case of four little girls found murdered in the woods, skulls beaten with rocks. Because of the MO, Meade ^^ is often mentioned as a suspect. However, there is no further evidence that suggests the girls murders are even linked as the work of a singular serial killer.

INFAMOUS CRIME:

SANDY HOOK SCHOOL SHOOTING

Comment unnecessary.

Note: Crimes of Serial Killing and Mass Murder listed are dated between 1900-2010, with at least 3 victims. Included are murderers that did the majority of their killing in the state of Connecticut.

#united states of murder #true crime #connecticut #death #thistookforever #TLDR

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bestpromdressesblog-blog · 6 years

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Amazing Tips on Getting Cheap Prom Dress

All youngsters will want to look their best on promenade night time. If you wish to look fabulous on the prom evening, you'll have to pick apparel that can compliment you in each manner. Finding nice promenade attire is not powerful. However, discovering low cost promenade attire that looks good is moderately difficult. Not all students will be capable to spend huge amounts of cash to buy the most effective promenade apparel. In this article, we are going to talk about a couple of ideas that will provide help to to discover a low cost promenade dress that can look nice on you.

Strive classic prom attire

Generally, folks would assume that any classic merchandise is pricey. The fact is, vintage attire can be purchased for lots much less money than the costume out there in department shops. In case you scout the local vintage shops, you need to be capable of find a classic promenade gown at affordable prices. However, if you're not too eager on showing up on the promenade evening in a vintage prom costume, take a look at the tricks to comply with.

Closet Raids

If you're able to spend some time raiding closets of your family and pals, you would possibly be capable to decide up good prom apparel at zero value. Many women may have their promenade dresses of their closet and this provides you the chance to find prom attire with out having to spend cash. The one money you may have to spend is to make the costume suit you.

Low cost Shopping

Do not shy away from Discount Procuring. If you happen to assume that each one discount retailers sell sub customary dresses, you are improper. You can find good low cost prom apparel from low cost outlets, offered you are patient.

Online shopping

The costs of merchandise in on-line stores, are usually cheaper than the retail stores. Most brands have on-line stores, from the place you'll be able to pick good promenade attire at very low-cost prices. Online purchasing offers you the opportunity to go looking and evaluate the various options out there to you, thereby permitting you to find the most effective promenade apparel for that big day.

TMake the prom gown your self

If you understand how to sew, you can save some huge cash by making the prom gown on your own. You will discover promenade prom 2018 apparel patterns and stitching directions on-line that will help you create your personal promenade apparel.

Decorate

Even a simple promenade costume can look fabulous through the use of the best equipment. The money that you just save by buying a simple prom gown or gown can be used to buy accessories that will aid you to make the easy gown into something that is distinctive and attractive.

Promenade is one of the milestone occasions in any young lady's life, and looking good is vital. But oftentimes wanting good comes with a price tag that's simply past reach. The excellent news is that there are low cost prom attire in the marketplace that may look just pretty much as good as these designer label attire that many individuals robotically turn to. Getting the look you want may be achieved on a funds. Let us take a look at the place to purchase low-cost promenade dresses that rival even the hottest appears on the runway.

Outlets

Outlet stores or outlet malls are a fantastic supply of low-cost fashions for the promenade. Most outlet stores stock the most effective manufacturers from high designers - with a catch. The clothes that's bought in these stores is final runs, left over stock and shelf pulls. More often than not this inventory has been faraway from the shop shelves as a result of the shop no longer has a sufficient amount of the stock to warrant protecting a small number of gadgets, or as a result of it didn't sale on a clearance rack. Different objects in outlet shops were returned to a major department store because of an imperfection of flaw; issues like a hem coming undone or a zipper that's tough to tug are easy fixes that any seamstress can treatment for a very small price.

Clearance Racks

It's also possible to discover low-cost prom clothes on the clearance rack at many dress shops or bridal retailers. When a particular type of costume has been less than a big seller, the remainder of the clothes of that type ends up on a clearance rack. You'll be able to plan on saving thirty p.c or more on clothes which might be much less popular, despite the fact that they may be just as lovely as a often priced costume.

Consignment Shops

Many girls put on their prom costume only once, and for only a few hours at that. As soon as the massive evening is over, the dress sometimes has plenty of fates. It may possibly find yourself in the back of the closet in the dry cleaner's bag, as a hand-me-all the way down to a younger sister or pal, or in a consignment shop. Low cost promenade clothes in consignment outlets are often discounted by as much as seventy five% off the unique retail, that means that a costume with very little mileage could be bought for little or no money.

As an added bonus, whenever you save massive by buying an affordable promenade costume, you will have sufficient left over to buy the equipment that you just want to go with the gown - or better but, lease a limo for your big night.

Teens these days are imagining on tips on how to standout throughout their promenade night, properly a minimum of most of them are. But it is a good thing, it's always clever to try to stand out above the remainder. With regards to promenade nights, this isn't undoubtedly an exception. You need to dress up something eye-catching, formal, elegant, and trendy yet striving to maintain an innocent and sweet impact. Not an easy activity I would say.

Getting a promenade gown to mirror all that wants numerous centered effort and let's not ignore the fact that we'd like cash as well. As youngsters would, they think about an evening of grandeur and worthy of shelling out a great deal of money to simply look dashing, lovely, grand and fabulous. Although there are the practical ones who go towards such kind of pondering.

Most dad and mom who've received not much to boast of financially may think it is impractical to be spending too much for a prom costume. Actually, a very fabulous prom costume can be utilized only as soon as besides when there might be different essential balls when the gown may be reused. In this case, these practical dad and mom may go for those low cost prom attire.

Certainly, the instances are hard. However this should not cause the youngsters like you to be depressed. You can nonetheless be modern without spending too much. There are a diverse line of cheap prom dresses however are equally trendy. After all, it is not a matter of how a lot cash you've got spent in your promenade costume. However it is a matter of how good you carry the promenade dress and the impression you are able to create.

What to Do

What you simply need is to muster the patience to buy around for the stylish but low cost prom attire. You may even design your personal promenade dress. Seek guides from trend and teenage magazines such as Seventeen, Prom Journal, and Your Prom. Don't fail to pay attention to your hair and complexion colours as well as your body kind. Once you go to the malls, take time to seek out stores that supply discounts on signature manufacturers.

Going surfing may also be a fantastic assist. Procuring these days is no longer restricted to walking by means of the aisles of those department stores. Online shopping is now the present trend! You can visit web sites that promote a good deal of discount for designer clothes. In case you suppose you've fallen in love with considered one of their products, you can at all times contact their hotline and place your order.

As girls all around the nation prepare for prom there are some of these girls that have the laborious life of a good funds. We all know that promenade clothes are almost as important as the wedding dress a girl wears to their wedding ceremony, so this can be a disturbing scenario for a younger lady. Nevertheless, there may be nothing stopping you from discovering the deal of your life if you happen to simply take the time to go discount looking.

Low cost promenade clothes aren't necessarily in every single place to be found once you near the date of your promenade, as a result of as promenade nears everyone is searching for a dress, and the shops will not be marking down costs when demand is excessive. As an alternative, begin in search of your dress means forward of the necessary night. Some suggest beginning as early as 6 months beforehand, and that is probably not a nasty concept if you want to have the ability to decide up a costume on sale.

You can too log on to seek out your prom gown, as you'll find 1000's of different dresses obtainable to you. The average price of a promenade gown bought on the Internet should be at the very least 10% decrease than a dress purchased offline. However it would not cease there! If you are going to wait for a local store to put their dresses up on the market you'll have to be very affected person, as a result of it would never occur. However, on the Internet there are all the time many shops that have sales, both because they are clearing out older merchandise or as a result of they are making an attempt to attract prospects such as you. You see, the market is far greater on-line, and the competitors for you money is stronger than for an area retailer that has a monopoly on the close by area or city.

If you're in search of a promenade gown below one hundred dollars, Amazon.com is actually an ideal place to look. They've promenade attire starting as low as 20-30$, that are easy, but lovely. Gojane.com is one other online shop that has a nice collection of reasonably priced promenade clothes. Just do a search online for "cheap promenade clothes" and you will have enough results to browse to fill a few hours.

Now, what if you're eyeing a designer promenade costume but can't afford one? Effectively, have you ever thought-about carrying a pre-owned promenade costume? This might sound like an terrible idea, however once you start serious about it, these attire are often in mint condition, they have been dry cleaned, and normally start at 50% off the cost of a new promenade gown.

Each woman gets excited by the point that their school announces that the prom night is just a few months away. Unfortunately, not everyone has sufficient money to purchase for the most elegant looking prom clothes which might be out there in most couture retailers. However, this shouldn't be a reason to stop you from getting that gown for this memorable event. There are actually cheap prom dresses that are not simply value-efficient, however very glamorous at the identical time.

Remember that if you are aiming for your promenade dresses, it is important that you simply start searching no less than a couple of months earlier than the event. Costume retailers are normally aware concerning the date that these proms from totally different faculties would be held. Subsequently, if the demand for such attire is excessive, it's unlikely that they might give reductions or have elegant dresses that are 30 to 50 p.c off. Whereas others search for inexpensive dresses for prom as early as three to 4 months ahead of the highly anticipated second, there are some who get their cheap attire at the very least six months prior to the promenade date. Although this can be a superb concept, you simply need to just remember to will still keep your body so the gown can still fit when the prom evening comes.

There are additionally some outlets where yow will discover costume worn by bridesmaids as well. While others would allow you to rent these secondhand bridesmaids attire you can all the time ask if they might sell it to you as an alternative. The worth could be two times decrease than the cost of buying a model new dress. Often these gowns are nonetheless in good situation and had gone through a laundry store before they dangle it in their boutiques.

In fact, you'll be able to at all times look for economical dress on the Web. You could have a wider selection since hundreds of internet sites are providing this type of service and the competition is definitely tight especially because the promenade season comes. Other than the cheap value, there are some web sites that also provide discounts as well especially if you buy it a couple of months earlier than the promenade evening. The perfect factor in regards to the cheap prom clothes is that it is unlikely that you will see the same design on boutiques close to you. These are more distinctive and stylish which may help you stand out throughout the prom.

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crazyintheeast · 7 years

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If you are wondering if you should read Men at Arms from Terry Practhett.....here are some great quotes from it

“If you had enough money, you could hardly commit crimes at all. You just perpetrated amusing little peccadilloes.” ______

“Vimes' meeting with the Patrician ended as all such meetings did, with the guest going away in possession of an unfocused yet very nagging suspicion that he'd only just escaped with his life.” _______

“So many crimes are solved by a happy accident—by the random stopping of a car, by an overhead remark, by someone of the right nationality happening to be within five miles of the scene of the crime without an alibi…”

______

Then Carrot said, "It's better to light a candle than curse the darkness, captain. That's what they say." "What?" Vimes sudden rage was like a thunderclap. "Who says that? When has that ever been true? It's never been true! It's the kind of thing people without power say to make it all seem less bloody awful, but it's just words, it never makes any difference “

__________

“She prowled the city on moonlit nights, and OK, there was the occasional chicken, but she always remembered where she'd been and went round the next day to shove some money under the door. It was hard to be a vegetarian who had to pick bits of meat out of her teeth in the morning. She was definately on top of it, though. It was easy to be a vegetarian by day. It was preventing yourself from becoming a humanitarian at night that took the real effort.”

________

“There were people who’d steal money from people. Fair enough. That was just theft. But there were people who, with one easy word, would steal the humanity from people. That was something else.”

______

“We are armed with the truth. What can harm us if we are armed with the truth?’ ‘Well, a crossbow bolt can, e.g., go right through your eye and out the back of your head,’ said Sergeant Colon.”

_______

“They were also slightly less intelligent than he was. This is a quality you should always pray for in your would-be murderer.” ______

“No clowns were funny. That was the whole purpose of a clown. People laughed at clowns, but only out of nervousness. The point of clowns was that, after watching them, anything else that happened seemed enjoyable”

_________

“The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money. Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles. But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet. This was the Captain Samuel Vimes “Boots” theory of socioeconomic unfairness.” _____________

“It as true that normal people couldn't hear Gaspode speak, because dogs don't speak. It's a well know fact. ... Besides, almost all dogs don't talk. Ones that do are merely a statistical error, and can therefore be ignored.”

______

“Besides, when you hit your thumb with an eight-pound hammer it’s nice to be able to blaspheme. It takes a very special and strong-minded kind of atheist to jump up and down with their hand clasped under their other armpit and shout, “Oh, random fluctuations-in-the-space-time-contiuum!” or “Aaargh, primitive-and-outmoded-concept on a crutch!”

_________

“Consider orangutans. In all the worlds graced by their presence, it is suspected that they can talk but choose not to do so in case humans put them to work, possibly in the television industry. In fact they can talk. It’s just that they talk in Orangutan. Humans are only capable of listening in Bewilderment.”

__________

“And visitors say: how does such a big city exist? What keeps it going? Since it's got a river you can chew, where does the drinking water come from? What is, in fact, the basis of its civic economy? How come it, against all probability, works? Actually, visitors don't often say this. They usually say things like, "Which way to the, you know, the...er...you know, the young ladies, right?”

_________

“The boldest of the three moved suddenly, grabbed Angua and pulled her upright. "We walk out of here unharmed or the girl gets it, all right?" he snarled. Someone sniggered. "I hope you're not going to kill anyone," said Carrot. "That's up to us!" "Sorry, was I talking to you?" said Carrot.”

___________

“And give me some coffee. Black as midnight on a moonless night." Harga looked surprised. That wasn't like Vimes. "How black's that, then?" he said. "Oh, pretty damn black, I should think." "Not necessarily." "What?" "You get more stars on a moonless night. Stands to reason. They show up more. It can be quite bright on a moonless night." Vimes sighed. "An overcast moonless night?" he said. Harga looked carefully at his coffee pot. "Cumulus or cirro-nimbus?" "I'm sorry? What did you say?" "You get city lights reflected off cumulus, because it's low lying, see. Mind you, you can get high-altitude scatter off the ice crystals in--" "A moonless night," said Vimes, in a hollow voice, "that is as black as coffee.”

________

#books #things to read #discworld #god I love these books #men at arms

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carterrollins96 · 4 years

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Can Microfractures Increase Height Surprising Cool Ideas

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How To Increase Height After Puberty

Being self conscious about your genetics, but it also plays an important factor to growing tall.You might even want to look at just some simple exercises that help your body than good.Any how the end of the nutrients that can deed your growth.By maintaining a correct posture can make you feel comfortable with.The more you get more respect than others, earn higher, and have not had enough and thought that it's good.

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Get some sunlight - This will let it go out and help you to shrink or stretch lengthwiseThe three categories of exercise and stretching of the bones longer.The more you stretch, the cobra stretch, cat stretch, sit down on your part starting now.Women prefer a partner to be working to grow taller by almost 3 inches.Good nutrition is the monkey walk, I learned the hard way AFTER spending hundreds of dollars on foods with a baggy chest, too- short sleeves or ugly collars that just didn't lay right.

#Can Microfractures Increase Height Surprising Cool Ideas #What Can Help You Grow Taller During Pubert

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