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fangirlshrewt97 · 2 years

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Caught You

Ok, this one is to blame on the Discord group, specifically @rambheem-is-real and @burningsheepcrown

I had plans people. For other fic. But oh no these two could not help but give my brain an idea so good I had to write something for it so it would shut up. Anyways, here is genderbent RamBheem, based on this post and the lovely doodle attached by Lan. Also, this might be the closest I’ve come to a smut? Did it turn out ok???

Keerthi, I hope you don’t mind I decided to try my hand at the AU you proposed, and that you like this fic...

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“Pass me the green book.” Radha gestured, holding a hand out.

Bhumi hummed as she extracted the requested book from the pile in her arms, adjusting her hold to not send them all toppling.

“So, why are you doing this?” Bhumi asked as Radha stretched to place the book on the bookshelf. Her eyes darted to the flash of skin where Radha’s shirt was coming untucked from her pants.

Bhumi had been surprised Radha’s village had permitted her to continue with the western clothing, but when Radha was able to get them the weapons she had promised, Bhumi supposed they could let her wear whatever she wanted. Not that Bhumi was complaining. The clothes were tight and highlighted Radha’s physique exquisitely.

Bhumi bit her lip. And then yelped when something thumped her loudly over the back of her head. “Hey!”

Radha was looking at her with poorly disguised amusement. “You ask me a question, and then get too distracted to hear the answer?”

Bhumi blushed, looking away. “Sorry. What did you say?”

Radha tilted her head, squinting at her. Bhumi kept her gaze steady, praying her cheeks were not getting any redder.

“I said, it was a miracle Babai managed to salvage all my books from Delhi. But since he did, the least I can do it is keep them organized.”

“I meant more why are you arranging them in the shelves when two days from now you will have taken them all down again in the name of research? Following which they will slowly accumulate into precarious piles for innocent bystanders to walk into or trip over? Because what if you need them again?”

Radha scowled as she swiped at Bhumi, but the younger woman just let out one of her booming laughs as she dodged easily. “Are you calling me messy?”

“Radha, with the amount of books you have, even if things were neat, it would look messy.”

Bhumi held out another tome in apology, which Radha took even as she frowned.

“Hey you know I am just teasing right? It’s incredible that you have so many books and that you have actually read most of them!” Bhumi corrected when she was Radha was still looking pensive.

Radha glanced at her from the corner of her eye, lips turning up in a small smile. “No, I know. But you may have a point. I will need to find a better place to keep them all.”

Bhumi hummed. “If you want, I can help build a couple extra bookshelves.”

Radha turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

Bhumi shrugged as best as she could with her load. “Sure, they wouldn’t be anything too fancy, but they would be sturdy.”

Radha shot her a wide smile. “That would be incredible Bhumi!”

Bhumi swallowed hard as the smile hit her like a punch to the gut. Rama help her, Radha was far too beautiful.

Sharp cheekbones, short straight hair, a deep olive complexion, all serving to further highlight the darkest brown eyes that flashed with honey gold when the sun hit them. Delicate wrists and nimble fingers that danced with knives and arrows alike, she moved with the agility of the deer Bhumi chased back home, and attacked with as much ferocity as any mother tiger or bear who’s family was threatened.

“-mi! Bhumi!” jolted the Gond girl back to the present where Radha was waving her hand in front of her.

“There you are!” Radha said as Bhumi met her eye. “I swear, that is the fourth time you have spaced out today. Let’s take a break, I think you should lie down for some time.”

Bhumi shook her head though. “No, no, I’m fine. We are almost done anyways, we only have like 10 books left. Let’s finish it off.”

Radha pursed her lips as she looked her over before nodding. “Fine, but as soon as we are done, you promise to go lie down for some time?”

Bhumi nodded reluctantly, knowing Radha would not back down otherwise. The women got through the rest of the books quickly.

“Do you really think I will have to do this whole rearranging again in two days?” Radha said as she inspected the neatly stacked bookshelves. She took one step down from the three step ladder, but stayed off the ground, hooking an elbow to the edge of the bookshelf.

Bhumi looked at her quizzically.

“For when they become piles that inevitably end up on the floor in … what did you call them? Precarious piles that endanger innocent bystanders?” she finished with a smirk, as her eyes filled with mirth.

Bhumi bit the inside of her cheek as she grinned back. “Two days? No. I think you’ll manage for three days! Maybe even four!”

“Oh you think I could manage four days, do you?” Radha asked, toothy grin making Bhumi giggle in delight.

Bhumi winked at her, adding innocently, “I’m sure if you ask Babai for help Radha, you may even manage five days!”

“You little-” Radha growled playfully as she pretended to lunge at her. Only they both overestimated the stability of the stool, Bhumi only having a second to hear the splintering of the wood before Radha yelled, falling forwards. The younger woman shifted her stance wider, one arm wrapping around Radha’s waist, and the other around her thighs, but the momentum still sent them both crashing to the ground.

Both women exhaled with a gasp, wincing as the fall made itself known. When Bhumi opened her eyes, she felt as if she still hadn’t gotten her breath back. Radha’s face was a hair’s breath away, eyes squeezed close, plump lips open, and god Bhumi wanted to kiss her so badly. She felt the loose strands of Radha’s hair brushing her hairline.

And then Radha opened her eyes, and time seemed to freeze all over again. Bhumi became aware of just how closely they were pressed, shoulder to hip, chests heaving against one another, Radha’s knees straddling Bhumi’s thighs.

“Bhumi-” Radha said hoarsely, causing Bhumi to press her eyes shut tighter, forcing herself to release her iron grip on Radha, even as her heart and brain both begged her to hold her closer. “Bhumi, look at me. Please open your eyes.”

Bhumi gasped, eyes opening as a gentle hand wove into her hair. Radha was still hovering over her, sweat from the afternoon heat gathering at her forehead.

And her eyes. Those dark pools Bhumi loved so much seemed deeper than ever, as Radha’s pupils dilated, leaving only a thin ring of gold behind. Eyes that darted down to Bhumi’s lips.

Bhumi licked her lips on reflex. Radha’s eyes flashed with the briefest hint of hunger, causing her to tug at Bhumi’s hair.

Bhumi’s breath stuttered, then caught again when Radha’s other hand brushed against her bare waist, where her dhavani had shifted. One of the sweat drops made its way down Radha’s forehead till the tip of her nose before falling, hitting right at the base of Bhumi’s throat.

“Ra-Radha.” Bhumi whined, baring her throat.

Radha growled her name again as she properly cupped at Bhumi’s hip, the touch a firebrand that seemed to light Bhumi from the inside out. Radha leaned close, and Bhumi closed her eyes…

“Girls? Is everything ok?” Babai’s voice was like a bucket of ice cold water, sending them both springing apart just as the older man came into Radha’s house.

Neither woman could bear to look at the other, Bhumi pressing her fingernails as tightly as possible to bring herself under control.

On the other side of the room, Radha was frantically straightening out her clothing, even as her nerves danced under her skin. So close.

“Radha?”

Radha took a deep breath before meeting her uncle’s eye.

“No, Babai, nothing to worry about. I’m afraid this stool was not as strong as I thought.” She explained as she gestured to the faulty furniture, now laying in two pieces where Radha had been standing.

“Oh devuda, I made sure to check the wood, but termites may have weakened some of the legs without leaving too much damage. Are you ok? Did you get hurt?” Babai said as he bent over the wood.

Radha shook her head. “No just a scrap.”

Babai smiled at her then, patting her shoulder. “Oh good, Bhumi should be able to take care of that with one of her pastes then!”

Except when they turned to ask the woman, she was no where to be found.

Radha closed her eyes, biting her lip. Fuck.

///

So....honestly I don’t have anything to say. You all are the ones who need to tell me what you think.

Tagging (Please please work, Tumblr I beg you):

@rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @kafkaesquebestie @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @bluesolace1 @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @adikavy @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @percikawantstoread @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @zackcrazyvalentine @stanleykubricks @ronnoxandlumoss

#rrr #rrr fanfic #rambheem #ram x bheem #rambheem fanfic #my fic #my writing

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eukennedy · 3 years

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even though his finals weren’t starting for at least another week, he’d already done enough studying to carry him through without a hitch. and with enough books piling up in the corner of his room, he was growing restless. the semester seemed to drag on in a way that left him listless, moving from one thing to another – pick up his violin, dig into another shelf at the library, listen to his lectures over again. now he was out of options ( or at least any that he felt drawn to ) which left only one thing: cleaning.

typically there wasn’t much to do – kennedy was always organized; his room lived in but always clean. still, there were things he hadn’t touched in ages, things accumulating at the back of his closet he could do with going through. during a full afternoon cross-legged on his bedroom floor digging around and clearing things out, he’d stumbled upon one too many things that no longer belonged to him. a sweater, an old cd case, a few sheets of handwritten music. the latter was his, but it wasn’t for him, it never had been, and so he didn’t see a need in keeping it. with a wrinkle of his nose, he’d tucked into a cardboard box, ignoring the doodles of hearts in the corners of the page that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

it’s this that brings him to the aphrodite house ( he’d had to make it clear to iker as he’d passed by that he was not in fact here to see him ). he knocks on vincent’s door, briefly debates leaving the box and disappearing, but knows it’d be far too cowardly. and for the amount they had in common, backing down was definitely on the list. so he waits until the door opens before he juts the box out rudely. “ here. ” he clears his throat. “ this is your stuff. i don’t want it. ” @vincenteu

#kennedy | vincent #vincenteu

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perinferiadastra · 5 years

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The fourth piece of my collection. This is my thanks to @angrymintghost for running the @ghostbcsecretsanta event and for betaing my work. 💙 Thank you again for all of your patience, kind words, encouragement, and for being so lovely. I hope this piece will be enjoyable.

Characters: Swiss Ghoul, all the Nameless Ghouls, Cardinal Copia, and a surprise appearance...

Warnings: No warning applies.

Rating: General.

Word Count: 2019.

Summary: The snow that fell around the Clergy stirs an echo of youth, half-buried in years of memories but easily brought to the surface by one mischievous Ghoul.

The chirp in his ear woke Swiss up. Not violently, not like the wretched alarm they kept on their tour bus was prone to do, causing many of them to smack their heads against the bunk above them even a year into their tour. This was a soft wake-up, akin to lazy summer mornings when the sun would stream in through the cracks of the curtains and pull him out of his slumber little by little. The arms of Morpheus retracted similarly, and gave way to the entanglement of limbs that formed the cuddle pile of the Ghouls, the warmth threatening to lull him back to sleep. It took him several minutes to gather the strength to pull himself up and out of the nest, purring softly to quieten the displeased noises of the others as they continued to rest.

On his way out he stopped to tuck them in, the blankets having been thrown haphazardly during the night by their moving limbs. The sight of his sleeping friends never failed to amuse him, even the more energetic ones of the lot becoming calm and carefree, their frowns giving way to contentment. This did not mean they were off limits in the middle of their prank wars, if the doodles he and Dewdrop were prone to leave on each other were any indication. The two were in the middle of a truce for the winter holidays, though, so Dewdrop remained unscathed as Swiss tucked him in, pulling the blanket away from where it had become caught on his broken horn.

Stepping into the shower was one of life’s little joys, Swiss mused. It helped that he could now enjoy a shower cabin larger than the ones of their hotels - while they were spacious enough when they had mortals in mind, when the Ghouls’ tail was added into the mix he found the showers the Clergy had provided them with were much more comfortable. Hot water poured steadily and washed away the dust, glitter, and other pieces of evidence of last night’s party, leading them down the drain and leaving him with only his memories as reminders of the events. The steam rose up, mist forming on the surface of the shower cabin and allowing Swiss to doodle shapes idly as he allowed the water to further detense his muscles, still relaxed from sleep but carrying the exhaustion of yesterday and the accumulated weariness of a year of touring.

Eventually emerging from the warmth and getting dressed in cosy clothes, Swiss headed towards the cafeteria, fully intent on treating himself to a deliciously unhealthy breakfast. After having two servings packed up, he headed towards the Cardinal’s office, curious to see how the return to the Clergy was treating him. They had become quite close during the Band Project, as individuals sharing close quarters every day for a year were prone to do. Swiss enjoyed the playful banter he shared with Copia, and had a teasing greeting on his lips as he entered the office. The tone was set and carried on for the duration of their meal, Copia sharing some insight regarding Nihil and Imperator in regards to the previous evening’s merriment. Gossip, though common in their Church and easily spread, was always better from inside sources, and Swiss delighted in the first-hand recounting of the events from a mortal perspective.

Time passed, though the Ghoul would hardly have noticed if not for the interruption of a member of the Clergy bringing in Copia’s paperwork for the day. They parted with ease, their conversation coming to a close, and Swiss headed back to the cafeteria to grab snacks for the other Ghouls. On the way back, he hummed lightly, stepping outside as he moved between buildings. The winter sun was high upon the sky, causing him to close his eyes against the light, head tipped back and enjoying the light breeze of the morning, a pleasant change from the biting frost they had been experiencing for a while now. He could hear the little Ghouls playing in the snow close by, their laughter an echo of that of his friends’ many years back, trading snowballs between lessons, not a care in the cocoon of their world, so far away from the present and yet so close within reach, ready to be grasped and brought back.

It gave Swiss an idea, and everyone had grown to know early on that Swiss having ideas almost inevitably resulted in a steep descent into chaos. Keeping the appearance of a calm, collected Ghoul by emulating Mountain as much as he was able to, Swiss returned to the nest, where the rest of his friends were showing signs of stirring from their sleep. Setting down the snacks on one of the tables, he stepped over their forms with practised ease, dodging their tails on his way to the curtains. He slowly moved the fabric aside, the light causing several grumbles to emerge from the pile, though he did not bother to attempt to figure out their sources as a pillow came flying in his direction. Swiss grabbed the makeshift projectile in midair before setting it aside, stopping himself from flinging it back as his instinct dictated.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads,” Swiss said, heading back over to the snacks and selecting a few, bringing them within the reach of his band-mates. A tried and true technique, it caused several limbs to emerge from the blankets and blindly grab at the proffered food before vanishing in the pile once more. Over the next few minutes the rest of the Ghouls woke up, emerging and greeting Swiss, though greeting was more of a loose term that stood for ‘questioned him as to why he was awake at such an infernal hour.’ All this he brushed off and waited for them to go through their respective morning routines, gently chirping at them when they were being too slow for his liking.

More amused than confused by Swiss’ behaviour, the others complied, though teasing him by dragging their feet and munching slower than they normally would. Swiss had always been full of life, his energy feeding their own. His knack for mischief had often caused him to be singled out and removed from the rest, but he had always taken it in stride and his friends loved him all the more for it, doing their best to minimise the distance. Despite spending nearly every day together, they hated the setup of the stage sometimes, an extra, unnecessary gap so very reminiscent of the rows of desks their superiors would put between them and Swiss during their lessons. Seeing him so excited, his tail flicking wildly despite his attempts of stoicism, removed their grouchiness for being woken up and fuelled the group for what was starting to look like a long day ahead of them.

Dressed warmly at his request - though ‘behest’ would be more suitable, considering Swiss had taken to wrapping scarves and coats around them, as if he were decorating a tree the way mortals tended to do around this time of the year - the Ghouls stepped outside and breathed in the cold air, the freshness of it removing the last of the sleep from their eyes, the last of the grains brought by the Sandman during the night cracking and falling away. The little Ghouls had left, likely brought indoors by their caretakers out of concern that they would catch a cold. They were far more resilient than mortals, but even they could get sick, and the band-mates knew from personal experience how unpleasant ill Ghouls could get.

Evidence remained of the little ones’ playtime, snow figures littering the landscape of the vast courtyard and trailing off towards the woods as far as they had dared to venture. The snowballs that had not broken up upon contact with solid surfaces were spread around the area, and some were still unused, stacked in piles of precarious balance. The sun hadn’t managed to melt much, the cold preserving both the shapes the little Ghouls had moulded the snow into and the ice that covered the ground, hidden by a thin layer of snow in some places and cleared out on the natural slopes of the landscape, undoubtedly having acted as slides for the young ones.

While the other Ghouls were busy taking it all in, Swiss made a valiant effort to sneak a few paces away and scoop up one of the snowballs from the piles. He would’ve likely succeeded, had he not slipped on the ice, ending up face-first in a snowbank, his legs kicking wildly in order to free himself. After the band stopped laughing long enough to help him out, this served as the start of a snow day, the group acting as they hadn’t done in what seemed like ages, even the more mature of their members, like Rain and Mountain, partaking in the fun with the same glee they had in their younger years, at one point shoving snow down the back of Aether and Dewdrop’s coats in retaliation for the snowballs that had landed in their ears.

Their laughter rang out loud and clear, enough to draw an audience, distracting members of the Clergy and Siblings of Sin from their tasks as they moved between the buildings, causing most to step away in order to avoid becoming involved in their play fighting, and a few brave ones to join in. Word got around, as it tended to, and Copia was notified, stepping outside a few hours later to bear witness to the result of the chaos. The Cardinal was greeted by the sight of his Ghouls laying down on the ground, still giggling, an odd sound that he rarely heard from them. They were clearly worn out, and he could see their chests heaving as they drew breath.

Noticing him, they sat up, looking for all the world like they had been caught with their hands in the proverbial cookie jar. They all sported matching grins, the sharpness of their fangs evident in the slowly fading light. The snow clung to their lashes, and caught the light of the soft inner glow of their eyes, dispersing it subtly, like miniature crystals, precious discoveries if one knew to look for them. Shaking his head fondly, Copia approached his band-mates, setting his hands upon his hips upon reaching them. Before he could so much as say a word, Swiss and Dewdrop stuck their tongues out in unison, startling a laugh out of the Cardinal, and causing the rest to resume their own sounds of amusement, oddly reminiscent of the tinkling of bells in the wind.

Photos were not usually taken around their Clergy, the Ghouls being often unmasked on the premises and the risk of the images reaching the masses being far too great to be left to chance. In that moment, however, the Third Papa snapped a picture on his phone, having followed the commotion for the past hour from a window upstairs. The Papa had been on his way to visit Nihil when he heard the loud noises from outside, and stopped to watch the lot, amused by it and by seeing his own former band-mate in this setting. The Third thought it rather sweet, and as he eventually left after texting Copia the image, he changed his trajectory, heading instead towards the building of his other former band-mates, spending an evening with his own family of Ghouls.

It turned out that the Papa had had the perfect vantage point for the group photo that would become the favourite of those within the frame, private and only known to themselves, a moment in time captured and preserved, a memory within a bottle that they could uncork at any time in order to bring back the feelings within. The Ghouls, now joined by Copia after much cajoling on their part, settled down in their nest once more as the day came to a close, shaking off the cold of the day through their shared warmth. It was with familiar, contented chirps that Swiss drifted off to sleep.

#r's weird writing

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ohthathurt · 6 years

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Bring Me Home

Prompt: You were away for a while and I missed you so much that I kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety…sorry?

Also inspired by this art

Heaving up his shoulder bag, Liam absently rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, digging into a travelling bag in front of him on the trolley for his water bottle. Flying sucked balls. Obscene as that description may be, it was God’s honest truth and he couldn’t wait to get out of the airport and into a private car that took him to their flat. His and Zaynie’s flat in New York.

He had just landed a few minutes ago and thankfully it being a late flight there weren’t as many people milling in and out, which always set Paddy on edge, sticking to Liam like Velcro. Baggage claim done, he followed his security out towards the arrivals gate and out of the airport’s exit sliding doors.

This time, no paps were present to document his entry into New York because of obvious reasons but Liam was grateful for them, he was sure he looked a mess. Face wrinkled with however little sleep he could manage and hair sticking up on all ends thanks to the residual hair wax, he was surprised no one gave him the stink eye.

He dropped heavily onto the soft seats of the car, a black sedan with tinted windows, and immediately curled up to go back to sleep. From the front passenger seat, he could hear Paddy look back at him and scoff but Liam ignored him for the sweet call of slumber and dreams full of happy amber eyes.

It was much later that he jolted up as he heard a sharp rap against the window that his face was currently smushed up against, haphazardly wiping off any drool that may have accumulated.

He looked around in a daze and he found the car was parked in idle in a narrow alley behind a building. The flat’s back entrance, then.

It was already beginning to be sunrise so he pushed himself out the car door and walked towards the building’s back entrance, an inconspicuous looking door with matte black paint on it. Liam wobbled his way through the door and robotically made his way towards their flat. A quick swipe and the security checks were sorted as he finally stepped into his home.

The smell of vanilla and dog food welcomed him as he sleepily chuckled, so Zayn was sneaking Rhino in behind his back. Their dogs, more like babies, weren’t always allowed in the flat whenever they lived here, due to Rhino’s tendency to run in open areas and Loki loved the gardens at their LA mansion.

But Liam stopped short of their living room, the coffee table a mess of comics and coasters, sheets of paper strewn around no doubt filled with mindless lyrics or wordless melodies. His heart ached to hear the soft pads of feet across their plush carpet, a wide grin with a scrunchy nose and lively eyes. He longed for those thin, wiry arms to wind around his neck, his husband a light weight in his arms as he jumped up to greet Liam.

All he wanted was to bury his nose in the soft, raven hair and breathe in the familiar but still intoxicating scent of Zayn.

God, he’s such a sap, if his husband was here he’d get a roll of the eyes and a scoff but still with a hint of rosy cheeks. Even after all these years, Zayn still loved to hear how much he meant to Liam.

With a shake of his head, Liam forced himself out of his head. Right, first things first.

He took long strides towards their bedroom, the door half open with the king sized bed in view, and all clean white sheets. Unlacing his shoes, he kicked them off in a hurry outside the bedroom’s entrance and made his way towards the wardrobe room. Of course, they had a wardrobe room; where else would Zayn keep the innumerous clothing items he received on the daily.

Liam flicked on the dim orange light of the tiny space and made his way towards the far left corner, where his own drawer of things was situated. Swiftly sliding it open, he reached in for a small velvet pouch. He shook its contents out onto his palm with a small smile as he finally slid on his wedding band.

Now he felt complete. Now he felt like Liam, just Liam, or as Niall called him, Mrs. Zayn Malik.

With a huff at the memory of his best friend taking the piss out of him, he exited the small room and his eyes zeroed in on the bed. Finally, his own bed.

After a quick use of the washroom, he took his cellphone out and sent a customary reached text to his husband, before shutting it off. He planted himself face down on the bed, practically groaning at the memory foam as it hugged his body. Blindly, he reached for Zayn’s pillow and cuddled it close to him, the scent of his husband still a remnant on it.

With a small sigh, he switched onto his side and curled up into a foetal position, before finally drifting off.

***

Light danced across his eyelids and Liam groaned as he absently remembered he forgot to shut the blinds. He fluttered his eyes open carefully, the sunlight almost blinding him and found that he was in the same position he slept in.

With a loud grunt, he shifted onto his back, only to find a dull ache present in his left shoulder and his back. He’d probably have to call his trainer in to check that over before he went back to his weight training.

After an agonizing hour of moving himself around for enough blood flow to ease his pain, he was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, a bowl of oat bran cereal in front of him and his thumb scrolling busily through his twitter mentions.

He chuckled at the few memes, apparently him and Niall were fodder for ‘1d memes’ nowadays, and smiled at the warm yet manic compliments left by his fans.

He exited out of his own twitter page and typed in a name he’s not ashamed to admit that he Googles more than his own. Zayn Malik.

Switching to an update blog on Tumblr, he found a flurry of new pictures of Zayn who was currently in Milan attending a Louis Vuitton show. His husband was holding several poses, dressed in a sleek, aubergine-coloured tux with black trims, shiny black shoes and hair an artful mess of inky black.

In each picture, Zayn held a similar pose, the achingly familiar smoulder and the mandala-covered hand on the lapel of his suit jacket. Liam’s heart threatened to burst with affection as he scrolled through more pictures of his husband, in every angle possible. God, but he was beautiful. And God, did Liam miss him terribly.

He also longed to see the familiar black ring on the left hand, right above the mandala tattoo. The same ring that he had purchased back in 2013, with the help of his and Zayn’s sisters. The same ring he had then presented to Zayn with a tear-filled speech that neither of them could get through.

But there was no use longing for something that was well far off in their future. He heaved a huge sigh and shoveled the last few spoonfuls of his breakfast, dropping the bowl in the sink to wash later.

He looked around the lonesome flat, figuring out what to do. The comics on the coffee table looked inviting so headed over to pick a few up.

Evening approached quickly and Liam found himself utterly bored and surrounded by crumpled up white papers. Lyrics scrawled down and scratched over, a funny looking doodle that was supposed to be Watson and Loki playing in the grass and just Zayn’s name signed over and over again.

The flat now looked a bit of a mess; the couch was obviously stained with a large yellow spot from where he had accidentally spilled some beer earlier in the day. His crumpled up papers littered the living room floor and a few reached across to the entrance of his bedroom, from where he had lobbed it in frustration, when lyrics and melodies escaped him.

He was pretty sure there were dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen sink and a flurry of crumbs on the kitchen floor and counter from when he had dropped the box of cereal clumsily. He’d mostly cleaned it up but there were still some obvious signs of trauma.

His dirty clothes from the airport were lying half in and out of the laundry basket and their washroom a mess from when Liam took an hour long hot shower without bothering to clean up the steam stained windows of their shower.

So he was a bit of a mess, but his husband’s absence was getting to him. He couldn’t even call him because he didn’t want to bother Zayn and worry him with the fact that he couldn’t even handle a few weeks alone.

Thick scruff was now growing freely over his jaw and he hadn’t changed into any proper clothes for two days now. He was still in the same pajamas and shirt that he threw on after the shower yesterday.

Liam thought of a way to pass the time when a framed picture of a family on the far left wall in the room caught his eye. He grinned widely, jaw cracking due to lack of use.

He checked the time and it was just past dinner in the UK so he whipped his phone out and dialed Safaa on Skype.

It was answered quickly as a familiar wide grin filled the screen and a screeching “Bhai!” from none other than Walihya.

Liam grinned, “Hi monster, what are you doing on your sister’s cell?”

Walihya only switched to a smug grin, “I got to it first so I get to talk to you first.”

“Alright, smart arse, how’s it going there? You get the contract yet?”

His sister-in-law bit her lip nervously before answering, “No, but I’m scared I’m not gonna get it.”

Liam scoffed, if there was someone as persistent as her on a project, it would surely get done. He told her so and watched in amusement as she blushed lightly and switched back to her scream-talking.

But soon a scuffle broke out and Liam could make out heated girlish whispers as the phone jerked around violently before a sweet smile on a serene face greeted him. His little one.

“Hi Saf,” Liam all but cooed at her and watched her scrunch her nose up, just like her brother.

Safaa giggled, “I’m not 8 anymore, Bhai. You still greet me like I’m a child.”

“You are a child! You’re my itty bitty little widdle cuddle monster.” He teased her relentlessly, enjoying the sweet smile morph into a more sarcastic and deadpan look. She looked every bit as unimpressed as Zayn does when Liam wants him to wash his own socks.

“Excuse you, I’m a teenager!”

“Yeah, only sixteen!”

“Yeah, and sixteen is pretty grown up.” Safaa looked smug as she stated.

Liam laughed, “Is it really? So tell me, O wise one, what all can you do at sixteen?”

She put on a mischievous smile, “Didn’t Bhaiyya fall in love with you at sixteen?”

Liam sobered up, “Safaa, don’t go looking for that now, you’re way too young!”

But the little shit grinned widely still, “Oh so now I’m too young for this when you two were probably off shagging at – “

“Safaa!” A shout resounded from behind her and she instantly cringed as the phone was passed and Trisha appeared on the screen beside her.

A small, “Sorry, Mum” was quickly whispered as she scampered somewhere off screen, probably to her bedroom to sulk in shame. Liam felt guilty for teasing, she was a sensitive one, his Safaa, and he didn’t want to see her shamefaced like that.

He quickly greeted his mother-in-law who was smiling gently at him before he addressed the issue of his youngest sister-in-law.

With a tinkling laugh and a hand wave, his protests soon died down as she continued, “Don’t worry, darling, she’s the spoilt one, you and Zayn never let me or Yaser scold her.”

He relaxed as their conversation soon took a turn towards Liam being alone and Trisha tutted quietly at his dejected expression.

“Do you want to catch a quick one over to Bradford, jaan? You can keep us company until Zayn is done.” She offered gently, an invitation that made him feel warm in his gut and a strong sense of belonging in his veins.

He thanked her but rejected the invitation politely, he wanted to stay here and wait until his husband came back. Besides, Zayn was supposed to be here in two days.

Soon, he was hearing lectures on his unkempt appearance that he accepted with a winning grin, all the while wondering if she’d faint at the sight of the flat.

After a while, he was saying his goodbyes, a whispered, “Bye, Maa, love you” that made Trisha’s eyes shine suspiciously with tears.

The sight made him miss his own parents, who were barely a call away for Liam but he didn’t want to disturb their time at Ruth’s house, where they were probably busy doting over Ashton.

He slumped down onto their cream coloured couch, appreciating the feeling of drowning in the cushions before his stomach rumbled uncomfortably.

With a pained groan, he heaved himself up off the couch, rubbing a hand at his sore back, and made his way towards the refrigerator.

Expecting a mostly empty fridge with suspiciously old take-out food, he pulled it open and gaped in surprise at the number of Tupperware containers.

He took one container out and edged it open, sniffing at the contents and smiled surprisingly at discovering it was Zayn’s homemade Karahi chicken.

He excitedly ducked back into the fridge to find a wrapped package that turned out to be naan and moved towards the stove where he hurriedly heated everything up.

Soon, he was sat on their couch in the living room, tearing up at the taste of the familiar food. God, now he was crying over a plate of Karahi chicken. But he couldn’t help it; he missed his husband too much.

***

Liam was about to burst into tears; he was currently sat on the carpeted floor with crossed legs, facing the flat’s main door. A blanket, which Zayn favoured during cold nights, was draped over him, covering his head, shoulders and arms, pooling out onto the floor around him.

In his right hand, he clutched a well-worn shirt of Zayn’s , which used to belong to Liam but didn’t fit him anymore. In his left hand, he gripped at his cellphone, willing it to ring so that Zayn could inform him that he’d landed. He took turns every few minutes, alternating between smelling the shirt and checking his cellphone.

All he had gotten was a “On my way to the airport :)” text and in the next few hours Liam had worn a dent into their lovely carpet and had messed up the flat some more. He was pretty sure his bottom lip was threatening to wobble at this point.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he heard an electronic beep come from the door, as the red light on the door turned to green and door knob jiggled and twisted.

An excited yelp left Liam as he sat up straight, eyes wide and trained on the door as it swung open to reveal a tired but beautiful Zayn. His head faced the floor as he edged his way in, a bag on his shoulder swaying heavily that he dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

But he soon looked up and stopped short in his tracks, mouth agape at the sight of Liam on the carpet.

For some reason, Liam didn’t have the energy to get up to greet his husband because his limbs weren’t cooperating, so he stayed on the floor and continued to stare hungrily at his husband, seeing him after so long.

Zayn finally snapped out of his shock and moved towards his husband, a concerned expression evident on his face. He kneeled down in front of Liam and cupped his cheeks before whispering, “Liam, you okay, jaan?”

But Liam only made a noise that sounded a lot like ‘meep!’ and leaned into Zayn’s touch heavily, his eyes closing at the touch.

A dozen thoughts whirled through Zayn’s mind, almost all of them concerned and worried for his husband, as he stood up again, heart wrenching at the noise Liam made at the loss of touch. He reached down to hook his arms under his husband’s armpits and pulled him up and with a bit of difficulty, Liam was upright but swaying dangerously.

He nuzzled sweetly into Zayn’s neck, who accepted the warm touch but continued working to get Liam to the bedroom. It was only when he stepped aside that Zayn got a view of the flat.

It looked like Loki had run through it without supervision. The little hyper dog was privy to such behaviour which is why they only isolated him to their LA mansion or his in-laws’ house in London.

Now, Zayn gaped at the mess, couch cushions thrown on the floor, days-old dishes lining the kitchen counter and what looked like a trail of dirty clothes leading up to their bedroom.

What in the world, how did this - ?

He turned his head slightly to look at his husband who was now endearingly staring back with a dreamy expression. Liam blinked slowly at him, his eyes looking unfocused and feverish but a beautiful smile graced his soft features.

Oh no, thought Zayn as he realized he had found the culprit at last. Liam James Malik (as of 2014) was the one who had made an absolute shit of a mess of their flat, their house.

Zayn groaned internally at the sight but his worry for his husband overwhelmed any other thoughts. He needed to sort Liam out first.

Avoiding the mix of clothes and crumpled papers on the floor, he led Liam to their bedroom, kicking aside the mess to avoid either of them stumbling. He pushed Liam towards the washroom, tutting at the sight, and undressed himself before doing the same to his husband.

Liam realized in his half-sleep daze, that he was being undressed by a very naked Zayn. He giggled and patted his husband’s cheek limply before slurring out, “I like where this is going.”

Zayn huffed at him, before he bent down to slip Liam’s joggers off, before quickly leaning over and turning the hot water tap on. He gently guided Liam towards the spray who hooted adorably at the feeling of hot water touching his skin, before joining him in the spacious shower.

What was supposed to be a quick wash and rinse became a battle of limbs as Zayn continuously batted of Liam’s wandering hands and groping fingers that frankly made him blush a little. After a soapy victory, he rinsed himself and Liam off, before reaching out for the towel on the handle bar – only to find it used and slopped over near the laundry basket.

He groaned under his breath, and awkwardly hobbled his way towards their linen closet (something his mother absolutely insisted on them having) and blindingly grabbed a few towels for him and Liam.

When he went back to the washroom, he was greeted to the most adorable sight of Liam, sopping wet with hair dripping on his forehead, body leaning against the wall of the shower, seemingly asleep.

Zayn laughed gently before draping Liam with soft, fluffy towels, drying him with gentle touches and loving pecks all over his face.

Deciding to forego clothes, it was only the two of them, he all but dropped Liam onto their bed, who bounced comically once and twice on his front before going still, breathing deeply.

It was only now that Zayn finally looked around and was reminded of the mess Liam made. God, and he was the slob?

A quick text to for housekeeping to visit them the next afternoon, he too dropped heavily onto the bed, the exhaustion from the flight and taking care of Liam getting to him. Throwing a careless arm over Liam’s waist, he murmured a quiet, “Love you, jaan” (a goodnight tradition they insisted on since being married) and buried his face into a pillow, falling fast asleep.

Clearly Zayn was underestimating just how grateful Liam was for taking care of him and his mess, as he lay staring at the ceiling, panting heavily in the aftermath of his husband waking him up with a phenomenal blowjob. His husband lay smugly beside him before he bounded up towards the washroom, all too excited to start the day.

Zayn laughed a little hysterically before chasing Liam into the shower, intent on finishing what his husband started.

It was nearing noon in New York as deliciously golden rays of sunlight splashed across the floor of their living room. It bounced off the glass of the coffee table and lit up the hints of yellow in Zayn’s eyes. Liam stared intently at him, taking in the light scruff littering a delicate yet strong jaw, nose ring glinting in the sunlight, and eyelashes fluttering prettily as he looked down at his art pad on which he scribbled and scratched distractedly.

He sighed as he continued admiring his husband’s beauty, hands and arms artfully decorated with carefully chosen tattoos. The black ring sat snugly on his ring finger on the left hand, complementing the mandala. He was wearing a shirt that belonged to Liam, the neck of which was stretched out due to years of use and loose Batman boxers that were a gag gift from Niall on Liam’s 20th birthday.

Joke’s on you, Niall, he wore the shit out of them.

Zayn continued sketching oblivious to Liam’s staring, a fact Liam loved about him; whenever Zayn sat down to sketch something, anything, he was always so absorbed in his activity that he often forgot that he was maybe sat in a radio show where he was supposed to participate in an interview or even at Ashton’s Christening where he had sat for hours in front of the baby’s crib, sketching out the soft features.

Finally, Liam urged his body to move, his need to be close to Zayn overriding any other thought. He crossed the span of the living room in long strides before dropping to his knees, ignoring the little jolt Zayn gave as he finally noticed Liam.

Before he could figure out what Liam was doing, his husband lifted the loose shirt gently before unceremoniously shoving his face under it.

Zayn jumped at the sudden move, gawking at the round shape of Liam’s head under his shirt.

Okay, he had finally lost it, his darling, beautiful, intelligent husband had gone off the –

But Zayn’s internal ramblings all ground to a halt, as he felt soft lips reverently kissing the skin on his stomach, and strong, tattooed arms wound around his waist to grip possessively and hold him in place. Liam breathed in deeply as Zayn sat frozen, unsure of how to proceed.

When a minute passed and Liam’s breath stuttered as he felt those lips purse and tremble dangerously against him, Zayn laid a careful hand on his husband’s shirt covered head.

A mumbled ‘Missed you’ on his skin didn’t go unnoticed by Zayn as he finally relaxed, letting Liam do what he had to, to deal with the unnecessarily constant and painful distances between them. He hummed lightly, cherishing the feeling of lips quirked into a smile as Liam felt more than heard the vibrations of Zayn’s voice.

Yeah, he was gonna be fine now.

#ziam #fanfiction #my fic #ziamfanfiction

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c-e-d-dreamer · 7 years

Text

I know this is technically a day late, but let’s pretend I totally posted this yesterday...

Neil starts outlining a plan in his head as he ducks between students and buildings. Group projects are the bane of his existence, but he has to do them if he wants to pass, and he has to pass if he wants to be eligible to keep playing Exy. At least this time Joseph Peters isn’t in his group, but he still prefers individual assignments. The faster he gets his five slides done, the less he has to interact with the group.

Neil cuts across the Green because it’s faster, but he has to weave through a sea of bodies. The warmer weather of spring has drawn out many students from their hoards in the library. From sunbathers to studiers, the grass is now marred by waves and waves of bright colors and tanned skin. The combination of laughter and the singing of nearby birds tangle together in the air like a tangible cacophony, and the rays of the sun lick down along the ground, creating a blissful atmosphere.

Neil sidesteps around a group of sorority girls and ducks to avoid getting in the middle of an ultimate frisbee game. By the time he makes it Perimeter Road, the crowds have thinned out, and it’s easy to cross the road and head up towards Fox Tower.

His dorm is dark when Neil unlocks the door. For some reason all of the lights have been turned off, and it instantly strikes Neil as odd. He knows he can double check the schedule taped to the fridge, but he distinctly remembers Nicky’s class getting out earlier than his. Even stranger still is the fact that someone has blocked out the windows, so only a few straggling bands of light seep in. The stark darkness puts Neil on edge, settling deep in his chest and making waves of anxiety begin to churn. He knows it’s been three years, that there’s no need to run anymore, but that doesn’t stop the disquiet in his bones or ease the itch now sparking in his muscles. He’s considering heading up to the roof and texting Andrew when the lights flick on.

“Surprise!”

Neil jolts at the sudden change and shout, stumbling back and slamming his elbow into the door frame.

“Graceful.”

It takes Neil a moment to recognize that sarcastic tone, and another still for his eyes to register Allison’s unimpressed face across the room from him. He has to blink a few times to fully take in the room. Matt and Dan are standing just outside the kitchenette, arms still up, where they must’ve been hiding for the surprise. Allison and Renee are standing behind the couch. Even Kevin’s there, perched on the couch beside Andrew. Streamers have been hung all over from the ceiling, some twisted together in a pattern and others hanging down to create curtains in the doorways. Two bundles of balloons sit either side of the desks where a stack of brightly colored gifts awaits.

“That was priceless. You should’ve seen your face,” Nicky says, coming over to sling his arm around Neil’s shoulders and show the striker a video on his phone. “I am definitely posting this.”

Before Neil can respond, he’s being pulled into a bear hug.

“Oh, man, we got you good,” Matt says, ruffling Neil’s hair. “Happy birthday, Neil.”

Once Matt releases him, Dan steps up for a hug of her own, giving him a tight squeeze.

“Happy birthday,” she says. “So, did you want to do presents or cake first?”

“I can’t believe you all came back,” Neil says, looking around the room and addressing everyone. “You didn’t have to do that. Or get me anything.”

“Same old Neil,” Allison sighs.

“Let’s do presents first,” Dan says, pushing Neil to sit down on the couch before handing him a gift wrapped in bright blue paper. “That’s from Allison.”

All of the Foxes take seats around Neil as the striker slowly starts to tear open the gift. He opens the box to find new clothes, including a new hoodie.

“I know you prefer comfort over fashion,” Allison says. “So, at least that’s high-end.”

“Thanks,” Neil says, setting the opened box aside.

The next gift reveals a nice moleskin sketchbook and a set of pencils and pens.

“For your doodles,” Renee explains sweetly.

Dan’s gift is a collage photo frame, and Neil takes a minute to examine each photo. There’s one of all of them after championships, one of him and Andrew from the girls’ graduation party, one of him and Matt from a neon party they went to Matt’s last year. Neil touches each photo, and he can’t help the smile that pulls its way across his face. Seeing all these makes warmth pool in his gut, and for a moment, his chest feels tight with everything he feels for this family, his family. They’ve stood by him for years, and now they’ve all journeyed down just for his birthday. It leaves Neil feeling overwhelmed and yet so happy. He’s not sure how to even begin to put into words how grateful and thankful he is.

“Way to go, Dan,” Nicky says. “How is anyone supposed to follow up a gift like that?”

Despite his words, Nicky drops a card into Neil’s lap. Inside is a hand drawn coupon declaring one free ticket to Germany.

“So you can come visit me, obviously. Just pick a date, and I’ll buy the ticket.”

Another card reveals season tickets to the Charlotte Cardinals games from Matt and the last has a gift card to Exites in it from Kevin.

“I think that’s all of the gifts,” Renee says, checking the desk they were previously piled on for any stragglers.

“Wait. What about Andrew?” Nicky says. “Didn’t you get Neil anything?”

“I really didn’t need any of these gifts,” Neil pipes up.

“That’s no excuse!” Nicky continues before turning on Andrew. “Seriously, you didn’t get your own boyfriend a gift for his birthday?”

“Maybe his gift to Neil is the type he’d rather give when they’re alone later,” Allison says.

“I did not need to know that,” Matt mutters.

“Alright,” Dan says, pitching her voice above everyone and clapping her hands together in an attempt to diffuse the tension quickly accumulating in the room. “How about cake now?”

Everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday’ while the cake is brought out, and they encourage Neil to make a wish and blow out the candles. Neil thinks for a moment, but he can’t think of anything he’d wish for. Everything he could ever want is right here. He has a group of people who love and support him, who will always have his back and are willing to drop everything for something as trivial as a birthday. He has someone who doesn’t flinch away from his scars or his past, who’s strong enough to hold him up. He has an Exy court down the road that’s his home, that has a team ready and willing to follow him. And he has a future to look forward to for once. A future full of more of this.

So Neil closes his eyes and thinks of nothing as he blows out his candles.

Once the cake is cut and divvied up and the booze is broken out, the room fills up with warm and comfortable chatter. It’s like half the people in this room haven’t graduated, like nothing has changed, and Neil is more than happy to sit and just bask in it. He sips at the drink that was mixed for him and watches everyone around him, hoards the sights and sounds for when everyone leaves. He talks a bit with Allison about her designing and with Renee about where her next adventure will be. He even briefly talks with Kevin and Matt about the differences of playing in the pro-league.

The hours tick by faster than Neil would like, but eventually the night has to come to a close. Matt and Dan are making the two-hour trip back to Charlotte, and Allison and Renee are heading back to a hotel for the night before flying out early tomorrow morning. Kevin leaves to head to Wymack’s for the night, and the living room feels too empty as the last of the Foxes file out to head to bed. Neil tries not to feel deflated by the change, but the catch in his lungs with each breath is hard to ignore. He looks down at Dan’s gift and tries to cling desperately to the feelings of just an hour before.

A nudge to the side brings Neil back and when he looks to his left, Andrew is standing from the couch and heading for the door. Neil is quick to follow and they head up to the roof. They’re quiet as Andrew lights up two cigarettes, eyes watching out over the campus. It’s a clear night for once but the lights from the freeway blur out most of the stars. It’s still nice. The warmth from the spring night and Andrew beside him settling Neil.

Andrew lights up his second cigarette and curls his fingers around Neil’s wrist. He raises Neil’s hand up between them and drops a key into the palm. Neil freezes in confusion for a moment before he brings the key closer to his face and examines the simple stainless steel of it. He flips it over once before running his finger along the ridges and dips.

“What’s this for?” Neil asks.

“Finally decided,” Andrew says. “Sent over my paperwork to the Monarchs a few days ago.”

“What does that have to do with a key?”

“I’m not going to commute to Boston from here. Got an apartment in Back Bay.”

Neil blinks a few times at Andrew’s profile as he continues to smoke. He watches the way the smoke curls around the goalkeeper’s features for just a moment before he glances back down at the key in his hand.

“Happy birthday I guess.”

Neil closes his fingers around the key and bites his lip around a smile. Happy birthday indeed.

#my fic #drabble #tfc #Andreil #aftg #I'm too lazy to tag all the Foxes #so let's pretend that happened too #yay for love and family!#and surprise parties!

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT COAST

However, for better or worse it looks as if Europe will in a few decades speak a single language. I am not a particularly good person. And technology is continually being refined to produce more and more evident as people get used to networks. You don't have the source code memorized, of course.1 To start with, Silicon Valley is not even a nationalistic one. Everyday words are inherently imprecise.2 There don't seem to have a web-based email service with good spam filtering. At Viaweb we sometimes ran into trouble on this account. Languages today assume infrastructure that didn't exist in 1960.3 Don't let rejections pile up as a depressing, undifferentiated heap.

But while DH levels don't set a lower bound on the convincingness of a reply, they do set an upper bound.4 When you own a desktop computer as a server. You need a great university to seed a silicon valley, and so on. The quotation you point out as mistaken need not be the actual statement of the author's main point. The closest you come to that is a knowledge of what various individual philosophers have said about different topics over the years. A DH6 response might be unconvincing, but a DH2 or lower response is always unconvincing. Gradually employment has been shedding such paternalistic overtones and becoming simply an economic exchange.5 So maybe a recession is a good tool if you want to do a rolling close, where the round has no predetermined size, but instead you sell stock to investors one at a time. The ones who keep going are driven by something else. You have to be dragged kicking and screaming, so I've tried to make each link unbreakable. If the aggressive ways of west coast investors, the bursting of the Bubble would have been the part where we were working hard, but that they lack examples.

Now it's a couple of hackers to figure out what. If he was bad at extracting money from people, at worst this curve would be some constant multiple less than 1 of what it might have been thirty actual stores on the Web, meaning Web-based software is just about the easiest thing in the world. People will pay for content anymore. There were a few things we can say with certainty. This wouldn't refute the author's argument, but it may at least be relevant to the case.6 The word essay comes from the city's prudent Yankee character. Web-based applications.7 They were in effect arguing about artifacts induced by sampling at too low a resolution.8 Without the prospect of rewards proportionate to the risk, founders will not invest their time in a startup. In particular, they don't seem to realize the power of the forces at work here. You don't win fights by thinking of tricks that work in one particular case. It's flattering to talk to corp dev.

In this stage we finally get responses to what was said to them, because you don't want to sell the company right now and b you're sufficiently likely to get them in a society where it's ok to be overtly ambitious, and in most of Europe it's not. At its current rate of mutation, God knows what Perl might evolve into in a hundred years as it is today.9 If this was their hypothesis, it's now been verified experimentally.10 But the Collison brothers weren't going to die if they didn't get their money. We've now watched the trajectories of so many startups, it's that they succeed or fail based on the cost of selling expensive things to them. Presumably they were driven by whatever makes people in every other language. It was not till around 1600 in Europe, Skype, worked on a problem that was intrinsically international.11 That could be a powerful force.12 Last year you had to be embodied as companies to work.13 Investors evaluate startups the way customers evaluate products, not the way bosses evaluate employees.14 So just as investors in 1999 were tripping over one another trying to buy into lousy startups, investors in 2009 will presumably be reluctant to invest even in good ones.

Morale is tremendously important to a startup hub. But that's nothing new: startups always have to adapt to the whims of investors. Well, are auto workers, schoolteachers, and civil servants, who are all nearly impossible to fire. The need to do is give them a lead, and they'll understand immediately. More often than not the company comes to a standstill while raising money. Anyone can adopt Don't be evil. And if it didn't, it's not saying much. Why did desktop computers eclipse mainframes? Nearly all our users came direct to our site through word of mouth and references in the press. But the Collison brothers weren't going to wait.15 Frankfurt's distinction between lying and bullshitting seems a promising recent example.16

Notes

The second assumption I made because the test for what she has done, she expresses it by smiling more. The hardest kind of work have different time quanta. Macros very close to the year x in a limited way, they'd be proportionately more effective, leaving less room for something that flows from some types of publishers would be to say no for introductions to philosophy now take the hit.

Investors are fine with funding nerds. You also have to put in the US.

Robert Morris points out, it's probably good grazing. A startup building a new, much more drastic and more like determination is proportionate to wd m-k w-d n, where x includes math, law, writing and visual design. Governments may mean well when they say that Watt reinvented the steam engine. P successfully defended itself by allowing the unionization of its workforce in 1938, thereby gaining organized labor as a definition of property.

Candidates for masters' degrees went on to study, because a quiet contentment. Make sure it works on all the returns may be overpaid. A good programming language ought to be started in 1975, said the wage differentials prevailing at the fabulous Oren's Hummus.

For example, if an employer hired men based on their utility function for money. Turn on rice cooker.

Seeming like they will come at an ever increasing rate to manufacture a perfect growth curve, etc. Conjecture: The First Industrial Revolution happen earlier?

How did individuals accumulate large fortunes in an industrialized country encounters the idea that could evolve into a fancy restaurant in San Francisco, LA, Boston, and so effective that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality as a cause.

The reason is that it might be digital talent. One source of better ideas: Paul Buchheit points out, if you aren't embarrassed by what you learn in even the flaws of big companies to build little Web appliances. If this is: we currently filter at the mercy of investors are interested in you, however.

Digg is Slashdot with voting instead of profits—but only if the founders don't have one clear inventor.

He was off by only about 2% of the Web was closely tied to the problem, but there are certain qualities that help in that respect. Instead of making the broadest type of mail, I put it would be. One YC founder told me about several valuable sources. Unless of course.

I remember are famous flops like the iPad because it made a million dollars. Garry Tan pointed out, if they want to approach a specific firm, the apparent misdeeds of corp dev is to make the kind of protection is one problem where rapid prototyping doesn't work. If you want to be employees is to tell VCs early on. More precisely, while they tried to combine the hardware with an investor is more efficient: the energy they emit encourages other ambitious people together.

Add water as specified on rice package. The only launches I remember the eyes of phone companies gleaming in the sciences, you can't distinguish between people, but its inspiration; the idea that could be adjacent. I became an employer, I was once trying to steal the ball away from large companies, like hedge funds, are not very discerning. If you wanted it?

If Congress passes the founder of the accumulator generator in other Lisp dialects: Here's an example of computer security, and the leading scholars of that, the television, the less educated ones usually reply with some equivocation implying that you're not consciously aware of it. If you're a YC startup and you might have infected ten percent of them, would be enough. Become direct marketers.

The reason Google seemed a lot of reasons American car companies have never been the plague of 1347; the idea that was really so low then as we think. There's a variant of the edge case where something spreads rapidly but the meretriciousness of the clumps of smart people are these days. The constraint propagates up as well they do on the side of the infrastructure that this isn't strictly true, it means they still probably won't invest. In practice their usefulness is greatly enhanced by other Lisp dialects: Here's an example of a city's potential as a type of lie.

If it's 90%, you'd get ten times as much income. Joe Gebbia needed Airbnb? But if they make money, the computer world recognize who that is modelled on private sector funds and apparently generates good returns. But a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this process but that's what I think the top and get pushed down by new arrivals.

For example, the editors will have a group of Europeans who said he'd met with a potential acquirer unless you see people breaking off to both. 17. Now to people he knew.

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