#I mean they’re being paid millions I bet. so can’t suck that much!

[gmaybe666]

can I just be real for a sec….imagine acting in a show when you’re 12 and still acting in the show when you’re 21-23……I’d be TTTTTTIIIIIIIIRRRRREEEEEDDDDD…..

[whumpiary]

BTHB (@badthingshappenbingo) Fill: Manhandling | Requested by: @my-whumpy-little-heart (approximately 12 million years ago)

[content warning: referenced noncon/dubcon, abuse of power, threats of death, mild suicidal ideation/self-endangering thoughts, alcohol mention]

-

Cass doesn’t quite wake up to the sliding thud of his boarding door opening but by the time Tucker slams on the light with a fist against the switch, and thumps the wall with three shuddering thuds, Cass finds himself sitting up before his brain has time to process. 

“The fuck’re you doing?” he starts. Cass  squints up through the light at the man towering over him as he tries to get his heart to chill the fuck out.  “Wha'time is it?”

“Do you have any idea how much I just lost?”

Cass sighs wearily, dropping an arm over his eyes as he slumps back down. 

“Told y'not to play cards with AJ,” he slurs “She cheats”

“Oh I’m talking about a lot more than a little game of cards, Ace,” Tucker says, low and growling “But I think you know that”

Tucker grabs him by the collar with such force that Cass hears the threading of his t-shirt tearing as he’s hauled up, slammed against the wall. He’s instantly winded, breath beaten out of him, and in the moments searching for air he tries to focus, running his eyes over Tucker and realising that the usually immaculately presented man is in fucking disarray.

His hair is pushed wild and unkempt. His shirt is partially untucked, sleeves shoved to the elbows, not rolled. He’s not wearing a jacket. He’s not wearing his glasses. His tie hangs loose around his neck like an untightened noose.

“Are you drunk?”

“Might’ve had a few,” Tucker says, his breath soured with whiskey “Does that make you nervous, Ace?”

Cass tries to catch his breath back in long slow drafts instead of the gasps his lungs are begging for as he gives Tucker another once-over. “Depends what kind of drunk you are, I guess”

Tucker barely holds back a snarl, “I’m not in the mood for cute. You fucked me tonight”

“Oh that was you? I thought it was a particularly tense a-”

Before Cass can even finish the sentence, there’s a fist in his hair and his head is slammed against the wall. He barks a laugh in shock.

“Jeremy Beetham,” Tucker spits “That name mean anything to you?”

“Dunno,” Cass says, trying to blinks through the dizzy “Sounds very ‘my parents paid for me to get off the wait-list at an Ivy League’”

Another slam and Cass grits his teeth, slams his eyes closed. He breathes through his nose, hard, as pain cracks through his head in a blinding flash. 

“What about Winona Evans?” Tucker snarls “Leonard Bernadi? Richard Goa? Bellamy Saints?”

“To be honest I think you just made that last one u-”

Another slam. Jesus. He’s gonna lose brain function in a minute.

“You don’t remember them because you never fucking met them, did you?” Tucker says, yanking Cass’ head back with that same relentless grip in his hair “You never met them, you never talked to them, you never named them, and you certainly never got them to meet the settlement contracts I needed you to”

Understanding and annoyance dawn on Cass in the exact same instant.

“This is about that Hellcat thing?” he asks “You’re joking right?”

“Sixteen million dollars in company losses overnight is a pretty expensive joke, don’t you think?”

Okay, Cass reasons. Okay so this is maybe very bad.

“But see the thing is Ace, maybe it is a joke to you. Because you’re not the one who has to talk to the higher ups after that sort of loss, are you?” Tucker’s breath is fucking ripe with booze. He drops his grip on Cass’ hair, his hand instead settling lightly around Cass’ throat. There’s no tension there. Not yet. But there will be. Cass breathes in.“I’m the one who has to have four different meetings, with four different goddamn sectors of the goddamn company. I’m the one that had to figure out how to flip this into a vaguely neutral situation, instead of something bad enough to get us both castrated”

“Well let’s be real, that wouldn’t be much of a loss for y—”

Cass actually sees stars this time. Literal starbursts of white cross his vision and the crack of pain along the back of his skull starts to wrap around and drill in at his temples.

“Shut up,” Tucker spits, his hands tighten around Cassius’ neck as he speaks “I am done with jokes, Ace. We are so far beyond jokes now.”

Cass jerks his shoulders, tries to wriggle out of Tucker’s grip because he’s been violent before, sure. He’s said things like this before, too. But he’s never meant it. There’s never been that look in his eyes. 

“See, I had to beg to keep my job today. I had to beg not to have this entire fucking project dissolved. And then I had to beg to keep you from being sent back to Bergen”

Cass freezes, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, Ace,” Tucker mutters, a bitter little smile curling his lips. He takes the opportunity to press his hands even closer to Cass’ throat. Cass breathes in. No air comes “That’s right. I had to get down on my fucking knees in front of the fucking director and come up with reasons why Christopher Bergen’s little whore boy shouldn’t get sent right back home to him”

Cass closes his eyes tight, clenches his jaw. It’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. He’s not going back there. Tucker’s hands squeeze tighter and that’s fine too. Cassius feels his chest start to tighten, the first warning signs of not enough air, and it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, because he’s not going back there.

“Do you know how many questions I had to answer? Huh? Do you know how much I had to justify your fucking worth to the goddamn company?”

Cass grabs at the hands at his throat, fingers curling around fingers and trying to tear them away. He tries to thrash, but ends up with more of Tucker’s weight pushing down on him than before. He can breathe just barely if he tilts his head up. 

“And after all those meetings, after all that time on my knees, I got thinking… Why the fuck was I the one begging? Why was i the one grovelling again and again when it wasn’t my fucking mistake? Huh?”

Tucker’s grip is starting to bruise now. Cass can feel his heart still desperately trying to circulate blood to his brain despite it. A thumping beat beat beat that feels less like a pulse and more like a hammer to the head. 

“I’m not gonna get my bonus. I’m not gonna get my promotion. I fucking debased myself for you, again and again and again and as one of the executives so kindly pointed out I’m not even fucking you. So I think I deserve something in return, don’t you?”

Cass hits the wall with his hand and that’s stupid because it’s using up energy he doesn’t have but he needs air.

“Do you know what I want, Cass?” he says, eyes dropping heavy to Cass’ gasping mouth, then back up again “Actually why don’t you tell me what I want, huh? You reach into my head, and you tell me what I want and I’ll let you go right now and consider your punishment paid”

Of course he can’t. He never can with Tucker. It’s cracked and oozing and wrong and his mind flinches away from it before he can touch it like a hand to a flame. He shakes his head, mouth gaping open. He needs air. He doesn’t fucking know. He never knows.

“I want you to beg me,” Tucker spits “I want you to beg me, like I had to beg every single one of those fucking executives. I want you to beg me not to bash your skull in. I want you to beg me not to kill you. And I want you to beg me not to send you right back to the silk sheets I hauled you from because right at this moment I don’t know if I’m all that invested in this little game of ours anymore"

Tucker pushes away from the wall, from Cass, with a hard shove and Cass reels. He sucks in air desperately, hands pressed flat to the wall behind him just to stop himself from doubling over. He tilts his head to the ceiling to make space for oxygen to fall back in.

There’s not enough time for him to catch his breath before Tucker’s back on him again, hand squeezing at his jaw.

“I bet you haven’t begged in your whole life have you, Ace? Certainly not for me”

Cass paints his gaze carefully blank as he makes eye contact, heaving in wheezing breaths. Tucker has that hazed, drunk look of someone who knows exactly what they want and exactly how they’re going to get it. He wets his lips with a quick dart of his tongue and Cass pretends it doesn’t freeze the blood in his veins.

“You begged for him, though. Didn’t you?” Tucker purrs, the faintest hint of a smile at his lips. He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind Cassius’ ear, traces his hand down his cheek. Cass doesn’t flinch, even as a wave of cold shock runs through him. “Go on. Darling boy. Show me how you begged for Christopher”

Cass raises his chin higher. He holds Tucker’s gaze as he reaches for the man’s hands, pulling them towards himself until Tucker’s fingers curl back around his own aching throat.

Tucker laughs, a twisted mix of shock and delight. His eyes drop to Cassius’ throat. He licks his lips again. Almost tempted. But then he sneers, “Cute, sweetheart, but not what I asked for"

His knee hits into Cass’ stomach so hard it has the younger man doubled over. Another kick to his legs and his knees are hitting hard on the ground before he even as a chance to straighten. Cass lets out a quiet groan, a little exhale of sound to push out the heaving nausea that hits him as he’s shoved around.

“This is better isn’t it?” Tucker says, looking down on him like he’s just won some prize. His hand trails slowly down Cass’ cheek. Across his jaw. Along his chin. “It’s gotta be muscle memory for you by now, huh? Being on your knees?”

His thumb grazes up to ghost across Cass’ mouth, pulling down his lower lip. Cass knows that look. He’s seen it so many times that having it land on him almost feels like coming home. He wonders, for the barest of moments, if he should bite or suck. Instead he just holds his gaze.

“Thought I wasn’t your type”

Like a spell being broken, Tucker snaps his hand away. He practically snarls with disgust.

“You’re still not"

The blow to the side of his head is expected. It still sends him flying to the ground. Cass catches himself just before his face crashes into the floor. He can taste blood in his mouth, He spits it onto the polished concrete. He’s always liked the way blood and saliva look pooled together, Like they’re their own kind of marble.

“Beg”

Tucker’s foot nudges his shoulder and when he doesn’t move, he’s instead kicked in the gut. And again. And again. And again. And again.

“Beg”

Cass takes a ragged breath. Let’s out a laugh.

The hand in his hair actually hurts this time. And isn’t that funny? The way a thing can hurt and then it can fucking hurt. It feels like his skin tearing from his scalp. He wonders if that was even possible, or if maybe the hair follicles would snap first. Maybe if he survives he’ll look it up.

He feels his head smack into the leg of the desk. He considers telling Tucker that there’ll be more blood if he aims for the temple. More blood was more satisfying, right? Another whack.

“Beg me to stop”

He feels his body being turned over and then he’s being hauled up by his shirt again. His face is being hit. Again. Again. Again. That’s gonna bruise. Shit. Sorry, Henri.

“Or I swear to God I’ll kill you”

He’s dropped, lying flat on his back now with the wind knocked back out of him — Jesus, just give a guy a second to catch his breath. Tucker’s got his knees either side of his hips and his hands are back on his throat.

Cass feels himself laughing again. There’s blood in his mouth. Maybe he bit down on his tongue.

“Can’t beg if I can’t breathe,” he croaks out. 

“Can’t talk back either, you little shit”

His throat is already sensitive from earlier, a dull bruised kind of ache that releases and relents as it’s pressed into again. Like his throat knows it’s best served when a tightening grip is settled on it. 

The blackness crackles in almost instantly this time, darkening around the edges of his vision like a tide, accompanied with the rush of blood in his ears. He tips his head right back, closes his eyes. He has the passing thought that maybe he’s going to die like this. But that’s fine. It’s fine, it’s fine. Because he’s not going back to Christopher. So if this is what dying is, he doesn’t mind.

As soon as he thinks it, the world comes swimming in again. 

“What is it gonna take, huh?” Tucker’s so close to Cass’ face he can feel his spit flecking onto his cheeks. It’s like getting beaten up just before the rain comes in. He’s always kinda liked that. A storm to wash the blood away. “Answer me!”

A blow to his stomach. And another. And another.

Cass feels like he’s floating, like he’s never existed outside of this second here and he never will again. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he won’t. 

“What’s it gonna take for you to fucking break?”

Cass grins up at Tucker, a swaying haze with three heads up above him, and lets out a laugh that bruises his throat from the inside out, “Why don’ we find out?”

[ft-dads-au]

Into the Lion’s Den

Gratsu Weekend 2020 Prompt: Joke Pairing(s): Gray x Natsu, Lyon x Loke, Sting x Rogue, Gildarts & Loke, Natsu & Sting, Gray & Lyon, Rogue & Gray Rating: M A Collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

AO3 | FF.Net | Takes place after I Like You Too, Dumbass

June 12, 2021

Gray picked up his phone, surprised to see Natsu was calling him so early, “Hey, you’re on break already?”

“Nope, turns out I have the night off. A water pipe burst, and they had to close Fairy Tail down until it’s fixed. Uhm, Mira and Erza already took the kids somewhere, did you wanna maybe come over?”

Gray stared at the phone with a smile, thinking how cute Natsu sounded when he was unsure. He was about to say yes when he remembered he already had plans.

“I can’t, pain in the ass Loke was waiting for a night when both me and Sting were free to do his housewarming party, but you’re welcome to come with me if you want. You’ll know everyone, and I’m sure Loke would love for you to be there.”

There was silence on the other line, and Gray decided to push a little, “Live a little, how often do you get a night off?”

“To spend around drunk people?”

“Yeah, I’m not even gonna try to lie, you know they’re all getting plastered. Doesn’t mean it won’t be fun, though. Come on, if you hate it we can leave after an hour or so, I want to see you too.”

“Fine, but you’re driving,” Natsu demanded.

“You do realize Loke lives in this building now?” Gray pointed out.

Silence.

“Fine, I’ll come pick you up. I have to drop Aki off with my parents anyway,” he said, mostly for Lyon’s benefit. Not that it mattered, he was already laughing at him, swishing an imaginary whip in the air even as Gray flipped him off.

He hung up, turning on Lyon, “Keep it up, and I’ll just go out on a date and leave you to go to Loke’s alone.

“You wouldn’t do that, you already promised you’d go,” Lyon smirked.

“Every single one of you guys sucks,” Gray complained, grabbing his keys and wallet and going into his room to check that all of Aki’s things were packed.

“Too bad you’re dating someone who won’t,” Lyon called after him, and Gray could hear the ice moving around in his tumbler as he took a drink.

“That was rude! Starting early?”

“I’m spending an entire night at Loke’s place, what do you expect?” Lyon retorted, and although he sounded irritated, it was nowhere near his usual levels.

“Spending the night already?” Gray teased, getting a dig in while he could.

“What?! No!” Lyon protested, but Gray couldn’t help but notice that his face had changed colors at the implication, and he laughed.

“Interesting. You are much gayer than I ever gave you credit for.”

“Fuck you!”

“Sorry, taken.” Gray winked, going back into his room to grab the overnight bag and pick his sleeping child up in his arms. Now that Natsu was coming as his date to this stupid party, his night was definitely looking up.

Lyon had already opened the door for him, walking him to the elevator to help him with the buttons. “Come get me when you guys get here,” Lyon whispered, being mindful of Aki.

Gray nodded, waving as the elevator doors closed.

0-0

Gray could already smell the alcohol when Loke greeted them and let them in, although he didn’t show any signs of being tipsy yet. He did, however, pull Lyon into one of the most awkward hugs Gray had ever seen.

“It’s good to see you guys, glad you could make it!” Loke grinned, “Welcome to the lion’s den!”

He waved them inside, ignoring the way Lyon rolled his eyes, and Natsu let out a loud snort. Gray could only smile. As ridiculous as the name sounded, he could imagine Loke must be happy to have his own place now that all the shit he’d been through surrounding his marriage and divorce was in the past. And the place looked great, it had the same layout as Lyon’s apartment, but a different interior.

Sting, Rogue, and Gildarts were sitting on the sofas, already provided with drinks. They paused their conversation when they saw Gray, Natsu and Lyon come in, Sting’s face lighting up immediately when he noticed his best friend.

“Hey! I didn’t think we’d be seeing you tonight, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he wondered.

“Nah, I got the night off cause of a burst pipe,” Natsu explained, looking around the room curiously, “Nice place you got here, Loke.”

“Thanks! Make yourselves at home, can I pour you a drink?”

“You know what?” Natsu remarked as he found a seat next to Sting, “That sounds awesome! It’s usually me who’s making the drinks, it’s nice to have it the other way around for once.”

“Don’t get used to it, I’ll give you the first round, but it’s all self-service after that.” Loke opened a cabinet, revealing a considerable collection of alcoholic beverages, all stored on the top shelves where his kids wouldn’t be able to reach. “Take your pick.”

“Anything is fine, uhm, how about a Rum and Coke?”

“Seriously?” Loke asked, looking disappointed but putting the drink together nonetheless, “You make all these amazing drinks, and that’s all you want?”

Natsu shrugged, “Just cause I make them doesn’t mean I want them, you’d be surprised how often I get the same lame jokes and come-ons from people using drink names. Bachelor and bachelorette parties are the worst!”

“Wait, what?!” Loke exclaimed, eyes glittering with interest, “What types of stuff do they ask for?”

“Well, one time I was at Crime Sorciere, Lyon’s ex asked Natsu for a Naked Lady,” Gray added helpfully, smirking at Lyon’s annoyed expression when he brought her up.

“That doesn’t sound that wild, Gray,” Rogue muttered.

“No, it was, she was like,” Gray imitated Juvia’s voice warming up to his performance once they started laughing, “Juvia would like a Naked Lady, unless you would like one instead.”

“That’s nothing, I’ve had people ask me for,” Natsu stopped to think for a minute, counting the drinks off on his fingers, “Red-headed Sluts, Cocksucking Cowboys, Creamy Pussies, Ass, Golden Showers-”

“There’s a drink that’s named Ass?” Sting burst out in laughter, “Now I’m curious, can you make it with what Loke has?”

“Come on, McDreamy,” Gildarts chuckled, “don’t tell me you’ve never tasted Ass before. Actually, on second thought, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know what the Half Pint gets up to in that department.”

“What makes you think it would have been Rogue?” Sting challenged, making Gray wonder how much he’d already had to drink.”

“Please! I’d bet 10 million jewel that you were each other’s firsts.”

The sheepish glance that passed between the two men was enough to send everyone else off into a fit of giggles.

“Well, it’s not like you have that kind of money anyway,” Sting grumbled.

“Who cares? There’s nothing wrong with that, Lisanna and I were each other’s firsts,” Natsu shrugged, coming to their defense. He sipped his drink calmly, receiving a beaming smile from Sting. “I think it’s romantic.”

“Fun fact,” Rogue smirked suggestively at the edge of his glass, “remember that double date we had in Edolas?”

Natsu squinted as he recalled the event, flashing a wide grin at Sting when he put two and two together. “Really?! Did my advice motivate you that much?”

Sting didn’t respond, only offered his fist so Natsu could bump it.

“And today, on ‘Too Much Information’... “Gray sighed, regretting opening his mouth the second he noticed the mischief in his brother’s eyes.

“I still remember the exact date, it was on your birthday.” Rogue had trouble holding back his laughter.

“Well, at least someone had fun that day,” Gray shrugged in response, sitting next to Natsu and grabbing his hand. “Just tell me it wasn’t on my bed.”

“Yes, Gray, I totally brought your bed over to Edolas.”

“Hey, it’s a comfy bed,” Gray grinned, giving his brother a wink.

“Oh, we know!” Sting retorted, waggling his eyebrows at Gray, “I stayed in your room for months.”

Okay, that bothered him a teensy bit more. “Don’t look at me like that, you look idiotic,” Gray groused.

“Well, this is fun and all, but I get the feeling those two are going to have the least amount of dirt, so why don’t we make things more interesting? We could play a game?” Loke suggested, taking a few bottles of liquor out of the cabinet and placing them on the counter.

His suggestion was received by groans, “A game, really? What are we fourteen?” Lyon asked, frowning as Loke sat down next to him and put his arm around his shoulders.

“A game could be fun,” Gildarts agreed, “You got any shot glasses?”

“I bought some of those plastic ones,” Loke got up and looked through some shopping bags that were on the kitchen counter, returning with a package of red plastic shot glasses and some snacks to replenish the ones that had already been devoured.

Gray could feel Natsu squeezing his hand tightly and turned to see that he looked irritated. “It might not be so bad,” he mouthed. Natsu rolled his eyes in response but loosened his grip.

“Hey, Natsu, can you mix up some shots with this stuff?” Gildarts asked, flashing one of his brilliant smiles, and Gray could only hide his laugh, knowing full well that Natsu couldn’t say no to him.

“Whatever, I got paid for the night, so I might as well work.” He got up and looked at the contents of the liquor cabinet, pulling out bottle after bottle and placing them on the counter with the ones Loke had already set out.

Gray could see they were about to get screwed by the wicked gleam in his boyfriend’s eyes. Natsu had the uncanny ability to make amazingly strong drinks that tasted just like any other, if he wanted to he could make you incredibly drunk in only two drinks, Gray was terrified to think of what he could do with shots. Seeing as he didn’t particularly want to be there, Gray could see him knocking them all out in a few rounds.

“Oh!” Sting bounced on the sofa, “Can you do one of those shots that you set on fire? I’ve always wanted to try one of those!”

“No!” Loke, Gray, and Lyon all yelled out, “No fire!”

“Why do I get the feeling that went horribly wrong one time?” Rogue quipped, laughing at the three men’s expressions.

“Alright, what type of game are you going to play, one where everyone drinks or one with a punishment shot?” Natsu peered at Loke, waiting for a response.

“You’re playing too, aren’t you?” Sting asked.

“I don’t really drink all that much,” Natsu replied, relenting when he saw the disappointment on everyone’s faces, “but I guess I could play a few rounds.”

“Alright, let’s play ‘Never have I ever,’ “Loke suggested, “I assume everyone knows how to play?”

Sting looked confused, and before anyone could explain, Rogue spoke up.

“Never have I ever had a drink called Ass,” Rogue explained, “If you have, you drink. If you haven’t, you don’t. It’s pretty simple.”

Sting nodded his understanding, and no one objected to the idea.

“One where everyone drinks then,” Natsu muttered, starting to mix up shots. He soon placed a small cup in front of everyone and moved the bottles to the coffee table so he could refill them easily.

“Who’s going to start?” Gildarts glanced at the other men expectantly.

“I suppose Loke should, it’s his party after all,” Lyon suggested, and the others agreed.

“Hmm, let’s see, never have I ever had sex in a public place,” Loke grinned, looking quite proud of himself as he waited to see who drank and who didn’t.

“Wait,” Rogue objected, hesitating to bring his cup to his lips, “let’s make sure we’re all on the same page when it comes to the definition of sex for the sake of this game.”

Gildarts shrugged and drank anyway, before Loke established, “Anything and everything that has the intention of getting yourself or someone else off.” With delight, he looked on as everyone took their shots, joining them because he didn’t want to fall behind. “I want to hear stories later,” he giggled. “Damn Dragneel, you trying to kill us?”

“If I was trying to kill you, I would have mixed you a different one,” Natsu snarked as he refilled the cups, “Who’s next?”

“Never have I ever asked Lyon for divorce advice,” Lyon smirked.

“Booring,” Gildarts cried out.

“I don’t know, I got exactly who I wanted,” Lyon grinned, watching Gray, Loke, Gildarts, and Rogue drink.

“Rogue? Something I should know?” Sting looked like a kicked puppy, making Rogue glare at Lyon.

“You did that on purpose!” Rogue accused even as he hurried to explain, “I was asking him about Gray’s stuff.”

Gray started to laugh at Gildarts, “You’re not even married yet!”

“Never too early to learn about your options,” Gildarts winked, “I also was asking about yours, though. Targeting is deserving of some punishment, I think. Let’s see,” he spoke ever so innocently, stroking his chin.” Never have I ever had homosexual thoughts about someone in this room.”

Everyone groaned as they grabbed their small cups, but Gildarts seemed to only be interested in Lyon’s response. When a minute had passed, and Lyon made no move to drink, Gray spoke up sweetly, “Hey Natsu, can you make Lyon another shot?”

Rogue began to giggle as Sting looked around in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“If you get caught in a lie, you have to have an extra shot,” Gray explained, still engaging in a staring contest with his roommate.

“I fucking hate you,” Lyon spat before taking both shots and refusing to comment on all the badgering he received about the subject of said thoughts.

Natsu provided more refills, and they waited for Rogue to take his turn.

“Never have I ever had someone walk in when I was performing sexual acts on someone else-” he winked at Lyon before turning to Sting with a smug grin and adding, “or myself.”

“Never have I ever learned how to knock!” Sting snapped, his cheeks flushing with humiliation.

Lyon stared at Gray in disbelief, “I thought you promised never to say anything about that!”

“He didn’t,” Rogue assured him, “Juvia did.”

Rogue had managed to get Gildarts, Lyon, Loke, Sting, and Natsu, leaving him looking quite pleased with himself.

“Okay, my turn,” Sting called excitedly, and it was obvious from the way he gave Rogue the side-eye that he was coming after him in retaliation. “Never have I never lied to make a move on someone!” He cast a look of judgment at his husband.

Gildarts and Loke raised their cups at each other in mutual understanding before downing their shots, while Lyon snickered and made sure that Gray was drinking his.

“You make it sound terrible, it was just a white lie,” Rogue rolled his eyes and drank, blinking slowly as he was hit by the effects of Natsu’s devastating mix.

“Alright, Natsu, you’re off mixing duty. At this rate, we’ll all pass out by the end of the second round,” Loke complained, “Besides, Gildarts and I made a drink earlier, and it should be chilled enough by now.”

Loke went into his kitchen with Gildarts following after him. Gray could hear the two of them laughing about something but paid them no mind. Now that Natsu wasn’t playing bartender, he had nudged him onto his lap and was busy kissing him.

Natsu returned it, parting his lips for more. They’d finally started getting a little bit physical in the last few weeks, and for Gray, it beat any high he’d ever experienced. He knew enough to take it easy, Natsu was still getting used to dating a guy, and Gray didn’t want to scare him away. As far as he was concerned, they had all the time in the world. He kept kissing until he became aware of someone clearing their throat.

“You guys done?” Loke raised an eyebrow, although he was also smiling.

“Nope,” Gray replied, hugging Natsu to his chest and letting go, “Now I am.”

Loke rolled his eyes and muttered “honeymoon period,” under his breath. Gildarts trailed after him setting cups on the table that Loke then filled from the pitcher he was holding.

“What’s so special about this drink?” Lyon grabbed the cup and sniffed it before setting it down, “It better not have something gross in it like a worm or something.”

“It’s not tequila, Lyon,” Loke mocked, “It’s actually called Screaming Orgasm, oh I should have asked, is anyone here lactose intolerant? No? Good.”

Gray could tell Loke was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what, “What’s in it?”

“It’s like you guys don’t trust me, I’m hurt. I told you, Gildarts helped me make it.”

“Yeah, that actually makes me trust it less.”

“Here,” Gildarts poured some in his cup and drank it, “Satisfied, you big baby?”

Gray still had some misgivings, but he kept them to himself. The game continued, and it was now his turn. He tried to think of something that was likely to get everyone.

“Never have I ever been hit on while at work,” Gray poked Natsu playfully, teasing, “Given how often it happens to you, you might want to drink twice, love.”

“In that case, you should probably drink too,” Natsu suggested with a knowing smile.

Gray raised his glass in mock salute and took a drink.

Everyone grabbed their cups full of Loke’s drink and sipped it.

“This is pretty good,” Sting commented, causing Loke and Gildarts to giggle. “I still don’t get this game, is the person who asks supposed to have done the thing or not?” his voice was becoming more slurred with every drink.

“I don’t think it really matters, the goal is to get drunk after all,” Loke pointed out.

“Well, if you’re caught in a lie, you’re meant to take two shots, I think that should apply to the askers too,” Lyon declared.

“Alright, Natsu, you’re up, make it a good one,” Loke encouraged.

Natsu giggled into Gray’s chest, “Uhm, what should I ask?”

Gray shrugged. holding him close and feeling the warmth of his body against his, “Anything you want.”

“Uhm, never have I ever gone to college,” Natsu laughed as he realized he’d just managed to get everyone while still telling the truth.

Everyone groaned but took another drink, and Natsu joined them, agreeing with Sting that the drink tasted good.

“You two are sugar freaks,” Loke shook his head, noticing the growing pile of cupcake and candy wrappers in front of them.

“Okay, my turn,” Loke announced, rubbing his hands together in glee while avoiding looking at Gildarts. “Never have I ever swallowed another guy’s cum.”

Sting, Gray, Rogue, and Gildarts all rolled their eyes at Loke’s infantile antics but drank anyway. Loke, however, wasn’t focused on any of them. His eyes were set on Lyon, who met his eyes with a shrug.

“Well, now you have,” Loke’s laughter rang loud in the otherwise silent room as he dropped a book on the coffee table.

Semenology - The Semen Bartender’s Handbook

“Your faces, oh my god, I want to take a picture,” Gildarts managed through his guffaws.

“The fuck?” Gray got up from his seat and grabbed the book, skimming it quickly.

It took him a moment to think about Natsu. He looked back to the sofa, taking in the way his boyfriend was curled in on himself. Natsu’s eyes were open wide, and while he didn’t precisely look disgusted, he certainly didn’t look pleased either. Gray was furious, especially when he realized Lyon didn’t look much better.

“I call bluff,” Rogue slurred and swayed a little as he grabbed the pitcher for closer inspection, “there’s no cum in this.”

Gildarts quickly came up next to him to sit him back down on the sofa before he lost his balance. “Don’t spill it, there’s top brand liquor in there,” he scolded, putting the pitcher safely back on the table. “No more for you.”

“Is he right, though?” Lyon wondered, begrudgingly trying to focus on the taste in his mouth to determine if it was off in any way.

“Of course he is!” Sting stated confidently, “There’s no way you would’ve mixed your juices in there…” His confidence faltered as he looked back and forth between Loke and Gildarts. “Right?”

“Nah, we were just fucking with you, there’s no spunk in the drink. Loke found the book at some yard sale, and we thought it would make for a funny prank.”

“Well, it was in terrible taste,” Lyon pointed out, snickering when he realized what he’d said.

“Juices?!” Rogue made fun of his husband, “I swear to God I better never hear you saying those words ever again.”

“There are a lot worse ways to say cum,” Sting shrugged, ready to name a few, but Rogue was quick to pounce on him, starting a wrestling match as he tried to stop Sting from yelling obscenities by clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Seriously, have none of you ever heard of the phrase ‘get a room’?” Lyon rolled his eyes. He glanced at Loke, “Well, at least you haven’t completely fallen out of grace...Yet.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Loke murmured, directing his apologies to Lyon, and to Natsu specifically. He must’ve noticed his less than enthused reaction as well, and looked genuinely regretful. “When we planned this, I didn’t realize you were coming, and you seemed okay with all the other stuff, so I didn’t think you’d be upset.”

Gray was about to add his opinion when Natsu squeezed his arm, “It’s fine, apology accepted. I’ve actually heard of this book, had an older guy request some drink from it once, to which I replied fuck no. Apparently, age is a factor in the taste.”

“Age of the drink? Or the uh…supplier,” Sting wondered, dreading the answer no matter what it was going to be.

“Supplier. That’s why he asked me instead of doing it himself,” Natsu grabbed the book off the table, skimming through it until he came to the appropriate page and showing it to Sting, who cringed and began flipping pages warily.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by...whoever the fuck thought all this shit up, or just plain disgusted. But this gives a whole new meaning to the word cocktail.”

Natsu laughed and relaxed again, but Gray knew that despite the way he had acted in front of the others, he was feeling uncomfortable. He hadn’t exactly been looking forward to coming to Loke’s party in the first place, and honestly, neither had Gray. He’d much rather have spent tonight with just the two of them, the ill-advised prank had only reinforced that thought.

“Oh please,” Loke scoffed at Sting, showing his usual mischievous demeanor again. “Don’t tell me you’re not at least a little bit curious as to how it tastes!”

Sting considered it for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip. “Nah, I’m pretty sure those flavors don’t go together.”

“You don’t know that if you don’t try,” Loke challenged, filling another cup with the liquor from the pitcher, raising an eyebrow as he offered it to Sting.

“Why don’t you try it?” Rogue narrowed his eyes at Loke, saving Sting from the potential peer pressure, “It’s your party, your book, and it was your prank.”

Everyone awaited Loke’s response expectantly. Gildarts was practically on the edge of his seat, eyes twinkling with merriment as he watched the situation unfold. Lyon was pressing his lips together to hide a smirk of satisfaction, Sting was holding his breath, stuck between Rogue and Loke’s staredown.

“Fine,” Loke offered a bitter smile, refusing to back down, “be right back,” and he disappeared into the bathroom under the sound of Gildarts’ hysterical laughter.

“Man, did that backfire on him!” he wheezed, slapping his knee in enjoyment. “Nice save, Half Pint! McDreamy owes you a special thank you later!”

Rogue was already flushed from the alcohol intake but turned a shade darker, yelling something about inappropriate comments and family connections to Gildarts, but Gray tuned it out.

This was his cue to leave, he wasn’t about to stick around for more embarrassing conversations and watching Loke drink the cursed mix of liquor and his own bodily fluids, and he doubted that Natsu would want to stay any longer than he already had.

“Oh look, it’s bail ‘o clock,” he quipped, getting up and pulling Natsu along with him as he looked at his wrist. “We really should go.”

Natsu smiled at him gratefully, lacing their fingers together and waving at their friends, “Night guys, get home safely!”

Gray looked at Lyon, raising his eyebrows in question, wanting to know if he was coming or not. Lyon made himself comfortable on the sofa, with his arms and legs crossed. It was clear that he’d be staying a little longer.

“I’ll see you later, there’s no way I’m missing this.” The grin on his face told Gray that he was never going to let Loke live this down.

0-0

“Shall I call you a cab?” Gray asked as they waited for the elevator, “Someone made the drinks too strong, so I can’t drive you home.” He grabbed his phone and noticed the time, it was still early, and he didn’t like the idea of being all by himself in Lyon’s apartment, so he added, “Or we can hang out at my place for a while before you go?”

Once he’d spoken the words, he realized how it must’ve sounded after all the drinking and the sex-related topics, not to mention they’d be having the apartment all to themselves. No kids, no Erza or Lyon. He wanted to set the record straight, tell Natsu that his intentions weren’t anything like that, but to his surprise, Natsu agreed.

“Sure, I wouldn’t have been home yet if I’d been working anyway. And I did call to ask if you wanted to hang out earlier.”

“Right.”

The elevator arrived, and they got in. Gray pressed the button to the correct floor, trying to keep his thoughts from straying in the wrong direction. “Crazy night, huh?” he chuckled, wanting to break the silence between them, “how many cupcakes did you end up eating?”

“Hey, those were good!” Natsu defended himself.

“Really? I wouldn’t know, you and Sting claimed them all.”

Natsu smirked, “You snooze, you lose.”

They arrived at the apartment, stepping into the dark hallway after Gray had overcome his nervous struggle with the keys. He flicked on the lights and took off his shoes, moving out of the way so Natsu could do the same.

“Hey, do you mind if I use the restroom?” Natsu called out from behind him, still taking off his shoes.

“You know where it is,” Gray shrugged, walking into the living room and sitting on the sofa as he waited for Natsu to return.

His thoughts were inevitably moving to how he was going to handle this situation without fucking things up between them. Should they watch TV? That was kind of lame, considering they seldom got to spend any kind of time alone together, but then again, they’d talked about going slow. He could feel his brow furrowing as his thoughts continued to fight between what he would like and what he should do.

“You know if you keep making that face, it might stay that way,” Natsu grinned, plopping himself on the sofa next to him and grabbing his hand.

“Did you manage to have any fun at that party?” Gray wondered, “That was low even for Loke.”

“I did,” Natsu murmured, “I especially liked this part.”

Natsu climbed on Gray’s lap sitting as he had before, and Gray put his arms around him slowly, but unlike at the party, his body was tense.

He could hear Natsu laughing softly, “Hey, moron, stop that.”

Gray turned towards him, wanting to explain himself, but Natsu put a finger on his lips. “I know I’m not ready for a lot, but I like where we are, and if you do something I’m not ready for, I’ll tell you, alright?”

Gray nodded his approval, and he soon felt the soft brush of Natsu’s lips against his. He relaxed, returning the touch until once again, they were immersed in a world of soft sighs and caresses.

It probably wouldn’t be long before Lyon would return and interrupt their moment of bliss, and with Natsu’s words on his mind, Gray wanted to make sure they enjoyed it to the fullest while it lasted.

A/N: In case you were wondering, that book actually exists. We've skimmed it, unfortunately, because we now possess knowledge we cannot unlearn. But hey, to each their own, if you find your alcoholic beverages lacking in protein, it's a natural and somewhat easily accessible option.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THERE'S AN EVEN BETTER WAY TO DESCRIBE THIS SITUATION IS ALSO TEMPORARY

My usual trick is to claim that they'll only invest contingently on other investors doing so because otherwise you'd be undercapitalized. In fact, it's just as well not exist. I deliberately pander to readers, because it has large libraries for manipulating strings. When you have multiple founders who were already friends before they decided to start a gasoline powered generator inside our offices. 2 months during which the company is actually more valuable.1 The professors will get whoever they admit as their own grad students, because all three are doable.2 The golden age of economic equality in the mid 20th century.

How do you break the connection between nerds and technology? Investors are rich enough to be sure signs of bad algorithms.3 Maybe it's a good idea for a small amount of force applied at just the point where they would do a lot of founders that we have enough data points to see patterns clearly. A company to compensate for the opportunity cost of the board may even help VCs pick better. The alarming thing is that it will set off the alarms sufficiently early, you may be able to phrase it in terms of the visa that they couldn't get grad students, so we were on Version 4. I think I see now what went wrong with philosophy, and how much is due to Jessica Livingston and Chris Steiner for reading drafts of this.4 Bad Programmers I forgot to include this in the early stages.5 So if you want to discover great new things often come from outsiders. Y18. Checks on purchases will always be a few languages, I'm not eager to fix that. It was striking how old fashioned this sounded.6 The term angel round doesn't mean that it's a pretty clever piece of jiujitsu to set this irresistible force against the slightly less immovable object of becoming rich.

Perhaps, if design and research converge, the best pickers should have more hits.7 Libraries are one place Common Lisp falls short.8 Then I'd sleep till about 11 am, and come with tougher terms. Six weeks is fast. This group says one thing. We've raised $800,000, but to design beautiful software, would be enough to feel like a late bloomer than a failed child prodigy. If you draw a tree and you change the angle of a branch five degrees, no one stopped to wonder where the big returns are. Here are the alternatives considered if the filter sees FREE!9 Appendix: Examples of Filtering Here is an example of applied empathy. I happened to get hold of a copy of something they made, e. In software, it means you don't have to pay for Facebook. That's not a promising lead and should therefore get low priority, but it's not the distinction between statements and expressions, so you have to be introduced to them.

Startups So these, I think in the coming century is a huge one. They just can't make up their minds.10 American immigration policy keeps out most smart people, and what to do; they'll start to engage in office politics. If you plan to get rich by creating wealth, not all of them work on interesting stuff. The melon seed model is more like architecture. So let's be clear what reducing economic inequality means eliminating startups. We can see this on a small scale: in thoughts of a sentence or two. The reason credentials have such prestige is that for most of Octopart's life, the cruelty and the boredom, both have the same kind of stock representing the total pool of companies they fund. Incidentally, the switch in the 1920s to financing growth with retained earnings till the 1920s. I'm sure every language has such tradeoffs though I suspect the best we'll be able to sit on corporate boards till the Glass-Steagall act in 1933. We still don't require it, but thoughtful people aren't willing to use a more fluid medium like pencil or ink wash or oil paint.

And when you agree there's less to say. I've described. Here are the terms: a $2 million investment, make five $400k investments. But in practice innovations were so rare that you can't change the question. Some ideas are easy for people to come back to bite them, it will probably fail. A few ideas from it turned out I was 450 years too late.11 This is a controversial view. One of the reasons I like being part of this talk. 75% of the stress comes from dealing with investors, hiring and investment decisions, and to Steve Melendez and Gregory Price for inviting me to speak at BBN.

Money September 2013 Most startups that raise money. Was it their religion?12 The immense value of the company. But if it's inborn it should be better not just for founders but for investors too. This is just as lumpy and idiosyncratic as the human body. Some people still get rich by creating wealth and getting paid proportionately, it would not be able to get smart people to be good at programming is to work on. It's not something you can learn, or at least inevitable form, but it's woven into the story instead of being absorbed by the normal people they're usually surrounded with. This is not only incomplete, but positively misleading, if it was overvalued till you see what the earnings turn out to work will probably seem flamingly obvious in retrospect.13

Notes

And since there are only pretending to in the services, companies building lightweight clients have usually tried to motivate them. Add water as specified on rice cooker. They assumed that their prices stabilize. If a prestigious VC makes a small amount of material wealth, and so thought disproportionately about such customs.

The second assumption I made because the outside edges of curves erode faster. In effect they were only partly joking. Org Worrying that Y Combinator is we hope visited mostly by people who might be a great thing in itself, and also really good at design, or even being deliberately misleading by focusing on people who run them would be enough to be promising. Which in turn forces Digg to respond with extreme countermeasures.

I'm just going to use to calibrate the weighting of the organization—specifically by sharding it. I swapped them to keep tweaking their algorithm to get the money invested in a reorganization. If early abstract paintings seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, and large bribes by the fact that they think the top stories were de facto consulting firm. The situation we face here, which has been decreasing globally.

Charles Darwin was 22 when he received an invitation to travel aboard the HMS Beagle as a result a lot easier now for a startup at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers. But that doesn't mean easy, of S P 500 CEOs in 2002 was 35,560. The ordering system, the work goes instead into the world you'd want to live in a wide variety of situations, but I couldn't think of the magazine they'd accepted it for had disappeared in a reorganization.

World War II had disappeared.

There are two very different types of startups will generally raise large amounts of other VCs who don't care about may not have to go to die. A rounds from top VC funds whether it was spontaneous. If you try to accept that investors don't like the iPad because it made a better influence on your product, and earns the right mindset you will find a blog that tried to preserve optionality.

I mean type I startups. In fact, we met Rajat Suri.

It's not a VC is interested in each type of thing. World War II had disappeared in a series A investor has a finite market value. Technology has always been accelerating.

But there are no false negatives.

But it's a bad idea the way to avoid sticking.

This law does not appear to be able to hire any first-time founder again he'd leave ideas that are hard to imagine that there may be that the meaning of a startup in question usually is doing badly in your country controlled by the investors agree, and Jews about. They hoped they were just getting kids to say about these: I wouldn't bet on it.

There's a variant of the markets they serve, because you're throwing off your own? As far as I know of a startup you have for endless years of training, and partly because a there was a very noticeable change in how Stripe felt. We may never do that.

The second biggest regret was caring so much attention. Users dislike their new operating system so much to generalize. Do College English Departments Come From?

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (23/30)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. 

What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I can never thank you guys enough for loving this story so much and letting me know whether by click, kudos, comment, reblog, or hiding out in your comfort zone and simply enjoying! It’s been an absolute thrill to write, and some of my favorite chapters are coming up! 💙

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 

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“So can you tell me again why I’m going apartment shopping with you today instead of Killian being here?”

“Because,” she begins, pulling on a jacket to fight off the early-October chill that’s really coming in this year, the temperatures dipping much lower than usual. All of September was like a blazing inferno until the calendar changed and suddenly a flip was switched for all of Boston to turn into a snow globe…just without the snow. Though, she wouldn’t be surprised if it decided to come early this year with how things are going. “Killian is meeting with the producers of his movie again so that they can do some screen tests with some other actors, so he can’t be here.”

“Okay, but, like, if he’s buying the place, shouldn’t he be here?”

“I mean, obviously Rubes,” she sighs, opening up her front door and holding it open for Ruby to walk through before she can lock it, “but he’s busy and I figured you could give me second opinions. Besides, we’ve already narrowed it down to these places anyways. He knows that he likes them. He just hasn’t physically seen them yet.”

“Well, my dear,” she begins, wrapping her arm around Emma’s shoulder as they walk toward the staircase, “I can be Killian for a day. Just don’t expect me to help you christen any of these places.”

“You know, some things that you think about, they should never be said out loud.”

“But I just love my darling Emma,” Ruby mocks, adding in what has to be the worst British accent she’s ever heard as she kisses her hair. “She’s just so damn pretty and has hair like gold. And my God, I want to marry her and let her have all of my beautiful babies so that we can be on billboards together.”

“Billboards?”

“Out of all of that, your focus was on billboards?”

She shrugs as much as she can with Ruby’s arm on her shoulder as they exit her building and walk to where her car is parked a few buildings over since she couldn’t get her usual parking spot last night. “Kind of seemed like an outdated thing. Figured you’d go with viral videos or something since we’re already so good at making those.”

“If I didn’t know you were talking about the Christmas video thing, I’d swear you were talking about a sex tape. Something to keep in mind if you ever say that out loud again.”

“You have issues.”

“Ooh,” Ruby gasps, moving her arm, “you two could be in Vogue. There we go. That’s where you and all of your pretty, pretty babies can have your pictures taken.”

She snickers underneath her breath, words escaping her for how to even respond to that as they load up into her bug. She is one hundred percent not ready to seriously think about babies right now, but she can indulge in the thought when Ruby is messing with her. She and Killian have casually talked about kids before, but it’s never been anything definite. They just know what they need to know for when their lives come to that point…sometime in the future. Right now they’re simply trying to find somewhere to live.

Plus, if she thinks about giving birth too much she really freaks out. Some shit goes down.

Sometimes literally.

Nope. No. not thinking about that.

“Whatever you say,” she laughs as she sits down in her seat and closes her car door, “but I can pretty much guarantee that you won’t be seeing my face on any billboards.”

“Eh, I could always rent one out myself. Anything is possible when you don’t care about wasting money and going into loads of debt just to mess with your friends.”

-/-

“Damn,” Ruby whistles as Emma trails her fingers along the marble countertop, tracing the gray line that moves throughout the island to break up the monotony of the white. “This is fancy. You’ve even got a view of the water out this window.”

“That would be all Killian’s preference,” she admits, walking away from the kitchen and through the living room to stand next to the open windows that look out onto the water, the docks filled with boats. “His house is on the beach, you know? And he likes to be near the water. I figure he should have at least that.”

“I mean, it’s not like the rest of this place is too shabby.”

“I know, I know. It’s just – ”

“What?”

“It’s so modern, and neither of us are very modern people, house wise. I mean, I’ve never really had the option to do anything other than thrift store ‘oh that’s kind of a cute chair,’ but I do like the traditional stuff. I think the clean lines kind of throw me off. It’s like it’s not lived in.”

“Well, it’s not. It’s new. Didn’t the realtor lady say that when she was showing us around? What was her name again?”

“Dorothy.”

“Like in the Wizard of Oz?”

“Yep,” she sighs, turning back around to go explore the kitchen now that they have free range of the place with Dorothy standing outside very obviously faking talking to someone else so that Emma thinks there’s another buyer. Sometimes she wonders if real estate agents know just how transparent they are. Not that she would ever tell Elsa that. She’s not about to mess things up there, and she’s sure that Elsa is fantastic at her job. Well, she knows she is. Elsa set them up with Dorothy’s agency and helped them find some of these places when they were in California last month. It’s like she’s sucking up even though literally no one can hear her thoughts. “She’s really sweet, but she kind of makes me nervous if only because I think I’m disappointing her whenever I don’t like a place.”

“Well, in all fairness, you probably are. She doesn’t get paid until you pay the big bucks.”

“True,” she admits before opening up the cabinets, checking their depth as if she knows how much space kitchen appliances take up when she owns the bare minimum. “She was flirting with you, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Ruby agrees, her voice rising in pitch. “That’s why I felt so bad that I couldn’t remember her name.”

“Did her beauty just make you forget everything?” she teases, leaning back to smile at Ruby who’s got her bottom lip between her teeth while her fingers tap across the countertop. “Oh my God,” she gasps, closing the cabinet a little too loudly, “you like her.”

“Possibly,” she huffs, rolling her eyes before she hops up on the counter, legs swinging and heels clicking against the cabinets. She sits on counters a lot, and the white will likely get scuffed. That’s probably something to keep in mind. Apartment shopping is so damn overwhelming when you have to think about things like your friend’s heels scuffing the counters or Brody spitting up on the carpet when Mary Margaret brings him over. And literally a million other things. “I mean, I’ve spent about forty-five minutes with the woman as she shows you apartments in Boston I’d never dare step into on my own, but yeah, I don’t know. I felt a spark.”

“Did you actually just use the word spark to describe it?”

“Yes, don’t judge me. So this place is a no go?”

She nods her head, looking around one last time. “This place is a no go.”

Despite the fact that she and Killian mapped out every one of these places online before requesting a showing, she goes through seven of them hating nearly every one. One of the apartments literally had a bathtub next to a window that could be seen by anyone walking by on the sidewalk, and a home they walked into honestly made it feel like she was on some kind of old Naval boat. Seriously, there were a million different levels that were not shown online and the staircases made her feel claustrophobic. They keep striking out on things, and it’s starting to get a little disheartening.

There’s about a ninety percent chance Ruby is going to have a date after today, though, so at least one good thing has come out of this, especially because she knows that Ruby hasn’t dated much since she and Victor broke up, just a few nights out with people she’s met online that have not turned into anything.

At least those people weren’t murderers. Dorothy doesn’t seem like the murdering type, but you never know.

Such a fun thing to think about.

“So are you familiar with the area?” Dorothy asks as she lets them into another apartment, their last one on the list before they drive to Back Bay to look at a house that Killian likes that’s next to the river. The pictures online looked nice, but she wasn’t completely sold on how close the bedroom window was to a public park. At least it’s not like the bathtub thing.  

The risk of murderers being Tinder dates and peeping Toms looking into bedroom windows is not one she’s willing to joke around about.

Her mind is a wonderful place to live sometimes. It’s too bad there’s no real estate there.

No. Wait. That’s weird. She’s really got to stop looking at listings. She might be going a bit mad.

“I’ve been around here to eat a few times,” she admits, walking inside and immediately noticing the floor-to-ceiling windows that she loved online, the view of the harbor in this apartment even prettier in person as miles of water stretch out before her, “but I’ve never looked at the apartments over here. This is gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it? The views are great, and you’ve got to see it at night when all of the lights are turned on. You’ve got a great patio out there with a firepit that’s great for a date or hosting company or even just a quiet night in. You’d also have room for a small garden or something if you wanted to bring a little life in. I think the people who live below here have a nice little vegetable garden.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, walking past the living space to look through the kitchen. It’s modern, but it’s got these wood and copper accents that she really likes that make it feel a little more homey. Killian will love the counter space too. And the appliances. He’s got a thing about the appliances. He’s got a preference about a lot of things, but she doesn’t blame him. She does too. Just not about her appliances. “How many bedrooms is this one again?”

“It’s two technically, but there’s a spare sitting room that can easily be used as a guest or a nursery. I’ve seen that a lot lately.”

“Ems, I think Dorothy might be John Mulaney’s realtor,” Ruby whispers in her ear, and Emma has to stifle her laugh at the reference.

“She also said a guest room.”

“Well, if it’s going to be a guest room, I need to see it for when I come to visit.”

“You live twenty minutes from here.”

“Details.”

She continues to walk around the apartment, snapping a few pictures and sending them to Killian like she’s been doing all day so he can see things a little more clearly. She wishes that he were here, but work is work and no matter where they’re living, they’re always going to miss some things. It just won’t be everything. It’ll be better. Besides, he’ll be able to look on another day because this definitely isn’t a decision she should be making on her own when this is going to be their place.

Damn, that’s still a weird thing to think about after a month of knowing that this is real and that this is happening.

After their initial conversations and telling their families about everything, the excitement of the move and over moving in together wore down a bit so they could seriously think about the practicality of it all. There were a few times where she felt like her heart was actually in her throat while they were talking, but that never lasted long. She loves him, she wants to be with him, and she’s ready to make this step that should be a giant leap but kind of feels like she’s simply walking up to the Nolans’ house, like it’s natural.

That’s terrifying.

It’s also exhilarating.

They’re good, she and Killian. They fit. She knows that they do, and she’s not going to question the good things she has going.

Okay, she’s not going to question them anymore. She’s already done that, and she doesn’t need to continue to do that. She loves him, and this is going to work. They’re going to have a place that is theirs. There’s not going to be as much traveling or as many plane rides. She’s no longer going to need to worry about always having her neck pillow or about time changes when Killian’s at home and not working. She’s not going to get a ticket for speeding to the airport because she’s running late for a flight, and when she wakes up in the morning, there’s going to be the man she loves next to her.

And he’s not going to have to leave.

That’s the best part.

He gets to stay.

She’s so glad that he gets to stay.

Her phone rings in her hand, and she smiles to herself at the face that pops up. “Speak of the Devil,” she sighs as she answers the phone, holding it up to her ear and walking down the hallway to the master bedroom for some privacy.

“Now, Swan, I know I’m devilishly handsome and that you get to benefit from that, but I don’t think that makes me the Devil.”

She hums into the phone as she twists the knob and walks in. The furniture in here is very obviously staged, but she likes it, the bed sprawling out in the middle of the room with a fireplace in front of it and more large windows looking out into the harbor that have blinds attached. She’d bet those are blackout, and if they’re installed already, that means they come with the property. Elsa told her that. There’s some technical term for it, but she can’t remember.

“It just does, babe. Are you on your lunch break?”

“Yeah, I’m about to go grab a sandwich or something from the cafeteria.”

“You sound like a kid at school.”

“I promise you I’m not. It’s been a solid fifteen years since I was in school getting a sandwich from the cafeteria. What apartment are you looking at now?”

“The Seaport District one. Um, I think it’s on Pier Avenue or something. I can’t remember even though we literally got here twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh, I like that one,” he mumbles into the phone while a horn beeps behind him. Is he walking in front of a car? It’s probably a golf cart. There are a million golf carts at the studio. “There’s a view of the water no matter which room you’re in.”

“Yeah, I think you’d like this one even more in person. There’s a lot of room too, and it’s not too modern. I feel like the only options in this town is everything having not been updated for fifty years or it’s like it’s trying to be in the space age.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. What about the master bathroom and the closet?”

“Um,” she hums, walking away from the window and heading to the door that she assumes is the bathroom, “let me check now. You want to switch the facetime so you can see?”

“That’d be some smart thinking there, Swan.”

“Yeah whatever,” she sighs as she rolls her eyes, hitting the button to facetime him and waiting to for Killian’s face to pop up. When it does, it’s a slightly blurry version of him until she can clearly see his eyes under the baseball cap. “Well hello there, KJ.”

“Hello, darling,” he smiles, waving at her until he drops his phone, the device nearly tumbling to the ground before he catches it. Or she thinks he catches it because they’re still connected instead of the phone shattering. How the hell is he so clumsy sometimes? “Bloody hell, I was almost run over by a golf cart and nearly destroyed my phone. It’s rough having to look at your face.”

“Asshole.”

“Indeed,” he admits, moving his brows across his covered forehead and winking at her. “Now show me this bathroom, love. I need to see if all of your toothbrush accessories will fit in there.”

She groans, throwing her head back even as her lips curl into a smile while she walks into the bathroom, the light blue cabinets adding in a little color to the white marble that covers the countertops and the walls. It’s got the copper accents from the kitchen over both of the sinks, and she makes sure to show it to Killian so that he can see that there is indeed space for her toothbrush and all of its replacement heads. And toothpaste. She can also have toothpaste.

Dental hygiene and all.

Maybe she can have an entire drawer for her floss.

No, that’d be ridiculous. She’ll just share with Killian.

“See, there’s plenty of room.”

“It’s smaller than my house here.”

“Well, it’s an apartment in a crowded city. It’s not going to be like your house. I’ve still got an actual house to look at later today, but it’s smaller too. I really like this place though. I haven’t been too much of a fan of everything else.”

“Yeah, I’d seen a couple of your texts. Is the shower a good size?”

“It is,” she tells him, opening up the door before closing it and walking to the other end of the room for the closet. “And this is the closet. Is it big enough for your clothes and your ego?”

“The clothes, yes. The ego, not so much.”

“Well, I think you’d have to buy the building for that.”

“That is not happening. I guess you’ll just have to stuff it in there.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Well okay Michael Scott,” Killian laughs, his face crinkling with his laugher as he continues to move, the light fading as he enters a building. God, she loves when he smiles like that, and she loves when he’s smiling like that because of her. It’s such a little thing, but she loves when he’s happy.

And being happy isn’t a little thing. It’s a really big thing actually.

She’s glad that she makes him happy. Hopefully indefinitely.

If eighteen-year-old Emma could hear twenty-eight-year old Emma’s thoughts, she would be entirely convinced that they aren’t the same person. But they are. There’s just been some development. Some really damn good development that she’s proud of.

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

“Indeed you did. I like the place, Swan. I mean, we’ll have to look again when I come into town on Wednesday, okay? Just jot down your top three places, and we’ll arrange it with Dorothy to see them. I’ve got to go. I’m going to eat with some of the kids who came in to possibly play my child.”

“Those poor, poor children.”

“Goodbye, Emma,” he sighs, smiling at her. His smile should not be that bright through a screen It just shouldn’t. He’s turning her into a cheesy mess. Mac and cheese would probably be good for dinner. “I love you.”

“I love you, KJ. I’ll keep texting you updates.”

“Thanks, love. Talk to you later.”

“Ems,” Ruby yells, sliding into the closet and nearly tumbling into her, “guess who has a date tomorrow night.”

“You?” she smiles, sliding her phone into her back pocket and stepping back so that Ruby has some room to freak out.

“Yes me. Obviously me. Can we go shopping after this? I’ve looked at apartments with you all day, so this is literally the least you can do for me.”

“Well excuse me, but I’m pretty sure that the only reason you even have a date is because of me.”

“Eh, that’s debatable. We could have met another way. Like, while running or something.”

“How many people do you meet while running?”

“You would be surprised. I’ve got a fantastic ass. It brings all of the peeps to the yard.”

“You don’t have a yard.”

“It was a thinly veiled reference,” Ruby mumbles under her breath as her finger points to count a shelf that Emma thinks is for shoes. Or possibly folded pants and shirts. She’s not entirely sure. It could be for all of it. “When we go shopping, we have to buy you some shoes. Yours aren’t going to fill this shelf.”

“I’m not spending money I don’t have on shoes just so I can fill that shelf. That’s ridiculous. I’m supposed to be saving, especially because I’m still negotiating the raise at work. I think they’re going to agree to it, but I don’t know yet.”

“Ugh, so economical. Why deny shoes when you finally have a way to display them that’s not having them scattered on the floor?”

“Money. You can buy me shoes for my birthday, okay? I have this pair of boots that I have my eye on. Or you can buy me dishes or something. I probably need some of those.”

Ruby literally groans before she starts walking out of the closet, Emma close on her heels. “You are not allowed to turn boring like Marg and David just because you’re getting all homey.”

“If Mary Margaret and David heard you called them boring, they would be the first people to try to prove you wrong by going out, drinking one beer, and then asking if they could go home before nine.”

“In all fairness, sitting on your ass on the couch is a pretty great way to spend a night. This bathroom is fantastic,” Ruby suddenly states, the change in conversation almost causing whiplash. “The lighting is giving me clear skin.”

“I think that’s just because you have clear skin.”

“But I never knew that until right at this moment.”

She snorts, actually snorts, as she walks over to the window that’s at the opposite end of the bathroom. She’s not quite over the view of the ocean from up here, and she wonders how long she’ll have to live here to get used to it.

Oh.

Oh wow.

This is definitely the place. She’s thinking about seriously living here. She can see herself here. She can see them here. She can see a future here.

This is going to be her home.

This is going to be their home.

“So do you like this place, Ems?” Ruby asks as she checks her eyebrow for stray hairs under the vanity lights.

“Yeah,” she admits, looking back out over the ocean, “I love it.”

They look at the house in Back Bay after that, but honestly, Emma knows that the apartment is the one. It really is. She knows the Killian will love it too, and she tells Dorothy that when she sets up another viewing of it for Wednesday when Killian will be back. She really hopes that Ruby’s date goes well because if it doesn’t, that might be the slightest bit awkward. But she thinks it will, and it’s nice to see Ruby excited as they drive the short distance over to Copley so that they can find something for her to wear. It doesn’t take nearly as long as Emma expected, especially with how Ruby can be, and they’re out of there within an hour once Ruby finds a red dress that she most definitely won’t wear with a jacket even though it’ll be cold tomorrow night.

She really might be turning into Mary Margaret, but she doesn’t want Ruby to get frostbite. That probably won’t happen but still. She’ll try to at least get Ruby to wear a coat for a little bit of time.

It’s likely impossible.

After dropping Ruby off at her apartment, she drives home, pulling into her usual parking space and hurrying inside the building so that she can change into her pajamas and fix herself something to eat. She still kind of wants mac and cheese, but since she doesn’t have any, she makes herself a grilled cheese sandwich and some tomato soup (the classics are classics for a reason) to eat in front of the TV. It’s a Friday night sitting on her ass on the couch, and she’s glad for it. Her life has been so hectic lately, and it’s kind of nice for a bit of calm.

Her phone buzzes next to her, and she reaches over to pick it up at the same time that some cheese falls out of the sandwich and onto her chin. She really is so graceful all of the time.

Liam: Do you want me to mail these pictures to you? Or are you going to pick them up when you’re here?

Emma: Can you mail them? I want to get frames for them and have them as soon as possible.

Liam: I’ll put them in the mail on the way to work tomorrow.

Emma: Thank you! You’re my second favorite Jones brother!

Liam: I’m both flattered and offended.

Emma: As you should be. Give Elsa and Aiden all of my love!

She’d called Liam last week and asked if he had any old family photos of he and Killian together or of the two of them with their mom. It’s a really small thing, but she wanted to give Killian a little piece of home in his new one. He’s really insistent that most everything at his house stay the same so that they always have that option for when he’s working there or for when they’re visiting his family and friends, so she imagines that he won’t be packing up many of the picture frames that are scattered throughout his house. The least she can do is ask Liam to go through the few albums of pictures she knows that he has to see if there are any pictures that she can get for Killian.

If they’re going to be living together, it’s going to be a home for the both of them. That’s how it works. She doesn’t have a lot of childhood photos, but Killian does – and they should most definitely be displayed. Liam sent her some pictures (of the pictures, which is obviously the simplest form of inception) of the ones he’s sending her, and there’s this one where Killian is apparently six and has his shirt off with a blue popsicle melted down his chest and his lips tinted the same blue. He’s got this toothy grin on his face, and his mom is sitting behind him in the grass of whatever park they’re in. She’s beautiful, and even through the blurry picture, Emma can see just how happy she is to be spending the day with her sons.

She looks a lot like Killian. They have the same eyes, and like always, her heart breaks for him to have lost someone who was so damn important to him. She wishes that she could have met his mom, but as she knows, it’s not possible. She can honor her memory though, even if it’s the smallest of things.

For the briefest of moments she thinks of her parents. She thinks of the stories she made up of them over the years. She used to want to meet them, to know if her thoughts about whether or not one of them had blonde hair like hers or if they had her eyes. She used to want to know where she got her height from or maybe if her dad had a sweet tooth like her. She wanted to know everything about them. Mostly, though, she wanted to know why they gave her up, why she wasn’t good enough for them.

She’s old enough now, been through enough, to know that it wasn’t about her. They were probably young and irresponsible and couldn’t provide for her. Or maybe they weren’t. Maybe they didn’t want kids. Maybe they weren’t young, maybe they weren’t irresponsible, and maybe life simply hadn’t worked out for them to keep her.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

She doesn’t know. She’ll never know. All she knows is that they didn’t keep her. They didn’t keep her, and it’s not her fault. She still struggles with that sometimes, with the fact that she knows that it isn’t her fault. Because she does know, but that doesn’t keep there from being nights where she doesn’t still feel abandoned and lost. That’ll likely always stay with her, but she’s learned to live with it.

She thinks she’s learned to overcome it.

She’s got this life that she’s built with family that she’s found along the way, and she’s proud of herself and the light that she lets herself live with. Sometimes she uses humor as a defense mechanism, but most of the time, she likes to laugh. She likes to have that light in her life that she missed for so long.

She likes to have a metaphorical blue popsicle melting on her because she was having too much of a good time to eat it all before it melted.

She loves that on the nights where the light fades away, the darkness encompassing her more than usual, she has someone right beside her who understands her in a way that no one else does.

And she loves that she gets to do the same for him, letting him tell stories of love and loss no matter how late into the night it takes.

It doesn’t matter. She’s got the time.

[livingmybestfictionallife]

As I See It, Yes --Chapter Three

Tag List: @smilexcaptainx, @1-birdie-1, @bubblyanarocks3, @lilo-1398, @broken-pieces, @yessy2012 (sorry if I forgot any of my permanent tags)

“What do you mean they fired you?” Although Dally’s mouth was filled with french fries and hamburger, he thought the instant I finished my anecdote was the best time to reply. “You’re the best dam employee that dump had.” We sat in the Dairy Queen parking lot, me in the driver’s seat with my knees pulled into my chest, and him stretched out across the passenger seat.

“Karen tried to play the sympathy card,” I said as I took a bite of my junior Hunger Buster. “I said I didn’t want anyone’s damn charity and walked out the door. What a dumbass mistake,” I sighed. “She was going to give me paid leave until I left for school.”

“And you walked out on that?” he asked before sucking down his Coke. I could see in his eyes he was silently chastising me for one of the only moments of brash decision making in my life.

“I’m sick of people looking at me as nothing but a charity case,” I snapped, “and I know I messed up and screwed my brothers over, but...” I couldn’t think of where my sentence was going, and luckily, Dallas filled my silence with shrouded support.

“They’re all a bunch of morons,” he said as I slumped down into the driver seat of my car and folded my arms over my chest. “The world’s full of morons and there’s very few people like you and me who recognize them as morons. All the other’s love them for their ignorant arrogance.” I rolled my eyes and pursed my lips tightly before bringing myself to look over at him in the passenger seat. “I bet you can’t wait to get out of here now, huh?” I shrugged again, still feeling numb and indifferent toward everything that was happening.

“I promised Ponyboy I’d take him to a movie,” I s aid while looking at the clock, desperate to change the subject. It was 12:45 no. I had been sitting with Dallas for over an hour, just talking. I took one last small bite of my burger before handing it to him, which he quickly finished off in less than a minute.

“Yeah, I know you did. Try going home and sleeping all this off,” I flinched as he put his hand on my shoulder while offering a short ‘goodbye.’ I wasn’t ready for Dallas to leave. His company was the only thing keeping me from thinking about everything I’d done and regretting the necessary actions I took to defend myself.

“Nah, let’s just see Sodapop, he’ll cheer my up,” I said earnestly. I drove to the DX and waited for my younger brother to come out and offer to pump gas into the car. Dally got out quickly and went inside to talk to Steve while I stayed outside with the golden headed boy before me. I could see a question itching at his throat, but he wouldn’t ask it. I loved Soda because of that. He’s the type of guy that knows something is going on but always takes into account your feelings. He won’t ever force you into saying how you feel; he lets you come to him.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” I said softly while slinging my arm around his shoulder blades. He nodded but I knew he was starting to get anxious. “Hey,” I cooed to try and cheer him up, “nothing’s wrong, okay? Just a little misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Between who?” He raised his eyebrow skeptically and my arm slid off his back

“Me and some Socs,” I admitted.

“What’d they do?” he asked while finishing up at the pump and leaning against the car. I tried to think of how to word what happened--I hadn’t even really given Dallas the details about why I’d gotten fired. I was afraid of telling the guys of anything like that, of anything that had to do with someone hurting me in any way. I knew they’d beat the hell out of whoever did anything to me, but they’d also treat me like a fragile, easily damaged porcelain doll. “Austin?” Soda said while lowering his eyes at me.

“Nothing,” I chewed on the word, knowing deep down Soda had already figured out my lie.

“Darry isn’t going to be very happy about this,” he said slowly. I ighed and agreed.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” I added. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’ve got a little bit of time to kill before I’m meeting Ponyboy at that movie.” We walked inside, feeling the rush of cols air envelope me the second I opened the door. It was a small, cramped little building that had a little bit of merchandise like candy, cokes, chips, a small variety of fishing bait and some car parts, but on days like these, where the sun bakes everything that lives, the little building was a huge escape.

Steve was sitting down in a folding chair and Dallas was leaning against the wall. He was always doing that. I think he likes to look mysterious and alluring so he always leans up against dingy walls in his dark leather in the heat of summer just to resemble this enigma that needs to be unraveled. Soda sat down next to Steve and I lifted myself onto a counter and let my legs dangle over the edge. For a while, it was silent, with Soda thinking through the worst possible situations i could have been in to cause me to lie to him--probably glossing over what happened and actively shoving it from his mind--with Steve picking at his cuticles and Dallas lighting up a cigarette. I noticed he was standing close to an open window and was blowing smoke streams outside. 

“How’s business?” Dally asked while trying to blow a smoke ring into the wind.

“Slow, but it’s just cause it’s too damn hot for people to come out here,” Steve shrugged. He could be a bit of a jerk to me at times--pretty much just acting like I don’t exist from time to time--but I ignore him. He was a bitter guy and I put that behind me although he gets on my nerves when he treats Ponyboy lousy.

“Shouldn’t you be headed to the movies?” Soda asked as his eyes fell on the clock hanging on the wall over Dallas’s head. I glanced in that direction, catching a quick glimpse of Dally’s dark eyes before turning my attention back to Soda and nodding.

“I’ll see you guys later?” I asked while I twirled my keys around my finger and surveyed their faces as each responded with a ‘yes.’ With that assurance, I rushed out of the DX, got back in my car, and made my way toward the movies where Ponyboy was no doubt walking to or waiting at.

As I anticipated, my youngest brother was early and impatiently tapping his foot, probably wondering if I bailed on him. I felt bad for Pony; ever since Mom and Dad died, he’s felt left out and unwanted. He’d always been especially close with Soda, and at least when Mom and Dad were around and Steve would claim a monopoly on the middle Curtis brother, Pony could turn toward our parents, but now I’m the only one who has enough patience to watch movies with him or just sit in silence as we each read our separate books.

“Did you get the tickets?” I asked while running up to meet him on the sidewalk outside of the theatre doors.

“Yeah, did you want any popcorn or a Coke or something?” he offered.

“I’m fine, bud. What about you? Do you want something?” I asked. “My treat!” He shook his head then looked me in the eyes and called me out, wasting no time in beating around the bush.

“I went to the library today. Where were you? That girl you work with told me you were fired. Is it true? What happened?” The kid spat about a million questions at me all at once and I couldn’t help being overwhelmed with his anxieties about my problems.

“Calm down,” I tried to say as we walked into the movie house and made our way down the hall to the theatre. “Some asshole of a Soc started getting wise with me, so I set him straight,” I said with a small, disappointing smirk on my face. I could tell Ponyboy, like Soda earlier, refused to believe the glimpsed truth I gave him. I was kind of thankful that Dallas was the first person I’d told about what happened. He didn’t pester me with questions regarding my vague explanation and didn’t bother to get details. I knew my brothers were dying to continue peppering me with questions until I cracked and gave them the whole truth, but Dallas was never the kind of person to give two shits about something that didn’t directly affect him...and even then he hardly cared.

“You’re hanging around Dal too much,” Ponyboy whispered as we took our seats and the previews began.

“What makes you say that?” I asked him softly.

“Because that’s a Dally excuse for getting in trouble, not an Austin excuse,” he explained before the theatre lights dimmed even more. As soon as the film began to roll, Ponyboy’s posture perked and his eyes were glued to the screen. I tried to ignore the immature kids tossing popcorn at other people’s heads and the couples that started making out, and turned my attention to the movie as well, carefully taking it in one scene at a time.

All in all, it was a good movie. Ponyboy and I always enjoy a good storyline and I’ve always had a secret affinity for billiards. I know it’s nothing to be proud about, but I’ve gotten into the nasty habit of hustling people out of a hundred bucks or so every other week down at Buck Merrill’s place--like I said, I did a little bit of here and there stuff for a but of extra cash to help my brothers.

Ponyboy and I were walking out of the movie house behind everyone else in the careful cluster of people exiting all at once, careful not to draw attention to ourselves. We made it to the ticket booth before I heard someone calling out my brother’s name. Each of us turned toward the kid inside of the glass, ticket box who offered my brother and me a soft smile. “Your brother told me to give yall this,” he said while slipping a piece of paper through the ticket slot. I caught the boy winking at me as I was turning to read the note over Ponyboy’s shoulder.

Had to pick up the car! I’ll keep her safe. --Sodapop Curtis

          P.S. Austin, I hope you don’t mind, but I told the guy at the booth you’re single.

I rolled my eyes at Soda’s postscript and tried to ignore the chuckle coming from Ponyboy’s lungs as we started on the walk home. My brothers have never been satisfied with my romantic life. If I’m not in a relationship, they question it, saying I’m too much of a catch to not have someone pining after me, but judging by the rare occasions where I’ve been in a relationship, they hate whoever I’m with and do everything in their power to understand “why him?” The gang was no better. About a year ago, a guy came up to me in the hall between classes, asking if I wanted to go to some school dance with him and, to my dismay, Two-Bit had been watching. Before I could open my mouth to respond, Two-Bit had his arm wrapped around my waist and his whole body leaned against me in a successful attempt to make the guy asking me out feel awkward and uncomfortable, inevitably scaring him off by unwarrantedly pretending to be my boyfriend. Who knows what would happen if anyone in the gang suddenly decided they thought of me as anything other than Darry, Soda, and Pony’s sister.

Ponyboy and I had been making our way back to the house, each of us lost in our own thoughts, for almost ten minutes. I was careful to keep my thoughts and emotions locked in my heart and head, for fear of what my youngest brother would say if I were to even question my internal conflicts out loud.

“I wish I looked like Paul Newman,” Ponyboy grumbled as he kicked a stone down the sidewalk, voicing the thoughts he’d been wrestling with since seeing the movie.

“I like how you look, Pony. You’re a real handsome gentleman,” I commented. He shrugged and stifled a smile but I knew he was blushing. Maybe he was Bashful and not Johnny. “You look loads better than Paul Newman,” I said proudly. “All of my brothers do.”

“You have a mighty high opinion of us then,” he stated. “Any girl would die if Paul Newman showed up asking to take her to a movie or something.” I sighed and shrugged.

“Any girl would be lucky if a Curtis showed up on her porch looking to take her to a movie,” I said with a smile. “Besides, I don’t understand the obsession with Paul Newman. Brando, James Dean! Damn I could see losing myself over them, but Paul Newman?” An honest laugh came from Ponyboy’s lips and I smiled, knowing I’d succeeded in cheering him up.

“Shoot, you’re better looking than all of us and you don’t have a fella,” Ponyboy said.

“James Dean was my one and only,” I joked, “until Brando comes for me.” Although I still got a laugh out of him, Ponyboy pestered for a real answer.

“I’m serious,” he sighed, “if you can’t get anyone, why should I think I can?”

“Because, Pony, you’re sweet and kind and a good looking kid. I’m leaving soon so starting something with someone doesn’t make any sense to me. Besides, it’s not like I don’t have any interests,” I said while playfully hitting his arm. He rolled his eyes at me.

“Brando doesn’t count,” he muttered as we kept walking, kicking the rock back and forth between each other for another mile before I bent over and picked it up. I held the rock firmly in my hand, overly aware of the car that was following us. We were almost home. Only a little further to go on Independence before we reached our house, but trouble was already looking for us and didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Are they still following us?” Pony asked quickly. I knew he could sense a change in the way I carried myself, but I didn’t think he had noticed the baby blue mustang that had suspiciously driven past us twice now. I nodded in response.

“Don’t turn around,” I stated. “Keep going this pace and don’t run until we’re where they can’t drive after us.”

“Cut through the alley,” he said while turning quick enough to startle me but not enough to look unnatural. To our dismay, the car was able to follow us down the alley. I heard them park and a hoard of guys rushed after us.

“Run,” I muttered under my breath to my brother. Each of us took off, our feet colliding painfully with the pavement as we tried to get closer to home. With the end of the alley’s cover came sunshine and exposure--publicity. Ponyboy had made it out and I was almost there before I felt someone’s hands fall heavily on my hips and shove me against the side of a building.

“Here she is, fellas!” the voice was too familiar and rage swelled in me again. “The broad from the library.” I looked over to see two Socs standing over my brother with one of their knees driven into his stomach.

“Back off, asshole,” I snapped at him and drove my fist into his jaw hard enough to free myself for a moment, not hardly long enough to reach Ponyboy, but for just enough time to run into the cover of sunlight only to be tackled to the ground by the guy I recognized as Lawrence. I was closer to Pony now. If he and I were to stretch out, our fingers could have touched, but there we were, suffering alone for the other to witness. I wished I had something better than a stupid piece of gravel to defend myself with, but I knew I could make do with what I had.

“Try and run now, bitch!” Lawrence snapped as his open hand came crashing down on the side of my face. I writhed against his hold and was able to shimmy part of myself free, but my nearly overpowering him only lead to another Soc aiding Lawrence in pinning me to the ground.

“Get off of me!” I shrieked.

“Shut her up,” Lawrence instructed the other guy who then pulled a bright red bandana from his back pocket. Shit, I thought to myself while trying to steal a glance at Ponyboy. He was struggling to breathe under the weight of the Soc’s knee and I could see a knife being placed against his neck. SHIT. Quickly, I pulled my knees up to rock Lawrence off my stomach, slammed his head against my shoulder, and kicked him off me for only a matter of seconds. It was in those few seconds that I was able to sit up and hurl the stone in my hand at the small gathering of Socs that loomed over my little brother. As soon as I heard a shout of pain, I gasped. Lawrence had thrown himself back on top of me, this time shoving me across the pavement, scraping my back, shoulders, and elbows, and laying into me in a way that meant only one thing.

“Soda! Darry! Someone help!” I could hear Ponyboy screaming. At that point I could only see one of the four hovered over him. I knew Lawrence was lying on top of me, but I didn’t know where the others were until I felt two hands on each of my ankles and shins, holding me against the ground. Lawrence had gotten a hold of my wrists in one of his hands and held them above my head, shoving my knuckles into the burning asphalt. He was sitting on my stomach, keeping me from breathing in as much as I could, and lowering his lips to my neck and face. I was writhing against his hold, trying anything I could think of to get loose. I kicked and punched until I became so enraged a scream I do not remember leaving my body pierced the neighborhood. I could hear a voice go on for miles...my voice. Nothing was working. I could only overpower so many for so long before exhaustion would set in. I wanted to be stronger, to be able to break his nose or do some sort of significant damage, but I couldn’t. All I could do was swing my elbows and hope for the best, but even then, Lawrence had such a tight grip on my hands and wrists that moving seemed relatively impossible. I was able to momentarily free my right arm and swung a hard fist into the bridge of his nose. Finally, I sighed to myself as I watched blood pool from his nostrils, but having a bloody, possibly broken nose did nothing to slow Lawrence’s pace. If anything, it made him more dedicated to hurting me in the way he had planned.

Lawrence grabbed me again but this time instructed one of the guys holding my legs to hold down my arms instead. His face lowered towards mine again, and I knew this time he wasn’t looking to breath hot threats against my skin. His free hand had traveled along my shirt and was desperately trying to untuck it from my jeans--struggling only because he was sitting on top of it, hindering its release. I turned my head and sealed my eyes shut, not wanting to see his face as I continued to shake and push and kick in every attempt to free myself. The second his lips touched my skin I recoiled into the earth. I could handle the pain from my burning skin and the flesh that was torn away from my body, but the hate filled kisses, the biting against my neck, smearing blood over my body, and the unsettling violation of his fingertips tracing my bare stomach up to my breasts broke me. 

“SODA! DARRY! DALLAS!” I felt another hand strike my face in the same spot someone’s had before.

“No one’s going to hear you, you little bitch!” As soon as he finished his words, a black boot slammed into Lawrence’s side and he rolled off of me, coughing while rushing to get up and retreat to his car.

“Call her a bitch again and see what happens,” someone growled while catching up to Lawrence, slamming his body against the wall, and punching him in the ribs about a million times before throwing him toward the car where the other Socs had scampered off to.

I remained on the pavement, wheezing as I tried to take in as much as possible and correct my appearance in hopes that none of my brothers or our friends could see me in such a vulnerable state.

“Austin!” Ponyboy yelled while running to me, pushing his way past Soda and Darry, who had flocked to him after seeing the Socs run off. I looked up and saw Two-Bit and Dallas walking toward us while Steve was further into the alley after having thrown bricks at the Socs as they drove away. I tried to stand but found myself getting dizzy the second I say up.

“You okay kid?” I asked him as soon as he stumbled up to me. 

“You’re the one covered in blood,” he said, obviously pretending like he hadn’t seen what was about to happen.

“Yeah, but it’s not mine,” I stated. “That’s yours,” I finished while trying to point at his neck while feeling my legs turn to noodles the second I tried to stand. I could feel a pair of arms wrap around my side and saw Two-Bit slinging my arm over his shoulder to help me stand.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly into my ear. “They didn’t... hurt you, did they?” I shook my head ‘no’ but I wasn’t sure which one of his questions I was answering. Either way it felt like a lie.

“You’re elbow is cut up bad,” Steve remarked. I tried to turn my arm to look at it but couldn’t hold it up long enough to see.

“Must have sliced it on that guy’s teeth,” I stated, trying my hardest to keep from stammering.

“Let’s get them in the house,” I heard Darry say, Looking up I only grew angrier, not only at the Socs, but at myself. We were practically in our front lawn when they jumped us. I had known for a while that this town wasn’t safe--hell, growing up with Dally I knew the stupid things teenage boys liked to do--but I wasn’t sure just how far the Socs were willing to go until now. After walking up the porch and falling into the couch beside Two-Bit, I leaned was overly aware of the eyes locked on me and the looks of pity that came with them. Darry was on a hunt for bandages and Soda was busy coaxing Ponyboy down from near tears while Johnny sat beside them, trying to hide his own fear from when he was jumped about a month ago; Steve sat across from Soda and Pony, keeping an eye on the door in case the car decided to come back for us, and Dallas stormed through the house trying to help Darry search for our first aid kit--a couple band-aids, a safety pin, needle, cigarette lighter, antiseptic, and a makeshift bite-guard incase the pain from stitching up your own wounds got to be too much--and a washcloth. I could hear Dally cursing up and down the halls, and working up a real fury about Socs in general and specifics.

“Ole Dal’s pissed for sure,” Johnny said. “I ain’t ever seen him so gosh darn mad.”

“Well, that’s cause ain’t no one ever messed with Austin before. It’s always one of us. He did put one of the Socs that got you in the hospital though,” Two-Bit commented.

 “He ‘bout near bashed that guy’s ribs in with a clean sweep of the boot,” Johnny exclaimed.

“He broke the kid’s ribs for sure,” Two-Bit commented. 

“I’m glad he doesn’t know the kids by name though. He’d do a whole lot more than break a few ribs given what they were trying to--”

“Steve,” Soda hissed. I averted my eyes from my brother chastising his friend for almost saying exactly what was about to happen.

“Is reality too real for you, Soda?” I asked in an all to harsh tone. As soon as the words left my mouth I bit my lip and apologized. His face had dropped and his eyes began to gleam with guilt and sorrow and I knew he was more sensitive than Ponyboy, they were both more sensitive than I was for that matter. After my apology, I turned away from the group and retreated in my room. Not wanting to deal with the humiliation and not wanting to be treated like a piece of porcelain.

I didn’t want to crawl into my bed with blood and dirt all over me, so I dropped to the floor and leaned against the wall. I supposed fighting for my life caused enough of an adrenaline spike to keep me from feeling the pain in my back caused by road-rash. I was quick to peel my back from the wall and chewed my lip once more, refusing to cry. I didn’t want to distract myself with a book. I wanted to disappear, and for once I didn’t want to temporarily disappear into another world. I wanted to fall off the edge of the earth and never be heard from again, but I had too many people counting on me, too many responsibilities and promises to do that, and so I sat and bit my lip, and held it all in until there was a knock at my door.

“You okay?” Darry asked as he leaned against the small desk in the front of my bedroom. Those two words contained so much care and concern and yet I was so mad at him for asking. Does it look like I’m okay? Do you think being jumped on, dehumanized, and blatantly used as nothing more than a piece of flesh--in front of my little brother--something I’d come away from as being just peachy? How thick do you have to be to see I’m living a personal hell? I wanted to say those things, but remembering how I hurt Soda made me realize that, like me, my brothers have no idea on how to handle a situation like this. They don’t know what to ask, they don’t know what to say. They’re doing the best they can.

“I’m fine,” I said apathetically. I knew holding onto everything would drive me to an early grave, but it would save them in the long run, right? “How was work?” I tried to shake off the awkwardness, tried to keep Darry from seeing my weaknesses.

“Austin,” he murmured, “Cut it out.” The color in his cheeks was flushed with guilt and fear of what would have happened if the gang had showed up too late. “How did this happen?”

“The same way it always happens with us, same as Johnny. We were minding our own business, walking home, and they saw a teenage kid and a defenseless looking girl and attacked. What else could it have been?” I asked while holding my arms close to my body. Darry shook his head disapprovingly.

“You and I both know Johnny is much quieter than you, Austin. What really happened?” he stated while narrowing his brow at me.

“A couple of Socs were giving her a hard time at work. She let ‘em have a piece of her mind and they found her later and jumped her.” I looked past Darry, who had spun to see who was talking although we both knew it was Dally. He dind’t have his same matter-of-fact tone that resonated with everything Dallas Winston said. Instead, he seemed to posses a distinctive hatred toward the Socs, one I had never been keenly aware of. I knew Dallas hated Socs, mostly ebcause of what they did to Johnny, partly because of their easy-going, care free lives, but this was a new rendition of hatred. “Don’t worry about it Darry, she’s got it all under control,” Dallas tried to say, but Darry’s heart rate was rising. I could see the veins in his temples pulsing quicker and quicker as the seconds passed.

“Under control? Does this look like she’s got it under control?!” I tried not to pay attention to my older brother drilling into Dallas but I couldn’t look away. Here were the two people who knew me in many different ways than the other did, going at one another over me. “I know you know what could have happened! What they would have done to her!”

“I do!” Dallas snapped, “but you know no one in the gang would let that happen!” I could feel my jaw clench as I sat on the floor, trying to ignore the beating around the bush that both Dallas and Darry were doing.

“What if we aren’t there to help her next time?” Darry asked, his hard eyes driving into Dallas’ icy brown ones.

“Stop,” I demanded. “Darry, you can’t handle any more stress so let’s just put this behind us.”

“Put it behind us?” he gasped while narrowing his eyes at me like Dad used to on the rare occasions he was mad--it seemed like Darry had more of those in the past year than Dad ever did. “Austin, you were--”

“Almost raped? Go on, say it! I’m not a kid, Darrel. I’m only a year and half younger than you! I know shit. I know what could have happened, and I know all of you guys are going to lose your damn minds if you don’t get over it. Just let it go and move on. I’ll be fine and if I’m not, then I’ll talk to someone, okay?” Darry’s soft blue eyes fell on me. I never really yelled at him before, sure when we were kids I’d yell at him for stealing my turn on a toy or pushing me down during flag football, but never in defiance of him. He knew I could be harsh and jaded and he knew I had my own way of dealing with things. I could see the gears click as he finally realized I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about feeling powerless or weak. I didn’t want to think about how far Lawrence would have gotten had Dallas not punted him off of me. I didn’t want to do much of anything, but I didn’t have a choice about that. Darry knew talking about what happened was my choice and so he dropped it. Before he could open his mouth, Two-Bit started howling wildly down the hall while Sodapop’s voice became gravel-like as he struggled for breath. He rolled his eyes at their immaturity and assumed Pony had been feeling better, then ran down the hall without a moment’s hesitation, yelling for Dal to take over with my first aid as he went to break up a wrestling match, no doubt a side effect of becoming a father figure over night.

It took all of five seconds after Darry went down the hall for Dallas to turn to me and lower his eyes. “Cut the bullshit, Austin. If you’re afraid or upset, say it,” Dally demanded while taking up the entire doorway with his tall frame.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dal,” I stated.

“Would you?” he asked in response.

“Should I?” I pestered him.

“I just figured you didn’t want to say anything in front of Darry,” he said while slumping into my room. I narrowed my gaze at him as he stood closer to me.

“And you think I’d talk to you first?” I asked hesitantly.

“Well, you usually do.” Dallas had put himself on the ground beside me and started to dab the damp washcloth against my back where the ground tore through my already worn out shirt, and the back of my elbow where I was bleeding. The more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right. I did go to Dally before telling my brothers about a lot of things. For years I’d found him to be a better confidant than anyone else. He’s cool and collected and can keep his damned mouth shut. Even this morning, I only wanted to get my worries off my chest to him before having to tell my brothers about getting fired.

After the stinging of him cleaning out my scrapes, cuts, and gashes with the antiseptic, he patched up as much as he could and never spoke another word about who the Socs were or what he’d do to them if he ever saw them again, nor did he pester me about whether or not I was okay. “Look, I talked to Johnny and Pony about going to the drive-in to see a movie. You coming?” The invitation came out of nowhere and I nodded, completely caught off guard.

“I guess for a bit,” I said in a soft voice. He nodded as he stood from the floor and offered me a hand. I took it and he hoisted me from the ground before leaning in the doorframe and looking back at me.

“Don’t worry about any more Socs tonight,” he said while looking directly into my eyes, something Dal didn’t do too often with anyone. “They’re dead if they think of touching you again.” Once he finished his words, Dallas jolted his body off the doorframe and wandered toward the living room. I inhaled deeply and then let it out slowly, trying to regain composure before rejoining the gang.

“Hey Dal,” I called out to him before he reached the end of the hall. “I’m okay, really,” I said to him and him alone. I knew what Dallas Winston was capable of and despite how much I hated Lawrence and his friends for the shit they put me through today, no one deserved what Dally could dish out. He nodded his head once and lowered his face closer to mine, closing the four or five inch height gap between us and whispered.

“Sure you are.” There wasn’t an arrogance or an I-told-you-so feeling, just a statement that made me feel...normal. 

I followed Dallas back into the living room and dropped down in front of Soda. I never asked him to rub my shoulders like Darry almost always did, but he always did it anyway. I let my head fall onto my knees and my eyes droop closed. It was nice to just focus on breathing and nothing else , at least for the long moments that my brother’s fingers pushed away the knots under my skin. I focused on the motions of his knuckles and fingers, hearing the dull roar of socializing in the background. Dallas, Johnny, and Ponyboy discussed movie options for tonight. Two-Bit said he would try and come it he wasn’t too drunk by then. Steve was having a conversation with Soda about taking Evie and Sandy out tonight, and Darry was on the phone in the kitchen with the neighbors. Apparently they had watched the attack and wanted to make sure Ponyboy and I were okay. They were much older folks--one used a walker to get around and the other was practically confined to a wheelchair, so I didn’t blame them for not helping. There wasn’t much they could do; in fact, there was nothing they could do that wouldn’t put them in danger.

“The Jefferson’s wanted to make sure you were okay,” Darry said over the noise of the six other voices. “They’re making a lasagna that they wanted me to pick up and bring over tonight,” he added while coming closer and lowering his voice so that the guys wouldn’t hear. I knew he would tell Johnny later. We always shared with Johnny. He had the hardest time finding shelter and food on nights when his parents were fighting. I understand  where Darry is coming from in feeling that he has to help everyone when he gets the chance. I feel that ways too, but sometimes we can hardly provide for ourselves let alone the other four.

It wasn’t too much later that Soda and Steve were off getting ready for their dates, Two-Bit was headed to a party down at Buck’s place, and Darry was lounging in his chair, waiting for me, Pony, Johnny, and Dallas to leave the house already. “You ready to go, Johnny?” Dallas asked the smaller body next to him. Johnny Cade nodded and stood, pulling his denim jacket on and shoving his hands in the pockets.

“Wait, isn’t Two-Bit meeting us?” I asked.

“When he’s good and buzzed,” Pony laughed. He had only drank a couple of times under my supervison. One time we were at a party and he asked if he could try some of his friend’s beer, he ended up hating it, but another time, we invited Two-Bit over to play King’s Cup while Darry was out of town, and we had hard cider instead--which in my experience tastes better. Apparently Curtis’s have a moderately high tolerance for alcohol, so when Two-Bit was rolling on the floor, laughing drunk, Pony and I were just a bit buzzed. Soda is a little more of a lightweight than us when it comes to beers...I guess we all have our weaknesses.

“Be careful,” Darry called after us. I nodded and filed out the door behind the others.

“Darry,” I chirped before closing the door behind me. “You don’t care if I go to Buck’s afterward, do you?” his eyes narrowed at me for what felt like the millionth time today.

“Austin,” he scolded, “you know what you’re doing is dangerous, right?” I nodded. “And that you could get badly hurt?”

“Two-Bit is there right now and I bet he’d want to go back, besides, Buck knows and understands. He’s okay with it and never lets things get out of hand.” Darry frowned a little and folded his muscular arms over his chiseled torso. “We need the money.” The simple statement of truth was all that I needed to say to change his mind.

“Fine,” he said, trying to seem reluctant. I knew he took some pride in teaching me how to hustle in billiards, but he wasn’t too happy with me turning it into a way to make ends meet. I hugged him quickly and then jogged down the street toward the others as they walked toward the drive-in theatre.

[msmovingforward]

A For Effort

Wow! Tiffany may just be the biggest evil genius the entire Housewives universe has ever seen! You mean to tell me you graduated Cornell at 19, graduated medical school at 23, and you didn’t see the irony in serving cricket pizza in order to trigger someone who was infamously called a “chirpy little Mexcian?” (LeeAnne’s words, not mine). Tiffany knows exactly what she’s doing. You don’t have advanced scientific degrees and your own wine label, but need Pancho the chef to explain to everyone what salami is. Though I’m not falling for her “I never had girlfriends” sob story, I’m loving the deliciousness with which she is playing the victim to our faces while riling these southern belles up like swinging piñatas. Sorry I had to get these thoughts out before they escaped me. Onto the recap proper!

We open with Mr. and Mrs. Moon discussing the aforementioned pizza soiree. Tiffany really does have everyone in her life on a delicate thread. She masterfully guilts her husband into doing EVERYTHING to set up this party (decorating, making pizza dough-which is a frickin’ process in case you’ve never attempted it) by saying she’s extremely stressed about fitting in with her new friends. (Will they accept her for two seasons in a row?!) Tiffany knows this is her time to do something BIG in order to really brand her name on the cattle that is the Dallas Housewives, and that thing is using her $15,000 pizza oven for a group of friends that includes two women who probably don’t eat. (The last time I remember a pizza oven being mentioned as a centerpiece for a party was when Camille Grammer invited everyone to her house to drink vodka out of fishbowls and find out when they were going to die and lose their legs, but I’m digressing). Tiffany makes an Excel Spreadsheet, and the two clink to pizza parties.

D’Andra heads over to her Shaman’s house. This guy is just a gay with a lot of feelings in a robe, and you know what?! Good for him! You get that money! He had to do something with all that left over spirit gum from the community theater production of Fiddler that shut down due to COVID, and what better use than fake sideburns to convince sad rich women you’re a spiritual guru?! We learn that D’Andra has developed a twitch from all the trauma of fighting with Kari in Grapevine last week. The shaman asks what D’Andra thinks she might be projecting to invite negative energy, and we’re shown flashbacks of D’Andra mom shaming Kari in last week’s episode, screaming, “I don't even care because you were my fucking friend! ... You have three kids that are grown. One child home that is under your care.” With a completely blank stare on her face, D’Andra says, “I don’t know the answer to that honestly.” The shaman tries to get D’Andra to see the bigger picture, telling her that in life there will always be people saying things she doesn’t like, but D’Andra just blames Kari yet again, saying that Kari is just jealous of her. The shaman advises D’Andra to always come from a place of love, so no one can accuse her of having negative intentions, which I’m sure D’Andra will misinterpret in episodes to come, and then he has her lie on the floor as he spreads rose pedals on her, so she can receive the gifts of Mother Earth. I’m in the wrong area of work, clearly. How much is this dude charging for this? I tell women they’re queens and listen to them bitch all day, and I don’t get paid for it!

Kameron is with her dog and her daughter in their living room in preparation for Brad the hot dog trainer to pay a house call. It’s hard for me to tell whose name I hate more, Fanci, her dog, or Hilton, her daughter. Is she named after Paris or the hotel chain itself? Gag! Court enters and informs the two small children and the dog as well as Kameron that an interested couple had just toured their home for a third time, and they have decided not to buy. I really hate Court. Why would he tell the six year old children and the dog this? Kameron is clearly not listening. At first, I felt bad for Kameron because I thought she wasn’t being given a chance to have a say in this, but then I realized this is 20 fucking 20, and she doesn’t need permission to be strong and independent. God, Kameron! What is with the Dallas women in particular and playing victims? If you want to sell the house for more then get in there and hustle, girl! Kameron informs the audience via her confessional that “[My dream house] could sell, then it could be off the market. Then Guess what! I don't have another house that I'm obsessed with!” Some women have jobs, Kameron. Even Kari is pretending to make jewelry! Some women actually take their dogs outside to walk them! Then again, I am watching this show because this is where the humor lies. Court really is the worst kind of man, though. He openly mocks Kameron’s feelings to his six year old daughter’s face, joking that if she gets hysterical about the house selling for too low, the two of them have a contract not to tell Kameron. Again, though, this IS the life Kameron is choosing. I wonder what the shaman would have to say about THIS?!

Brad comes in and informs them that letting Fanci just have a bone all the time to keep her occupied is the same as giving your kids an iPad at church. Kameron says without even a hint of irony that that is what they do with their kids at church. Brad informs the family that they’re doing a C+ job at training Fanci. Kameron, who’s never probably gotten a grade above C- in her life is thrilled, saying, “At least we got a letter!�� Kameron informs us in her testimonial that she needs to feel control over training Fanci because there’s so little in her life right now she does have control over, including COVID and her home selling for too little, making her unable to afford a bigger version of her current home. ACTUALLY IF YOU DID ANYTHING EXCEPT STRAP YOUR DOG TO A TREADMILL, YOU MIGHT FIND YOU DO HAVE SOME AGENCY HERE, KAMERON. Ugh...

Stephanie is diligently working on receiving her Nobel Peace Prize by setting up her office space so that she can spend Travis’s money to give public schools luxury locker rooms. She’s heroically painted her office the same shade of off white that she’s going to have someone else paint one of the locker rooms to make sure she likes it. The pressure is really mounting, though, because if she doesn’t finish her office in time, she’s made a bet that she will have to touch Travis. No one wants that! He’s hairy! Travis comes into the unfinished office with flowers, and informs Stephanie that she’s already over budget. (Her budget, for which she did absolutely no research before setting, is $100,000, but the lockers alone are costing $70,000). Stephanie jokes that she’s going to have to prostitute herself to afford these renovations. Travis says she’s probably not good enough in bed to raise that much money. Healthy.

We are shown vignettes of the women trying to figure out what to wear to a chic pizza party. I’m confused because I’m pretty sure chic pizza party isn’t much different from chic square dance, which is what I imagine most of Dallas’s social events to look like. Kari is getting her makeup done, and she shares a text with her makeup artist that reads, “Just to set expectations: I'll probably be wrapping up the party at like 10:30, because I have a meeting tomorrow and I want to be fresh for it. Can't wait to see you all tonight.” Kari informs us that she’s NEVER gotten a text like that before in her life. Stephanie and Kameron are riding together to Tiffany’s, and Stephanie says she’s always in bed by 10, so she doesn’t have a problem with it. (Me too, Stephanie!) Kameron informs us that proper etiquette would have been to send out printed invitations with a set end time. I think Tiffany knew exactly what she was starting when she sent out this text. D’Andra arrives to the party with a container of some sort of deli salad topped with a white bow, and Tiffany freaks out that D’Andra needs to put on shoe covers. I wonder if she and Mary Cosby use the same brand. Stephanie and Kameron arrive right behind D’Andra with a piñata they forgot to give Kari at her 50th birthday party. Tiffany shows off her closet filled with easily a million dollars’ worth of Birkin bags. I do have to say, Tiffany’s closet easily outshines both Lisa Vanderpump’s and Bethany Frankel’s. I just hope TIffany has proper safeguards against moths.

The last to arrive are Kari and Brandi. In the car, Kari informs Brandi that she’s essentially over trying to make a real friendship work with D’Andra, but they can be superficial friends, and Kari will just keep D’Andra at arm’s length. So basically how it probably was all along. This story line sucks, Kari.

The two arrive just in time for Tiffany to tell everyone there’s going to be a contest to see who makes the best pizza. She also lays down some ground rules, saying, “You just have to be honest. I know that's really hard in this group ... The number two rule is no fighting. (Kari looks pissed about this rule). On your first infraction, you shall receive a verbal warning. The second time, you get pizza flour thrown in your face. (Kameron nods like she understands). Like 'Stop fighting!' And rule number three is have fun!” Brandi makes a fair point that having fun is the point of a party, and this was Tiffany’s last rule.

It isn’t until this point that I realize lackluster friend of the wives Jen is in attendance. You know it’s bad when the friend of is being outshined by the Shaman.

The women bust open Kari’s piñata, which contains a riddle: “What's wet, long, thin, hot, and down south?” Somehow this means the women will be taking a cast trip to Austin to further drag out Kari’s birthday party.

The gals make and eat their pizzas. Kameron informs us that dabbing the grease off the pizza takes away 250 calories. After the very stupid pizza contest winner is determined Tiffany reveals that they all just ate crickets, which she hid in her pizza toppings. Needless to say, Kari is PISSED. The only thing it’s appropriate to pour down someone’s throat is tequila! Brandi has to run inside to throw up, but not before she puts shoe covers on! Tiffany had intended to win Brandi over because Brandi’s love language is pranks, but this clearly has backfired. D’Andra starts meditating, and then Kameron’s alarm goes off to inform everyone they only have 8 minutes before 10:30, so they’d better scram. Not even Tiffany could have predicted these women would be so humorless. It looks like she’s going to really have to step it up if she wants to be in this clique! Tiffany informs us that the party probably got a B-, which to a tiger mom like her is basically an F. Didn’t Tiffany say she never came home with less than an A? Rough!

Will Tiffany recover from this horrible prank gone awry? Will Stephanie be able to help high school athletic departments? Will Jen ever say anything? How does she know these women? One thing is for sure; we are definitely going to long, thin, hot, wet, southern... Austin? next week!

[jwnchstr]

NOT WORTH DYING FOR [DEANXREADER]

SUMMARY: Dean left you without explanation. After two months he got back. You and him argued and you’re deciding either to stay with him or not.

WORD COUNT: 1716

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m very suck at summary, but I hope it gives you a little glimpse about what this one-shot is about. I started writing this on 15 Oct, but now with the clock strikes 12, it’s already 16 Oct. And that’s my former boyfriend birthday (sorry I had to mention that. I just don’t know how I still remember it. Even his old phone number.)

DATE: 15 - 16 October 2017

You just got home from work, playing with your phone, checking emails, your social networks and text messages you missed to read while you were driving, when you heard someone knocking on your front door. You frowned, thinking who that might be because you didn't make any promises with your friends to meet tonight, but you got up anyway. You went to your front door to check up who it was.

"Dean," you gasped, looking at him with surprise. "What are you doing here?" You looked to your right and left, around the neighbourhood to see if he brought anyone, or possibly his brother, but no. He was alone.

"Hi." Dean smiled at you, though it looked forcefully guilty. He was actually glad and relieved to see your face after a long time of missing you on the road. "Am-am I interrupting you? Were you- uh..."

"No. I just got back from work," you cut him quickly. You stood there in front of him a couple of minutes before deciding to let him enter your house. "Come on in."

You turned around, leading Dean to your lounging room. But once there, you didn't let him sit. You didn't take a seat either when you returned back to him and asked, "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean was surprised and disappointed to see you reacting like that, but he had to admit that he deserved to be treated like that. He didn't want to leave you at two in the morning two months ago with only a note saying I've got to go with no further explanation. Plus, there were no texts, no calls, nothing. But he had to go.

"I just want to see you," Dean answered softly, letting his guard down.

You raised your eyebrows at him in disbelief. "You wanted to see me?" You pointed your finger at yourself.

"Yes," Dean replied sternly. "I-I miss you."

You scoffed. "Don't you dare saying you miss me when you're the one who left without anything!" You yelled at his face. "Dean, you left me while I was sleeping. You didn't tell me why, or where you were going. And now you come back here to see me to tell me that you miss me? You must be joking! Or, is it because you've got dump by another woman?"

"I know I'm not supposed to get back here, but-"

"You're not even supposed to set your feet around here!" you cut him. "Seriously, Dean. All these while, all those lies you told me. I gave you a blind eye and forgive you. You got back home injured, I patched you up, believed you when you said you fell. You got back home drunk and I believed you when Sam told me you were on a bet. You didn't come home for three weeks, I believed you when you said you were on a business trip. But don't expect me to believe you now, Dean."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't do anything to me now, Dean, you do realise that, don't you?" You stared at Dean, who was staring at the floor. "I've been thinking about our relationship, you know. These past two months. Sometimes I think that you're dead; sometimes I think that you're going out with someone else -- I was dying to know what's wrong with me. I don't know which one's worse, but I thought about the second and I believed myself with it."

You crossed your arms on your chest, chuckling sarcastically to yourself. "You know, I doubt that you actually love, Dean. You don't miss me, right? You just wanted my help. You're alone. That's why you come back here because I have what you don't have. I have a home. I have a life. I have a constant paid job. You? I don't even know what you do.

Maybe you're a hooker." You smirked, but it was a painful one to both of you. You were being mean to him and Dean took your smirk as you mocking him. And that's painful. "You go out, follow those girls. Those hot nerdy girls just like how you like it to be. Or maybe you're just dumb to let yourself on-the-go without any destination. I don't know. I just think that you don't love me."

"You're wrong," Dean said after a few seconds of silence in your house. He was sad to hear you thinking that he didn't love you and miss you because he does. In every ounce of his body, he loves you so much. It was hard for him to tell you because he was not a word man.

"I'm sorry that I make you think like that, (y/n). I know I shouldn't leave you, let alone without an explanation-"

"Then why you do what you did?!" You let loose of your anger towards Dean. It hurts you to see him standing there calmly like there had nothing happened. "I called you! I texted you! Millions! But you didn't answer to any of them!"

"I was working on a job," he told you calmly. "It was a tough one. It involved you and Sam."

"What about me? Dean, look, if this is another for my 'safety' I guess you should just forget that. I've had enough of your crap. Just leave."

"No, no." Dean shook his head. "I won't leave until you hear everything."

You clenched your jaws as you watched Dean, looking into his eyes, finding if he was serious. "Fine. This is the last time. Tell me everything, or we're never seeing each other again."

Dean took a very deep breath. Although he looked calm on the outside, but his inside was like a tornado. Everything that was playing in his mind was mixed that he didn't know where to start. He could go with finding out how to safe Sam because he's got a demon blood in him, but he might miss out how Sammy got it. He could go with him going out on a hunt, but he might miss out how they started it. He doesn't know where to begin, really.

"Dean? Are you telling me or not?"

"Yes, yes, I'm telling you. I just don't know where to start."

"How about tell me why you have those weapons inside your trunk?" You raised you eyebrows, shook your head when Dean looked up at you in astonishment. "Don't pull that look to me, Dean. I know, okay? Rock salt. The Colt. Demon traps. How long have you been doing this? How even long are you going to keep it from me?"

Dean sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I don't know."

"Don't bullshit me, Dean," you answered with your voice soft, but dangerous. "You know I can kick you out anytime. I've learned to live without you, so it's not hard for me to see you leave now."

That hurt Dean more than ever. He felt like the whole Empire State Building fell on top of him. But, he knows he had to embrace it because after all, these were all his fault.

"Since my mother died?" Dean answered truthfully. "My dad went crazy about finding what killed her and, um, I pretty much grew up hunting paranormal."

"You know," you looked at Dean softer than a while ago, "if you tell me about this the first time we met, I would forgive you."

"Please, (y/n)." Dean's voice was shaky. "I didn't mean to leave you like that. Those demons. They're hunting Sam. And they could be hunting you if they got tracks on you. I can't let that happen."

"But you can leave me?"

Dean shook his head, didn't know how to explain to you how those demons are intelligent more than you know.

"Doesn't mean you didn't tell me, nothing's going to happen," you said seriously. "You've messed up our relationship. Those lies you told me? I'm not dying for you, Dean. Whatever's going on between you and Sam now, guess I should let you be."

"What? (Y/n), what does that mean?"

"That means that we're done."

"What? (Y/n), you just can't-"

"Yes, I can!" Dean opened his mouth, but you beat him. "Listen! I read. I heard. My grandfather was a hunter like you, but my parents moved before he could teach me with any of his hunting things. But I still know because it's in my blood and I know what demons are, Dean. I know what they're capable of and I'm not risking my life for any of you. It's none of my business."

"What?" Dean glared at you. "Your grandfather was a hunter and you didn't even bother to tell me?"

"Are you talking about yourself?"

That caught Dean right in his heart. "No, don't do that. I want to know about your grandfather."

"Why? He's dead. And what's dead remains dead."

"I don't care. I want to know. You-"

"I never met him, Dean. I just knew." You avoided Dean's gaze. "While you're missing these past two months, there was a news. I didn't know why it intrigued me, but I did some research and it led me to my family tree. And then I remember seeing guns in your trunks and...some other stuffs."

"You know you could call me."

"Will you ever answer the phone?"

Dean gulped. "Okay, fine. You win. But what I did is for you!"

"Hell is for me?" You yelled. "Dean, I've never lied to you. Even from the start. But you. We've been together for a year, Dean, and you didn't even tell me what you do with Sam. Newspapers cuts about paranormal attacks? Some Latin books you have in your car? I heard you talking about apocalypse with Sam and you didn't even tell me."

"Do you believe if I do?"

"Maybe I don't, but my grandfather-"

"Enough about your grandfather!" Dean raised his voice at you, shutting you down. But seeing your scared face made Dean feel guilty. "Look, this isn't going anywhere. We both lied to each other. And I'm sorry, okay? I promise you there won't be any more lies."

"How long can it stand before you're missing again?"

"(Y/n), please. I don't want to argue with you. I love you, okay. And, yes, I miss you, so much. That's not a lie. Let me make it up to you about my two-month disappearance. Please."

"I don't know if I can trust you now, Dean." You shook your head.

"Let me try."

"Yeah. I'd like to see that," you said with a smirk annoyingly, before turning around to your room, leaving Dean alone.

[lvtvr]

★ lvtvr’s long-winded writing advice ★

Heyo. I’m Charlie and I write. You may know me for my Keith/Lance fanfics. I don’t know if it helps my credibility, but I have articles in print that I’ve been paid to produce, I’ve translated and proofread four novels, and I’ve been writing off and on for nearly eighteen years. I’m not perfect, I’m not a master, but I do know what I’m doing. So if you write too, and you want to get better, here are some of the things I’ve learned.

Less is more.

You know the quote “Blood orange? Shut up, it’s fucking red.” Remember this while you’re writing. If you’ve ever seen one of those “100 synonyms for ‘said’ to use while writing :)” lists, here’s what to do with it: burn it. No one utters or opines or verbalizes shit. They fucking say it.

Basically: use vocabulary that you know. Turn to big fancy words if you are certain that they’re the best way to express the nuance you’re going for, but avoid them if you’re only using them to make your prose more “interesting.” Don’t worry about sounding a little repetitive. Sounding pretentious or like someone who hangs out too much on Thesaurus.com is a lot worse.

Remember your whole body.

Ever read writing that punches you in the gut and makes you feel things? Ever aspired to create something like that yourself? Well, the key to doing it is to remember the body. Stay aware of the fact that we exist in the world as messy 3D beings made of blood and meat and emotion. 

It’s natural for most people to start with visual impressions and describe what things look like, but your writing won’t start to come alive until you also begin describing what they feel like, smell like, taste like. The five senses are a cheesy but effective checklist. Throw in sounds, smells, and body sensations alongside the visual aspect.

This goes for emotion, too. If your character is sad, think back to what you felt like when you were sad. Heavy gut? Rain clouds in your head? Tears pricking at the backs of your eyes, but never quite falling? All that is a lot more interesting than simply saying “they were sad.”

For the love of God, never type “Hello.” He said.

This falls under the general umbrella of using correct grammar (which you should!), but I feel the need to point this particular faux pas out because a) it’s soooo common for people to do this, and b) I can’t stand it. This is the type of persistent mistake that actively interferes with the flow of the writing for me as a reader. I don’t care if some big-name fic author does it or if you’ve seen a million others do it -- you’ll never find it in a professionally proofread and edited book. Because, at the end of the day, it’s wrong.

Compare these two examples:

"This sucks.” She sighed. “This sucks,” she sighed.

In the first example, she says the words first, and sighs afterward. In the second, she’s sighing the words. Simple difference. If the action is directly related to how the dialogue is being conveyed, it should come attached to the dialogue. If the action and dialogue are separate, separate them. Throwing in a bunch of loose, orphaned “He said” clauses is choppy and incorrect and pisses me off to an irrational degree. Please, please avoid this. I’m begging you on my hands and knees.

Focus your characterization.

Keeping characters in character is one of the biggest challenges of writing. I find that an easy way to stay on track is to summarize the character’s way of reacting to the world in one or two simple sentences, and when you’re not sure what they would say or do, try to keep it in line with that basic conception. 

For example, I’ve characterized Keith from Voltron as someone who “feels things very strongly and honestly, but has trouble putting his emotions into words.” My Hunk is “prone to gossip, but has a heart of gold and the strongest sense of justice you ever saw.” I keep this minimalist notion of a character at the front of my mind when I write them, and it usually helps them stay themselves.

Try to keep it general, though. “Passionate about food,” “flirts a lot,” or “in love with Mothman” aren’t basic personalities, they’re character traits. They don’t tell us anything about how someone will act in a given situation, and make for poor, flat characterization.

Write what you want to read.

No, really. I know that the urge to pander is strong, as is the desire to give the people what they want. But you’re people, too. Give yourself what you want. Is this hard? You bet. But it’s worth it when someone tells you “God, reading this is so refreshing. I’m so glad it wasn’t exactly like everything else.”

Voltron-specific stuff incoming here, but I feel like it’s important. Listen. Don’t write a fic where Keith and Lance have one (1) drawn-out argument before falling in hapless, sappy love, where Keith and Shiro are brothers and Hunk and Pidge are the Hilarious Meme Sidekicks, just because you feel like you have to. If you’re really passionate about that scenario, then by all means write it, but don’t do it because you’re afraid that’s all people are going to want to read. It’s not true. More likely than not, they’re sick of reading the same fic for the millionth time, and they’d love to see your take on things.

Remember: Fanon isn’t the law. Not even canon is the law. Follow your kokoro. Go weird places. You do you. I will be cheering you on.

Kudos to you if you read this entire mess. I hope it could be of some help. Now go write! I believe in you, friendo.

[thebluesideofthemoon]

The Wall #43: FIFTY SHADES OF BLACK

As much as every single neuron in my being is screaming at me to not do this, I'm going to because I saw the movie and I wanted to kill myself. Yeah, I'm sure that after that highly optimistic opening statement that you're all excited to hear what my opinion on this movie is going to be, because it could totally go either way. Ah, but don't you guys fret because I'm going to clear up any ambiguity that comes our way right this second in my review of the January masterpiece that is Fifty Shades of Black. ... this one's gonna hurt.

So, I don't know how many of you guys are aware of my little... history with these "parody movies" but let me sum it up in one simple sentence: I FUCKING HATE THEM. I hate them because they are painfully unfunny, brainless, cheaply-made messes that rely heavily on stale pop culture references that are at least 90 billion years old as "jokes". They hardly even do what parody movies are supposed to do which is... well, parody. Their jokes (and this goes for Wayans Brothers' and Seltzeberg movies) are: bathroom jokes, sex jokes, pop culture references and that's it. The earlier ones were at least more tolerable thanks to the fact that they used to have good and genuinely funny actors in there that knew how to work with really piss-poor material, but then you get to things like Disaster Movie, or Vampires Suck, or Scary Movie 5, or Haunted House 2, and they're just nonsense. They wouldn't be as infuriating as they are if it wasn't for the fact that these movies are the KINGS of running jokes into the ground. They are so repetitive and tiring, and I will probably get repetitive and tiring in this review because these movies DO THE SAME SHIT AGAIN AND AGAIN.

This movie is no different. In this movie… the plot is exactly the same as Fifty Shades of Grey, except now it’s Marlon Wayans in Jamie Dornan’s place as Christian Grey (Chrsitian Black in this case because “hurr hurr, I can make black jokes because I’m black!”) and he’s trying to be the charming millionaire to try and get into this chick’s pants… only with 250% more bathroom humor and 150% more pointless cutaway jokes.

Part of what makes this movie so infuriating is that I know for a fact that Marlon Wayans isn’t a terrible actor- hell, he can be GREAT, just look at Requiem for a Dream, but he’s a godawful writer. I guess splitting off from his brother to work with some yahoo that is a hack and a half, has managed to make some of the worst comedies of the decade. It takes effort to make a movie that’s more despicable and less funny than Fifty Shades of Grey. I only say this because, as far as acting is concerned, Marlon Wayans, at points, can be actually charming, so much so that it makes me wonder how this movie could work with Marlon Wayans in the lead, only for him to quickly take a 90 degree turn into Stupidville by screeching and yelling like he’s done IN EVERY OTHER MOVIE LIKE THIS FOR THE PAST 15 YEARS. Not that all the other actors any better, they’re highly obnoxious.

This movie seems far more mean-spirited than other previous “parody movies”, mainly because of how many of the jokes are the characters (mainly Marlon Wayans) just insulting each other for no absolute reason. It actually gets pretty uncomfortable as the movie goes on. And of course, annoying because most of the jokes are “You ugly!” “You smell like shit!” “You fat!” and these people got paid ACTUAL money for that. At one point in the movie Marlon Wayans torments his girlfriend by reading the Fifty Shades of Grey book (which is also a very easy joke to make, so you get no points for creativity) and he exclaims that it was written by a third grader. I wouldn’t disagree with him except that YOU CAN’T MAKE A JOKE LIKE THAT WHEN YOU’RE RESPONSIBLE FOR WRITING FIFTY SHADES OF BLACK!

Oh, and how about those pop culture references? I bet you this movie was written in a month on some used toilet paper, because if the jokes are not terrible sex or poop jokes, they’re highly topical (and ultimately dated) jokes about Donald Trump, or Bill Cosby, or Kim Kardashian. Oh sure, those haven’t been run into the ground or anything. This reminds me so much of Vampires Suck in the sense that, sure, these assholes are picking on an easy target of a movie to make fun of, but at the very least there’s millions of possibilities for jokes and they take NONE of them. Same for this! Also, even though this movie is shorter than Fifty Shades of Grey, it has an ending that goes on and on, AND ON, AND ON. Why do these terrible comedy movies FEEL LIKE THEY NEED TO DRAG EVERYTHING OUT TO BE FUNNY EVEN THOUGH THEY ARE OBNOXIOUS BEYOND BELIEF?! I hate this movie. I hate this movie, I hate these kind of movies, I hate Marlon Wayans for keeping this kind of movie still alive in 2016, and I hate that I have to say that Fifty Shades of Grey is a both a better comedy, and a better movie than this piece of dogshit.

(804 words. Music: Mario Kart: Double Dash!!- Mushroom Bridge/City)

Do I even have to say anything else? Do I have to give you any more reasons why I want to swing a wrench to the heads of the people responsible for doing this?!

I do not miss you, 2016. If this movie didn't have the actors actually trying, and one or two jokes that actually amused me, this ALSO would have been a 0. I hate this movie on the principle THAT THIS KIND OF MOVIE SHOULD BE EXTINCT BY NOW. How does a movie THIS awful still exist in the late half of the 2010's?! How?! HOW?!

HOW?!

I'm done with this abomination. Thankfully, the next movie I'm going to review is actually pretty good! Next up: Deadpool! Until then, I'll see you all later!

[funface2]

The Best Jokes from the Alec Baldwin Roast on Comedy Central – Collider.com

To some, Comedy Central’s annual roast is like the Super Bowl of comedy. And this year’s distinguished honoree, Alec Baldwin, makes for a particularly great football to kick around. Not only has he endured as an award-winning film and television star for more than 30 years, but he has survived all kinds of tabloid incidents, from fistfights with photographers, to the embarrassing voicemail he once left for his “rude, thoughtless” daughter. He has also hosted Saturday Night Live, America’s foremost comedy institution, more than anyone else in its history. The point is that Baldwin’s remarkable life offers a lot of material to work with. The Comedy Central Roast of Alec Baldwin airs Sunday night, but Collider was invited to the live taping last week, and with a dais that included acting legend Robert De Niro, transgender icon Caitlyn Jenner and controversial comedian Adam Carolla, you can bet there was plenty of friendly shade thrown and shots fired.

Sean Hayes served as a surprisingly strong Roast Master for the evening, and joining him and the aforementioned trio on stage were doctor-turned-actor Ken Jeong, NBA star Blake Griffin, SNL‘s Chris Redd, Sabrina the Teenage Witch star Carolina Rhea, roast ringer Nikki Glaser, and the Roastmaster General himself, Jeff Ross. Plus, there were two surprise roasters, Alec’s daughter, Ireland Baldwin, and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, who may need to be put down soon, as his shtick is getting a little long in the canine. And yes, that is a tooth joke, for all the dentists who read Collider.

At one point, I thought Lady Gaga was going to roast Baldwin (who introduces Ally’s SNL performance in A Star Is Born), via video, but she was just announcing that she and Comedy Central had a made a cool million-dollar donation to Exploring the Arts, a charity that supports arts funding. That’s always the first thing to go when there are budgets cuts at schools, so it’s a worthy cause, and hey, isn’t that worth it to get Lady Gaga on your broadcast? Methinks so.

Image via Warner Bros.

Glaser brought her A-game, as you’ll see below, but that’s what I expected from a pro. Griffin, on the other hand, dunked on everyone with the kind of confidence that only a jock can muster, and truly surprised me with his ease and timing on stage. I should’ve seen it coming, too, as Griffin once held his own in a roast battle against Ross, who underestimated his competition and was lucky to squeak by the All-Star forward back in the day.

Jenner deserves a medal for what she was put through during this roast, but she gave as good as she got, and went toe-to-toe with some much more experienced roasters. De Niro did his thing, but at that point, he’d been on stage for close to three hours and it was getting late, so the energy — both his and the crowd’s — wasn’t quite there. And Carolla stayed right on brand, using most of his time to rail against #CancelCulture instead of Baldwin. Speaking of whom, when it was Baldwin’s turn for rebuttal, he showed everyone why he won two Emmys for 30 Rock — he can deliver a hell of a zinger.

So put that remote down — remotes are for closers — and check out the #BaldwinRoast on Comedy Central on Sunday night. Here’s a little sneak peek of my three favorite jokes from each roaster. Naturally, parental discretion is advised…

Sean Hayes

“No offense, Blake, but I’m a better ball handler than you.”

“Caitlyn, being here tonight is the bravest thing you’ve ever done, but don’t worry, any parts you don’t like will be cut.”

“Alec once said I was like a brother to him, which is why we haven’t talked in 10 years.”

“Alec, this will be the funniest thing you’ve been a part of that Tina Fey didn’t carry you through.”

Grade: A Hayes made for a surprisingly solid Roast Master and his introductions for each roaster were some of his funniest jokes, especially his intros for Redd and Jenner. I thought he did a good job setting the tone for the evening with his strong opening set.

Nikki Glaser

“Blake, you look like a black guy made by a printer that was running out of ink.”

“Robert De Niro… I can’t believe I get to share this stage with you, and by that I mean the final one of your life.”

“Stevie Wonder sees his sons more than you do, Caitlyn. I mean, even Casey Anthony knows the current location of her daughter!”

“Alec, you’ve had four kids with Hilaria, which is incredible, because isn’t your semen just oatmeal at this point? Oooh, Robert got excited when I said ‘oatmeal!’”

Grade: A Glaser was really the ringer of the evening, as she’s really the only one flexing that comedy muscle every night. It showed, as her set was absolutely vicious.

Image via Warner Bros. Pitures

Ken Jeong

“Chris Redd… just like on SNL, your jokes have been cut for time. Let’s move on! Scroll, scroll, scroll!”

“Alec, you have five kids with two different women. Why can’t you be more like the investors in your films and just pull out?”

“Robert, I’m a great doctor, but even I can’t resuscitate your career.”

Grade: A- Ken Jeong’s jokes alternated between network sitcom and edgy cable series, so to speak. Some were a little corny, but the clever ones really hit the mark, especially Jeong’s delivery of the Redd joke above. Hopefully that one makes its way into the broadcast, which will inevitably leave some punchlines on the cutting room floor.

Chris Redd

“If you wanna hide something from Robert De Niro, just put it on a SNL cue card, because he can’t read that shit!”

“I’m excited to watch an old man figure out trans pronouns in front of a live studio audience.”

“Caroline looks like she leaves her baby in a hot car to meet firemen.”

Grade: B+ Chris Redd got off to a rough start but he recovered and finished strong.

Caitlyn Jenner

“Back in the day, Alec and Bruce were like brothers. That’s one more brother he’ll never talk to again.”

“Adam Carolla is so boring. I’ve never seen a drier pussy in my life, and that’s coming from me. See Adam, women are funny!”

Grade: B+ Jenner closed her set with an inspirational message, telling trans viewers ‘if I’m strong enough to sit up here all night, you can handle anything,” and telling her critics “if you have a problem with that then you can suck my dick… if you can find it!”

Caroline Rhea

“Jeff Ross, you are one fat Jewish man. I feel like you took “Let my people go!” out of context.”

“Alec Baldwin worked as a busboy at Studio 54, where he had to clean up jizz and coke every night. That’s exactly what Nikki looks for in a shampoo!”

“Where are your brothers tonight? God knows they’re not working!”

Grade: B Rhea may have stuck out like a sore thumb on the dais but she held her own onstage and took all the jokes about her weight in stride.

Blake Griffin

“Caroline, if you’re here then Salem the Cat must’ve turned it down. Sorry Robert, I know how much you like black pussy.”

“Caitlyn Jenner’s pussy is so young that Alec just called it a “rude, thoughtless little pig.”

“On behalf of the entire NBA and half the rappers on the Billboard charts, thanks for giving your daughters daddy issues.”

Grade: A Griffin showed his roast experience, dunking on the entire dais, and forcing the industry to wonder, should he be starring in Space Jam 2 instead of LeBron James? Could he be the next Dwayne Johnson or Dave Bautista? The charisma is there…

Adam Carolla

“Ken Jeong showed his dick in The Hangover, and Ken, I haven’t seen a dick that small since I took my nephew ice-fishing!”

“If you were offended tonight, please give a reach-around to your emotional support dog and shut the fuck up!”

Grade: B Carolla works a bit better in longer-form, where he can build up a head of steam. His jokes were good, and I liked how he pushed back against the Comedy Police, but it felt like he left a few punchlines on the table.

Ireland Baldwin

“It’s hard being the daughter of an iconic movie star, but I’m not here to talk about my mother… or her Oscar.”

“It’s nice to be on a runway without starting beef with American Airlines. I mean, why would you start shit with the one place still playing your movies?”

“At least you taught someone the ABC’s!”

Grade: B+ Ireland was the surprise roaster of the night, and frankly, she deserved a few minutes of revenge years after her father left that terribly mean voice mail on her phone. She has grown up to be a beautiful woman, and she showed a lot of poise on stage considering the fact that she isn’t paid to deliver lines, and many other roasters struggled in front of the live audience.

Triumph the Insult Comic Dog

“I thought Jimmy Kimmel was here but I was just smelling Adam Carolla’s finger!”

“Alec, your fuse is almost as short as Chris Redd’s IMDb page!”

“Alec Baldwin once made an appearance on Sesame Street. It was the only way he could get close to an Oscar.”

Grade: C I’ve gotta be honest… Triumph’s shtick is getting a little old… in terms of both human and dog years. When an actual dog is stealing the show from you, what does that say? 

Image via Warner Bros.

Robert De Niro

“After tonight, Rocky and Bullwinkle won’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done!”

“I was in Goodfellas, and I bet Sean has also been in some good fellas.”

“Comedy Central wouldn’t put Caitlyn Jenner on a roast until after her transition so they could pay her 20 percent less.”

Grade: C+ I just don’t think this was the right format for De Niro, who struggled with the teleprompter. He was OK, but his timing wasn’t 100 percent. Too bad Comedy Central couldn’t afford to de-age him like Netflix. I heard enough Old De Niro jokes to last me a lifetime. The man is the greatest actor ever, and it just felt weird watching everyone tee off on him like that, but at least he’s a good sport!

Jeff Ross

“It’s a Saturday Night Live reunion! Alec Baldwin plays Donald Trump. Robert De Niro plays Robert Mueller. Chris Redd plays Kanye. And Caitlyn Jenner donated the dick in the box!”

“Robert De Niro is a method actor. I just wish that method involved reading the script, Bob!”

“Caroline, you look like the schoolteacher all the kids hide behind during a shooting.”

“Adam, you once said that women aren’t funny. Well, they are, and let me tell you, you should’ve hired some to write your jokes tonight!”

Grade: A- The Roastmaster General was pretty damn great, and his set was consistently good. It didn’t have quite the same highs as, say, Nikki Glaser or Blake Griffin’s, but he didn’t have many stinkers in the bunch, and he definitely seemed to get extra camera time.

Alec Baldwin

“Blake, moving from LA to Detroit is so sad. That only happens when a prostitute’s body is sent back to her family.”

“Nikki, were you the flight attendant I was rude to? What devastating comment can I make that Nikki hasn’t already muttered to herself in front of a mirror at Equinox?”

“Ken, the hardest possible title for you to pronounce is Glengarry Glen Ross.”

Grade: B+ Baldwin got some good licks in when it was his turn to respond, but the roaster is always in a tough position at these things, because we’ve already heard 3 hours of jokes about each individual on stage, so it becomes harder to surprise the audience as the night wears on. Still, for a guy who made ‘Always Be Closing’ famous, he scored as the evening’s closer.

Image via New Line Cinema

Image via NBC

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5 Reasons Why The Middle Class Doesn’t Understand Poverty

Poverty is a well-worn subject here at Cracked. John Cheese has talked about it a lot, C. Coville discussed legal loopholes that can screw the poor, and we’ve also covered myths the media perpetrates. And now it’s my turn to moderately wealthsplain the subject.

Unlike John and others, I grew up one year’s worth of acoustic guitar lessons away from being the most stereotypical middle-class white kid ever. I didn’t take yearly vacations to private islands to hunt men for sport, but I also never wanted for clothes and video games. And while us suburban kids were taught that it’s good to help the poor, we were also accidentally taught to treat them with disdain. Here’s how.

5

We’re Constantly Told That “Money Can’t Buy Happiness”

If you’re friends with the right kind of insufferable people on social media, you’ve probably seen pictures like this:

Pinterest

Or these:

Simple Reminders

Quotesgram How profound, guy with countless fans and a net worth of 150 million.

Or, God help us, this:

It’s all variations on the same theme: Money can’t buy happiness, true wealth comes from friendship and experiences, you don’t need the solid gold butt plug when the polymer one feels identical inside of you, etc. Movies teach it, music teaches it, our parents teach it — money is useless if you aren’t living. It’s not an inherently bad message, but try telling people at the homeless shelter to count the blessings that money can’t buy, and see how long it takes before you’ll feel blessed that you can afford health insurance.

Outside of images that the Care Bears would find insipid, “Money can’t buy happiness” is what middle-class people tell each other when someone is trying to decide between two different jobs. “I make 70k right now and the new gig only plays 60k, so I wouldn’t be able to travel as much. But I’d have more free time to play Ultimate, the benefits are better, and there’s no way my new manager could be any worse than my current one.” That’s an important decision to the person making it, but they’re debating between two different kinds of comfort. It’s safely assumed that the money they will need to exist will always be there. It would be nice to have more — to be able to go to more restaurants or to justify buying a second Roomba because deep down you know that the first one is lonely — but there’s always enough to keep the lights on and the kitchen stocked.

You may have seen the study that claimed $70,000 a year is the ideal salary — after that, more money generally doesn’t make you happier. Well, that’s great news for people hovering around that benchmark, but if you’re poor, more money will abso-fucking-lutely make you happier. More money means healthier food, or a chance to get out of the house and have some fun. It can mean knowing the rent is paid for next month, or being able to afford medication.

The middle class isn’t immune to money problems, especially if there are kids in the mix. Getting laid off at the wrong time sucks, no matter what your income is. But the middle-class people with money problems I’ve known were generally suffering from self-inflicted wounds. They had no savings because they wanted the new car or the luxury vacation. They wanted one of those experiences they were constantly told was more important than money, because the money for day-to-day necessities was always there, right up until it wasn’t.

That’s part of the reason, I think, so many middle-class people laugh at campaigns to raise the minimum wage. “You want 15 bucks an hour to flip burgers? How about you just hold off on the new TV until you get a real job?” The middle class generally fluctuates between being able to afford a nice vacation one year and having to settle for a few trips to the movies the next. The poor can fluctuate between paying bills and being out on the street. But the idea that such essentials could just go unpaid is unfathomable, right up until you experience it.

4

We’re Taught To Associate Low-Paying Jobs With Failure

When I was growing up, there was never a question of whether or not I was going to college. That’s partially because the idea of my spindly idiot ass learning a technical trade or doing manual labor is the first step in creating an “Epic Fail!!!” YouTube video, but mostly because my parents had a fund set up for me. (It helped that I live in a country where a post-secondary education doesn’t cost roughly eight quadrillion dollars a semester.)

So jobs that didn’t require a degree were presented to us as warning signs. “You better study hard, or else you’re going to end up just like that bull masturbator for the rest of your life! And I didn’t intend that pun, so don’t giggle!” Becoming a janitor or a gas station attendant or an internet comedy writer would have been considered a disappointment, an inability to take advantage of the gifts that were offered to us. Poverty was considered a moral failing.

No one ever just came out and said that, but the implication was always there. We tend to assume that other people are basically like us until they prove otherwise, which is why I’m constantly shocked to discover that most people don’t like my favorite homoerotic golf academy anime, Wood Strokes. So we were never taught that working as a dishwasher or a grocery store clerk or a sperm bank fluffer could be an important stepping stone for someone with a different background than us. We were also never taught that, you know, it’s still a goddamn job where someone shows up and puts work in and gets paid for their time. They were always just associated with squandered potential.

And man, when you hear that message constantly, it’s hard to shake. It’s easy to glance at a middle-aged dude working the checkout counter and automatically think “Well, I bet he’s not the brightest guy around” or “Oh shit, is that what happened to Matthew Lawrence?” It’s not malicious — not initially. Being told to take advantage of your opportunities is not a bad message. But when that message is driven into you for decades, it creates a stigma around certain jobs. And from some people, it produces plenty of snide remarks about how the people working those jobs should get better ones, as if the person who’s been a server for seven years has never considered just popping down to the job store and picking up a career in architecture.

Janitors and baristas keep society running as much as anyone else. If all of America’s coffee shops shut down for a day, the country would experience a nationwide narcolepsy epidemic crossed with The Purge. But when you grow up in the middle class, the only thing you’re taught about such jobs is that you should get one as a teenager to build character, and then thank God that you’ll never have to work one again as long as you don’t fuck up in life. And as long as we consider that a sign of our superior work ethic instead of birth luck, we’re going to keep dismissing as pathetic the jobs we’d all get angry about if they vanished tomorrow.

3

There Are Always Certain Things We Take For Granted

An education isn’t the only thing that most middle-class kids can assume they’ll get. A car to borrow, a phone, 20 bucks for when you really want to take a girl to what you assumed was a bad movie so you could make out in the back row but then it turns out that she’s actually super into the plot of Gigli and wants to focus on it even though you were all set to reach second base and so you end up getting a confused erection to Al Pacino and it inadvertently shapes your formative years … you know, all the little things that are part of growing up in Middle America.

That’s the end result of assuming that a good job awaits you, and that money is for throwing at problems and buying pizza instead of something to stress out about. Water heater broke? No worries, we’ll just have to eat in the rest of the month to make up for it. Shoes all worn out? Well, you can’t go to school like that, so go get some new ones. Gone on a losing streak at the Pokemon Card League and the groupies have started drifting off to the other players? Better pick up a few booster packs to get back in the game. You know you can’t get greedy and start buying Armani, but as long as your needs are modest, the money will always be there.

So the idea of 20 bucks making or breaking someone is impossible to appreciate. It’s just not a concept that clicks in our heads. It makes sense on a logical level, sure — you need money, and you don’t have it, and that sucks. But when you’re raised in comfort, you can’t put yourself in that head space emotionally. You can’t understand the stress, or the fear that you might not be able to feed your kids. The closest we can get is watching Gwyneth Paltrow try and hilariously fail to live on a tiny food budget before going back to her $4,000 kale cleanses. That’s kind of like empathy, right?

And because it’s tough to relate to, it’s tough to talk about. If someone tells me that they never got Christmas presents growing up, all I can respond with is “Uh, yeah, that sounds like it sucked. Well … one time my grandma accidentally got me Super Murpio 67, so … I hear you.” Starting a conversation with a bunch of middle-class people about poverty is like bringing up Trayvon Martin at a country club. Everyone trips over everyone else’s words to talk about how tragic it is, but then they distance themselves from the problem and the “buts” start coming out. And to further compound the issue …

2

We Don’t Witness Poverty, So We Don’t Understand It

When I was growing up, my exposure to poverty was largely limited to sitcom families who would talk about how poor they were, but were still able to go on a wacky adventure every week. The Simpsons kept running into money troubles in their early years, but their house looked the same as mine. Even the family from Roseanne, the classic working-class sitcom, owned a house that’s a palace compared to what a lot of people live in. The problem with portraying poverty in sitcoms is that it’s hard to get laughs out of eviction and early deaths caused by crippling medical debt, so the lesson always ends up being “Poor people struggle with money sometimes, but in the end they always get by, and they have lots of laughs while doing it!” Sitcoms make being poor look fun.

Beyond that, once or twice a year, I’d go to some kid’s birthday party and notice that his house was a lot smaller and more run down than mine. One of the kids who always got talked about in a slightly different tone of voice by the adults. I never gave it much thought because we went to the same school and both liked Nintendo — how different could our lives possibly be? Maybe I’d see a story on the news that would put a positive spin on the issue. (“Look at how many volunteers with beautiful families showed up to the soup kitchen to help feed these filthy hobos!”) Beyond that, the middle class just doesn’t think about poverty.

We’re always looking up, always wanting to go to the Christmas party at the rich friend’s house so we can get a taste of what we’re aspiring to. There’s rarely a reason to go to the poor part of town. Tell jokes about it, sure, but go? We never have to leave the bubble, so we never learn what real poverty looks like. Poor people become invisible, this mysterious Other, a group that serves you food, and in return, you throw a couple of non-perishables and toys into donation bins for them over the holidays.

Oh yeah, the middle class loves to donate food and toys and clothes and gently used ball gags and all sorts of other crap that we weren’t using anyway. Food banks actually need money far more than they need your creamed corn that’s going to expire in two weeks, because money just goes further. But people who will gladly part with 12 boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese and some Funyuns they found under the sofa get leery when it comes to handing over money, even though we’re supposedly under the impression that we don’t need it ourselves to be happy.

That’s partially just because it’s more satisfying to give stuff instead of money — you can imagine some happy kid playing with your old Lego, and you get to clean out your closet. But remember, we’re taught that the poor are stupid and lazy. We sit around telling each other stories about how our friend’s cousin’s boyfriend knows a guy who spent his welfare check on beer and weed. These are campfire horror stories for the most tedious suburbanites, and they’re told in the hot tubs that they probably shouldn’t have bought until the next mortgage payment cleared. We can’t trust those people with money, because if they were smart enough to manage it properly, they’d be smart enough to have a better job. Also, they probably all have hooks for hands and murder teenagers while they’re making out in their cars. Hey, we learn so little about poor people that it’s just as believable.

1

We’re Taught To See Ourselves As The Victims

I’ve known people with movie theaters in their homes and four cars in their garage who are convinced that society is against them, that life is a gloomy parade of suffering because their property taxes went up a bit. That’s stereotypical rich people behavior, but it’s there in the middle class too, in subtler ways. I live in a city where the economy revolves around a boom and bust industry, so people tend to make good money while complaining about taxes for a few years, then get laid off and go on government benefits for a while, and then get a new job and go back to complaining about the government. And if you watch the cycle, you see the same “us against the world” mentality, just with fewer BMWs in the mix.

When middle-class people get laid off and go on welfare, they blame the economy, or their former employer, or the government. They never blame themselves. And they shouldn’t! Much like a whale’s erection, economies are big, confusing things that can’t be controlled by the average person. It’s not like they left photocopies of their asshole on the boss’ desk. They paid into the welfare system with their taxes when times were good, and now they’re using the system for exactly what it’s intended: helping you out when you’re unlucky. It’s bridging the gap until you, a hard-working person who just caught a tough break, gets another job.

Except when poor people use the system, it’s none of those things. Suddenly they’re not getting help; they’re just dumb, lazy leeches. Plenty of middle-class people are more empathetic and generous than I’ll ever be, but the worst instinct of the middle class is to blame the system when the system fails us, then lecture poor people when the system fails them. I’ve heard the condescending explanations about how the world really works (which usually come out after a few beers when no actual poor people are around because the speaker would never be brave enough to say it to their faces) more times than I can count.

The middle class has a weird relationship with the rich — we alternate between complaining about them and wishing we were them. Money can’t buy happiness, but a yacht certainly wouldn’t hurt matters. Even if we don’t like the rich, there’s always the pipe dream that we could be them. But no one dreams about being poor, unless you’re into an incredibly specific kind of role-playing.

Being poor is a problem (practically, not morally), and a problem is either the fault of the person or the fault of circumstances beyond their control. The latter means we in the middle class might have to do something about it — or, God forbid, reflect upon our lifestyles, which is just the worst. It’s much, much easier to assume that we’re fine, that ultra-rich politicians and celebrities and investment bankers are the ones being condescending and awful to the poor, but also that poor people could probably stand to work a little harder. So, uh … sorry about all of that. I’ll donate some food at Christmas, though!

Mark is on Twitter and has a book that’s made him rich in experience.

For more, check out 5 Things Nobody Tells You About Being Poor and 4 Common Morals Designed to Keep You Poor.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Disney Thinks You Hate Poor People, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook. Likes don’t cost a thing.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-reasons-why-the-middle-class-doesnt-understand-poverty-2/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/183082791437

[allofbeercom]

5 Reasons Why The Middle Class Doesn’t Understand Poverty

Poverty is a well-worn subject here at Cracked. John Cheese has talked about it a lot, C. Coville discussed legal loopholes that can screw the poor, and we’ve also covered myths the media perpetrates. And now it’s my turn to moderately wealthsplain the subject.

Unlike John and others, I grew up one year’s worth of acoustic guitar lessons away from being the most stereotypical middle-class white kid ever. I didn’t take yearly vacations to private islands to hunt men for sport, but I also never wanted for clothes and video games. And while us suburban kids were taught that it’s good to help the poor, we were also accidentally taught to treat them with disdain. Here’s how.

5

We’re Constantly Told That “Money Can’t Buy Happiness”

If you’re friends with the right kind of insufferable people on social media, you’ve probably seen pictures like this:

Pinterest

Or these:

Simple Reminders

Quotesgram How profound, guy with countless fans and a net worth of 150 million.

Or, God help us, this:

It’s all variations on the same theme: Money can’t buy happiness, true wealth comes from friendship and experiences, you don’t need the solid gold butt plug when the polymer one feels identical inside of you, etc. Movies teach it, music teaches it, our parents teach it — money is useless if you aren’t living. It’s not an inherently bad message, but try telling people at the homeless shelter to count the blessings that money can’t buy, and see how long it takes before you’ll feel blessed that you can afford health insurance.

Outside of images that the Care Bears would find insipid, “Money can’t buy happiness” is what middle-class people tell each other when someone is trying to decide between two different jobs. “I make 70k right now and the new gig only plays 60k, so I wouldn’t be able to travel as much. But I’d have more free time to play Ultimate, the benefits are better, and there’s no way my new manager could be any worse than my current one.” That’s an important decision to the person making it, but they’re debating between two different kinds of comfort. It’s safely assumed that the money they will need to exist will always be there. It would be nice to have more — to be able to go to more restaurants or to justify buying a second Roomba because deep down you know that the first one is lonely — but there’s always enough to keep the lights on and the kitchen stocked.

You may have seen the study that claimed $70,000 a year is the ideal salary — after that, more money generally doesn’t make you happier. Well, that’s great news for people hovering around that benchmark, but if you’re poor, more money will abso-fucking-lutely make you happier. More money means healthier food, or a chance to get out of the house and have some fun. It can mean knowing the rent is paid for next month, or being able to afford medication.

The middle class isn’t immune to money problems, especially if there are kids in the mix. Getting laid off at the wrong time sucks, no matter what your income is. But the middle-class people with money problems I’ve known were generally suffering from self-inflicted wounds. They had no savings because they wanted the new car or the luxury vacation. They wanted one of those experiences they were constantly told was more important than money, because the money for day-to-day necessities was always there, right up until it wasn’t.

That’s part of the reason, I think, so many middle-class people laugh at campaigns to raise the minimum wage. “You want 15 bucks an hour to flip burgers? How about you just hold off on the new TV until you get a real job?” The middle class generally fluctuates between being able to afford a nice vacation one year and having to settle for a few trips to the movies the next. The poor can fluctuate between paying bills and being out on the street. But the idea that such essentials could just go unpaid is unfathomable, right up until you experience it.

4

We’re Taught To Associate Low-Paying Jobs With Failure

When I was growing up, there was never a question of whether or not I was going to college. That’s partially because the idea of my spindly idiot ass learning a technical trade or doing manual labor is the first step in creating an “Epic Fail!!!” YouTube video, but mostly because my parents had a fund set up for me. (It helped that I live in a country where a post-secondary education doesn’t cost roughly eight quadrillion dollars a semester.)

So jobs that didn’t require a degree were presented to us as warning signs. “You better study hard, or else you’re going to end up just like that bull masturbator for the rest of your life! And I didn’t intend that pun, so don’t giggle!” Becoming a janitor or a gas station attendant or an internet comedy writer would have been considered a disappointment, an inability to take advantage of the gifts that were offered to us. Poverty was considered a moral failing.

No one ever just came out and said that, but the implication was always there. We tend to assume that other people are basically like us until they prove otherwise, which is why I’m constantly shocked to discover that most people don’t like my favorite homoerotic golf academy anime, Wood Strokes. So we were never taught that working as a dishwasher or a grocery store clerk or a sperm bank fluffer could be an important stepping stone for someone with a different background than us. We were also never taught that, you know, it’s still a goddamn job where someone shows up and puts work in and gets paid for their time. They were always just associated with squandered potential.

And man, when you hear that message constantly, it’s hard to shake. It’s easy to glance at a middle-aged dude working the checkout counter and automatically think “Well, I bet he’s not the brightest guy around” or “Oh shit, is that what happened to Matthew Lawrence?” It’s not malicious — not initially. Being told to take advantage of your opportunities is not a bad message. But when that message is driven into you for decades, it creates a stigma around certain jobs. And from some people, it produces plenty of snide remarks about how the people working those jobs should get better ones, as if the person who’s been a server for seven years has never considered just popping down to the job store and picking up a career in architecture.

Janitors and baristas keep society running as much as anyone else. If all of America’s coffee shops shut down for a day, the country would experience a nationwide narcolepsy epidemic crossed with The Purge. But when you grow up in the middle class, the only thing you’re taught about such jobs is that you should get one as a teenager to build character, and then thank God that you’ll never have to work one again as long as you don’t fuck up in life. And as long as we consider that a sign of our superior work ethic instead of birth luck, we’re going to keep dismissing as pathetic the jobs we’d all get angry about if they vanished tomorrow.

3

There Are Always Certain Things We Take For Granted

An education isn’t the only thing that most middle-class kids can assume they’ll get. A car to borrow, a phone, 20 bucks for when you really want to take a girl to what you assumed was a bad movie so you could make out in the back row but then it turns out that she’s actually super into the plot of Gigli and wants to focus on it even though you were all set to reach second base and so you end up getting a confused erection to Al Pacino and it inadvertently shapes your formative years … you know, all the little things that are part of growing up in Middle America.

That’s the end result of assuming that a good job awaits you, and that money is for throwing at problems and buying pizza instead of something to stress out about. Water heater broke? No worries, we’ll just have to eat in the rest of the month to make up for it. Shoes all worn out? Well, you can’t go to school like that, so go get some new ones. Gone on a losing streak at the Pokemon Card League and the groupies have started drifting off to the other players? Better pick up a few booster packs to get back in the game. You know you can’t get greedy and start buying Armani, but as long as your needs are modest, the money will always be there.

So the idea of 20 bucks making or breaking someone is impossible to appreciate. It’s just not a concept that clicks in our heads. It makes sense on a logical level, sure — you need money, and you don’t have it, and that sucks. But when you’re raised in comfort, you can’t put yourself in that head space emotionally. You can’t understand the stress, or the fear that you might not be able to feed your kids. The closest we can get is watching Gwyneth Paltrow try and hilariously fail to live on a tiny food budget before going back to her $4,000 kale cleanses. That’s kind of like empathy, right?

And because it’s tough to relate to, it’s tough to talk about. If someone tells me that they never got Christmas presents growing up, all I can respond with is “Uh, yeah, that sounds like it sucked. Well … one time my grandma accidentally got me Super Murpio 67, so … I hear you.” Starting a conversation with a bunch of middle-class people about poverty is like bringing up Trayvon Martin at a country club. Everyone trips over everyone else’s words to talk about how tragic it is, but then they distance themselves from the problem and the “buts” start coming out. And to further compound the issue …

2

We Don’t Witness Poverty, So We Don’t Understand It

When I was growing up, my exposure to poverty was largely limited to sitcom families who would talk about how poor they were, but were still able to go on a wacky adventure every week. The Simpsons kept running into money troubles in their early years, but their house looked the same as mine. Even the family from Roseanne, the classic working-class sitcom, owned a house that’s a palace compared to what a lot of people live in. The problem with portraying poverty in sitcoms is that it’s hard to get laughs out of eviction and early deaths caused by crippling medical debt, so the lesson always ends up being “Poor people struggle with money sometimes, but in the end they always get by, and they have lots of laughs while doing it!” Sitcoms make being poor look fun.

Beyond that, once or twice a year, I’d go to some kid’s birthday party and notice that his house was a lot smaller and more run down than mine. One of the kids who always got talked about in a slightly different tone of voice by the adults. I never gave it much thought because we went to the same school and both liked Nintendo — how different could our lives possibly be? Maybe I’d see a story on the news that would put a positive spin on the issue. (“Look at how many volunteers with beautiful families showed up to the soup kitchen to help feed these filthy hobos!”) Beyond that, the middle class just doesn’t think about poverty.

We’re always looking up, always wanting to go to the Christmas party at the rich friend’s house so we can get a taste of what we’re aspiring to. There’s rarely a reason to go to the poor part of town. Tell jokes about it, sure, but go? We never have to leave the bubble, so we never learn what real poverty looks like. Poor people become invisible, this mysterious Other, a group that serves you food, and in return, you throw a couple of non-perishables and toys into donation bins for them over the holidays.

Oh yeah, the middle class loves to donate food and toys and clothes and gently used ball gags and all sorts of other crap that we weren’t using anyway. Food banks actually need money far more than they need your creamed corn that’s going to expire in two weeks, because money just goes further. But people who will gladly part with 12 boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese and some Funyuns they found under the sofa get leery when it comes to handing over money, even though we’re supposedly under the impression that we don’t need it ourselves to be happy.

That’s partially just because it’s more satisfying to give stuff instead of money — you can imagine some happy kid playing with your old Lego, and you get to clean out your closet. But remember, we’re taught that the poor are stupid and lazy. We sit around telling each other stories about how our friend’s cousin’s boyfriend knows a guy who spent his welfare check on beer and weed. These are campfire horror stories for the most tedious suburbanites, and they’re told in the hot tubs that they probably shouldn’t have bought until the next mortgage payment cleared. We can’t trust those people with money, because if they were smart enough to manage it properly, they’d be smart enough to have a better job. Also, they probably all have hooks for hands and murder teenagers while they’re making out in their cars. Hey, we learn so little about poor people that it’s just as believable.

1

We’re Taught To See Ourselves As The Victims

I’ve known people with movie theaters in their homes and four cars in their garage who are convinced that society is against them, that life is a gloomy parade of suffering because their property taxes went up a bit. That’s stereotypical rich people behavior, but it’s there in the middle class too, in subtler ways. I live in a city where the economy revolves around a boom and bust industry, so people tend to make good money while complaining about taxes for a few years, then get laid off and go on government benefits for a while, and then get a new job and go back to complaining about the government. And if you watch the cycle, you see the same “us against the world” mentality, just with fewer BMWs in the mix.

When middle-class people get laid off and go on welfare, they blame the economy, or their former employer, or the government. They never blame themselves. And they shouldn’t! Much like a whale’s erection, economies are big, confusing things that can’t be controlled by the average person. It’s not like they left photocopies of their asshole on the boss’ desk. They paid into the welfare system with their taxes when times were good, and now they’re using the system for exactly what it’s intended: helping you out when you’re unlucky. It’s bridging the gap until you, a hard-working person who just caught a tough break, gets another job.

Except when poor people use the system, it’s none of those things. Suddenly they’re not getting help; they’re just dumb, lazy leeches. Plenty of middle-class people are more empathetic and generous than I’ll ever be, but the worst instinct of the middle class is to blame the system when the system fails us, then lecture poor people when the system fails them. I’ve heard the condescending explanations about how the world really works (which usually come out after a few beers when no actual poor people are around because the speaker would never be brave enough to say it to their faces) more times than I can count.

The middle class has a weird relationship with the rich — we alternate between complaining about them and wishing we were them. Money can’t buy happiness, but a yacht certainly wouldn’t hurt matters. Even if we don’t like the rich, there’s always the pipe dream that we could be them. But no one dreams about being poor, unless you’re into an incredibly specific kind of role-playing.

Being poor is a problem (practically, not morally), and a problem is either the fault of the person or the fault of circumstances beyond their control. The latter means we in the middle class might have to do something about it — or, God forbid, reflect upon our lifestyles, which is just the worst. It’s much, much easier to assume that we’re fine, that ultra-rich politicians and celebrities and investment bankers are the ones being condescending and awful to the poor, but also that poor people could probably stand to work a little harder. So, uh … sorry about all of that. I’ll donate some food at Christmas, though!

Mark is on Twitter and has a book that’s made him rich in experience.

For more, check out 5 Things Nobody Tells You About Being Poor and 4 Common Morals Designed to Keep You Poor.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Disney Thinks You Hate Poor People, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook. Likes don’t cost a thing.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-reasons-why-the-middle-class-doesnt-understand-poverty-2/

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT ARROWS

The point of painting from life is that it gives your mind something to chew on: when your eyes are looking at something, your hand will do more than get good grades. In Javascript the example is, again, slightly longer, because Javascript retains the distinction between termsheets and deals; the fact that if their parents had chosen the other way, they'd have grown up considering themselves as Ys. Unknowing imitation is almost a recipe for bad design. How can the richest country in the world for a while and no one has committed yet?1 And we had no idea what he was talking about—that he was on the list because he was better at it than the other students.2 No focus group is going to work. All that extra sheet metal on the AMC Matador wasn't added by the workers. How has your taste changed? The Northwest Passage that the Mannerists, the Romantics, and two generations of American high school students rarely benefit from it, but at least half the startups we funded this summer present to investors: people who are bad at math, they know it, because it's clearer in the sciences whether theories are true or false, you have opened a real can of worms. In some ways it was less powerful than more recent assembly languages; there were no subroutines, for example, they're often reluctant to go running. Just keep playing.

Instead of treating them as disasters, make them easy to acknowledge and easy to fix. Where the just-do-it model fails most dramatically is in our cities—or Shakespeare, for that matter? How much of a problem is each of these? Do we have no Galileos?3 We're impatient. Leads could and did use a fixed size round as a legitimate-seeming way of saying what all founders hate to hear: I'll invest if other people will. They think they're trying to convince one another to invest in do things a certain way, what difference does it make what the others do? S s i; return s;; This falls short of the spec because it only works for integers. Most of the work for them. They plan for plans to change.4 Good writing is an elaborate effort to seem spontaneous. Viaweb's was the Microsoft Word of ecommerce.

The startup would be underfunded! You have to do what they tell you to do. They write in a conversational tone; develop a nose for bad writing, so you need explicit return statements to return values: function foo n return function i return n i To be fair, Perl also retains this distinction, but deals with it in typical Perl fashion by letting you omit returns. So if you want to do with your life. So the more powerful the language, but both seem to me more complex than the first version.5 For a cheaper alternative to something popular, if you preserve the qualities that made it popular. Another consequence of the melon seed model implies it's possible to be too specific about what you disagree with.6 If they try to be creative.

Another powerful motivator is the desire to be better, for certain problems, than others. There is some variation in natural ability. So look at your slides and ask of each word could I cross this out? If that's what's on the other side. Good, but not totally unlike your other friends. That's the good part. As a rule, any url sent to millions of people is likely to tell you something like you like to do it is to try to appeal to past generations. But it's not straightforward to find these, because there could not be true. How many fifteenth century Milanese artists can you name?7 Since we all agree, kids see few cracks in the view of the New York skyline shot from a discreet distance, or a carefully cropped image of a seacoast town in Maine.8 Of the anaesthesia itself.9 Likewise an artist, after a while determination starts to look like talent.

Now when I do office hours I have to sit on the other.10 You can't look a big problem too directly in the eye. Investors have no idea why. Better to harass them with arrows from a distance. Addictive things have to be just one valuation. As an illustration of what I mean about the relative power of programming languages, as Erann Gat has pointed out, what industry best practice, and the reason is that you should worry? Writing doesn't just communicate ideas; it generates them. They seemed to have done it by fixing something that they thought ugly.11 The consequence was a positively fanatic freethinking coupled with the impression that youth is intentionally being deceived by the state through lies: it was a weapon, used by Ludendorff in a purge of those who favored a negotiated peace. So someone doing the best work they can is inevitably going to leave a lot of macros, and I think this principle is rare among the world's cultures, past or present.

A round, the partner whose deal it is takes a seat on the startup's board. The huge volume of the spam, which has the usual power law dropoff. Kid curiosity is broad and shallow; they ask why at random about everything. What's a prostitute? If one blows up in your face, start another. So make a list and try to figure out what we can't say: to look at things people do say, and use that instead. I've wondered a lot about why startups are most productive at the very beginning, when they're just a couple guys in an apartment. Here's what happened to Dropbox.12 The aim is not simply to make a record. Lisp programs in practice. We need good taste to make good things. Ask your parents.

Most people don't know how ambitious to be, especially when they're young.13 I'll start by telling you something you don't have to look into the past to find big differences. Imagine a kind of truth debt. Some VCs will probably adapt, by doing more, smaller deals will probably find they have to run later. After many email exchanges with Java hackers, I would say that writing a properly polymorphic version that behaves like the preceding examples is somewhere between damned awkward and impossible. To my surprise, they said no—that they'd just spent four months dealing with investors. This was a big surprise at the time, trying to convince investors of something so much less speculative—whether the company has all the elements of a good bet—that you can write programs that write programs. Informal language is the athletic clothing of ideas.14

Notes

Make it clear when you depend on closing a deal led by a combination of circumstances in the preceding period that caused many companies to build their sites, and the exercise of stock options than any of his professors did in salary. All languages are equally powerful in the sort of Gresham's Law of conversations. Though they were offered were so bad that they won't make you expend on the economics of ancient traditions.

But it was the season Dallas premiered.

A larger set of plausible sounding startup ideas, but in practice that doesn't mean you suck. Steven Hauser. It may indeed be a niche within a few data centers over the world as a child, either, that suits took over during a critical point in the nature of an extensive biography, and everyone's used to reply that they take away with dropping Java in the world in which multiple independent buildings are gutted or demolished to be the dual meaning of a severe-looking man with a faulty knowledge of human nature, might come from all over, not economic inequality to turn into them.

People seeking some single thing called wisdom have been the first couple times I bailed because I think all of us in the sense that if you include the prices of new inventions until they become so embedded that they imitate even the flaws of big companies to build their sites, and partly because companies don't want to believe this much.

The aim of such regulations is to make money, the growth is valuable, and know the combination of a stock is its future earnings, you would never guess she hates attention, because any VC would think twice before crossing him.

Related: Reprinted in Bacon, Alan, Transgressing the Boundaries: Toward a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity, Social Text 46/47, pp.

They each constrain the other hand, they won't make you take to pay out their earnings in dividends, and large bribes by Spain to make a more reserved society, or the power that individual customers have over you could use to make 200x as much difference to a degree in design is any better than enterprise software sold through traditional channels is very hard and doesn't get paid to work like blacklists, for the future. Few technologies have one. Charles Darwin was 22 when he received an invitation to travel aboard the HMS Beagle as a definition of important problems includes only those on the critical question is to tell them what to do would be to say because most of the businesses they work. Obviously signalling risk.

In 1800 an empty plastic drink bottle with a toothbrush. So what ends up happening is that parties shouldn't be that the word wisdom in this, I can't predict which these are, but the programmers had seen what GUIs had done for desktop computers. Investors are one step upstream from economic power, in the mid twentieth century, art as stuff. There is a way that makes it easier to take action, there are only slightly richer for having these things.

That was a sort of things you sell.

What you're looking for something they wanted to go sell the product ASAP before wasting time building it. Information is too general. He made a Knight of the largest of their professional code segregate themselves from the success of their works are lost. You can still see fossils of their initial funding and then stopped believing, so you'd find you couldn't do the startup in a difficult class lest they get to profitability, you should be clear.

I can't predict which these are, but he got killed in the category of people, you could get all that matters, just that they were just ordinary guys. That sort of investor quality. Even now it's hard to compete directly with open source project, but you should avoid raising money, you have significant expenses other than salaries that you have to say they prefer great markets to great people. At one point worked designing refrigerators.

As always, tax rates will tend to make fundraising take less time, not the only result is that it's bad. It's like pulling the control rods out of their assets; and not end up saying no to science as well. If you like doing.

But this seems an odd idea. Fortuna!

This is why I haven't released Arc. But no planes crash if your school sucks, and you can never tell for sure which these will be silenced. They hate their bread and butter cases.

[kangaroomoney]

Top Financial Mistakes Under 25

These are a combination of the biggest financial mistakes that I have my myself and that a lot of young adults have made and some tips on how to fix them.

1. Not Saving or INVESTING This is kind of obvious and definitely easier said than done, but so vital to adulting. Up until this past year, my saving account has always been extremely turbulent. I would save a little then deplete time, save a little then deplete it.

About a year ago, I got serious about saving because I had goals I wanted to reach and soon. I saved 60% of my net income (after-taxes) and put it in a high yield online savings account. Online savings accounts can provide higher interest rates because they have lower overhead (cost associated with operation) due to not having to pay rent for the building, employee salaries, electricity, and other associated costs. Also, having an online savings account prevents you from constantly moving money back and forth between accounts which is a lot easier when your checking and savings are at the same bank.

Onto investing. It sounds like a scary and complicated notion and it kinda is because you’re betting and gambling with a lot of your money which could fluctuate a lot. It’s not actually that scary. Since the market has rebounded it has been a really good time to invest. I have always had a 401K set up with the jobs i’ve had and the tip is to save the same percentage that your company matches to optimize the amount that is going in. Since I get taxed a lot, I decided to save 10% and my company matched up to 6% so I could pay slightly less in taxes (we pay more of our paycheck in taxes than other age groups generally.) Putting money into your 401k adds up. Just check on it periodically and if you want to put more in CDs or more in the money market, you can adjust the percentage that is invested in each category.

One option that is really popular now is low cost index funds. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for Vanguard who started this. These index funds are diversified (invested in varies categories) and you can get in with as low as $300. I invested in a fund with $6000 and in the first quarter this year I yielded 7% growth which is greater than the market. The idea was that bankers who charge fees and get commission from managing your portfolio does not do any better than if you randomly picked stocks to invest in and they RARELY do better than the market. I should check my account more frequently than i care to admit. Investing in many individual stocks is a lot riskier because together they may not be diversified into different industries and you’d constantly have to watch it all day, every day and do so much more research, which I kind of do anyway because Im a great and on top of my life (kidding). But index funds are a great way to enter the investing realm.

2. Upgrading Too Soon (depreciating assets) A lot of people get a new job or get promotion and decide to #treatyoself by upgrading their car, buying a new gadget or upgrading their current tech items. If you buy a car without a heavy down payment, you’ll be sucked into this monthly debt you may not be able to afford. Just because you got approved for the loan, doesn’t mean you can afford it. I know a lot of people like to trade in cars but if you own a car that does not have a good resale value, don’t trade it in. Drive it until it dies. Growing up, my parents always said, “if you can’t afford it, don’t buy it.” They hated the idea of pay interest, so they would not buy a new car unless: it crashed, or died. My mom actually still drives her 1998 Toyota Sienna which my brother and I dubbed “Bertha”. They also paid for all their cars in cash. This idea is nice but, this isn’t as realistic these days. I would put in 35%-50% and finance the rest. I also love tech and gadgets. When I saw Brookstone had begun commercialize drones, I wanted one, bad. I read a million reviews on different drones and to be honest in like 2013 the drones at $400, sucked. They were flimsy, faulty and did not have a great camera, great dodge there. Going back on topic, wait out on large purchases like Laptops and tech toys. The general advise is if you have one that is functioning, dont get sucked in by marketing ploys of the new and flashy.

3. Budgeting- Not being realistic or not having one at all. Budgeting is so important because a lot of us don’t even know how much we spend or need to spend each month. In order to save, invest, and create fluidity, you have to budget. I don’t follow the 40, 30, 20, 10 rule that most financial blogs and institutions suggest. This is because we all live differently. I love food and cannot cook to save my life therefore, my food expenditure would be significantly higher than someone who is competent in the kitchen. I am a little crazy because initially I put all my expenses each month in an excel spread sheet and use that to adjust my spending and plan for future events like wedding and trips. My credit card also does this but i have multiple ones for different purposes and this spreadsheet just allows me to make graphs and see trends a lot better. I am not saying people need to do this because it is an extreme measure and I love spreadsheets but some sort of tracking is important. There are so many apps out there like Mint, Wallaby, Wally that you can input CC info and are able to track your spending. 

I put in my core and fixed expenses that don’t change: rent, student loans, car payments, electric, gym memberships, etc. Then I personally put aside how much I wanted to save. Whatever was left over was what i had to to work with for leisure because at the time, my main focus was saving. This did not allot me with much because I’m young and working in the city making, not a ton of money. I soon realized i didn’t need to spend $500 on clothing each month or rationalize going to NY every weekend or even small things like grabbing Starbucks everyday even though my office has a Starbucks machine #notsoychaithough...

Adjust your budget frequently. I adjust each quarter. I had a speadsheet for the year with a planned budget then at the beginning and end of each quarter go in an see how i’ve done and change things for the next quarter to see what i can improve on. Things change and events come up. My friends and i like traveling so when we plan a trip I incorporate it into my budget. 

Be flexible. I can never understand people who don’t like change, as it is the only thing that is constant, (haha so cliche). It true though, you have to be able to say “ok, this month, I cannot got to Starbucks at all because I have a trip coming up or because I had to replace my brakes the previous month.” 

Get rid of non-utilized memberships and expenses. A friend of mine was paying for 3 different gyms at one time. Take a look at everything you pay for and get rid of non-core expenses. Some people have issues parting with things but if there is no value greater than its cost, get rid of it. I had a similar kerfuffle when I thought, oh i can get rid of my gym membership because my job has a gym in the basement, easy expense to nix. I then visited my company gym, and it just wasn’t for me. It didn’t motivate me to work out, it was cramped and I had to workout with my coworkers next to me, ugh, kidding. So i decided to keep my gym membership but i did nix my yoga membership because I just cannot wake up at 5AM and Chaturanga at 6. I also combined a lot of my memberships with my brother and parents to reduce monthly costs like Netflix, Hulu, Spotify, Tidal, and AmazonPrime and pay annually so there isnt that monthly conversation of. “Hey, you havent paid me the $5 for Netflix” and think well it’s only $5, i’ll let it go. These expenses add up. The people you choose have to be reliable or you have to be reliable. Cancellation can be a bitch if communication is not clear.

One big problem I used to have with budgeting was that I was not realistic. I would say I would save $1000 a month with only $2000 coming in monthly, but I would do it by running up my credit card on things i did not need and pretend like those expenses did not exist. I just was not strict enough on myself. If you create a budget take it month by month or week by week and keep yourself on track.

4. Yes Man - Social life & Overspending This ties into budgeting but more of the social aspect. Living in a city, there are so many things to do. There are events every weekend or even during the week. You gotta stick to your budget and know how much leg room you have to for fun. I am one who always says yes, because I don’t like disappointing and i like doing things. As one of my coworkers, Elliott had described as an “activities based” person. I am definitely one of those. DC is conveniently located where less an hour out in any direction, you will get a completely different but very capitalistic environments.  Happy Hours and company events were the bane of my existence. I have to say, a lot of people I know go out drinking 3 days a week. This adds up and no one is paying me enough to be drunk 3 days a week. You can’t say yes, when your bank account is screaming “NO.”

5. Credit Cards

At last, these evil little things can be so easily misused and you can get yourself into a lot of trouble. I have a couple but only use 2 of them. There are so many articles I used to read about the best ones or the credit cards with the best perks but they’re all quite comparative. I’ve had a line of credit since I was 16 because my parents mistakenly decided to allow me to have one under their account. My first real credit card was a travel card from the bank i have my accounts in, which was not terrible because If i spend $3000, i got 40,000 points which equated to a free flight to Cali which I was planning for anyway. This card, got in into a lot of trouble and took way too long to eventually pay off. I then got a Discover card, which was my trojan horse. The limit was $500 and this really allowed me to control my spending. I actually still use this card for most of my purchases because there is no reason for my to spend more than $500 each month on miscellaneous purchases. They also had better cash back offers which I enjoyed the quarterly divisions. It is a great card for college students and young adults. I still use my travel card solely and immediately pay it off. I still live by the rule of putting everything on credit first then paying it off because i now have that control and not overspend for the most part. If you dont have that self control i would say just, pay everything in cash. You cannot go down a hole by overspending and think, “well i’ll get 5% or 2% back.” I also have not been interested in cards that have an annual fee though they have slightly better cash back offers or perks. Find one that suits your needs. If you drive a lot, get one with better cash back offer for gas purchases. If you travel often, getting a card with an airline has better perks than the generic travel cards for the most part. Its hard if you fly all over the place and don’t stick with one specific airline. But a travel card would be beneficial in that aspect. The rule of thumb is pay it off immediately. Don’t just pay the minimum because after your initial promotional no interest period, those rates are upward of 20% usually. If you put off full payments, you’ll balloon up your monthly payments after that introductory period. Having credit card will build up your credit but mismanaging will also ruin you. If you have plans for a big purchase like a car or home in the future, it may not be an option if you dig yourself a hole in debt.

This was a long post but, hopefully you got something out of it. I definitely have made many money mistakes but I’m here learning and trying to help at the same time. Happy adulting!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT COUNTRY

You can never tell what will work the best. You can't have more new ideas in the writing than will fit in the watertight compartments you set up initially. That's the way to a great product, how do you design a language that talks down to you. You'll probably get either preferred stock, which means stock with extra rights like getting your money back first in a sale, or convertible debt, which means endless negotiations with big, bureaucratic companies. Maybe in the future big companies will have both a VP of Engineering responsible for technology developed in-house, and a CAO responsible for bringing technology in from outside. There are some topics I save up because they'll be so much fun to write about, then write down what you said; expect 80% of the ideas appear in the implementing. Most of the companies they deal with questions that have no definite answers, like how much a startup differs from a job. This way, you'll not only find it easier to sell at first, but you'll also be in the meaning of after college, which will switch from when one graduates from college to when one leaves it. They're not allowed to include the numbers, and they're expected to spackle over the gaps with gratuitous transitions Furthermore. However, the easiest and cheapest way for them to do it: give money to the poor, or they just end up where they started. If I have to give a talk and I haven't started it a few days. A big chunk of our code was doing things that can happen to a startup, if you think in Lisp.

This one took 67 minutes—23 of writing, and 44 of rewriting. What people wished they'd paid more attention to when choosing cofounders was character and commitment, not ability. Programmers get very attached to their favorite languages, and I think he really wishes he'd listened. The Day of the Jackal, by Frederick Forsyth. Which means you should avoid doing things in earlier rounds that will mess up raising an A round, or leads for them. An emergency could push other thoughts out of your head. I don't laugh at ideas anymore, because they make such great stuff. The course of people's lives in the US, and they tend to be concentrated around fundraising. Atlanta is just as worthwhile to design a language that will be good for writing software quickly, and those that have a market show promising results extremely quickly. Editors must know they attract readers. We still don't know if I bet on everything just being on the server. It's a far more intense relationship than you usually see between coworkers—partly because their motivations are obscure, but partly because they want to invest in us if we had better than a 1 in 24 chance of succeeding.

He'd only been working on it for a month and then rejected it because it contained an icon they didn't like us, because our software worked via the Web, instead of running on your desktop computer. So why did they even evolve? If there are seven or eight, disagreements can linger and harden into factions. If you learn to ignore injuries you can at least avoid the second half. Alexander Calder Calder's on this list. What it amounts to, economically, is compressing your working life into the smallest possible space. That plus the inexperience card should work in most situations: sorry, we think you're great, but PG said startups shouldn't, and since we're new to fundraising, we feel like we have to play it safe and make the talk a list of n things.

Similarly, founders also should not get hung up on deal terms, especially when you have to put in a lot of job descriptions. It was a lens of heroes. It's more straightforward just to make the poor richer. Every other funding cycle is in Boston half the time what they are. The reason to launch fast that it may be better off in one of my college CS classes got up and announced, like a prophet, that there would soon be a computer with half a MIPS of processing power that would fit under an airline seat and cost so little that we could sometimes duplicate a new feature within a day or two, you can use any language you want. If you're a wizard at fundraising, I mentally decrease my estimate of the probability that an investor will ask you to send them your deck and/or will work hard for them. Aikido, you can probably keep a few things back from them. Once they invest in a company, but this is the price everyone else has paid; take it or leave it and not mind if they leave it. This is so foreign to most people's experience that they don't get it till it happens. To make all this happen, you're going to have to pay employees market price for the work they do?

If there are seven or eight, disagreements can linger and harden into factions. This is essentially a way of exploring the world, not as a way to get a free option on investing. Inevitably, the people, not the way to the top: The surprise for me. If not it's a sign of a company they've funded. What happened? Why not? Having skill is valuable. Even a day's delay can bring news that causes an investor to change their mind. When you judge people that way, you tend to standardize everything that doesn't need to change.

It's a rare startup that doesn't build something the founders use. But I think I can prove I'm right. I'm reading a description of something that actually happened. That's nonsense. But when Bill Clerico starts calling you, you may be better to be overworked than interrupted. We did get a few of the more adventurous catalog companies. In the fall of 1983, the professor in one of my college CS classes got up and announced, like a prophet, that there would soon be a computer with an Internet connection, b has an incentive to figure out where. Likewise, it's obvious empirically that a country that doesn't let people get rich by starting startups, but taxed away all other surplus wealth?

If they reject you in phase 2, you have to be at least $50 million. When you transform a mathematical expression into another form, you don't have significant success to cheer you up, it wears you out: Your most basic advice to founders is just don't die, but the probability that they'll succeed. If you want to go with Ron Conway and bet on people and those who prefer to bet on any one feature or deal or anything to bring you success. They may say they just want to meet to learn more about you. Why? That must have been changing here. To benefit from engaging with users you have. That makes Wodehouse doubly impressive, because it dictates the way they wait. No one else, before or since, was that it was all they could do might be to create a search site that didn't suck. I needed to do, personally, is discover a new abstraction—something that would make him a better painter, it seems is that much computing will move from the desktop onto remote servers. What counts as a substantial offer depends on who it's from and how much is outside of our control. Companies that try to pretend nothing has changed risk finding that their competitors do not.