#Praying that next door will let me rent for a reasonable price though

[crowley1990]

Finding out I’ll have to move out sometime in the next six months or so and it’s like okay great guess it is time to stop accumulating shit then 😑

[jimlingss]

Jungle Park [9]

Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

➜ Words: 4.2k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

It’s a crime scene.   There are no traces of blood, no signs of a break in, of thrown furniture or a deadly weapon next to a corpse. It’s much simpler and devastating than that. The lights are still on, shoes neatly put at the front door. There’s a white envelope on the small kitchen counter. It’s been ripped open with evidence of haste and panic. There are copper and silver keys that have fallen onto the tile floor, bag dropped beside it. And in your hand is a single piece of paper, the biggest crime of all.   One would take a look at the rent in your hand and find it ‘fucking astronomical’.   It’s an abomination.   And when you come to your senses, you discover yourself furiously knocking on the door of the perpetrator at ten at night.   The old woman swings the door open and it crashes against her pristine white wall. She’s clad in pajamas and a black robe, tea mug in her hand as she glares at you. “Do you know what time it is?!”   “I’m sorry.” The apology comes out automatically and you damn yourself. No, you’re not sorry. But instead of retracting, you simply lift up the bill and get to the reason why you’re here bare feet, standing in front of her door. “Can you please explain this to me? I’m confused.”   “What’s there to be confused about?”   “It’s almost double from last time.” You’re trying to calm down, but you’re still in hysterics, caught in between and you feel yourself going insane. Part of what you’re saying is shouted in anger and other parts you’re whispering in meekness. Your landlady looks at you like you’re a bizarre, yet sad clown. “It spiked like a lot.”   “I sent a notice to everyone in the complex,” she tells you impassively.   “I didn’t get one,” you attempt to reason with her and let the landlady see your perspective. But it’s futile and you’re only becoming increasingly frustrated.   “Well—” She takes a sip of her tea. “—I did send you one.”   “You can’t just change the lease agreement halfway through.” You’re on the verge of tears and you’re not sure you can make it through without breaking down like a pathetic fool. “That-...that’s illegal!”   “If you don’t like it, then you can find some place else,” she says with composure, fully knowing that it’ll affect you more than her. “I’m more than happy to let you break the lease. I’ll find another tenant.”   She knows and you know — you’re unable to leave this place. Not when it was one of the few locations that was close to work and anywhere near the city at this price range. You can’t afford to pack up your bags and go somewhere else. So you’re left defeated and pleading, as if the last whimper of your voice can convince her otherwise, “you can’t just increase the rent halfway through the lease.”   “I understand that,” she enunciates and punctures every syllable with a sharp tongue, tired of having to constantly repeat herself. “But I don’t think you understand how expensive taxes, insurance, and energy costs are getting. At this rate, I’ll be in debt, Y/N.”   When you drag your feet back home, you sit down and work to figure things out.   It’s entirely possible to get a rebate for your rent. You would have to go to a legal clinic and speak to someone, which works out perfectly since you work for a law firm. You have friends that are lawyers, Sunyi or Taehyung or Yoongi, the list is endless. Maybe they’re not knowledgeable in this specific kind of issue, but nonetheless in the general area and they could always recommend you to someone good. There’s also a chance that you would go to the tenant board and plead your case. But the problem you have are with the possible outcomes:

You will have no choice but to move out, even after getting the rebate.

There are changes in the property ownership. The landlady will lose the apartment complex. But as much as you think this ordeal is unfair, you’re not spiteful enough to make her lose her livelihood.

Best case scenario: the rent is forced to return to normal and the landlady keeps her property and you get to stay. But then she would have it out for you and you’re not sure you can handle such tense living conditions.

It feels like you’re being shoved in a corner. Part of you wishes you didn’t care about the landlady’s well being and you would go through with one of the options and bring justice to your own life. But you can’t do it. Either way, guilt would gnaw at you like mites eating at your skin.   Someone once told you that you care too much for people when you shouldn’t. He’s right.   With a sigh, you think of only two things. It’s the only way you can afford to pay your bills and sustain your life — ask for a raise and take on more shifts.   “Where are we off to this evening?”   You shuffle back into the driver’s seat after guiding the passenger into the back seat and greeting them. The female passenger mumbles a destination and you pull away from the curb, knowing what streets and turns to take.   One after another.   You take young and old to the airport, to their homes, to clubs or late-night events, anyone and everywhere in between. Every night without break, you drive and cut down your sleeping time by doubling your caffeine intake. It’s unhealthy, but you’re still waiting for the right time to ask for a raise from both Jimin and Hoseok. Every time you linger outside their office, they end up exiting themselves and telling you to talk later since they have somewhere to be.   It seems like timing has always been your worst enemy.   “Where are we off to?”   The man in the backseat of the taxi glances behind him and then out the window before meeting your eyes in the rear-view mirror. His pupils flicker back and forth, shaking, and as strange as he is, you most definitely would’ve never guessed what his destination is— “the border.”   “Pardon?” You twist your body fully around, afraid that your ears are finally failing you.   But the man repeats himself. “The border, please.”   “That’s a four-hour ride,” you explain to him, unable to believe what he’s saying. Four hours to and from is eight hours in total. You’d be driving out of the city, far into the deserted countryside and you would have to go straight to work afterwards. It’s not like you can afford to call in for an unpaid sick-day. Though you have one bigger worry. “This...this isn’t illegal, right? Because I’ve had my fair share of driving people to illegal activities and I’m not doing that again.”   “No! No,” he spits out hastily and looks behind him again before whirling around. He’s sweating and you’re beginning to as well. The black backpack beside him is suspicious and you pray he doesn’t have any kind of weapon. “Just please bring me to the border. I promise it’s nothing bad and you won’t be harmed. I...I can give you an additional four hundred dollars.”   Four hundred tip?   The debate fires in your head and sadly, it doesn’t last long for you to make a decision.   “I hope you’re ready to pay up when the time comes.” You signal and pull away from the curb, destination already in the navigation system. From the rear-view mirror, the stranger gives you a big smile with swelling cheeks.   The trip is long and tedious. When it’s empty highways and one straight road, it’s easy to get lost in thoughts or to become sleepy. But you have strategies of keeping yourself awake, like downing the cup of coffee you always have in your thermostat mug or quietly humming a song or trying to keep from blinking for a long time. It helps that the stranger in the backseat of the car starts up a conversation too. He’s just been looking out the window, resting in the seat and you guess he might be too anxious to take a short nap.   “You’re not a fugitive, are you?”   “No.” He laughs and reassures you, “I’m not. The reason I’m going to the border...it’s a secret.”   You hum, knowing better than prying into people’s activities. When people are willing to tell you, then you’re happy to hear. When they’re not, the last thing you want is for them to pull you out the vehicle and point a gun at your head and tell you that it’s a shame you know too much now.   Maybe you just watch too many action movies.   Though for some reason, your intuition tells you the stranger in the backseat is more friendly and doesn’t mind you chatting and asking. “I just would like to know what the crimes of my passenger is if I happened to be arrested on those charges as well.”   He chuckles. “Then you’ll find out when you get arrested.”   “Ooh, keeping it a surprise.” You glance into the rear-view. “I like it.”   “You’re a funny one,” he muses. “Got any boyfriend or husband or wife?”   “If you’re asking for yourself then I gotta say sorry.” You smile. “I’ve taken a celibacy oath for the rest of my life.”   “What a shame.” He laughs again. “Do you always drive? I should make you my permanent taxi driver.”   “If you’re always going to pay me a four hundred tip, you got it. But unfortunately, this is only my night job, so only if you have any rendezvous after five.”   He leans his head on the cool glass, watching the headlights from the opposite highway road and the lights of the truck up ahead. “What’s your day job?”   “It’s a secret.” You don’t want to say in case you get found and killed. Safety was regarded above all. “You’ll find out when I get arrested and we share the same cell.”   “Okay, fair enough.” He grins. “That’s tough though. A day and night job? How do you find the time to sleep?”   “You don’t.” Another symphony of internal sighs ring inside your head and you decide that you might as well ramble your infinite problems to a stranger since it’s not like you had anyone else to talk to. “I wouldn’t have to do this if my landlady didn’t suddenly spike up my rent like crazy.”   “Does your day job not pay enough?” He asks not to invade your privacy, but out of genuine curiosity.   “...It pays well,” you reply. “Just not enough.”   He makes a sound of understanding and the conversations dim down for the next ten minutes. There’s more small talk made, but nothing significant. You learn he’s not a dangerous criminal (for now) so it puts you at ease. And when the border comes into sight, he asks to be let off before you can drive up to the booth. He expresses his gratitude for driving him this far out and follows through with his tip, giving you the right amount of a carefully counted stack of bills from his backpack. You don’t ask him any questions, only bidding him good luck on whatever journey he’s on and he smiles, hoping that you have a safe drive back.   You hope for the same thing.   //   The drive back is exhausting and endless. By the time you’ve arrived back home, your butt is aching, your eyes are burning, and your back is sore. You can’t believe you’ve been driving for a straight eight hours, but your full pocket of cash thanks you for your effort, even if you have to lug your legs inside. The sad part is that you can’t even roll on your comfortable mattress and get some shut-eye. Time is ticking and you rip yourself away from the bedroom into the bathroom to get ready for your day job.   And you try your hardest, even when you’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours.   You slap water onto your face before dousing your poor skin in thick makeup to hide the purple eye bags. Then you force breakfast down your throat while changing clothes before you’re out the door again.   You try your hardest — not to fall asleep while you’re on the platform, waiting for the subway.   You try your hardest — to keep from stumbling when you’re standing in the crowded cart like you’re in a can of sardines, forced to hold onto one of the hanging straps.   You try your hardest — running through puddles in heels, sweat clinging onto your dirty body, late again.   “Is she not with you?”   Hoseok stops by Jimin’s office, glancing at his watch quickly before looking up towards the main foyer. His frustration and impatience increase, causing a frown to permanently attach on his face, giving the male wrinkles in places that shouldn’t belong there before he’s turned forty.   “Y/N?” Jimin sips on his coffee, surprised at the sudden question. “No. Do you need her?”   “I don’t,” he huffs out. “But haven’t you noticed that she’s been arriving late to work every day this week?”   Jimin hums a light note before he looks off and muses, “No, actually. I didn’t notice.”   “We don’t pay our employees to arrive late and slack off.”   “Y/N doesn’t slack off.”   “But her tardiness shows a bad work ethic.”   Speaking of the devil, Hoseok detects a figure jogging from the corner of his eye. He turns and you’re there, chest rising and falling, hyperventilating, a strand of hair fallen in the front of your face. At the same time as Hoseok outright gawks at you, you’re cringing, having hoped you could’ve slipped past. But now that he’s in front of you, there’s no choice but to dip your head slightly and divert your eyes. “Good...good morning.”   You’re about to be on your way, but his smooth voice stops you. “Can we speak in my office?”   “O-of course.”   The atmosphere is tense. All signs of the happy-go-lucky man that you’re the most familiar with is absent and a stern leader is in his place instead, controlling the air around you and making you shift on your feet.   He sits in his chair and glares. Sometimes it gives you whiplash how different Hoseok can be, how many sides he has, from being a ball of sunshine that wouldn’t hurt a fly to having a serious and rigid demeanour. He wears an impassive expression while looking at you, and remains stern. You guess that this is what it means to be professional and deep down, you know he has a hard time conducting himself like this, but he does such a good job. He’s a natural.   It’s intimidating.   “Sit down,” he says and you follow his orders. You’re tense, hands in your lap, and he clears his throat, making you finally meet his eyes again. “You’ve been late every morning.”   “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”   There’s a beat of silence, like he’s giving you a chance to explain yourself. But when you don’t, he’s forced to continue, “is there a reason...?” His voice trails off, becoming softer and he searches your expression for some sort of answer.   “No,” you lie. “There isn’t. I’m sorry.”   His frown returns and it’s deeper than before. “This is not your usual behaviour. There has to be a reason, Y/N. Tell me.” It’s not a demand, sort of gentle and deprived out of concern.   You wonder what he would say if he knew you were having financial problems, if he would help you sort it out, or maybe give you that raise that you’ve been meaning to ask for a long time now. If you told him that you held two jobs on top of each other, there’s a chance he would be sympathetic. He could help you out, pardon your mistakes and your late mornings. But—   But...there’s no reason for him to know.   He’s your boss. Is there really any sense in telling him what’s going on in your personal life? Hoseok is your boss. Nothing more. Nothing less. Maybe you’ve been forgetting this. Maybe you’ve been too reckless lately. But you need to keep it this way. If not for his sake, then yours.   “There’s no reason,” you repeat yourself, keeping the barrier up, not allowing him in. “I’m sorry.”   There’s a long held silence.   “You won’t tell me?” he asks you, aware of the lies that you feed him and the disappointment is all too evident in his voice and written across his features. You look away with a thick lump forming in your throat.   “There’s isn’t anything to tell. I’m sorry.”   If you want a raise, you’ll receive it by your own merit, not through pity.   Jung Hoseok leans back in his seat, accepting that you won’t give him a truthful answer. He gave you a chance and won’t force it out of you. “I expect everyone to be here at nine.” He shuffles a few papers, having written down details as evidence. “But you’ve been here half an hour to an hour later consistently for the past week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and today. It’s unacceptable.”   “I’m sorry.”   “Just because you’re the only one who works in the HR department does not mean you get to come in late and do whatever you want. You get paid here like everyone else and they work just as hard. They come in and give their best effort and I expect you to do the same. I did not hire you to take it easy or to slack off. This is a job. You are to be here at nine in the morning and leave at five. You are not to be here at nine thirty or ten or ten thirty.”   “I understand.” Your head remains downcasted. “I’m sorry.”   He is loud and firm, making the warning clear. “If there is not an improvement made immediately, I will dock your pay. And if you can’t handle arriving on time, then maybe this job isn’t suitable for you.”   “I’m sorry.”   To say you were humiliated was barely scratching the surface. Not only were your bones and muscles fatigued, but you were barely holding yourself together emotionally. All you could do was feel the burning of your eyes and hold your head down as he continued to reprimand you.   “Don’t apologize. Make the improvement.”   You nod, fully aware that you won’t even be able to mention the idea of a raise.   Hoseok watches as you leave. There’s something uncomfortable that settles down inside of him and he turns to the window when you’ve disappeared. For a few minutes, he rests until his partner comes through the doorway. “Well, that was unusually harsh. “   Hoseok shifts his and exhales. “You heard?”   “Everything. And everyone did.”   “God…” He leans his head back and shuts his eyes tight, the oncoming of a headache beginning to pulsate at his temples.   “Why was it so excessive?” Jimin spills the honest question, brows raised and arms crossed as he leans on his partner’s doorway. “You know we both don’t care if someone’s late as long as they perform well and complete their duties. Why the hell were you being so unreasonable?”   “I don’t know.” And Hoseok genuinely means it. “I got frustrated.”   “Did she say why she was late?”   “She didn’t tell me.”   “I’m not surprised.” Jimin scoffs and gives him an incredulous look, still unable to believe that he gave a scolding to one of the best workers of the firm. “You’re kind of a massive asshole, dude.”   //   During your lunch break, you begin to search up for bank loans, seeing if you’re eligible for any and how big of a hole you’re digging for yourself in if you got a loan with high interest rates. You also slap and pinch yourself several times to stay awake, drinking more and more coffee to stay alert. The last thing you want is to accidentally fall asleep at your desk and have Hoseok walk by and catch you in the act. Little did you know that same man was already standing outside your door, pacing back and forth without letting you see him lingering outside.   “What the hell is he doing?” Seulgi whispers to Namjoon, hunched over by their table and flickering their pupils over.   He mutters back, “You tell me.”   “Is he going to fire Y/N?!” Seokjin is naturally louder and the two have to shush him, cowering together, especially afraid of their boss today because of his flaring temper. Everyone in the office was on edge.   “He better not,” Seulgi spits out harshly, baffled by the mere idea of it.   “No, he wouldn’t do that…..Unless….” Namjoon’s brows knit together.   “What?” The female legal assistant pokes him. “Unless what, Namjoon? Goddammit, don’t leave me hanging! Namjoon! Speak, you idiot!”   “Do you think he feels…..guilty?” The male in the glasses asks and quirks his head to the side, a sharp inhale stolen from the seams of his lips. He spins to look at his colleagues. “I mean he reprimanded her pretty hard. Maybe he feels bad.”   “Hoseok? Feeling bad?” Jin scoffs. “Yeah right.”   At the exact same time as the paralegals having their conversation, there’s a knock at your door. Your head whips up, eyes widening at who it is. The person at your doorway clears his throat and leans back with arms behind him. His black hair seems ruffled like he’s ran his hand through it several times. You haven’t seen Hoseok so disoriented in a long time. “Hey, I’m going downstairs for a coffee. Do you want one?”   “No, thank you. I’m fine.”   Seokjin shakes his head, oblivious to what’s transpiring. “Do you really think Hoseok’s the type to feel guilty over something like that?”   “Do you need me?” Hoseok’s appeared again at your doorway less than five minutes later and you’re bewildered, blinking twice before your mouth draws open to respond.   “What? Oh, no. I’m fine.”   “Okay.” The lawyer nods. “I’m busy anyways.”   “Okay.”   Less than ten minutes later, Hoseok’s swung by your little office once again. “About earlier….”   You frown. “Earlier?”   “Turns out the office machine downstairs is under repair,” he explains himself.   “Oh.” You don’t know what to say to him. “I see.”   “So I couldn’t get coffee for you...or me...anyways.” Hoseok clears his throat, aware of the stiff tension in the room and how bizarre he’s acting. “If you ever need me, just call Lisa or Dahyun.”   “Alright.”   Twenty minutes later, he’s once again stopped by your door. But this time, he has a coat slung over his arm, probably leaving to court or going out to meet a client. Your suspicions are confirmed when he says to you, “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Taehyung’s coming with me.”   “Okay…?” But you’re still confused as to why he’s telling you these things. He leaves all the time without saying a single word to anyone in the office.   As if he can read your thoughts, the lawyer scrambles and elaborates, “I just thought you’d want to know. In case you were looking for me.”   “Yeah...umm....” There’s no way he would come to work intoxicated, so that possibility is ruled out. But you still don’t know what it is that’s making him act so strange. The lawyer keeps stopping by like he’s not drowning in work. And while this is the last time, that doesn’t give you much comfort as to why he’s speaking so gently and he looks so sad. “Thanks.”   He clears his throat awkwardly. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say, by the way.”   “What is it?” You blink. “Do you need to come in?”   “No, it’ll be quick.” Hoseok hesitates and then a slight smile appears on his face, the corner of his mouth tugging. “Thanks. For that time on the mountain. You helped me from slipping.”   “Oh, yeah.” You’re reminded of the little event and you return his smile. “That was a given.”   His grin becomes sheepish. Jung Hoseok slips his hands out of his pockets and nods. “You’re right. I was scared. I’m scared of a lot of things,” he admits quietly. “So thanks for helping me.”   “It’s nothing.” The smile you have is more for yourself than to display to the world. And you finally know what it is. You know why he’s being so bizarre and being such an oddball.   Hoseok is the type to feel guilty after he’s gotten angry. He’s the type to want to shower people in kisses and apologies, squeeze them in a hug and beg for forgiveness in a squeaky voice. But he is sadly unable to do so with his position in this firm. He is unable to do what he wants most when he’s painted a serious and stern picture of himself in this office.   Jung Hoseok is the type who wants nothing more than to spread happiness.   He ends up leaving your office and walking down the hall with his hand out in front of him, palm facing towards the ceiling. After a moment of wistful gazing, he crumples his fingers until it forms into a fist. He can still remember when your fingers were slotted by his, when your palms clasped his, when he held you. Yes — Hoseok is scared and afraid of a lot of things.   One of those things just happened to be you.

[artificialqueens]

living on the edge of the law - chapter 3 (biadore) - lily2

bianca has just know met her new demise in the form of adore delano and adore isn’t so sure she wants to fulfill any part of her contract, worried about her own creative freedom and restrictions.

— *.✧ The light seeped into the car and Adore groaned, leaning back into the shotgun of the black Jeep, not exactly feeling the greatest at the moment. “I hate this you know, I liked my last manager! And now because I switched labels I have to get a new one? Fuck off.” She moaned aloud to herself and the only person in the car, Tatianna who could only focus on the road, stopping at the red light as she fixed her lipstick staring at the car mirror before finally acknowledging her best friend, smiling a bit. “Honey, these aren’t the choices I can say I make.” She reminded gently. Adore slugged, “I know, I know!” She insisted, annoyingly rolling her eyes and biting her lip, “Why can’t I just record from home? I really have to sign a formal contract and do all this shit?” She flipped her curls around and ran a hand through her long hair, reminding herself mentally to tell whoever her new assistant that her hair needed to be restyled, the white to black ombre was pretty cool but she was feeling perhaps a new color— Taitanna always wanted to see her in pastel’s so maybe a pink would work in her favor. “Well, you were under someone else for a while, this is just a bigger and more widespread label. The good thing is that you know they can spread your music around and pay you better, you can actually become a full fledged celebrity.” Tatianna teased though that set off an absolute spark in Adore who almost spat at her own best friend, “I don’t want to be fucking famous!” She quickly calmed down seeing her friend completely wince in the surprise of her anger. “I know, I was just joking.“  “I’m sorry—” she started before pushing the hair out of her own face, “I just want to get out of Azusa, I can’t handle already having this much attention and followers and just the pressure to make music scares me, I don’t wanna sit at my desk and think I have to write something, I want it to come naturally.” She explained with nothing but passion, her dream was to write music and she dropped out of college to do so, the grades didn’t matter all that much to her and a bachelor’s in music composition didn’t exactly sound like what she had ever wanted or envisioned, to go to school and wait another four years before she could even do something with her possible career. “I love you, we’ve been close since we were younger but, that’s the price you pay when you wanna be a musician who isn’t underground and struggling to pay rent at local bars, you have to put yourself out there, you’re so damn talented stop overthinking it, if a damn thing goes wrong you better call me and I will handle it, personal assistant or not.“  Adore bit her lip laughing, a corner of her mouth lifting into a smile: "You know you can just be my manager and assistant, fuck that written bullshit, let’s just get out of here.” She joked before Taitanna rolled her eyes and cursed her out again, “Far too late for that.” The reply came as they pulled into the parking lot, Adore groaning. “I just don’t have a very great feeling about all this now that I’m really thinking about it."  They both unbuckled before Adore stepped out, covering her forehead with her hand to avoid the piercing sun right in front of her face, Taitanna grabbing all the paperwork and official records they had to send and fill out for the label, she put her hands across the hem of her skirt, dusting off the crumbs from the fast food they had destroyed earlier while traveling from Azusa.  Wearing nothing but some fishnet tights and a low lying v-neck dress covered in sparkling tassles Adore twirled around, aimlessly staring down at her screen before Taitanna muttered to her to stay off the phone for now, reminding her the immense amount of security and introductions they were about to go through.  Taitanna twirled a piece of her long and straightned black hair around her finger as they walked closer towards the entrance. She truthfully didn’t need to be there but Adore asked her to be just in case "shit goes off” as Adore so kindly and truthfully put it. Not one to refuse a gesture for her best friend she wholeheartedly accepted and graciously helped her even fill out her paperwork, Adore’s focus levels were constantly bouncing off the roofs and she needed closure and someone to help her got go completely awry in more ways than one. “Just be yourself and you’ll be amazing, they’ll see how much you’re worth.” Adore nodded sweetly and turned before swiping the card they had given for to come in and then was a bit taken back at the buzzing before the doors opened thankfully. “I’m happy you’re here.” Reflecting on the past was difficult for Adore to do but she couldn’t have gotten past all her struggles without Taitanna sometimes supportively nagging or holding her hand, she wasn’t that old, she still made mistakes, she wasn’t a child either: she had her own problems to fix and music seemed to solve most of the ones she had on the tap.  “I’m happy to be here!” Her chipper reply came before they both grabbed eachother’s hand and quickly let go once they turned the corner. —  “I dropped out of my degree, out of college.” Adore sobbed out, wiping her eyes with her paint stained and ripped tank, trying not to completely turn on every single emotion she currently felt and project it onto Taitanna who sat there in a bit of a silent wake. Blinking, she observed the clearly distraught Adore and completely blanched white. “You, you— what?"  The younger girl simply screwed up her entire face and completely broke hearing the heartbreak in Taitanna’s voice, "I’m so sorry.” Terror overlooked her face before her older friend quickly took her in her arms and hugged her, stroking her hair and sighing heavily, more worried if Adore had told her parents than her, she had thick skin but her parent’s were the worry here. “Can I ask why honey?"  "I just…” She breathed in and Taitanna handed her a tissue so she could wipe her nose, thanking her quietly. “I can’t take it anymore, this isn’t what I want Tati, I want to be a singer and do it now!” It was difficult for Tatianna to process considering how badly she had hoped and prayed for Adore to finally pick college as her next stop. Not everyone had to have a degree to be successful but Adore needed a distraction from her other hobbies especially. “I have all this creativity and ability and desire to work, to post my music and no, I have to study for exams in the theory of scales and shit like that, I knew high school was gonna be a struggle but this is twice as worse because I don’t feel like myself anymore and I can’t do this anymore.” She stopped before putting her hand on her stomach.  “Does your mom know?"  The pause in Adore’s entire face and the sniffle that came after was enough to answer the question for Tatianna who wiped her eyes and nodded, "So she doesn’t.” She whispered laughing, not disappointed in Adore, disappointed that Adore felt so damn sad and overworked in an industry and degree that she chose for godsake. “You’re only twenty, you have a lot of time, don’t force yourself into school, you can stay with me, but you have to promise me—” she snapped to signal Adore to stars right at her, “Promise me, in my eyes, that you will stay clean."  Adore apprehensively gave her promise though she knew deep down what a grey area that was for the both of them, she ignored it for now, just wanting the knowledge that someone would let her live and take care of her, already jittery from what her mother would say when she was to find out.  "Party.” She laughed, wiping her eyes as Tatianna helped her up and gave her a final hug before pulling away and bending down eye level, “Now, we’re gonna get cleaned and go get some nails done and then, then we are getting pizza. I want some to and you need the good positivity, we can talk about this in depth when you’re ready to but not now."  Groaning, Adore cried out a: "You’re an angel!” to her best friend who only winked teasingly, “I know.” They both collapsed in laugher on the couch as if they were high schoolers again and pretending to study after school for the big test that was the next day.  “I’ll be a singer one day, just wait.” She swore to herself mainly but also to Taitanna who nodded in agreement swiftly, “I don’t doubt you for one second."  — After what seemed like an hour, it was really twenty minutes at most, of a degrading and sterotypical tour of the entire studio they finally focused on Adore, though she did enjoy seeing some of the recording space it only reinforced the regrets in her head she had with signing for a major record label as opposed to independence and creative freedom.  "Now if we can take you to see your space, take some pictures and meet your assistant that would be best.” One of the managers of the labels more demanded than asked. “Party!” Adore said, excited to finally see something that had to do with yourself and wasn’t shouting her face that this was for their profit margins. Tatianna wasn’t the least bit reluctant to come along, very curious about the entire assistant situation. “So if I can be nosy, why exactly does Adore need an assistant?” Tatianna attempted to not sound nosy and offended but her body language definitely told a different story, one of the men replied quickly back to her: “Adore is of course an adult who can make her own decisions but we need someone who can manage things like her dates, events, apperances, someone who can help her in and out of the studio, it isn’t any specific reason, we do it for all our big and upcoming artists."  It was about as generic and bland of a reply as she expected but she leaned away a bit seeing Adore so curiously taking in the true extravaganza of it all, she had never seen so much marble, glass and such high ceilings in her entire life. She had completely forgot about the assistant thing but hey, if it meant one person had to handle the work she didn’t want to do and helped them pay the bills that was absolutely okay with her not like they were about to dictate the music she made and what comes and goes, atleast she hoped. Her mind begun to wonder elsewhere before the men stopped her in front of what looked like an office, she curiously glared before looking back to the men who explained that she needed to meet her assistant in personal and confined conditions, some shit about safety and oath, she didn’t quite understand but she was to go in alone, much to Tatianna’s dismay, she grabbed the paperwork and hugged her best friend and told her she would simply call whenever she needed the ride back.  They all left and she was left outside the door, she put her hand on the door handle and grinned ear to ear before ripping the door open a bit too enthusiastically, a visible drop of papers falling from the desk in front of her.  She nervously shut the door before awkwardly laughing, "Oh man, I’m so sorry.” She said before picking up the stack and meeting eyes with must’ve been her new assistant after all that talk and glitz, “Party.” She whispered, feeling a bit flustered, not exactly expecting someone so well put together and well, attractively compelling before the older woman grabbed the papers from her, shaking her head.  “I’m guessing you’re Adore Delano then?” She sat down and crossed her legs, slacking in the chair a bit as she nodded her head, Bianca almost visibly pausing and glaring at her in absolute deadbeat disappointment. “Yes, I am.” She repeated, this time aloud before coughing and handing over the paper work. “And you are?” The younger singer attempting to make some attempt at conversation since they were gonna be stuck together no matter the feelings and circumstances. “Bianca, Bianca Del Rio.” She muttered loud enough for her to hear as she sorted through the paperwork and stamped it, “Bianca! I like it a lot.” She smiled, Bianca was definitely older than her but not some ancient lady who was probably close to her deathbed and on life support like she had assumed she would be which was beyond refreshing and calmed her down a bit.  “How old are you?” She asked, unaware that was the one question you really should never ask anyone. Bianca a bit stirred up bit the inside of her cheeks and smirked, “I’m 32.” She replied with complete honesty, not exactly feeling the need to piss off her client the first damn working day. “You look great.” The wink completely set off Bianca who laughed and then frowned, the corners of her lips defensively curling into a snarl, “You’re bold for someone who came dressed straight out of the pages of a fucking roaring 20’s novel."  Adore laughed wildly, "Holy shit you have an actual personality beyond work, you are so much better than I thought you’d be. I’m 22 by the way and thank you, I was inspired by your hair” She replied referring to the curls that were layered throughout Bianca’s hair, Adore slightly tilting to shake the tassles and grinning widely, attempting to keep Bianca on the edge and she was, taking offense to that a bit she almost threw her entire stapler at the girl.  Maybe if I piss her off enough she will hate me and I can just be let go and start my own album with no label, wouldn’t that be an idea?  “Make fun of my hair all you want but atleast I can never say my hair looks like the ink in the printer suddenly went out, I can let you borrow mine if you wanna restyle it, I can just throw it in, looks better than the fucking job that’s already been done.” She spat before Adore scoffed, now it was her turn to get offended just a tiny bit. “I paid a lot for this hair stylist, he’s amazing and I’m getting my hair dyed next week!” She defensively acknowledged before Bianca folded her hands and cracked he neck a bit, “Do you only give him your money to do your hair because he’s blind and you feel chartible? Be honest with me!"  The comment shouldn’t have made Adore laugh but it did, hard. Her eyes stared a bit too far into those damn irises, she was definitely playing with some kind of fire currently but was enjoying herself in absolute honesty, opening her mouth to reply before Bianca stepped in, holding up one of her paperwork sheets.  "I hate to be that person but you have to fill out the part about your, you know, housing and address.” Quickly Adore brushed her shoulders and nervously licked her lips, “If we can do that later that would be so amazing.” Bianca was definitely curious to ask but the absolute look of terror in Adore’s eyes when she mentioned her living situation said all she needed to hear, not wanting to pry into it right now, she simply nodded and set the paper down with a hard thump. “So, I’m guessing you’re in school still or have you graduated?” The question immediately triggered Adore’s fight or flight response, cracking up. “Um—” she begun nervously looking away from her new assistant, “I dropped out when I was 20, too much stress and too much work."  "Well I hate to break it to you but that’s kind of what college is about.” Bianca hissed, she had a feeling, Adore looked like someone who would drop out of college for her own personal issues or benefit, many singers did: she wasn’t trying to villanize Adore for it but the singer immediately countered, “Fuck you! College isn’t an endgoal for everyone and people have so many personal issues to deal with, a degree shouldn’t determine whether or not I can sing or if I can have a paying job that helps me eat!"  "Honey lower your voice I can still hear, I’m not that fucking old, no need to yell like I’m a senior citizen at a nursing home.” She blurted trying to stop her from absolutely screaming her feelings, “I’m not your therapist but I understand, I wasn’t trying to shame you.” She swore quietly before Adore blinked and turned her head, trying to not throw a fit. “Sorry.” Was all that came out and the tone itself screamed bitter and aggravated. “It’s fine, you clearly have some vendetta against college and I’ll respect that if you don’t fucking comment on my hair again."  "Deal!” The smile resurfaced again and Bianca had to admit something completely fell down for her, her guard a bit lowered even though they had just known eachother for all of ten minutes, at most. She was charming in a drop-out college kid, talented singer with an interesting hair color way; she seemed extremely comfortable with herself which Bianca had to admire, she didn’t look to mind skin for sure and her posture was awful but it was brushed off with her clear intent to look as comfortable as possible.  “So Bianca, you’re gonna do all my concerts and events and basically be the good angel on my shoulder?” Is that how they explained it to her? Jesus Christ. Bianca was quick to give a shaky but stable hand motion, “Well—” she begun before turning in her chair so she could shut her laptop, “I’m responsible for basically any event, anything that happens to you."  "So like, you’re my bodyguard?"  A laugh and then she stopped realizing Adore was genuinely serious about the question. "Listen bitch I would never—” she wheezed, “I get paid to basically follow your ass and manage your apperances, concerts, all the hard stuff because apperantly they don’t trust singers to do their own thing."  "Okay so not my bodyguard but still follows me everywhere? Party.” She clapped, leaning into Bianca with a small smile forming across her lips, “You seem like a fun assistant to get, I think you’ll do great.” Bianca took her hand over Adore’s face and pushed it out of her own, “That’s sweet.” “We should talk more! What’s your number?” She asked so flattered that Bianca almost couldn’t possibly refuse, “Give me your phone.” She replied before she complied and hummed to herself, “I put it in but only for emergencies or if you need something, I’m not gonna go get your ass McDonald’s at 3AM.” She warned before Adore shrugged, “Maybe one day you will, do you live near here?"  "Well I would fucking hope so if I work here."  "I’m from Azusa, that’s why I’m asking. I’m thinking about moving though since I got this studio contract and all.” Bianca not exactly familar with California too much assumed it was a decent minutes driving from Santa Monica and nodded, “Well I can’t help you buy a house but I can tell you I live about fifteen minutes away or three hours in California driving."  The joke got a chuckle from Adore which made Bianca just a bit prideful and the tiniest bit happy. Her smile was beautiful and very bright, she must’ve had some kind of whitening done or maybe she just actually brushed her teeth everyday like a normal human being, Bianca couldn’t tell.  "I don’t know California very well, I just moved back to America from Australia—” Adore gasped, “No way! The fuck did you move back here? This state is overpriced, dry and is only good for a weekend or two. Los Angeles is greatly overrated.” “Because the pay was better and I need to get all my paperwork for America in line anyway, I was only working in Australia, I’m from New Orleans.” Adore moaned, “God, it’s so amazing over there. I haven’t been in a while but I remember being beyond happy with all the atmosphere and the fashion!” She absolutely collapsed in her chair dramatically, “You guys have a lot of really good vintage and thrift stores is all I’m saying."  "Yes I know, I lived and was born there.” Bianca smirked, “I loved Australia, my best friend is a singer and I was her assistant to needless to say I’m very underwhelmed being away from her."  "Who?” “Courtney Act, she’s really popular in Australia but maybe not too well known here, deserves to be though.” Adore completely shook her hair and slammed her fists on Bianca’s desk, leaning in heavily to her face, making the older woman completely red in her face: “The Courtney Act?"  "Well I only know one."  "She’s amazing! She was Australian Idol, she literally has like millions of followers, she followed me on Instagram and I practically pissed myself, don’t tell her that but I fucking love her, her music isn’t typically what I listen to but she’s just so pretty and seems so nice!"  Bianca stopped her and laughed, gently pushing away from Adore in her chair, "I don’t tell her but that’s very sweet, I won’t get you a damn autograph so please don’t ask me about that, I promised her I wouldn’t ask her for stupid shit like that."  Adore breathed in, "I’m sorry she’s just very talented, can’t believe you went from her to me, guess I’m worthy of such a good assistant.” Bianca wasn’t good receiving compliments or any kind of praise so she immediately was turned off. “I’m fine, I just organize your messy ass calendar, not much else, I’m not about to dictate what you write or post or sing, we’re not in a Communist state."  "I know, I know! That’s so cool, see you’re so cool, you have a very strong personality so we’ll probably clash but—” “Oh I can promise you we will."  "See exactly! But still, it’s cool that you made a best friend from it, maybe I’ll be next!” She grinned before Bianca blinked, “You’re no Courtney right now but maybe if you stop sitting in your chair like a child with a temper tantrum I’ll reconsider that."  "It’s just my posture!” The girl whined before slacking even more realizing she was exactly proving Bianca’s point further. “I know I’m not Courtney, I’m Adore Delano and our styles are very different. I’m too punk to be Courtney."  "I know, I can see your dirt stained tights.” Adore laughed at the comment and stood up, “I’m way too lazy to wash my tights, I know they smell like feet!"  "And yet you chose to come to a fucking record label dressed in dirty clothes, the youth never fails to amaze me, really.” Realizing the comment made her sound like a bitter old-lady who hadn’t had her caffeine yet Adore jumped right onto the bandwagon, “I know grandma, god!"  "So, your homework is to actually fill out your damn paperwork, I’m not gonna look at it or go deep into it but just be honest, half of this isn’t even filled out.” She gave Adore the paperwork back and she sighed, not looking too thrilled to have to re-do her papers.  “Alright. I’ll get it to you tomorrow if I stop by or I’ll just text you. Thanks!” Adore yelled before slamming the door shut, Bianca finally left at peace. Adore was definitely interesting. She felt a bit jealous knowing someone could look that good in a clearly wrinkled and not washed dress, her smile was incredible and she seemed like someone who was full of passion for singing but that’s where the turn on’s stopped: Bianca was already prepared for the whining, bitching, the irresponsibility— this was gonna be much more difficult than entitled.  She would always accept a challenge though, especially from someone who seemed her polar opposite. Her phone immediately buzzed and she knew what was coming: a new notification from Adore.  Bianca! Meet me at the bar I’m gonna link tonight, it’s a more local gig and I want you to come and hear what you’re missing ;) I’ll buy you alcohol if you can sit through it you old ass hag xx She immediately replied with a clearly bitter: I’m not that old, you’re just stupid and can’t fucking count. But sure, if you’re buying, might as well. Her first thought was to immediately scope her out on Instagram, sure enough she was the first result when searching Adore Delano, who would’ve thought and was more than impressed to see the girl had already racked up over 230K followers on Instagram alone, she was more well known than Bianca thought.  “Well this’ll be interesting…"  *.✧ Shea lowered the radio and laughed listening to Bianca rant so much, she never expected it would be so interesting the first day. "So you’re not a huge fan of Adore Delano after meeting her I’m guessing?” Bianca stammered, a bit confused, not knowing how to feel exactly. “She’s very talented, I don’t doubt her but she’s such a fucking child! It’s like she hasn’t aged in ten years and is still mentally a twelve year old.” Shea adjusted the sleeves of her jacket as she grinned, “She also doesn’t wash her damn tights so she smells like shit."  Sipping her unfinished and watered down coffee she shrugged, "Sorry about that honey.” She admitted before Bianca turned the attention to Shea, “So have you spoke to Sasha yet?” The girl almost choked on her coffee and raised her finger, Bianca laughing, “Take your time."  Anytime Sasha was even mentioned in a conversation it looked like Shea completely would melt into a puddle and just start stuttering and look away, not wanting to directly speak her feelings fo someone face to face, almost hiding about it. "Okay let me ask you a very simple question, are you scared to ask her because you think she’s straight?"  "Oh no, she’s very fluid, we go to PRIDE every year together.” Bianca almost wanted to smack Shea at the back of her head for being so damn stupid and pulling out so easy. “You are so fucking dense about your feelings it’s almost incredible, I bet Sasha is just waiting for you to ask and you’re just here sitting in your car lamenting."  Her brows furrowed and sighed once more, not wanting to keep being repeative about Sasha to Shea even though it was absolutely clear to fucking anyone that something was there, "You wait any longer and I swear to god I might steal Sasha for myself.” Shea hit her in the back and Bianca almost gagged, “Bitch you better not, I’m from Chicago I’ll beat your fucking ass if you even think about it."  "See! See how defensive you fucking are about someone, that’s love bitch! How about you have that same energy and spunk telling her how you feel.” Bianca was right and Shea knew she was, it was just the idea of being rejected and possibly ruining their friendship that worried it, absolutely nothing else: just the lingering feeling that Sasha just wanted to stay very, very good friends. “Enough about me, I’ll do what I have to one day—” Bianca was about to protest before Shea shushed her, “So where am I taking you, home or to the dealership?"  "Dealership, I have to get a car and go see Adore’s fucking gig in Los Angeles tonight.” Shea smirked hearing her talk about Adore, “You know for someone who’s been shitting on her this entire time in the car you seem a bit too interested."  "I’m her new toy now what do you expect, she asked me to come and I’m expected to, besides: not like I have anything better to do expect finally finish unpacking.” Shea visibly paused to think a few seconds, “How much younger is she?"  "I think about nine years, why?"  "Not too bad.” The reply immediately made Bianca almost stand in her seat, “Now hold on bitch—” Shea cackled, “You’re not gonna play fucking matchmaker, she’s my complete and utter opposite and also my client."  "What I’m hearing is you’re too fucking scared because she’s about to be very famous, you don’t want the attention even though you’re lonely and you’re scared to lose your job!” She yelled over a visibly flustered Bianca who was very quickly shut down. “I just met her Shea besides I’m sure she has her own shit going on with a guy, girl, whatever she’s into. I’m not gonna let her come before my work even if I did like her and I don’t so there’s absolutely nothing to worry about."  Shea accepted defeat and did a visible white flag signal, "Alright, you say that now.” Bianca quickly flipping her off and groaning in her seat, “Bitch you know it would never happen.” The mutters quiet enough for Shea to hear anyway. “Never say never, like you said, opposites do attract.” *.✧ Bianca, now with a car and gas to boot wasn’t too thrilled to be driving to Los Angeles for a damn late night gig but the alcohol and Adore was enough to convince her. If she was gonna be pushed around and have to handle her for god knows how long she might as well try and form some kind of a friendship if possible. She parked her car and breathed a sigh of relief, driving suddenly on the right side of the road was an interesting experience but she quickly readjusted, it wasn’t as if she hasn’t driven in other places before that were right sided like America but it had definitely been a hot minute.  Approaching the back entrance like Adore told her proved to not be exactly the smartest thing Bianca had ever done, she was already tired and having an employee yell at her until Adore quietly came from behind and pleaded the case that indeed that was her assistant wasn’t the most shining moment in her lifetime.“I’m sorry about that—” she laughed, impressed Bianca actually kept her word about coming. “I’m so glad you came grandma!” She smirked, wrapping an arm around Bianca until she pushed it off, “Yes, I was promised free alcohol.” Adore laughed and slid her a twenty, “Tell them Adore sent you!” She yelled over the music before dancing around in the dressing room wildly, “Come watch me on the side of the stage that’s the best place to be, you see me and the crowd and the entire atmosphere.” She completely gushed.  “When do you perform?"  "In about thirty minutes which should be enough for you to get tipsy."  Bianca laughed, truthfully: "I can do a lot in thirty minutes with twenty dollars, don’t test me.” Adore sat down and applied her mascara, “Whatever you want as long as I see your toasty ass watching me in thirty minute, go have some fun, party!"  "Alright well, stay safe and I’ll sneak a glimpse, then I’ll go home.” She teased though Adore frowned genuinely, “I’m fucking kidding, Jesus!” Bianca replied quickly before Adore kicked her out smiling.  “See ya hag!” Kissing Bianca’s hand before shutting the door and hearing visible laughter. Bianca felt her entire face go red and shook her head, “No, no, no.” She pushed away any possible thought and headed to the bar, pushing her way through. “Maybe alcohol will distract me” she whispered before knowing in the back of head it wouldn’t, But god I hope it does. 

[rohobi]

Pretty Woman | (B)

PAIRING— kim namjoon x reader, Pretty WomanAU GENRE — fluff, smut, angst SUMMARY — based entirely off the 1990′s film ‘Pretty Woman’. Nothing below is my original work, all credit goes to the movie. Kim Namjoon is a wealthy businessman who arrives in Hollywood to meet with a tycoon of a shipbuilding company he’s in the process of raiding. Lost trying to find his hotel, he meets you, a feisty and straight up prostitute on Hollywood Boulevard. 

↪ A/N: I am appalled by the amount of youth who have not seen this film. I have linked the film for your viewing pleasure here because it’s a fucking classic.  Otherwise, just read this lmao complete summary of the movie. 

During a phone call with his younger girlfriend, she dumps him for being too controlling. Namjoon is frustrated and sick of the women in his life only after one thing; his money. Not taking her seriously, he rolls his eyes and asks her to escort him home -as he doesn’t live in LA and this is her playground. “This is a very important week for me darling, I need you at every moment. I thought my secretary cleared you?” 

“You never give me any notice and I speak more to your fucking secretary than I do with you.” 

“I am sorry if I made you upset, this deal is very important and I need you here this minute, please if you could-

She hangs up on him after telling him to “fuck off Namjoon, I am not your beck and call girl. I’m moving out, when you get back to New York, my stuff will be gone.” Putting the phone back into his suit pocket, he slumps against the bar, drinking the rest of his coke. 

Kim Namjoon finds himself accidentally ending up on Hollywood Boulevard in the city’s red-light district in his lawyers Lotus Esprit sports car, after forcing him to give him the keys. Not thinking his actions through, he speeds up the hill instead of down, where Beverly Hills is located. 

Forced awake by the three alarms clocks, you pull yourself out of your makeshift mattress on the floor and get ready for you shift on the streets. Wearing thigh high leather boots, a small denim skirt, a white tank, short blonde wig and a train conductors hat, you walk to work. 

Except, your landlords banging on your door for rent, stopping you from leaving. Opening the back of the toilet compartment for this months rent, you find the box where you kept your rent money empty.

Sighing. You put it back into the compartment as your landlord continues to bang on your door. Grabbing a red coat, you open the window and escape from paying rent with money you don’t have down the fire escape. 

You’ve always loved Hollywood at night. Busy streets, the distant sound of police sirens, homeless men in expensive threads offering advice on the key to happiness. 

But tonight, it’s different. Detective Albertson, the usual cop on these roads is interviewing men -key witnesses. It looks like another ones been killed -drug deal gone wrong. It’s been happening a lot these days, it’s a reason why you’re thankful that you’re strictly against drugs, never letting yourself sink to that low. 

Hooking was enough. 

Only when you get close, you realise it’s not one of the boys but one of your own.  

Slipping past the police, you walk into the alleyway as police attempt to identify the body. You silently lean over the man holding the camera as they cover her body. 

Marie. 

She was only 18, had a bright future ahead of her. You hadn’t seen her in weeks. Had she been in the dumpster this entire time? 

“Another kitten on the streets buying crack like it’s milk, the fuck these kids doing these days,” a police officer says, almost a little too passively. “How many girls are we going to find in the dumpster this week?” 

Feeling vomit rise up your throat, you run across the road to Irene’s usual hangout. You love your roommate usually but today, you’re angry. Fist bumping the bouncer, he lets you in as you walk through the mostly red lit club. Walking up to the bartender, a familiar of yours, he grins. “Nice to see you this evening, run out of books?” 

“Had to use them as kindling,” you smile back. “Hey pops, you know where Irene is?” 

He nods his head to the stairs. “Upstairs kid.” 

“Thanks.” 

You spot her in the far corner, combing her hair. “Irene.” you shout over the music. She looks up, happy as fucking larry. “Hey, y/n.”

“Did you take it all? Is it all gone?” 

She looks nervous, standing up, she shouts. “Carlos sold me some good shit, we just had this great party I hosted-

-I can’t believe you bought drugs with out rent money, whats wrong with you?” You interrupt her, hands on your hips. 

Her eyes glisten with tears. “I needed a little pick me up.”

You shout at her. “Well, we need rent money.”  

Grabbing your arm, she pulls you down to the bar for snacks. She gives you the same look she gave you when you knocked on her door 8 months ago. “I gave you place to say and some money, don’t irritate me.”

“I just saw a girl get pulled out of a dumpster for buying drugs Irene.” 

She puts a couple grapes in her mouth. “Yeah, I know. Marie. She was a crackhead for months. No one could help her.”

Girls fight in the distance, you both watch them crash to the ground in nonchalance. “Look Irene,” you whisper, facing her. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”  

“Where, where the fuck you wanna go?” 

You sink in your chair, “I guess, anywhere but here.” 

Namjoon can’t drive the sports car. That he knows well as he pulls up next to a homeless man carting through someones rubbish. “You know how to get to Beverly Hills?” he asks, leaning towards the window from the drivers seat. 

The man laughs. “Honey, you’re in Beverly Hills right now!” 

Namjoon drives away. “Of course I am.” 

Irene leans on the parking metre as you rub your heel against your designated Hollywood star. “Maybe we should get pimps?” she asks and you snort laugh your way to Africa. 

“And what, ruin our lives and he takes all of our money? No way.” 

She nods. “You’re right. We say who, we say when and how much.” 

A car skids behind them. Irene gasps. “Yo, catch this out.” 

“Wait a minute, that’s a lotus?” you gasp, watching it skid to a halt on the curb a couple metres away from you.   

“No baby, that’s rent. You should go for him. You look hot tonight. Don’t take less than a couple hundred. Call me when you’re done. Take care of you.” she pulls you into a hug. 

“Take care of you too.” you say back. 

In his confusion with how to drive the car, he skids over to the curb where he encounters a prostitute by the parking metre, you. 

“Sugar, you want a date?” you ask. Leaning on his open window, you watch in amusement as he tries to remember how to turn the car back on. “Do you not know how to drive your car, sir?” 

”Driving this car is the least of my worries, do you perhaps know the directions to Beverly Hills Regent Hotel?” he asks, turning back to you. You admire his stunning brown eyes and reassuring grin. 

”Do I perhaps know my own city?” you snort, chewing your gum, you look him up and down. Not bad. “I know it like the back of my hand. It’s gonna cost you $5 though.” 

“That’s ridiculous-

“-price just went up to $10.” 

He stares at you in disbelief. “You can’t charge for directions.” 

“I can do whatever I want to baby, i’m not the one lost.” 

"Alright fine. Please, will you help me? Can you guide me there?” he begs, holding his two hands up in a praying expression, a twenty hanging between them. 

You hop in. “Alright, down the road, make a right.” 

“So what’s your name?” he asks. 

“Anything you want it to be?” you wink at him. Namjoon stares at you, still waiting for a name. 

“Fine, my name’s Y/N.” 

After much discussion on how to drive the expensive sports car, it becomes clear that you know more about the Lotus than he does, and so he lets you drive instead. 

“This is gonna cost ya,” you mumble, spitting out your gum on the sidewalk as you run over to the drivers seat. “Never driven a car in thigh high leather boots before.” 

“I’ve never let a hooker drive my car before, new experiences for both of us.”

You snort laugh. “It’s gonna cost ya another $20. I’m sure you have the much on you, right?” 

He gapes at you. “Of course.” 

“So, tell me. What kind of money you girls make these days?” he asks, folding his coat on his pocket as you drive. 

“I don’t take less than a couple hundred dollars.” you lie, clutching onto the wheel. Your usual was 100 but, he looks rich. 

He gapes at you. “A night?” 

“An hour.” 

“You’re making that kind of money an hour and you’ve got a safety pin holding your boot up? You gotta be joking.”

You look at him seriously. “I never joke about money.”  

“Neither do I.” 

You drive through the night life silently. “$200 an hour, pretty stiff.” 

Without taking your eyes off the road, you put your hand on his crutch. Softly palming him through his suit pants. “Well, no but it's got potential.” 

He looks up at you with a blank expression. You put your hand back on the wheel and grin. 

Namjoon gives you a $50 note for the ride after you park his car outside the hotel, and then you separate. 

Re-calling his girlfriend one more time, or more accurately, his now ex-girlfriend, she screams at him to get a hooker and to leave her alone. 

He slumps himself against the elevator and then he looks out the window from his hotel penthouse room in thought. Maybe he should get a hooker. 

You go to a bus stop, where he finds you again moments later and offers to hire you for the night. You accept, needing the rent money and he hands you a roll of money in his hotel room. You lick your fingers as you count over $1000 dollars. Your heart races as you put the money in your boot, thats more than enough for rent for a couple months and a little extra for school. 

Pulling out your collection of condoms from your boot, held up by the safety pin. You offer him one of each colour, ready to put one on him when he stops you, asking to instead just simply, talk. 

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tell him you’ll be out in a moment and that the wine they just had really got to you. Thinking you to be taking drugs, he barges through the door as you hold dental floss behind your back. “I don’t do drugs, I just think you shouldn’t neglect your gums.” 

He stands at the door. 

You stare at him in the mirror. “Are you going to watch?” 

“No, it’s just,” He shakes his head. “Very few people surprise me.” 

“Well yeah, you’re lucky. Most shock the hell out of me.” 

Later on that night, he’s at his desk finishing up on his documents and you’re on the floor by the tv -boots off, eating strawberries and popcorn, and watching old movies. He sits on the couch beside you, dropping all of his paperwork to instead watch the way your smile lights up your face when something funny happens on TV. He finds it refreshing.  

Spurred on by the intense look on his face, you climb to your knees and crawl between his thighs. Rubbing your hands up his thighs, you palm him without breaking eye contact. He tries to kiss you but you hold a finger on his lips, informing him of your no kissing rule. 

You give him a blow job that night, and he falls asleep on the couch when he’s done. You run to his bedroom and fall asleep on the most expensive bed you’ve ever touched. 

You have the best sleep of your life. 

The next morning, you awake to a full table of breakfast. Namjoon didn’t know what you liked so he ordered everything from avocado on toast to bacon and eggs. 

Wearing a matching bathrobe, you sit beside him. He’s surprised by your natural hair, in fact, he thinks you look beautiful as you eat the toast with your hands. You ask him about his life, feeling overwhelmed over just how articulate and rich this man is. 

You liken his job of buying companies in financial difficulties and then selling them off to stealing cars and selling the parts. Namjoon begins to look at his business in a new light. 

Listening to music and singing in the bathtub that morning, Namjoon receives a call from his lawyer, Jackson, that insists he brings a date to the business to act as a buffer. Offering a laundry list of nice girls he knows, Namjoon cuts him off, smiling at you in the bath tub. “You don’t know any nice girls and besides, I already have one.” 

“Y/N,” he says, and you pull out the earphones, feeling embarrased over your moment of careless bliss. “Sorry, I love that song.” you whisper.  

“Y/N, I have a business proposition for you.” 

He asks you to play the role his girlfriend has refused, offering you $5,000 to stay with him for the next six days as well as paying for a new, more acceptable wardrobe for you. 

He gives you his credit card, requesting that you only purchase clothes that are elegant and conservative. He leaves not much later and you scream to your hearts content, jumping on his bed in celebration of $5,000! 

Picking up the phone you call Irene, and you both scream into each others ears. Holding up his card into the sunlight, you ask. “Where do I go for the clothes?” 

“Rodeo Drive baby.” 

You leave the hotel with the same clothes you walked in with, gaining the unwanted attention of men and scowls from women in the main lobby. Walking down Rodeo, you marvel at the expensive threads in windows before you look back at the card in your hands, kissing it. 

You enter a designer brand with a nice dress out front. Each customer service representative in the room, look at you in distaste. “Are you looking for something in particular?” a woman asks, following you as you look at the clothes. 

You smile at her. “Yes actually, something conservative but I don’t know really.” 

“Oh, conservative yes.” 

You hold the hem of a pretty lace dress. “I like your clothes here, nice stuff. How much is this dress here?” 

“I don’t think it would fit you.” 

“Well, I didn’t ask if it would fit, I asked how much it was.” 

She turns to another customer service rep. “How much is this Mary?” 

Mary crosses her arms across her chest. “It’s very expensive.” 

“Very expensive.” 

You turn to look at other clothes. “Look, I have money to spend here.” 

Mary cuts you off from looking at a dress. “I don’t think we have anything here for you,” looking you up and down, she adds. “You’re obviously in the wrong place. Please leave.” 

Leaving the store silently, tears glistening in your eyes. You walk back to the hotel, disheartened by the woman in this world. Walking through the lobby, you are stopped by a soft-hearted Hotel Manager, Barney, who asks that you dress appropriately in his hotel. 

You cry your heart out, telling him that is what you were trying to achieve today.  He asks what you were trying to purchase. You tell him that you were trying to buy a dress for a dinner this evening. 

Walking around the desk, he picks up the phone. You immediately think he’s calling the police but are instead relieved to hear that he’s calling Womens Clothing just for you. 

“I’m sending Y/N over to you, she is the very special family member of a very special guest here at the Beverly Hills Regent Hotel.” 

You smile, feeling the kindness from an otherwise strict man. 

Now having a dress for the evening, you ask Barney, the hotel manager to teach you etiquette. He spends a couple of hours of his own free time to teach you. Still confused by the silverware, he advices you to follow after Namjoon’s lead. 

“The rich just make it more difficult for themselves don’t they?” you snort laugh, picking up the many forks on the table. 

That evening, you sit at the bar in the lobby wearing a black cocktail dress. Visibly moved by you transformation, Namjoon begins seeing you in a very different light. Openly gaping at you as you walk up to him, you chastise him for being late. “You’re late Mr. Kim.” 

“And you are stunning.” 

The dinner is intense. You don’t know an awful lot about his business but he tells you on the way to the restaurant that this is a company he wishes to purchase, sell off and make lots of money from. Even potentially gaining a billion dollars.  

You ask him what the point is when he doesn’t do anything with the money. He laughs, holding you close to him. “I bought you for the week didn’t I?” 

“That is correct but I am a dollar in the sea of billions.” 

He thinks on that as he walks you to the table where two gentlemen await; a father and his adult grandson. As the dinner continues, the men admire your innocence, even comforting your lack of knowledge on the food and type of silverware to use. 

As you try to eat, the discussions get heated as they ask what Namjoon plans to happen to their family company. He is honest, tells them he plans to break it apart and sell the pieces. 

They are understandably hurt. 

You are understandably confused on how to use the apparatus to eat the snail escargot, whatever they called it. At the peak of anger, the snail flies out of your hands and into a waiters arms. It’s a welcomed distraction, as the men laugh but it doesn’t downplay the serious business at hand. 

Namjoon is called a bastard who uses corrupt politicians to his advantages.

The men wish you well as they leave. 

“We are similar creatures Y/N,” he says, walking you back to his hotel room. “We both screw people for money.” 

Later that evening, Namjoon has disappeared and hasn’t come to bed, its now 3am. Getting worried, you call the hotel elevator service if they have seen him. In nothing but a bathrobe, they take you to the hotels piano room where Namjoon has slumped himself over the keys to play a passionate piece.

You lean against the piano.

Namjoon stops playing, asking everyone in the room to leave. 

Grabbing you by the waist, he pulls you against the keys so you stand before him. Leaning his head on your stomach, you tangle your fingers through his hair. “You okay?” 

Saying nothing else, he unties your bathrobe to run his fingers over your lingerie. Lifting you up and onto the piano, you whisper. “I guess so.” 

He tries to kiss you but you pull away. 

Not letting it ruin the moment, he lays you down on top of the piano. Eating you out. The soft sounds of mismatched piano keys are the only thing heard from outside the room. 

The next day, he takes you shopping and oh boy do you get your revenge on those nasty girls from the day before. Spending thousands on clothes for you, Namjoon informs you that people are never kind to other people, they’re only kind to money.

You remember this as you walks into the store from yesterday in nothing but Chanel from head to toe, holding up bags from the likes of Gucci and Prada. “Hi,” you say, walking up to the same woman from yesterday. “Do you remember me?” 

“I’m sorry, I do not.” 

“I came in yesterday, you wouldn’t wait on me.” 

Walking around the store, you smile. “You work on comission right?” 

“Ah yes.” she says. 

“Well, big mistake. Huge mistake,” holding your bags, she looks at the labels on each, a gasp tears through her lips. “I have to go shopping now, goodbye.” 

You leave the store with a swing in your hips. The ladies watch on in disbelief. 

In his office, Namjoon is told if he makes one single phone call to the bank, he can ruin the family business owner he met last evening. He ignores Jackson as he talks about money, as he mindlessly stacks glass cups on each other. 

Namjoon is uncomfortable with the idea that he doesn’t build or make anything like you asked him if he did. Growing increasingly uncomfortable with a company that tears smaller ones apart, he gets an idea that might just change the entire course of his life. 

Back at the hotel, you await beside a candle lit dinner naked. Namjoon comes home and with a happy face, asks that you bathe together, hoping to wash away the grime he feels like he is. 

Namjoon takes you to a polo match in hopes of networking for his business deal. His attorney, Jackson, suspects you as a corporate spy, and Namjoon tells him how you truly met after watching you converse with another man. 

He’s ashamed of the jealousy he feels. 

But when he sees you smile so widely and it’s not because of him, he’s baffled. When had you gotten so close? 

Jackson later approaches you, suggesting they do business once your work with Namjoon is finished. Insulted, and furious that Namjoon has revealed your secret, you want to end the arrangement.

Namjoon apologizes, and admits to feeling jealous of a business associate to whom you paid attention to at the match. You fight in the hotel lobby, yelling at him for making you feel the cheapest you’ve ever felt in your life. 

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” 

You shake your head, dismissing his comments. “I wanna get my money and get outta here.” 

He stares at you for a long hard minute before emptying his wallet and walking away. You stare at the money before deciding not to take it. Namjoon chases after you as you’re about to get into the elevator. 

He sincerely apologies and you let him take you back into the room.  You sleep together that night, staying up late, talking about each others lives. You tell him how you got into hooking because you followed an old exboyfriend who abandoned you in the city. 

You couldn’t make rent after working three jobs and then you met Irene, who took you in and made hooking sound great. “The first time I did it, I cried the whole time. It’s not like it’s a star profession, a dream, something kids grow up wanting to be.” 

“You could be so much more.” he whispers, kissing your temple. 

You cuddle into his naked chest. “But then people put you down when you start to believe that.” 

“I think you’re very bright, a very beautiful and special person.” 

“You ever notice that the bad things are easier to believe?” 

He doesn’t nod but agrees with it wholeheartedly. 

Clearly growing involved, Namjoon takes you in his private jet to see La Traviata in San Francisco. Jackson isn’t too happy about him leaving in the middle of this deal for date with a hooker. Namjoon holds back, telling him to be careful with his word. 

In a perfect red dress with a necklace worth a quarter of a million dollars, you feel like a princess. You are then moved to tears by the story of the prostitute who falls in love with a rich man. 

You break your "no kissing on the mouth" rule for him and then, you make love with Namjoon. After that, you two are constantly together. 

On dates. 

Kissing. 

Having sex. 

And in the aftermath of it all, when you’ve spent your last day with him, you tell Namjoon that you love him, but he does not respond. Your heart breaks for the first time but you knew he’d never love you back. 

You’re just a prostitute in a nice dress. 

Namjoon offers to put you up in an apartment so you don’t have to pay rent and so you can be off the streets. Hurt at his charity, you refuse, saying that this is not the "fairy tale" you dreamed of as a child, in which a knight on a white horse rescues you. 

Meeting with the tycoon whose shipbuilding company he is in the process of trying to obtain. Namjoon changes his mind. He doesn’t want to be someone who destroys things, but someone who builds things, makes them better. His time with you has shown him a different way of looking at life, and he suggests working together to save the company rather than tearing it apart and selling off the pieces. 

Jackson is furious at losing so much money, goes to the hotel to confront Namjoon but finds only you. Blaming you for the change in Namjoon, he attempts to rape you. Namjoon arrives just in time, punches him and throws Jackson out of the room.

You cower behind the couch, a bruise on your face from where Jackson had hit you. He stares at your doe eyed expression in apology, feeling his cold dead heart race. 

With his business in L.A. complete, Namjoon asks you to stay one more night with him -- because you want to, not because he's paying you. 

You refuse. 

Then you part ways.

You never accept his payment, choosing to leave the money behind. Namjoon holds the $5,000 in his hands feeling lost and empty. 

Taking the clothes however, is a completely different story. Sweeping the streets clean of your hooker friends, you give them an outfit each and encourage them to all apply for jobs. They all give you money for the clothes -enough to sustain yourself for a couple of months. 

After each of your friends receive interviews, you teach them proper social etiquette and how to look strong in front of employers. 

“How do we turn our experiences into strengths,” one woman asks. 

You grin. “You got any talents?” 

“I guess, I can blow two guys at the same time and watch the clock in the corner of my eye? Does that count?” 

Crossing your arms over your chest and then your legs, you sit up straight. “Honey, you can multitask well and you work in a timely fashion. Next?” 

“I strictly only have threesomes? There’s more money.” 

Leaning forward, you laugh. “Easy, you’re a team player. You work well in a team to ensure a good financial gain to the company and you work only for a positive result.” 

The girls sink into the chairs, laughing wildly at the prospect of this actually working. You open up a business to get people off the street and into jobs, and at first it works and then, it really works. Money starts pouring in from donations and familiar investors but it’s not enough to keep a roof over your head. The prospect of becoming homeless scares you more than you’d like to admit. 

Across town, Namjoon re-thinks his life as heads to the aiport back to New York and has the hotel chauffeur detour to your apartment building, where he leaps from out the white limo's sun roof and "rescues you", an urban visual metaphor for the knight on a white horse of her dreams. 

So what happens after he climbed up the tower and rescues her?  She rescues him right back.

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

Under Contract (Post 100) 8-5-15

My VA loan came through after being bureaucratically stymied for what seemed like forever.  I waited patiently and looked at houses with a realtor that my brother Sean had recommended. My dad had picked my banker.  Both are nice people; Cindy, our realtor, is a member of a Catholic parish in Cuyahoga Falls called IHM.  My life seems to balance that way.

Looking at houses was a balancing act as well.  It seemed silly to be looking for a four bedroom house at a point in my life when I feel I should be jettisoning my attached material possessions rather than collecting more.  It makes sense on one level; it is not like I can move into a senior community as long as Stephen Jr. lives with me … well, at least not for another 25 years. I received lots of advice concerning my house choice, a subject to which I remain largely ambivalent although I do have a strong preference not to live in a yurt.

Stephen’s needs were a consideration in where I was shopping for property.  It looked like Kent, Ohio was one community of my three targeted locals that fit his needs the best.  It is a college town with plenty to do and public transportation. On the other hand, Streetsboro was a good choice for Natalie and Nick.  A Streetsboro house would mean that Natalie would not have to change schools and it is pretty close to where Nicholas starts college in a couple of weeks. My father lobbied heavily for Streetsboro.  Abby reserved a personal veto for anything in the town of Ravenna, which was the closest to my work and seemed to present the best value with regard to pricing.  She argued that my dad-bod would not look presentable in the white muscle shirt that seemed to be mandatory for shirt wearing men in Ravenna Township.  I got uppity for a while, but eventually I realized that I really didn’t care enough to pipe my part of the tune in a duet of discord.  I preferred to let Jesus decide.

The process itself had become a barefoot marathon through a cactus desert.  Once the VA finally approved my loan, immediately, for some unexplained reason, the balance in my checking account began to hemorrhage. My cash flow seemed fine for a house purchase with the salary I now make and my expected expenses, but there was no way that I was going to buy a house without understanding where my money was leaking to.  I understood that I had made several recent weekend trips that were not freebees, but my dad was only charging me rent in Dairy Queen Dilly Bars so that ought not to have been a problem.  Despite my predicament, I went ahead and scheduled a last look through the properties that most interested me (mostly in Ravenna,) two in Kent on waterfront properties and a couple in Streetsboro, a town where the worthwhile buys tend to disappear like vapor almost as soon as they appear on the market. Out of the ten properties I requested to view, only three made the docket for the Tuesday afternoon tour-de-force on which Nick and my brother Sean offered to accompany me.

The property that most interested me was a Ravenna home that was priced really low because of some apparent damage that didn’t seem to amount to a hill of beans. Because my bank account had suddenly turned into angel food cake, a value property seemed the most sensible choice. Neither of the waterfront properties had made the list anyway, so I had already settled on continuing my life as a landlubber.  I did have fantasies about canoeing myself back into shape while humming the theme from Hawaii Five-O, but my aquatic dream had been scuttled in untimely fashion by someone else’s similar nautical interest.  

One Streetsboro property made the list as well, but it was located in a development that I had previously scoured clean without finding anything suitable.  Still I always tried to look at any Streetsboro properties that showed up on the three realty search engines that Sean had steered me towards.  I expected 1175 Delaware Trail to be another dud, because it had stayed on the market for a week and a half, something that does not happen with desirable Streetsboro homes.  Nevertheless, I had high hopes for the Ravenna property on Bent Oak Trail, with its strange support braces in its basement.  

Meeting the realtor’s assistant, Dee, at the first property I found that it needed quite a bit more work than I was willing to commit Nicholas to accomplishing so I ruled it out immediately.  On Home Hunters International and all the other house search shows that my Dad binge watches when Dancing With The Stars is out of season, the couple never seems to like the first house much so I was unconcerned.  I knew that the next house was the one I wanted anyway. It had everything that I thought we needed plus a low price with only the basement issue that I could let the house inspector tell me more about.  I pulled out of the first driveway with a feeling of confidence.

 As I cruised triumphantly into the driveway of the Bent Oak Trail property that I had been thinking about for weeks, I was immediately perplexed.  There was no coy pond.  I thought I remembered that the property had one of those over-sized outdoor fish tanks that end up getting all mucked up from the overhanging trees, but I couldn’t see a “water feature” as I approached the front door. Sean and Nick met me at the entry where Dee was fiddling with the combo lock on the door knob. They had missed the first property, but I explained that it wasn’t a viable property.  I asked Nicholas about the missing pond as I believed that he had previously looked at the basement damage house with Abby on a trip when I was tied up at work.  He explained to me that I was thinking of a different property just as Dee swung the door wide and opened the book to the second chapter of my disappointment. This address on Bent Oak was a property that I had looked at before but it was not a very interesting one to me. It was an obvious foreclosure where even the kitchen stove had been removed – another fixer upper that I had no energy or funds for repairing.  

Strike two left me in a fog.  I hadn’t seen anything viable and we were headed towards a neighborhood where the predominate decorating style seemed to be a last pocket or resistance by a misguided clan of people who were way too nostalgic for the set of the original Brady Bunch.  My “original” caveat is in place because I can no longer keep track of which shows have not been recycled and updated by lazy screenwriters to populate an increasingly pregnant channel line-up over bloated with specialty programming including unnecessary channels auctioning jewelry and kitchen gadgets.  I remain hopeful but not terribly optimistic that some charitable soul has bought the rights to Gomer Pyle USMC and Green Acres with the express purpose of preventing the victimization of a modern television audience with rehashed subject matter that was vapid the first time and for which there is positively no need to redecorate with new window-dressing.

So my expectations were pretty low for 1175 Delaware Trail; I was hoping for Petticoat Junction, but more than expected Sanford and Son or Chico and the Man (I really watched a lot of bad television growing up.)  The house looked pretty small from my caboose position in our four car caravan.  It seemed like we were headed towards another underwhelming experience. Dee opened the door and I entered with my hackles at the cringe-ready, and discovered that everything was very good. The house seemed to be well-kept with an adequate place to stash all the kids and dogs. It was the first good happenstance with regard to my house search in several days.  The experience totally confused me.  My brain now had only half a migraine.  I had been praying for a clear choice and my menu had now been limited to one entrée in a location heavily favored my youngest daughter and her grandparents.

I decided to go to Adoration a day early to contemplate the purchase and my financial dilemma.  Stephen, Nick, Natalie and I went the next night, a Thursday.  As I relayed last week, I felt very peaceful about making the purchase even though the money issue remained unsolved.  Natalie’s prayerful impression was also that the Delaware Trail residence would be a good house for us even though she had never seen it herself. So I trusted in God and told Cyndi, my realtor, that night that I wanted to make an offer on the house.  She confirmed that her feeling also was that it was the right house for our family.  She would prepare the paperwork for me to sign the following afternoon.

 Nicholas called me the next morning early as I sat at my desk working on a PowerPoint presentation that I planned on inflicting on some unsuspecting people the following week.  He had been reviewing our bank account and had discovered that my last two paychecks had not been direct deposited into our account, a likely root cause of my mysteriously plunging net worth.  We investigated and discovered that my direct deposit had somehow inadvertently been turned off, and my payroll department apologetically advised me that they had unknowingly issued me live checks instead of deposit slips.  Nicholas located the unopened envelopes and made an immediate deposit with a handy application on his cell phone.  So my prayers were all answered neatly in an organized fashion that resembled cards being shuffled and bridged.  I had been tested and apparently passed most probably because this realty search was purely for a nice place for our family rather than for a status symbol – I remember dancing to that cacophonous other song back in my so-called other life.

Because this process seems to be being steered with a hand other than mine on the rudder, I don’t have much worry about whether this is an exercise in materialism. As far as I can tell, Jesus has approved of what I am doing, or my path would have been blocked not bumpy.  After I was under contract, one of the waterfront properties in Kent that I had originally preferred popped back up on my search engine.  I chuckled about its sudden reappearance.  Somebody else’s contract had been created and dissolved in a convenient way that had placed me in Streetsboro where I can enjoy a close relationship with my parents, two siblings and three nieces.  I guess I didn’t get brought back across the country to see everyone just on the weekends.  Figure that.

[fictionpractice]

Project 1, chapter 1

A lot of things happened during these few months. I don’t think I can process all this on my own. So I’m writing this down. Maybe this will help.

Let’s start at the beginning of all this crap.

My name is Cassandra Pinewolf. I’m 16 years old and before this whole thing started, I was a Junior at Lowwood High School. I lived in a average-sized apartment near  Downtown Los Angeles with my family of four: Mom, Dad, me, and Dean. I was pretty happy with my life, and I think my family was too.

Dad - his name was Andrew - worked as a researcher in a Corning laboratory. His specialty was chemistry, and with his help, the laboratory was able to manufacture a new, more advanced kind of optical cable. Cornell earned millions of dollars, and Dad was given a promotion. That was three years ago.

Dad was a great guy. He was always busy, sometimes even rushing to the laboratory in the middle of the night, but he never was too busy for us. whatever he was doing, if I approached him with a question, he would try his best to give the best answer. If Dean wanted to go to a volleyball game, Dad would gruffly tell Dean to study more, but would secretly buy tickets. And he really loved Mom. During all 16 years of my life, I had never seen a full-blown fight between the two of them.

Mom’s name was Amy, Amy Stuart. She and Dad were together since they were studying in university. Her hair always smelled like it was dipped in really good shampoo, which made me kind of offended, because I could never get my hair to smell like that no matter how much shampoo I used.

Anyways, she did volunteer work at a library near our apartment. That was a lot of help for my studying, since she knew exactly what book I needed for my school projects. Also, since my social skills were never that good, it was a comfort to see someone familiar when i was in a library full of people.

Dean was my ten-year-old brother. He went to Tiger Rock Elementary School, and unlike me, had a lot of friends. He loved to run around in the park, playing tag with Dad or chased by a random overexcited dog. That was quite a sight.

Apparently all those running paid off, since he made it into the racing team. For the past few weeks, he had been coming home late, having been trained by the P.E. teacher to run and run until he was too tired to go any longer. We were all really proud of him, and Dad (who is an atheist) even prayed for Dean to win his first race, which was to happen two days before things started going to hell.

It was another normal day for me, at least until i came home. I walked into class ten minutes before the bell rang, took out my stuff, and began reading a book. I had just started it, so I was only a few chapters in.

If I was anyone else, Ben McCloud would have been all over me, taking the book out of my hands and ripping it to shreds. As it is, it happens that I’m one of the few people he’s actually scared of, so I didn’t have to worry.

The truth was, when we were sophomores, he had asked me out a bit forcefully over text. I still don’t know how he got my number-I never give it out. Anyways, he started threatening me with select insults, so I sent some pictures of him smoking pot and other drugs to let him know I had leverage. Since then, he went the other way when he saw me coming his way in the hallway.

When the bell rang, Mrs. Swanson marched into class, a large hulking figure with round glasses, and lips that were squashed together in a way that resembled a dumpling. She taught calculus, and thank god I was good at it, she gave out the hardest tests anyone had seen. All in all, Mrs. Swanson was the stereotypical grumpy teacher.

The rest of the day was a blur. We studied, read, ate lunch, studied some more, and watched the homeworks stack more and more with despair. By the time school was over, I had to write an essay by Thursday, analyze a book by Friday, and solve 200 differential equations by tomorrow. Life in the advanced class was not easy.

The walk back home took about half an hour, which gave me plenty of time to continue on that book I was reading. It really was interesting. i had read to page 241 when I reached the apartment.

As soon as i opened the door, I knew something was wrong. For one, Dean was home. He never came home before seven on a regular weekday.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Dean, confused.

He shrugged. “Mom called Mr. Rainfields and I got to go home early.” Mr. Rainfields was the name of his P.E. teacher.

Just then, Mom walked into the living room. Her hands were clenched tightly on her phone, her face was pale, and her long hair was sticking out in various directions; she had been tugging at it.

“Kids,” she began to say. It was never good news when she called Dean and I ‘kids’. She always called us by name. The only time she had called us ‘kids’ was when Dad had gotten into a car accident and when our trip to the Grand Canyon had been canceled.

Mom hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. “Kids,” she began again. “Dad’s laboratory’s been.... closed down.”

My brain went blank for a moment.

“Closed… down?” Dean asked.

Mom nodded. “He’s lost his job.”

A moment later, Dean understood the situation and began to cry. Mom walked up to him and hugged him tightly, tears streaming down her face as well. I considered crying with them, but I had a question I wanted to answer. I walked into my room.

I was in shock. No, confusion. I mean, Dad was one of Corning’s most prized scientists. there were plenty of other, less important laboratories Corning could close if they were financially unstable. But to close down their recently most successful lab… it didn’t make any sense.

My room was simply furnished: A bed to the right, and a desk with a lightstand right next to it on the left. There were the remains of some boy band poster a former friend had given me on the left side wall. Other than that, the wall was empty. I didn’t like boy bands or posters.

On my desk was the silver macbook I had gotten for Christmas three years ago. I opened it and punched in the password. Within seconds, the familiar screen was on the monitor. I quickly opened chrome and looked up the stock price of Corning Incorporated. It was $35.22 per stock; the price had actually risen!

Now absolutely nothing made sense. Corning was actually better off than before. Shutting down a lab along with a successful scientist could do nothing good for themselves. So why were they doing this?

Because someone inside the establishment hated Dad? Could be, but again, only an idiot would cut off a potential supply of big money for petty revenge. That couldn’t be possible.

Maybe Dad had quit by himself and lied to Mom about Corning firing him? But everything Dad did was for a good reason. Why would he give up on a well paying job he liked? Also, why would Dad lie to mom?

I frowned, and turned the laptop off. I would ask Dad a lot of questions when he came home.

A few hours later, Dad returned home. Like me, he looked more confused than shocked: his face was set in a frown and he was in deep thought.

As soon as he set foot on the apartment, Mom ran over and hugged him. Dad hugged back, a bit awkwardly. I could tell he was still lost in his mind.

I spoke up. “Dad, what’s going on?”

He focused his eyes on me. “I don’t know, Cass,” he replied. “Everything happened so quickly.”

Mom finally let go of him. Her hair was in a mess and she was trembling slightly. I had never seen her like this before.

Dad sighed. He seemed tired. ”Listen, kids, let’s talk about this later.” he looked at the clock resting on the kitchen wall: almost 7 o’ clock. “Hey, it’s dinnertime. How about eating out?” He sounded almost cheerful: possibly he was in denial.

So in about thirty minutes we were pulling up the road to Tourniquet, a fancy restaurant we visited once a month. It was Mom’s special favorite, and I think Dad had that in mind, since she was taking this situation much worse than the rest of us.

“What are we gonna do,” she would whisper. “We still have to pay rent, and electricity bills, and groceries, and…” she would list every single thing that cost money until Dad comforted her by saying, “We still have some money in savings. That’ll last us a while.” Then she’d look a bit better and quiet down, only to burst into the same routine a  few minutes later.

Dad was high school friends with the owner of the restaurant, a cheerful, burly man with a long moustache he seemed to be really proud of, but others felt was a bit too large. He was a really nice guy though, and sometimes he gave Dean stickers he kept for who-knows-what reasons.

As we walked into the crowded place and took a table, the same big man ambled along to us from behind the counter. “Hey, Andrew!” he exclaimed pleasantly in a fake-ish italian accent. “ Long time no see, eh? Amy, beautiful as always. Wonderful, just wonderful to see you… And how are the kids? Cassandra, doing well at school? And Dean, I hear you made the racing team!” He had not noticed the gloomy mood my family was surrounded in. He wasn’t the sort of person who would.

Nobody was speaking up, not even Dad, so I decided to be polite. “Uh, hey, Mr. Williams. I’m doing fine at school. How are you?”

“Oh, just doing great!” He chuckled, clapping his hands together. “So, how can I serve you today?” He whipped out a menu plate from under the table. “Today’s special is shrimp dipped in a special sauce.” He wiggled his eyebrows when he said the word ‘special’.

“That sounds great, George. We’ll have that.” Dad said. Clearly he was in no mood to chat with his friend. Mr. Williams nodded happily and walked away to the kitchen.

I decided this was the perfect time to ask Dad my many questions. “So, Dad, what exactly happened today?”

Dad looked wearily at me. “I was working, Cass. Doing experiments on stuff. Then all of a sudden some guy from Headquarters comes up and tells me that my lab is shut down for”-here he made quotation marks with his fingers-”’unknown reasons’. He wouldn’t tell me even when I asked him.”

“Then why do you think it was shut down?”

“I don’t know. Probably Corning was going downhill, and decided to close up some labs to save  money. But it still doesn’t make-”

“Dad, I looked it up. Corning’s actually doing much better than it was a few months ago. There’s absolutely no reason for it to fire you.”

Dad stared at me, surprised. “Really? There’s no way…”

I opened my mouth to ask him another question, but with perfect timing, his phone started ringing. It was a little disconcerting to hear ‘Saturday Night Fever’ while I was trying to solve a question, so I waited, a little disgruntled, while Dad fumbled around in his pockets, trying to answer it. He finally grabbed it from his right coat pocket and pressed the little green icon.

“Hello? Yes, this is Andrew Pinewolf.” He said into the phone. He frowned. “Yeah… but how do you-” he listened for a moment, and looked out the window at a small man standing alone on the street. The man had his phone tightly - too tightly - pressed to his ear and was looking right at us.

‘Who is that?’ I mouthed at him.

Dad shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ he mouthed back. Next to us, Dean and Mom were watching the man with interest.

“Okay, alright.” Dad said, as he hung up his phone. He stood up.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked. She was no longer having a panic attack, but she was confused as hell. Well, we all were.

“That guy outside is... offering me a job. In a university. I have to check it out.” Dad looked as perplexed as the rest of us.

“Wait, he knows you lost your job? That was barely twelve hours ago!” I said, incredulous.

Dad nodded. “It’s weird, I know. But I do need a job, and a job at a university is pretty good. I’ll be right back.”

Mom grabbed his arm. “Andrew, what if this is a scam or something? This can’t end well.”

Dad shrugged. “Maybe, but there’s always a chance it isn’t. Right now, I’m not in a position to be picky.” he gently let go of Mom’s arm and quickly made his way through the tables.

I looked back at the small man standing in the street and observed him closer. I had a great view of him since he was next to a streetlamp. He was wearing a long trench coat that looked two sizes too big, so it was almost touching the ground. His hands were resting stationery by his side. Overall, it looked like he was a kid dressed up as a scientist for Halloween.

But there was something odd. There was something I couldn’t grasp. The face was white, with green eyes that were following my Dad as he walked towards him. The nose was a bit large, and the lips a little small. But that wasn’t why I felt a little strange watching him.

Then it came to me. His body was too still. For normal people, even if they try to stand still, they always move slightly each moment because the human body is a dynamical system. But this guy, he was standing perfectly still. Nothing in his body moved except his eyes, which were still following Dad. There was an eerie determination in them.

Dad finally opened the doors and approached the stranger. They exchanged some words and began to talk. I strained to read their mouths: they were saying-

“Voile!” I whipped my head around. Mr. Williams was coming towards the table with a large plate of shrimps.

As he set the dish down, Mr. Williams looked up and saw Dad speaking outside. He looked mildly surprised - I guess he must have thought Dad had gone to the bathroom.

“What’s he doing there?” he asked, confused.

Explaining the whole situation to him would have been tedious, and apparently my thought was shared, so nobody said anything. We sat in an awkward silence for a few moments before Mom spoke up.

“He’s, uh, talking to a… work friend. They’re working together.” she was a terrible liar.

Thankfully, he bought it, and with a nod, walked away. Did I mention he was a little gullible?

I turned to the window again just in time to see the man reach inside his coat, produce a yellow folder, and hand it to Dad. He looked a little hesitantly at the folder before taking it.

As soon as the file was in Dad’s hands, the little man turned and briskly walked away to an old car parked across the street. Dad watched him leave for a moment, then he too turned and came back in the restaurant. As he took a seat, He opened the folder and took out a few A4 documents.

“What’s all this?” I asked, as he examined one of the papers.

“That guy there was a employee from the University of some place called ‘Ankur’.” he said. “He offered me a job as a professor teaching chemistry.”

“Come on, Dad. That sounds totally fake,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Even if that university was real, It’d be in India or something.” I mean, what was a place called ‘Ankur’ doing in the United States? It sounded like some place where ancient Babylonians worshipped their gods.

“Well,” Dad interjected. He was reading a piece of paper. “Seems like it’s pretty real, and it’s not  in India.” he gave me a glance. “It’s somewhere in Nevada, look.” He handed me the document. I grabbed it and began to read it with Dean, who had leaned over to see.

‘Instructions on reaching Ankur’, the page said in black Times New Roman. Under the title was a map of California and Nevada, which filled about two thirds of the page. It was in color and a thick blue route was printed on it, the starting point being Los Angeles and the ending point being somewhere north of Las Vegas.

I frowned. It seemed like the ending point was somewhere I knew, somewhere I had extensively researched when I was 13 and in my ‘creepy stuff’ phase. Somewhere I was certain a university wasn’t in. And it wasn’t called Ankur.

“Dad, this place is in Area 51.”

[ronaldmrashid]

Why I Sold My Rental Home: Had To Live For Today

After hearing direct feedback from about 80 of you through social media, my private newsletter, various post comments, and a poll with over 1,500 votes, I decided to sell my Marina, San Francisco rental house I bought in early 2005. I lived in the house from age 28 -37 and had some wonderful memories there. But after three years of being a landlord, it was time to move on.

The decision was incredibly agonizing because I believe it’s best to hold onto a property forever. When I finally sold the house, I didn’t feel joy, but disappointment. I sat in the lounge area of a bank branch looking at the largest check I’ve ever seen in my life and feeling like I had failed my son, myself, and all of you. I’m long-term bullish on San Francisco property, but I felt I had to start living for today.

20 years from now when my son asks how I could have sold the house for so cheap, I’ll point him to this post as I’ll have long forgotten all the details by then. Hope you can forgive me dear boy.

Why I Decided To Sell My Rental Home

77% of you said sell

Back when I was 27, I decided I no longer wanted to live in a two bedroom condo even though it was perfectly fine. Unfortunately, average single family homes in the northern part of San Francisco cost about $1.8M or more back in 2004. But one rainy December afternoon, while I was parking to look at a $1.2M three bedroom condo for sale, I stumbled across a handsome single family home that nobody seemed to want.

The listing agent was from out of town and all she had was a messy home and a flimsy one page black and white flier. To contrast, most homes in this price range have multi-page colored brochures. The house had been sitting on the market for two months and she told me if she didn’t get an offer by Christmas, she was taking the house off the market and re-listing it in the Spring.

Knowing that selling during the holidays is a sign of desperation, I sat down with her to learn more about the seller’s story. The seller was a newly retired couple that hailed from Texas. They had wanted to relocate to San Francisco, but after a knee operation, the wife decided she didn’t want to live in a house with two flights of stairs. As a result, they never moved in and kept renting back the house to the previous sellers. Then I came along.

The listing price was a “more reasonable” $1.55M. It truly was since other homes of similar or smaller size sold for $250,000+ more. Besides not being marketed properly and the incessant winter rain, the main reason why the house wasn’t selling was due to its location on a busy street next to one of the busiest streets in all of San Francisco. We had our concerns too, so we parked outside the house multiple times for 30 minutes each session to see if we could stand the road noise.

The overall market in SF was still strong for properties under $1.5M in 2004. But I discovered that as soon as I crossed the $1.5M threshold, demand fell precipitously. Here was an open market opportunity to buy a single family home below asking, instead of constantly get outbid. I decided that with the installation of double pane windows, the road noise would be bearable. I proceeded to make an offer $25,000 below asking in December 2004.

When they accepted, I felt instant dread. Should I have offered $1.45M instead? But deep down, I felt the house could easily be worth $2M within 10 years, so I went ahead and dumped my life savings into the house and got a two month bridge loan from my grandfather for part of the 20% down payment. My year end bonus got paid out every February.

After purchase, the house continued to appreciate for two and a half years, but the financial crisis came and knocked its value right back down to where I had purchased it, if not $100,000 less. With a $1.2M mortgage, I wasn’t feeling that good about my financial future anymore.

A Recovery And Another Chance

After almost losing my shirt during the financial crisis, the market finally stabilized and miraculously, after more than seven lay off rounds, I still had my job. I remember telling myself that if the housing market ever rebounded where I could eek out a profit, I would sell and never take on such massive debt again.

So in 2012 right when Facebook went public, I decided to list the house, thinking surely someone would be interested in buying a 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom home with an unwarranted room and bathroom on the ground floor. The listing time also coincided with me leaving Corporate America and losing a healthy salary. The mortgage was still about $1,000,000 and I worried whether I had made the right move to leave a job so young. During a time of transition, having more liquidity seemed prudent.

After one month of no interest, I decided to do something cheeky and raise the asking price from $1,695,000 to $1,780,000 and then to $1,789,000 (see picture). My ego was bruised and I wanted to show strength. But after another 28 days with no interest, I decided to remove the listing. Destiny wasn’t cooperating with my plans to sell, so I didn’t force the issue. Instead, I refinanced my mortgage to save ~$400+/month and focused on traveling around the world and growing Financial Samurai.

Nobody wanted to buy my house in 2012, thank goodness.

The Transition To Something New

In 2014, we bought a fixer on the western side of SF because we wanted to experience a new adventure in a different part of town. We were *this* close to relocating to Honolulu, but decided if we could bring Honolulu to San Francisco in the form of a house with ocean views, we’d stay for several more years.

Finished building a deck in my new house in 2016

Instead of trying to sell the Marina house again, this time we decided to rent it. To our surprise, we found tenants willing to pay $8,500 a month in rent, so we accepted. The four guys and a dog ended up being a PITA to manage, but $8,500 was way higher than we thought we’d get so the aggravation seemed worth it.

This initial set of tenants only stayed for one year. My next set of tenants were five guys who were willing to pay $8,800. They were the best candidates I could find at the time, largely because families with small children were worried about being so close to a busy street. Either that, or they simply bought. I accepted a $17,000 rental deposit and prayed everything would be OK. For the most part, everything was OK. But there was constant roommate turnover, late rent payments, and maintenance issues (leaky roof, broken kitchen faucet, broken fridge, holes in walls, cracked tiles, damaged kitchen doors, noise complaints, and lawn neglect) that finally made me cry uncle.

Related: Being A Landlord Tests My Faith In Humanity

In addition to dealing with all these issues, I was also busy project managing my new home remodel. Remodeling an entire home is already stressful. Add on rowdy tenants and life begins to become unbearable, even if you don’t have a job to go to. Thank goodness we have been able to resolve these stresses and focus on the birth and care of our new son. As prospective parents, we didn’t know what to expect, but we did know from lots of feedback that raising a baby is way harder than what people say (so true). We wanted to free up as much time as possible to prepare for this new chapter in our lives.

Renting out the Marina house for three years wasn’t a great experience, but at least I gave it a go. The ~$60,000 in net rental income enabled me to finally achieve my long term passive income target of $200,000 a year. But like Anthony Scaramucci, who was fired just 10 days after being named White House communications director, my $200,000 a year in passive income didn’t last very long.

I held onto the Marina house in 2014 because it was tough to let something go after so many good memories. I also didn’t want to be embarrassed again. Besides, I was bullish on SF real estate. Financially, I had a $400,000, 7-year CD come due that provided for the downpayment of my new home. Further, my online business continued to grow.

But after vacating it for almost three years, I no longer had a strong attachment to the Marina house because by then we had made amazing new memories in our new house in Golden Gate Heights. When you remodel every inch of the house, you naturally get more attached to it. I also remember the first night we brought our son home at midnight. It was a magical moment.

Property Prices Rise

SF median home price rises above $1.4M in 2017, way above the 2006-2007 peak

From a financial point of view, we got very lucky. Because nobody wanted to buy our house in 2012 we’ve been able to double benefit with leverage from a ~20% appreciation in the Marina rental house and a ~35% appreciation in my primary residence.

It’s funny to see how quickly sentiment can change. Most people generally have to sell to buy another house in SF, but I took some risks and leveraged to the hilt. For some time, as the bull market kept on going, I felt stymied by an earlier decision to lock up $300,000+ in a 4.1% yielding 7-year CD . But as it turned out, it was the expiration of the CD and the availability of that money that enabled me to buy my new home.

Further, I had thought there would be a two or three year slowdown in property prices starting in early 4Q2015 when many private companies had their valuations slashed. While the market did slow down for a couple quarters, by the Spring of 2017 it had recovered and was as hot as ever for single family homes. The condo market, on the other hand, is definitely cooling due to a surge in new supply.

By early 2017, after the 8th time my tenants were late paying rent, I started thinking maybe I could get $2.3M or $2.4M for the house (from $1.7M in 2013). And if I could, I would sell. I was texting back and forth with my neighbor to give him the first look, and he said he’d be interested in buying my home via a private transaction for $2.1M. I passed, even though it would have been nice to save on all those fees. I remember feeling vindicated, however, that finally, my home was worth what I thought it could be worth all these years later.

May 2017 offer from my ~35 yo neighbor who has been living for free in his parent’s building since graduation

Then, unexpectedly my tenants gave me an opportunity to test the market by informing me of their intention to vacate on May 8, 2017. I set up a race like I did in 2016 when my condo tenants vacated. In one lane was me in charge of finding suitable tenants within 30 days. In the other lane was a realtor in charge of finding a buyer off market within the same time period for $2,500,000. I decided on $2,500,000 as a stretch price because I was reluctant to sell. Whoever found the client first would win!

Unlike in 2016 with my Pac Heights rental condo, I lost. I couldn’t find my ideal tenant, someone who would take care of my property and stay for at least a couple years. One single mother of four children offered $7,500, but I passed because she was a highly unprofitable startup founder. Another family of 6 offered $7,800 and I passed due to too much wear and tear and such a weak offer. It is much harder to find a $9,000/month renter versus a $4,200/month renter.

Meanwhile my realtor was able to identify a buyer who had lost in a bidding war for a comparable property in my neighborhood. One thing led to another and I received an offer for $2,600,000 just nine days later! It’s worth noting that I had already been looking for tenants for 30 days already before the race began given I received a 30-day move out notification.

Analyzing The Offer

I was astounded by the $2,600,000 offer because another highly experienced realtor had told me that if I put in $50,000 worth of work painting the house, updating the light fixtures, changing the master bathroom tub, and replacing the kitchen floor I *might* be able to get $2,500,000 or so. She was a top producer with 30 years of experienced and visited my house twice to come up with her assessment.

Another realtor I interviewed said that if I put $30,000 into staging, painting and modernizing the light fixtures, I’d probably get around $2,300,000. I was not impressed. But I understand it’s important to manage expectations and surprise on the upside.

I went with my realtor because in 2016 she had sold a neighboring home in Golden Gate Heights for a massive premium. I was impressed with her professionalism when I corresponded with her and most importantly, with her results. The aforementioned house was a dump, had to go through probate, yet finally sold for $150,000 more than I thought (10% over).

My realtor firmly believed I could get $2,500,000 without having to do any further work since I had already painted a couple rooms and refinished the floors. My house is 2,070 sqft plus about 230 sqft of unwarranted space. If you slap on the average price/sqft of $1,171 in the Marina, you get $2,423,970. But my house should trade at a discount due to the location.

The average price/sqft in the Marina neighborhood is $1,171

Even with a surprising offer of $2,600,00, because of commissions, I wasn’t completely convinced I should sell. I was able to negotiate the total selling commission down to 4.5% from 6%, but that was it. In this day and age of the internet, a 4.5% commission is still egregious. That said, the previous realtor who I used in 2012 for a 5.5% fee hadn’t found me a buyer for $1.7M after 28 days. So at least my latest realtor had something for me to consider.

The Counter Offer

We had several other realtors come with their buyers, but nobody made us an offer. The road noise and traffic were always the main deterrents.  For some reason, these buyers didn’t mind the noise and were charmed  the aesthetics of the home.

Given I didn’t need to sell, I decided to counter at $2,788,000 to cover my commissions, transfer tax and then some. Why not try and test the upper limits without losing the buyer? After several days of hemming and hawing, they came up to $2,700,000, saying this was the best they could do because their purchase depended on bank underwriting.

I was tempted to accept because now I was $200,000 – $300,000 higher than what I hoped to get. But, my realtor kept encouraging me to reconsider the price because she knew I was on the fence.

I countered $2,750,000 firm with a lovely letter about how much they would enjoy living in a single family home with a toddler, instead of in a condo. I wrote about all the upgrades we had done over the past 13 years to make the home perfect. I gave them an Excel spreadsheet of all the things we did and the cost of each item to make them feel like they were getting a good deal. I also showed them pictures of all our work.

After another several days past my acceptance deadline, they acquiesced! $2,750,000 is a significant number because it is a full $1,050,000 more than what I would have sold it for just five years earlier. Being able to earn $210,000 a year in equity while also collecting $100,000+ a year in gross rental income the last three years blew my mind.

It felt like I may have won the lottery!

I write “may have” because the buyer wasn’t the commonly cited cash buyer all sellers hope for. Instead, the buyer had to not only take out a $2,000,000 loan, he had to take out another $300,000 loan at a much higher interest rate because he only had about $400K in downpayment.

Three years earlier, he had bought a $1.5 million condo in the same neighborhood before he had a son. Based on his finances, the max the bank would allow him to buy was $2.6M. The sellers admitted they had been hunting for properties in the $2.3M – $2.5M range when they heard about my house.

Dining/living room of rental home

Things Started Getting Dicey

When the deadline to remove the financing contingency arrived two weeks after accepting my counter, nothing happened. His bank was making him jump through more hoops so he wanted to keep his financing contingency because if he removed the contingency, and the loan didn’t go through, he’d be out $82,500 (3% earnest money downpayment).

With no other rental offers, I decided to extend the deadline several more days after already extending the inspection contingency deadline by four days. But after five days of not getting any sort of update, I began to worry. Worry turned into frustration, so I decided to aggressively look for more renters again! Each day the deal didn’t go through was another day of lost rental income in my mind.

I kept on telling myself that I would regret selling the home 20 years from now due to the robust job engine here in the SF Bay Area. So after a 15 day respite, I marketed my property hard again to find a group of tenants. After a week, I found a group of five guys (girls don’t exist in San Francisco) who ironically all worked at my old employer! It was destiny!

They all made about $80,000 – $95,000 base salary each as first or second year financial analysts. I thought it would be hilarious to write in a future post that even after getting paid for five years after I left thanks to my negotiated severance, I would still get paid by my old employer for at least another year! It would feel absolutely fantastic, so I decided to go with them.

There was only one problem. Instead of offering the $9,000/month that I wanted, they offered $8,300. I countered with $8,500 and told them they could start one month later on July 1, instead of on June 1. They were originally asking to move in on July 16, but I felt that leaving my property empty for that long while also having an outstanding offer to buy was too much.

They finally agreed on the terms, but they bailed the Saturday morning we planned to meet up! They told me they found another property and thanked me for my time. In other words, the true market rental price for my house was not $8,500, but closer to $8,000 a month or maybe even less given two parties offered even less.

Now it was time to panic again because I had sent a document to my buyer to reject the offer and release him of his $82,500 earnest money deposit. Now I had NOTHING. Using my Buy Utility, Rent Luxury framework, someone was offering me 28.5X – 30X my gross annual rent compared to the 20.5X average for the SF Bay Area and I rejected him! What was I thinking?!

But thankfully, the buyer didn’t know everything that was going on, on my end. After I sent the recision document, they told me they were working as hard as they could with the bank to get the loan finalized, and that they still really wanted to buy my house. They said that by Monday or Tuesday, they should be able to remove the contingency and for me to please wait several more days.

Given I had nothing, and nothing could be done during the weekend, I told my realtor to tell the other realtor that I was OK to wait, but no promises. I wanted to them to feel a tremendous sense of urgency to get their loan done since they were already a couple weeks past the deadline. Meanwhile, I was mentally preparing to just keep my house empty for the next 22 years because I was so sick and tired of dealing with renters.

That’s right, I was willing to pay $22,000 a year in property tax, $2,000 a year in home insurance, $5,000 a year in random maintenance costs totaling over $600,000 after 22 years just to hold onto this asset nobody seemed to want to buy or rent. My pride was speaking again.

All signs pointed towards the deal not happening.

Nail Biter Until The Very End

I was stressed, annoyed, and anxious during this 45 day process. Remember, I was getting very little sleep taking care of a newborn who would wake up very 30 minutes to 2 hours. I was running on adrenaline. Then I was running on fumes. Then the fumes ran out so I decided to settle on leaving the house empty forever.

When the buyers were finally ready to remove the financing contingency, I had to make a decision to tell them to go ahead with writing a new offer or telling them I had moved on. By this time, I was too tired to negotiate any longer because they were also holding me to about $35,000 in immediate weather proofing work that needed to be done after the inspector found leaky windows and dry rot. I had disclosed to them one of the light wells leaked through the dining room during the recent winter storms. They were rightfully concerned, and so was I since all I did was get up on the roof and spray the crap out of the roof with FlexSeal.

In the very end, we agreed to a price of $2,740,000. I gave them a $10,000 discount to address the inspection report so they would finally remove the financing contingency and get on with it. The final price/sqft came out to be $1,323, a 13% premium to the average price/sqft in the most expensive part of the town.

I’m happy for the buyers because their loans went through and they’ve now got a great home to raise their son for the next 10+ years. I just hope his new business venture goes well and the economy continues to chug along.

$810,926 of debt was paid off in June

This piece of real estate served us well, and now we no longer have a use for it because we have a new home and more powerful streams of semi-passive income.

In 20 years, I’ll have wished I held onto the property. But I just have to remind myself about all the time and stress I will save by not owning. The older you get, the more valuable time becomes because you have less of it. Besides, I’m just thankful nobody bought the house for $1,050,000 less in 2012.

Dear son, if you got through this beast of post, well done. The bottom line for selling is that I wanted to simplify my life so I could spend as much time with you as possible.

Related:

Every Factor To Consider Before Selling An Investment Property

Debt Optimization Framework For Financial Freedom

Anybody sell their property recently? If so, how did you come to the decision? If you have a harrowing property selling experience, I’d love to hear it! When do you think the real estate market will finally go down?

The post Why I Sold My Rental Home: Had To Live For Today appeared first on Financial Samurai.

from https://www.financialsamurai.com/why-i-sold-my-rental-home/

[paoulkaye-blog]

My Many Worries

                 Is anyone else having this problem? That there is too much to care about?

                I mean, okay, I’ll admit I have not always been the most outward looking person. I’m a creature of habit and I enjoy my little comforts and if that bubble remains undisturbed, you could probably rob my next-door neighbor and I wouldn’t bat an eye. I mean, yeah, I’d like to see justice done and that sucks that it happened, but it sucks even more for other people than me and I don’t see the point in getting all worked up about it.

                But lately, this year especially, I find myself more and more getting wrapped up in these massive things where I am that crippling combination of emotionally invested and devoid of any real agency. I am the impotent flame of the candle, raging against the storm outside my windowsill. My glow may provide some measure of comfort for those that look for me, but in reality I can do nothing to abate the fall of the rain.

                I can turn a neat phrase, though. That I can do. And I can rant with the best of them, and appeal to the better nature of my reader with the… probably top 60% of them? I don’t know. I do not have a metric to measure the general moral compass and my effect upon it. Google ought to get on that. And I ought to get back on topic.

                As I have evolved from self-interested lay-about to competent father and husband with a real stake in the world, I have developed purely as a side effect of exposure to responsibility, a nasty a pervasive condition known in the medical community as ‘opinions’. Now the severity and disabling effect of opinions are many and varied. Opinions supported by facts and life experience tend to be chronic, but you can live with them. Opinions based on outlandish claims and news cycles tend to be socially fatal and leave a certain kind of scaring that can make you a pariah in certain circles.

                But the main thing opinions are is exhausting. If you have an opinion, it seems like you have to share it with as many people as loudly as you can as often as you can. At least, that’s the example provided to me by the rest of the world at large. This takes a lot of time and effort for a former introvert who now has opinions on real life issues because, surprise surprise, that stuff actually affects me and my family. And lately, as I’m sure you have noticed, I have opinions about many, many things.

                Healthcare, honesty, politics, taxes, work ethic, children’s toys, traffic laws, guns, planes, trains, comedies, tragedies, elections, police shootings, civilian shootings, crime of all collars, international relations, those fucking pricks at UPS, gas prices, children’s shows, video games, books, television, musicals, movies, comics, news, clothing, shoes, and the list… pretty much stops there, I think (edit: Corporations as people. See below). For now. I’ll probably think of more later. But still, that is a lot of things to have and maintain an opinion about.

                And frankly, it’s too much. I have a hard time shutting my brain off in a normal rest state, let alone with that cavalcade of possible disasters on my mind. This year more than any other, I have felt artery hardening stress about things that are well and beyond my control or ability to influence. I know what’s to blame, that’s simple enough. But there will always be that apathetic man in his bubble of comforts inside of me that wonders if it’s even worth it to give a damn in the first place.    

                Even worse, I’m not the only person with this problem. And since corporations are people for some stupid fucking reason that has never been adequately explained to me… and let me go back and add that to the list… it turns out that news organizations have the same problem. Between the Russia hacks, the Investigation into the Russia Hacks, the investigation into the possible collusion between Russian agents and American idiots, the Republican Healthcare bill, the lack of vital government positions being filled, the general demeanor and mood of the President on any given day, the terror attacks across the globe, the horrors and hardship facing the refugees from Syria, the divorce of Britain from the EU, the leaks, the lies, the scandals, and Beyoncé’s new twins, news media coverage doesn’t seem to know what to do with itself.

                All this to say nothing of the opinions the various channels are afflicted with. CNN is convinced that all of the news, everywhere, is breaking. They may not be far off in hyperbole, but still, CNN is exhausting to watch. MSNBC pretty much picks a topic to care about every morning and beats it into the ground, and lately their topic of choice has been the obvious disconnect between Trump and reality. Don’t get me wrong, that is news and something worth discussing, by the others things happening in the world as a result of that disconnect? Those deserve some attention as well. And spending some time on those issues might go some way to helping MSNBC appear like something other than the leftist conspiracy network its detractors are so convinced it is.

                And FOX… good lord. The loudest and proudest voice of the right wing of the political spectrum actually used to be okay. I mean, it was a counterbalance, of sorts. I could always flip to FOX really quick to get the right wing view on the events of the day and sort of temper my view of the world by trying to understand how the other side was interpreting events. But lately? Boy, if corporations are people, FOX needs to go into rehab. Sexual misconduct and getting way too high on Presidential edicts and pyrrhic Republican ‘victories’ while ignoring the raging fires that are almost literally burning the network down around their heads are all signs of a broadcasting network too far gone on the media equivalent of free-based heroine. With even more paranoia somehow added to the mix.

                FOX stopped being an opposing viewpoint and went straight into propaganda machine territory sometime during the Obama administration. And then they were de-facto promoted to chief spinners of presidential bullshit when Trump moved into the White House and made FOX and Friends a known part of his morning routine. During no other era in American history would such hypocrisy and sycophantic waffling be even remotely acceptable in a national news network. But hey, that’s the times we live in, apparently.

                But in the end, all of this is only a collection of symptoms of the real problem: The life I lead, with a wife and two kids, two cars, two jobs, school starting soon, and bills to pay, is not an isolated animal. It’s tied up in all of these strings that moor these unfathomably gigantic issues and surreal conversations to the grounds of reality. There’s too much, too many things to worry about. And I DO worry, and it’s going to kill me at this rate. Issues don’t come in a ‘This or That’ state anymore. It used to be if you had a job, you knew you could pay your bills and your rent and still eat things that were not Ramen noodles until the next paycheck. Now? Not so fucking much.

                We’re not secure like that anymore. There is no state someone like me can get to that will ever completely eliminate any of these worries for me. It just isn’t possible in this day and age. I know too much, I pay attention to too many things, and in the end I worry, even just subconsciously, about too many things that night time is often an exercise in staring at the ceiling until the alarm clock goes off.

                What I think I need to do, and maybe you might want to try this as well, is to figure out the things that deserve, really need my attention, and just focus on that. Wife, kids, work, bills. Those parts of my life and their related worries and joys should be my focus.  But that’s hard.

                I won’t give a damn about CNN, MSNBC, and FOX anymore, but I’ll still hope they get their collective act together. I wish I didn’t have to be worried for the environment of the planet we all live on, but hey, guess what, someone has to. I’ll happily cut out politics if politicians would just cut it the fuck out themselves and stop playing games with legislation that could feasibly deal real, lasting harm to the people they are supposed to be listening to and being the voice of. I’ll even stop getting rationally angry every time I see the words ‘President Trump’ or his big fat orange stupid face if the man would just shut the flying fuck up and be a responsible adult.

                And there’s the really bad problem: I’m worried about a lot of things, and the people who can and should actually be worried about those same things are not doing a whole lot to help put my worries to rest. And I know I’m not alone in feeling like that. I shouldn’t have to pray to higher power, asking for help in getting these jackasses to pull their heads out of their self-congratulatory asses and do their jobs, but I find myself doing it more and more lately.

                I don’t want to be my old self, ignoring the world and thinking only about myself. But it shouldn’t be so goddamn stressful to want the best for my fellow man either. I’ve said it before in this space, but it’s true: We are ALL in this TOGETHER. And I know I’m not the only person suffering with the opinion that it’s time some people in some high profile positions started picking up their fucking slack. Thanks for reading.