#credit card machine for small business

[merchantservicesarticles101]

Credit Card Processing Machine for Small Business

[debitmachinecanada]

Visa, Mastercard plan to hike credit-card fees

Aug 30 (Reuters) – Global payments processors Visa (V.N) and Mastercard��(MA.N) are planning to increase fees that many merchants pay when they accept customers’ credit cards, the Wall Street Journal reported on Wednesday. The fee increases are scheduled to start in October and April, according to the report, which cited people familiar with the matter and documents viewed by the WSJ. Many of the…

[sixbucks]

Please understand what NOT using cash is doing !!!

Cash is important!

Why should we pay cash everywhere with banknotes instead of a card?

I have a $50 banknote in my pocket. Going to a restaurant and paying for dinner with it. The restaurant owner then uses the bill to pay for the laundry. The laundry owner then uses the bill to pay the barber. The barber will then use the bill for shopping. After an unlimited number of payments, it will still remain a $50, which has fulfilled its purpose to everyone who used it for payment and the bank has jumped dry from every cash payment transaction made...

But if I come to a restaurant and pay digitally - Card, and bank fees for my payment transaction charged to the seller are 3%, so around $1.50 and so will the fee $1.50 for each further payment transaction or owner re laundry or payments of the owner of the laundry shop, or payments of the barber etc..... Therefore, after 30 transactions, the initial $50 will remain only $5 and the remaining $45 became the property of the bank thanks to all digital transactions and fees.

Small businesses need your help and this is one way to help ourselves too. Pull small draws of cash out at a time and use that instead of tap, credit, etc.

When this is put into perspective, imagine what each Retailer is paying on a monthly basis in fees at 3% per transaction through their POS machine. If they have, for example, $50,000 in sales & 90% are by Card, they are paying $1500 in fees in ONE Month. $18,000 in a year! That comes out of their income every month. That would go a long way to helping that small business provide for its family!

Kelly Reedy

[mayakern]

Why....why are the sweaters 3/4 sleeve??? Personally I would totally get a black sweater (or white tbh) but I can't vibe with a 3/4 sleeve (for a few reasons, mostly various sensory/attention problems) so i was wondering why that choice was made and whether there's any chance of a full length sleeve being made in addition or instead? But also I'm curious as to exactly what kind of fabric it is? Is it an anti-pill material? (Pilling is one of my fabric enemies)

so first off, this as is about the lace collar sweaters that will be hitting the store later this year. you can watch the full video here, but i’m including screenshots as well for those of y’all who don’t want to watch the video.

2nd, i get that everyone has personal preferences, but this was unnecessarily rude. you’re not going to like every decision we make, and that’s OK, but if you’re old enough to use a credit card to buy things online, you’re old enough to realize that product decisions you dislike were not made to personally gall you.

there were a few reasons we chose to do 3/4 sleeves, but the primary reason was that 3/4 sleeves work better for a variety of arm lengths. a 3/4 sleeve will look good whether someone’s arm is shorter or longer than average, whereas a full length sleeve can easily be too long or too short for the person wearing it. we also didn’t want to do short sleeves because at the time the only other shirt we had in production was the wrap top, which has short/cap sleeves.

we do have some full long sleeve shirts/sweaters in planning/in production that we have not shown off yet, but currently we do not have plans to make a long sleeve version of this particular sweater because we have no idea what sales will look like. if these sweaters sell well and there’s considerable customer demand, we’ll consider doing long sleeves. if these sweaters sell poorly they will not be returning to the store, period. we are a small business with limited funds and we cannot throw infinite money at the wall.

last, the fabric composition is 62% polyester, 33% viscose, 5% elastane. we tested a lot of fabrics for this sweater, and this was the only one that felt right. its appropriate thickness (not super thin, but not super thick, so that it can easily be layered under warmer garments or worn solo without causing you to overheat), the cute ribbing, and the texture/feeling (which don’t aggravate my textural sensitivities as an autistic person with very sensitive skin) were all just right.

we’ve also done a number of wash tests and did not encounter any issues with pilling. in general, if you take good care of our garments, that is not going to be an issue from our current manufacturer, who have demonstrated time and again that they prioritize quality labor and material that is made to last. the reason shein products fall apart isn’t because they’re made of polyester: it’s because the sewing is rushed and the fabric fibers are low quality and often have a looser knit or weave, which makes them more prone to damage/falling apart on a structural level.

as for pilling specifically, pilling is actually the fabric breaking. looser weaves/knits are more prone to breakage because they are more open and cheap fabrics are often made of looser weaves, which results in more pilling. but even a high quality material can pill under the right (or wrong) circumstances. when fiber is wet, similar to hair, it is more vulnerable to breakage, and washing machines with agitators (the big thing in the middle of some washers) are really really good at breaking your fibers, thus resulting in more pilling.

anyway tldr the sweaters shouldn’t have any pilling issues if you treat them right and full length sleeves are not likely to happen but are not totally impossible.

[ivystoryweaver]

Jingle Bells

Summary: Santiago is a flirty cute dork and you can’t stop me

Pairing: Santiago Garcia from Triple Frontier x gn!reader

Word Count: 800

Content: fluff, mentions of Christmas songs (but story doesn’t indicate what Santiago or reader celebrate, if anything), not beta’d

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"That'll be $73.07," you mumble to your customer, waiting as she runs her credit card through the machine before handing her a receipt.

Twelve hours on the cash wrap at work, scanning grocery item after item, dealing with faulty coupons, the holiday rush and fussy customers. Your feet are sore and you're dying to get off your shift in thirty minutes.

You picked up back-to-back shifts to pay for a plumbing bill your landlord refused to cover.

"Plumbing is the responsibility of the tenant," he groused at you last week. "Read your lease."

Without even a glance, your hand reaches to scan the next customer's items.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Happy holidays," a soothing tenor voice greets you.

"Happy holida - " You trip over your monotonous reply when your eyes meet the most beautiful man you've ever seen in person.

Sparkling brown eyes dance underneath thick eyebrows, arched in playful curiosity. A sprinkling of gray dusts his dark curly hair.

"Hi," he greets you, chomping playfully on his gum, which draws attention to the curve of luscious, full lips and the sexy stubble on his chin.

"Good afternoon," you manage, reminding yourself to continue scanning his groceries.

"Afternoon?" He shoots back, nodding toward the darkened windows at the front of the store. "It's 9:15."

"Oh. Right," you sheepishly chuckle.

"Long day?" the handsome man genuinely questions.

Your first instinct is to shrug him off with the run-of-the-mill small talk that comes as naturally as breathing to you, as a cashier.

But something happens - a contradiction that has your heart tripping over itself.

His eyebrows shift curiously, like a puppy, while, at the same time, a smug smirk curls the corner of that mouth.

"Uhh, yes," you admit, pausing, "the longest."

"I'm sorry," he sincerely returns, reaching to swipe his next grocery item for you. "Must be busy this time of year."

"Oh, god...sorry," you stammer, reaching to finish up his order.

"'S okay," he shrugs one shoulder. "You gonna be able to get out of here soon?"

"Not soon enough," you joke. "If I hear 'Jingle Bells' one more time, I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"Hmm," he nods and then he sings, "Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleeeiigghh..."

"Nooo, please stop," you find yourself laughing. Out loud. When was the last time you laughed?

"Are you sure? Because I do all the hits. Siiiilent niiiight - "

"Oh my god," you giggle, "you have a terrible voice."

He pretends to be offended, "Is this how you treat all your customers?" The corners of his warm brown eyes crinkle with amusement, letting you know he's still teasing. "Because if you smile at everybody like that, you must be the best cashier in this place."

"Could you hurry it up?" A grouchy customer behind this gorgeous man interjects, almost bouncing on her toes.

And just like that, you're deflated. This is why you don't waste your time caring. No point, no time to truly connect. Everyone is in such a damn hurry, especially this time of year.

"Sorry," you mumble, flustered as you start to bag the man's groceries.

"Hi, I'm Santiago," he greets the grinch behind him. "And this is... " he glances back at you, reading off your name tag. "Been a long day. Just trying make 'em smile. I'll get out of your way."

He flashes a stunning, yet disarming smile and the woman falters.

"Oh. I-it's okay."

"Thanks," he nods, shifting his attention back to you.

You give him the total. “Hang in there,” he winks. “Bet this place would fall apart without you.”

He leaves you stupefied, but smiling.

You can’t even remember the last time someone showed kindness and warmth to you, a simple cashier - let alone made you laugh.

The remaining 27 minutes of your shift feel a little lighter.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

One week later…

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Dashing through the snoooowww…”

Your eyes snap up to find Mr. Handsome next in your checkout line.

“This is gonna get awkward if you don’t remember me.” His dark eyebrows shoot up questioningly.

“Santiago…right?” Your cheeks feel warm as he flashes you that smile.

“Guilty,” he chuckles. “I really am dying to see what happens when ‘Jingle Bells’ pushes you over the edge.”

“Don’t try me,” you laugh, scanning his grocery items. "Nobody wants me to lose control in here."

"Maybe somewhere else then," he cooly suggests, with the cutest eyebrow wiggle. "Maybe a restaurant? Or a bar? We could grab a drink when you get off?"

Your mouth drops open. "That...was..."

"Pretty smooth, right?" He grins. "Yeah, I've found that singing off key holiday songs is the way to go."

You laugh for about the twentieth time since you met Santiago.

And you go for that drink.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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[seat-safety-switch]

In the ancient past, folks used to think that “progress” meant automating everything. You’d go to an automatic diner – an automat, in their futuristic speak – order some food from a little locker, and eat it without ever having to interact with another human being. And now, their dream has come (almost) true. Due to budget constraints, the cool shiny chrome and Art Deco styling has not happened. Instead, your local grocery store now has an automated checkout system which accuses you of shoplifting if the wind blows over your shopping bag while you’re trying to load it.

I’ve complained previously about the gall of this industrial-grade insult machine, and I won’t belabour the point further. The real point is: why didn’t restaurants turn into this, too? To answer this question, I posed as an independent news reporter by not showering for a week, and headed to the local sushi restaurant. Here, a robot “wait staff member” (no gendered language for robots, please: it produces ambiguity in their parse system) was ready to deliver my food to me, on demand, however much I wanted.

Like all computer-based things, I knew that the robot was designed by humans, and so was the fancy iPad they chained to the table that I could use to order food. And humans never think of things like “ordering a negative amount of food.” All I had to do was sit and drink my complimentary water, and plug in a keyboard to the iPad. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the “order quantity” indicator went up.. and up.. and up.. and up.. and after a couple hours of the robot not kicking me out, it went to 2,147,483,647, and overflowed the counter. Now, the iPad proudly displayed that I was ready to order negative two billion items of tuna sashimi. I decided to add a few other items to the order, and then pressed a button which I assumed to say “wench, fetch me my food.”

Friends, and I use that term loosely because I know at least some of you are undercover law enforcement, I did not expect for the restaurant’s robot to literally catch fire, its lithium-ion batteries rupturing in an unquenchable fire as I waited patiently for my meal. On the plus side, when the bill did come, ushered to me by the replacement wait-staff-bot, I swiped my credit card and made enough money to purchase a small tropical island. Maybe there really is something to this future business.

[ugh-yoongi]

hiiiii my love, can't wait to torture bee for her birthday (because yoongi hasn't done enough of that). little on the nose, but can i request domestic yoongi celebrating a partner's birthday? i just think he'd be really sweet & thoughtful with it

love u, thank u <3

hello my beloved! thank u for the request. please excuse the tooth-rotting fluff here, but i had to make it extra soft for our resident acts of service king. <3

i hope this helps our collective hobi depression just a tiny bit :')

yours to keep

pairing: yoongi x gn!reader genre: established relationship au; fluff warnings: domestic soft yoongi. may cause delusions. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 569 listen to: by your side by sade

[the night before, 7:30pm]

Yoongi waits until you’re out of the house.

Friday night, dragged to your favorite restaurant by your group of closest friends. Jimin sent along with Yoongi’s credit card and a mission. Tonight, he’s a turncoat: tasked with making sure you have a good time, but also ensuring you stay out long enough for Yoongi to cross every task off his to-do list. And, as Jimin had appeared at the door to escort you, dressed impeccably as always, nearly glittering beneath the shitty lighting in your kitchen, you’d been none the wiser.

There’d been a sly smirk thrown over his shoulder and the discreet passage of a sleek, black card. A kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, a promise to see you later, and then silence.

Now he can get to work.

[11:59pm]

“I had no idea thirty would come with so many new aches and pains.”

Yoongi laughs something soft and breathy. Thinks it’s kind of silly that he always reacts to you this way: endlessly endeared, edges permanently eroded. He takes in the sight of you—skin still dewy from your shower, those expensive eye patches you love stuck beneath your tired gaze. Wonders what kind of crossroads deal he must’ve shook on to wind up here.

Twenty-four seconds until midnight. Not that he’s counting, but he wants to get it right. Wants to see the brief glimpse of confusion before your face settles and that brilliant smile shines through. Just enough time to make it to the kitchen and dig through the junk drawer. Enough time to pad back down the hallway and appear in the doorway of the bedroom.

“What’s that?” you ask, and there’s the confusion. The soft knit of your eyebrows, small downturn of your mouth.

Yoongi doesn’t answer. Just places one knee on the bed, lets it dimple under his weight. Pulls the lighter out of his pocket just as the clock strikes midnight and lights the stupid 3 candle he’d also tasked Jimin with. “Happy birthday, baby. Make a wish.”

You close your eyes and blow.

Whatever you wish for, Yoongi hopes it sounds a lot like forever.

[the day of, 9am]

He lets you sleep in.

Busies himself with the fruit tray and the coffee machine. Trims the stems of the flowers, makes sure the water in the vase is cold. Arranges them so they look more purposeful and less thrown-together. Meticulously sticks thirty spiral candles into the cake and wonders how he’s going to light them all before they start melting. Sighs and decides to do it anyway.

And then there’s the sound of feet on hardwood and he turns, his smile involuntary when you come into frame. “Morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm. What’re you doing?”

You wrap your arms around him from behind. Place a kiss between his shoulders. Yoongi places a hand over yours and squeezes. Says, “Lighting your birthday candles.”

“That’s a lot of candles,” comes your response, but the warmth in it is palpable. He can feel your smile. “Did you make the cake?”

He nods. Shrieks when you pinch playfully at his waist and call him a traitor.

Thinks he’d do much worse if it made you happy.

[6:45pm]

Yoongi clears the dishes from the table. Stacks them in a pile next to the sink.

Pats his pocket, makes sure it’s still there.

It is.

[shuchu]

im not even a kyo stan but like 😳 imagining the trope where childhood friends get seperated for a while and when they reuinte again, person a is shocked at how much person b has changed and now person a is confused and flustered around person b 🥺

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ different but familiar ₊˚ෆ

character(s): kyo kaneko

note: gn!reader ; fluff ; not proof read!

a/n: oh gosh i haven't written a proper fic in ages... i apologise if this is sloppy ;w; but hey, my first kyo fic o_o despite being a kyomie for a while now lol oops. i actually really enjoyed writing this, it made me feel all soft and warm on the inside hehe. this kinda ended on a cliffhanger, let me know if you guys want a part two!! thank you anon for the idea!! enjoy lovelies ♡

art credit

you were on your way to the coffee shop nearby to get your coffee before heading to work. you take a deep breath of the crisp autumn air as you walk through a carpet of leaves, hearing them crunch beneath your feet. you swing open the door and hear the little jingle of the bell before the delicious smell of freshly baked pastries mixed with the fragrant scent of coffee wafts towards your nose. a faint smile graces your features as you walk towards the counter to order.

"hi what can i get for you today?" the cheerful cashier asks.

"i'll have an oat milk cappuccino with 2 shots of espresso as well as a croissant please." you respond, giving the cashier a friendly smile.

"will that be all?"

"yep! thank you!"

just as you were about to pull out your card to pay, you see someone reach forward to tap their card on the machine. you turn to your left to see who it was. a guy with light blue hair smiles at you and says, "my treat."

as you walked over to the collection counter with him, you were trying to figure out why this guy looked so familiar. did you know him?

and then it hit you...your eyes widened as you looked at him

"kyo?"

he turned towards you with a soft chuckle, "took you long enough."

"oh my gosh...i haven't seen you in..." your voice falters as you try to recall the number of years

"thirteen years." he says as he looks at you with a small smile

"oh wow...it's been that long huh? how've you been? i hope mr. and mrs. kaneko have been well."

"oh yeah i've been busy, got a job that literally takes up all of my time. my parents are doing good though, thank you for asking about them."

"so...what brings you back to our quaint little town?"

"well...my mom and dad wanted to meet some old friends and catch up with them. i've been working tirelessly for months without a break so i decided..."

kyo's voice drifts off, melting together with the background ambiance of the coffee shop as you stare shamelessly at him, noticing the changes in his appearance since you last saw him.

oh wow, when did he get his ear pierced? his face changed a lot...it's a lot more defined now. also, he shot up so much what the heck?! i was taller than him when we were kids...that's so unfair, why do guys get so much taller after puberty...wait, was he always this handsome...?

"hey...hey y/n...are you done checking me out?" kyo's voice gets clearer again as you snap out of your thoughts. you feel your cheeks heat up after getting caught staring at him and because of the close proximity between the both of you. he leaned in to get your attention and now both of your faces were just a few inches apart.

you avert your gaze to compose yourself and mumble, "i wasn't checking you out..."

he leans back and chuckles, "uh huh...so tell me what i said then." he teases, a smirk evident on his face.

you stay silent because obviously you didn't hear what he said, he chuckles and flicks your forehead gently, "you haven't changed a bit, always spacing out."

you move your hand to rub the spot he flicked with a pout, "quit it, you're still as annoying as you were back then." you giggle after and he laughs too. it felt nice to joke around with him again. your heart swells with happiness, you've missed him — more than you thought you did.

the barista calls out your name and you go to grab your order.

"i'm assuming you're headed off to work now, where do you work by the way?"

"oh it's just 3 blocks down, that massive office building?"

"oh yeah, i know which one you're talking about. what time do you get off work?"

"6pm."

"oh perfect, i'll see you then. we need to have a proper catchup. dinner's on me too." he says with a boyish grin.

"no that's okay, i can-"

"nuh uh uh, no can do. um...i'm sure you have to start walking, it's almost 9am. you don't wanna be late to work do you?" he says as he places his hands on your shoulders and swivels you around to face the direction of your office.

you click your tongue and start walking, turning your head back to respond to him, "we'll see mr kaneko. i'll have my card ready this time."

"byeee! good luck at work! i'll see you at 6!" he calls out as he waves at you

you wave too and turn back around with a sappy smile on your face, your cheeks flushed. well that's something to motivate me to get through work today

[aphrodites-law]

Clarke wakes up eight years in the future, where her college best friend happens to be her girlfriend. Part 5/? (Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4)

It was such a beautiful day that Clarke almost felt bad they’d sit in a dark movie theater for two hours. Lexa seemed happy to just hold her hand as they walked down the street, chatting about one of the business projects she was working on. 

Clarke knew questions about Lexa’s work were like flirting with danger. There was no way Other Clarke didn’t already know everything about her girlfriend's career, while she could barely hold the conversation. Parks and the environment had never made her feel so dumb. Luckily, Lexa didn’t seem to notice any gaps in her knowledge — or lack thereof. 

If Clarke was still on edge about the whole situation, at least it would’ve been nice to have some advantages. Her memory being so selective was a thorn in her side. It was like she was forced to walk this future with horse-blinders on because she might break it irreparably otherwise. It was all so… careful, tailored, that Clarke was starting to reconsider her stance on dorky sci-fi. Maybe Raven had cobbled together some kind of monstrous time machine and then stored it in Lincoln’s basement. 

“Do you want Milk Duds?”

Clarke tried to refocus. They’d arrived at the concession stand of the multiplex, where  a teenager was shoveling popcorn in a paper bag. Clarke didn’t remember this theater in particular, but the buttery-sweet smell put her at ease. Lexa and her went to the movies whenever they could, treating themselves to sweets. It was familiar territory for once — there was nothing to worry about. 

“No, you always hoard them,” Clarke replied mindlessly. 

“Do not,” Lexa protested. “You just take forever to eat them.”

“You have to suck the chocolate first.”

“Here we go.” 

“What kind of person just bites into them right away?!” 

“I don’t know you and I don’t hear you.”

Clarke grinned, finding it so much easier to fall into their banter than more serious exchanges. When the teen set their popcorn on the counter, she reached for her purse to pay but heard a snort and the smooth swipe of Lexa’s credit card.

“Yeah, right,” Lexa said. 

They made their way down the hall toward their screen. 

“So I can’t pay for my own food at 30?” Clarke teased. 

“Not the day of, grandma.” 

“Wow, look who’s talking now.” 

Lexa pinched her ass so fast that Clarke let out a startled gasp. 

—

It was a coming of age story on the raunchy side, with loud scenes and moody visuals in nightclubs and college dorms. Clarke felt completely disconnected from the story, knowing she would forget it soon. The more obvious reason was that they were done with the popcorn and now Lexa had her hand on her bare thigh. 

She wasn’t even… doing anything, but it was there, and Clarke didn’t care about any character or any damn plot point because her best friend’s fingers were touching her skin. She could admit that much. 

The real mistake had been comparing how Lexa and her usually acted at the movies. Sitting next to each other, sharing food or candy, but never… touching with purpose. Inevitably, Clarke wondered how she would’ve reacted if her Lexa had ever attempted this. If she’d held her hand and made no move to let go. Clarke wanted to believe she would’ve been effortlessly cool about it, but her current state showed otherwise. 

Breathing was a tall order and her hands felt clammy. There was no one behind them at least.

“Lexa…” she whispered, glancing at her. 

Lexa had a small smile but seemed otherwise focused on the movie. Her hand inched up higher, beneath her dress, and then stilled again. 

In the cover of darkness, Clarke realized her assumption she’d be safe from her own desires was a joke. The secluded but still public space made it worse – forbidden in the kind of way that made her ache. Now it made sense why Lexa had responded so positively to her movie suggestion. 

From the way her body was reacting, Other Clarke clearly had a fantasy for this type of situation, and Clarke had tapped right into it. Which was unfair, because how could she know she enjoyed this before she even knew it! 

“Fuck,” she cursed, her fingers digging into the armrest. With her free hand she reached for Lexa’s wrist, a weak attempt to stop her.

“Lexa,” she repeated quietly. “What are you doing?”

Lexa drew small circles on Clarke’s skin, like an apology. Only it wasn’t. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured a few seconds later. “Sit back.”

There was… no way. Clarke couldn’t. She couldn’t. But her heart had started pounding and the heat in the pit of her stomach felt unbearable. She knew this feeling but never this intense. There was no scenario where she didn’t take care of this. And to Lexa, there was no scenario where she didn’t care of this. 

Which was exactly why Clarke needed to choose her next words carefully: “Not here,” she pleaded, and then: “I’ll be too loud.” 

It had the effect Clarke had hoped for. Lexa lost all semblance of control and looked at her, her mouth parted open and her expression unreadable. Yet in the dark room, Clarke could still see the change in her. Could feel how her hand’s soft touch turned into a possessive grip. Fingers pressing into flesh, then her thumb rubbing against the spot as if she worried she’d hurt her. 

Lexa was quiet for a beat, then cleared her throat and gathered their belongings. “Come on.”

She’d entwined their hands without Clarke even realizing it, or maybe it was her who’d reached out first. Clarke wasn’t sure she could tell left from right anymore, or if she could even walk to wherever it was Lexa was taking her. They left the room discreetly, but the lights in the hall did nothing to snap Clarke out of her mounting desire. 

It felt like the fight had been lost the moment she’d suggested they go slow. Slow had meant eventually, and with Lexa, eventually seemed to only take a few hours. 

—

The restroom was miraculously empty for now, but the toilet stall Lexa had dragged her in was a tighter space than expected. Clarke felt a thrill.

Lexa pressed her against the door with little restraint, hand cupping her cheek as she kissed her deeply.

Clarke pulled back and looked into her eyes, knowing she didn’t want to stop her. It wasn’t just how her body reacted to Lexa’s hands or mouth. Wherever they were, from the comfort of their apartment to the cramped confines of this stall, she felt home. Home with Lexa. Attuned to her touch, her smell and her taste. The most mind-bending, confusing event of her life was happening, yet she felt safe. Tethered to this new life as if it was her own. Or could be, at least. 

Lexa rubbed their noses together. “Breathe,” she whispered. 

Clarke tangled her fingers in her hair. “I’m okay. Just wondering… why the toilet is the romantic setup I get.”

“What do you mean?” Lexa replied with a smirk. “You love traditions.”

“Tradi-”

Lexa kissed her again, her full lips like warm velvet against hers. She kissed her until it almost felt silly that was all they were doing, and really, Clarke was sick of fighting this. She reached for Lexa’s hands and brought them to her breasts, where Lexa needed no further instruction to palm them. 

“Fuck, Clarke, I can’t do the whole slow thing anymore.”

“You can’t?” Clarke repeated pointlessly, too lost in the feeling of Lexa’s hands on her body. 

“It’s your birthday,” Lexa said against her neck, inhaling when Clarke tilted her head to the side. “And I have so many presents to give.”

Her hands went down to her waist, her ass, and then pushed her dress up. She never looked away from her, smile growing as Clarke’s eyes darkened. 

“Lexa…” 

It was all she could find to say. Just the name of the woman in all her thoughts. She felt so needy; a need to connect with Lexa in all the ways they never did in her time. She pulled her close and kissed her, chasing her tongue. When Lexa moaned, she was reminded of what she’d told her earlier – how her kisses felt different. Clarke thought, good, let them be different. Let Lexa be surprised too. It was only fair. 

Lexa’s hand was beneath lace in a matter of seconds, fingers finally pressing against her. 

“Oh, god,” Clarke breathed out, knees buckling. 

“I’ve got you,” Lexa promised, firmly holding her thigh up with her other hand. 

When she entered her, Clarke’s body felt so overcome with pleasure she briefly worried she’d come on the spot.

“So wet,” Lexa husked in her ear. “I wish I could get on my knees. But not yet.”

Fuck. Clarke closed her eyes, thankful for the small mercy. She wouldn’t have been able to stop Lexa from licking into her if she wanted. Not even for a second. She could only focus on her fingers filling her, harder and faster with every moan that slipped out of her. 

Lexa took her quickly, like she worried someone would rob them of this moment if she didn't. Or couldn't wait to see her fall apart. Her eyes never looked away and her skin had a slight shine under the harsh light. She’d never looked more confident; more beautiful. And Clarke felt attractive too, though… with her tits nearly out of her dress, her leg hooked around Lexa’s waist and her fingers buried deep inside her, she should’ve felt dirty. And well, she did, but not in a way where she’d later feel empty. Where she’d be reminded she was someone you had fun with, but that was all. Lexa made her feel like a fucking bombshell. Was showing her that they were on the same page in every facet of this relationship.

Clarke wanted to last longer but couldn’t, needing release like she needed air. It hit her hard, just as Lexa found a different spot and adjusted her angle, because of course she knew every inch of her body. She muffled her moans in Lexa’s top, though she doubted it helped.

Lexa pressed small, tender kisses on her neck while she rubbed her clit in tight circles, whispering I love yous between Clarke’s sighs. For a moment they simply came down the same euphoric wave together, not in a rush to find the world again. When she finally pulled out, Clarke whined in protest. She couldn’t get enough, now wanting nothing more than to make Lexa feel the same. 

She’d crossed the line, and there was no part of her that wanted to go back. 

[eraserdude6226]

I copied this from someone else.  Very interesting and it really made me stop and think about using cash more often.  I have really never thought of this – has anyone else?

Please understand what NOT using cash is doing … and why cash is important.

Why should we pay cash everywhere we can with bank notes instead of a credit card?

I have a $50 bank note in my pocket.  Going to a restaurant and paying for dinner with it.  The restaurant owner then uses the bill to pay for the laundry.  The laundry owner then uses the bill to pay the barber.  The barber will then use the bill for shopping.  After an unlimited number of payments, it will still remain a $50 note, which has fulfilled its purpose to everyone who used it for payment and the bank is dry from every cash payment transaction made.

But if I come to a restaurant and pay digitally with my credit card and bank fees for my payment transaction charged to the seller are 3%, so around $1.50, and so will the fee be $1.50 for each further payment transaction or owner for the laundry or payments of the owner of the laundry shop, or payments of the barber etc.  Therefore, after 30 transactions, the initial $50 will remain only $5 and the remaining $45 will become the property of the bank thanks to all digital transactions and fees.

Small businesses need your help and this is one way to help ourselves too.  Pull small draws of cash out at a time and use that instead of tap, credit, etc.  When this is put into perspective, imagine what each retailer is paying on a monthly basis in fees at 3% per transaction through their POS machine.  If they have, for example, $50,000 in sales & 90% are by Card, they are paying $1500 in fees in ONE Month. $18,000 in a year! That comes out of their income every month.

That would go a long way to helping that small business provide for its family!

[nothorses]

So have you ever like. Talked to people that were homeschooled? Or did you just read one story online about a cult homeschooling their kids and went "fuck this is awful public school is so much better"?

I was homeschooled until 5th grade and then sent to public school. I lasted until 7th grade before I had to fucking beg my parents to homeschool me again. I was literally waking up for school in the mornings and immediately having a mental breakdown. I was constantly trying to fake being sick so I didn't have to go.

Homeschooling was SO much fucking better. I didn't have to sleep in jeans and a bra and t-shirt so that I was already dressed when I woke up, just so I had time to eat a small bowl of cereal before being forced to leave.

I didn't have to worry about classmates making fun of me behind my back, or my "friends" insulting me or going out of their way to embarass me in front of my crushes.

I didn't have to worry about having a cold or the flu or my period and being forced to go to school and be miserable all day covered in blood and snot.

I didn't have to worry about being given lunch detention because I forgot one book (probably because I have memory issues from severe ADHD)

I didn't have to worry about being overwhelmed with homework. I didn't have to worry about my teachers or classmates making me feel like a fucking idiot because I couldn't do math (wow turns out I have a severe learning disability that somehow no one noticed).

I didn't have to worry about being forced to run the pacer test in gym and not being allowed to rest, resulting in me throwing up.

You can't tell people "omg just because YOU had a bad time in school doesn't mean you're allowed to dislike it!!! Not all public school is bad!"

and then turn around and go "Homeschooling is awful it's just a bunch of religious bigot cultists teaching their children how to be bigots and children never getting to go out and socialize with their peers!!!"

All I learned from public school was:

Keep my fucking mouth shut, do not speak unless spoken to

Don't do anything "weird" or "different" (AKA show signs of having autism)

If you don't stay in school and go to college (AKA put yourself in thousands of dollars of debt in exchange for a piece of paper that doesn't actually guarantee you a job) then you'll die in a ditch somewhere

Don't even bother trying to make friends, they'll just treat you like shit

I was never taught anything useful that I couldn't have just learned by myself at home. I was never taught how to pay bills or what a mortgage is or how to grow my own food or raise my own animals for meat or how credit cards work or how to take care of myself after my parents die.

Public school is there to terrorize children and destroy them mentally until they conform to what society wants, so that they become the perfect unquestioning unthinking cogs in the machine that will work until they die.

It's there to make money for colleges because kids are never taught about trade jobs or making their own businesses/companies, they're taught that college is the be all end all and if you don't go there (and give them your time and money) then you'll become homeless and die.

It doesn't teach you how to think for yourself, it teaches you to shut the fuck up and obey or be punished.

I'm sorry you had that experience with public school, genuinely- and I know you aren't the only one, and this is honestly something I feel really passionate about. Like, actually; a big motivator for getting my Master's in Ed- and likely my Ph.D in Ed after this- has been that it positions me to get involved in a way that I can make larger changes than most classroom teachers might be able to influence.

I'm also really glad that homeschool was a positive thing for you! And I don't believe in outlawing homeschool or anything either; I do think it needs more regulation and resources, and I think there needs to be a wider array of options overall, but like. Given how education has historically been weaponized against indigenous communities to carry out cultural genocide (in the form of boarding schools), I think any laws against homeschooling would just end up repeating that same history.

But like, you can't ignore that homeschool has absolutely been used as a tool of abuse, too. And you can't ignore that abusive families and home environments exist, and you can't just... refuse to acknowledge the push from the conservative right to de-regulate homeschooling & break down public ed in order to further empower them to isolate and brainwash kids.

Hell, you wanna talk about how kids are taught to stop thinking, stop talking, and follow orders? Take a little day trip to a fundamentalist homeschooling network sometime.

You talk about public ed like it's this homogeneously evil entity designed for, and only capable of, abusing kids. But you wanna know what?

My family is abusive! My upbringing was abusive!

And sure, there's a chance they may have been able to pay for private school or something if public school had not been an option- for a few years, anyway. But that's because my grandparents have money, and because my mom was just neglectful enough to want me out of her hair.

I went to three elementary schools, two middle schools, and four high schools. All of those were public schools. Some of them sucked more than others, but all of them offered me:

An escape from home that I needed so desperately that, for a long time, I extended by hiding out at the public library for an extra 3+ hours.

Reliable lunches, even when my mom wouldn't pay for them.

Adults that I could trust, and did trust.

Adult role models and examples of a better future, especially in the queer adults that taught me.

Social connections, one of which was with a current roommate and my best friend.

Directly applicable knowledge and skills: cooking, online research and internet safety, everything I know about safe sex, finances, how to do my taxes, basic governmental structure, local, national, and world history, basic court proceedings, how to navigate colleges/university, (some) critical literacy & critical thinking skills, social-emotional learning, (some) critical race theory...

An array of options for different paths into an adult career: understanding (some) options like trade schools, community college, university, and the military (gross), and why I might choose one of those options vs. going straight into work.

Examples of and exposure to different & diverse ways of being, from home lives, to cultures, to queerness, to experiences I would never have firsthand.

Like, I have definitely grown up in pretty progressive areas & school districts, and that's a big part of it (though the conservative-leaning school I went to was also the school where my creative writing teacher read us a short story that he wrote about some gay star-crossed truckers).

These schools exist, and these experiences exist, and it's silly to dismiss them out of hand because your one stint into public school once was a nightmare.

And it's worse to dismiss the resource that these places are to so many families & kids. It's free childcare, it's one sure meal every day, it's community, it's exposure to diversity.

The practical alternative to that, for a lot of poor families, is child labor.

You don't have to like public education. I certainly have mixed feelings on it, and understanding & addressing the deep-seated problems in it are, like, the cornerstone of my life's work at this point.

What you should do, imo, is learn to recognize when you might not have all the context and information you need to make a judgement call like "destroy public education forever", look around at the people saying what you're saying & why they might be saying it, and perhaps consider listening to the people who have already been doing the work you've assumed is impossible.

[merchantservicesarticles101]

Portable Credit Card Machine

[mehidktbh]

One Call Away

Pairing: Mafia!Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon gets a call one day from you, you're panicking and crying on the other side when you tell him your co-worker did something terrible to you. But you don’t realise he’s about to be right outside your building.

Warning: Established relationship, gore/blood, torture, swearing, inappropriate behaviour, Soap is like Ghosts’ right-hand man, unwanted/un-consensual touching, crying, angry!Ghost, angst and fluff

A/N: Thank you to @fatedeniedhope for the help and inspiration with this and many more fics. Hopefully, everyone loves this because I'll definitely make more.

(No one knows how hard coming up with an idea was, I mean fuck I was stumed but this isn't my best work and hopefully, they'll be other (better) work soon.)

You sniff again, wiping the tears that continue to seep from your eyes, your nose is a bit runny and you feel hopeless. You pull your phone from your pocket, you're hands tremble and quake as you try to swipe through it before you tap on the contact you most dearly trust. The screen displays the brightly labelled name of your dear husband, someone you hate to call some days due to him always being busy but at this time you need him more than ever.

♡ ♡ ♡

The loud sound of talking echoes through the work building, you sit down at one of the many chairs at the conference table. Cups full of tea or coffee surround the number of papers and files, pens and pencils sit beside them un-neatly and un-used. A big projector hangs from the ceiling as it brightly displays the recent sales and downfalls. What's hitting hot and not, people's preferences and what changes can be made to the company.

"We'll revise after your thirty-minute break." Your boss said roughly, his voice is tired and demanding as his eyes skim over everyone sitting at the table. His head nods allowing everyone to stand and go off, and you're dying to get something to eat and maybe drink. After all, drinking tea and coffee every day for the same time for almost a week.

The sound of your shoes click against the flooring, you make your way past several people, some sit in their office cubicles while others stand mindlessly in a line waiting to use the printer. Your eyes wander over to the vending machine that sits there on its own, the hallway is mostly empty expect a few people walking up and down. The sounds of the vending machine pull you closer, you were originally thinking of going down the street to get something but now you scrapped that idea.

You stare in awe at the many foods displayed behind the clear display case, ranging from cholate to chips to anything unhealthy wise. But at the moment you are on a running thirty-minute timer and the last thing on your mind is eating healthy. Revenging through your pocket you pull out your wallet ticket away in your blazer. The black leather wallet is full of different credit cards and stamp cards that come from your favourite places.

You pull out a $20 dollar note and push it through the vending machine, typing in the numbers on the little keypad before watching the machine slowly get your items. "Good morning, Y/N." A masculine voice came from behind you, nearly scaring you as you turned around to face your co-worker. "Hey, John" You smile, nodding your head to greet him as he stands calmly against the vending machine, eyeing you up and down. "How's the meeting going?" He tries to make small talk and despite you wanting not to you engage in a small conversation.

"Actually I'm just about to head back," He sucks his teeth in, pouting his lips together, "That's a shame." His voice is low and sad, a smile appearing when you awkwardly laugh back, the sound of your food and drink smack against the machine. You bend down to grab them from under the flap before you hear John shuffle behind you.

"See you around, Y/N..." He mutters, his eyes trained on you as you bend down so you can better grasp the water bottle that rolls further away from your hand. You hum uninterested in what he just said before you feel his hand grab your ass, his hand low enough to feel his fingers graze your inner thigh, A short snickering came out from him before he walked off, you can basically see the asshole smirk from where you stand now in shock and anger.

♡ ♡ ♡

"Simon..." You sniffle, hearing your husband's mood change instantly when he hears your heartbreaking tone. "Fuck- what happened?" He asks, a demanding tone lacing his sympathetic tongue as he leans into the phone more. Trying to hear you better through your sniffling and hiccuping. Simon could hear your throat closing up, the way your soft kind voice was fast and sloppy.

"I- Can you come get me, please..." Your pleading falls hard against his ears as he shoots up from his leather chair, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing through his hollow office. "Of course, dear." You sigh in relief as your back is met with the bathroom wall, you feel like the walls are closing in around you even though you have enough space to stretch out. "Now tell me what happened" You try to ignore the amount of background noise going on behind your husbands' phone, from him demanding someone to bring the car around to him getting in the car.

"My co-worker he... he touched me..." You were quieter, you couldn't shove the feelings of embarrassment and shame from coming up to stop you from saying those words properly. Simon angrily groans on the other side, you can just imagine him in the back of the car squirming with anger. Feeling the tightness that he has as he holds the phone to his ear, "Wait there, sweetheart. I'll be there in a second and I'll deal with that fucker', okay?" He reassures you of your safety and now all you want is to be in his arms, to feel his warmth and loving voice.

"Mhm" You hum softly, your tears low clearing up but the back of your throat still burns from your silent sobbing earlier. Simon receives the sound of the phone being hung up as he tosses it aside, barking at the driver to hurry up before he turns to Soap. A simple nod is all Soap needs before he turns to look out the window, a gory image set in his mind.

♡ ♡ ♡

You sit alone in your office room, the blinds closed and fending off any wondering eyes as you sit down in your chair looking straight at your computer. Your mind isn't set on work and instead, the time tickling from the clock that sits on your office desk, slowly ticking down till your squirm in your seat.

You nervously wait anxiously for what's about to happen, you haven't heard since you stupidly hung up on your husband. And now all you want to do is hear his soothing voice, his calloused hands and his beefy figure but all you can do is wait. Feeling as if the moment you had just a second ago wasn't real.

"Y/N." The door opens up, closing behind itself as a well-known voice soothes you, you jump up from your chair before falling into your husband's embrace. You feel stupid for letting yourself cry again after telling yourself you wouldn't once Simon would be here but now crying is all you can do. Burrowing yourself further into Simon's chest you clutch onto his suit, not one of you caring if a dark spot appears wet.

"Don't worry about that idiot, Soap took care of him." He whispered into your ear, his hand came out to wipe the stream of tears away. "You didn't... kill him, right?" You questioned. Still, that guy deserved all the hell he could get but the day he disappeared everyone would of pointed fingers at you. The thought of him dying was terrible but wasn't pleasant either.

"Don't worry about him, love. He won't bother you again" You nod, feeling the smooth silk fabric of Simon's (suit) handkerchief up against your cheek. The floral design was pretty to look at, the design is something you remember when you got it for him for his birthday. The thing is now something you see every day on each of his suits, the square handkerchief is different from his lifeless-coloured clothes and stands out. Reminding everyone he has a special someone.

You spot bits of blood smudges on it, the same ones you guess he cleans off his knuckles or hands when he's done with "business". "Come on, let's go home." He waits near the door, standing tall and neat as he watches you pack up quickly, throwing your laptop into your bag before your grab his hand tightly.

♡ ♡ ♡

Blood spills out upon the concreated floor, the red liquid is something Ghost has seen thousand times, he's covered in it and reeks of it too. "Toss him out." He stares at the hopeless men in front, the ropes thicker than shit as his skin burns redder than his blood. Soap nods in agreement, the sound of the wooden chair screeching harshly against the concert floor dies out the further he's taken away.

He mindlessly wipes away the blood from his hands, the floral handkerchief swallows the liquid whole. Ghost stands there, continuing to wipe the blood away, remembering your face as he does so. How frightened you sounded when you called him, he swore he nearly had a heart attack at that moment, hearing you huff for air. But now he neatly packs the handkerchief into his pocket, his mind set on getting back into bed with you.

He tries to gather up excuses to sugarcoat you into staying in bed in the morning but there's no need to work when he's already done it for you.

[rabbitsrams]

memories -- jschlatt x reader

warnings: ANGST. that's all

wordcount: 1.2k

a/n: WOOHOO STELLA WROTE A LONG FORM FIC

It's been two years since the breakup.

You were mostly over it, having moved all of your stuff out of your shared apartment and blocked him everywhere. The breakup was amicable but you had a feeling that 100% cutting him off would be easier for you.

You were now in the process of finally moving out of your parents' house (again) and into a new place. They let you move back in following the breakup and with that plus struggling to find a decent job, you were stuck there for a while. But this was a good sign, a sign of change. A sign of moving to the next thing.

As you went through your childhood bedroom for the last time, searching for anything that you may have left behind, you came across an old picture stuffed away in your desk drawer.

It was from that photobooth from the zoo. The zoo that you went to with Schlatt all those years ago. All of a sudden, memories began flocking back to you the more you stared at it.

The thing itself was a strip of four photos, four photos that made it seem like the two people in them were hopelessly in love. Which, at the time, they were. Two young, naive kids who were completely oblivious to what was going to come.

“Schlatt, come in here! There's a photobooth!”

”Wait, we don't wanna leave the group behind!“

”Come on! It'll be quick! I wanna have a memory from today.“

”Oh, alright.“

The photobooth was pretty small. You could only just fit together. Schlatt lifted your leg so it could rest on his and so you could be closer. The machine's garbled voice instructed the two of you on what was going to happen, telling you that four photos will be taken in intervals.

The first photo was simple, with the two of you smiling together. Schlatt had his arm around you and you leaned close to him. The flash completely blinded you two, so the second picture was of you covering your eyes, laughing at the circumstances.

The third photo had you kissing him on the cheek, his face crimson and a smitten expression on his face. And finally, the fourth one had Schlatt kissing you on the lips.

The machine was waiting for you to pay for the photos, asking in that same garbled voice for you to insert cash or a credit card. But you were too busy kissing each other to pay attention.

You eventually broke away when an angry father opened the curtain, demanding you two hurry up so him and his daughter could use the booth. You apologized to both of them profusely as Schlatt took his card out and paid for the photos.

You each got a copy of the photos, grinning at how good the pictures turned out. There was a permanent marker lying on the top of the photo dispenser. You grabbed it and wrote the date and drew a little heart with your initials on his. He took the marker from you and did the same.

You turned the strip over, seeing Schlatt's familiar handwriting. It got you wondering if he still wrote his e's like that, still added a little smiley face at the end of his notes, still had the photo like you did.

You wanted to throw it away. You wanted to completely free yourself from those memories. Memories that made you smile but hurt you at the same time. Memories of a relationship that was no more.

But there was something inside you that urged you to keep it, to bring it with you to your new place. It didn't have to be displayed on your corkboard or on your fridge. You could hide it away with your other hidden things and look at it if the urge was there.

You could still hold on.

——————————————————————————————————

Schlatt had returned to New York for a family party. It's been a while since he's been back after moving to Texas a few months after your breakup. His childhood room still looked the same and had a lot of old memories from his life.

He decided to do a little video for his second channel, giving his audience a little tour of the space they were familiar with before moving to a new space. It was going to be fun looking through old stuff from making videos at that time and

As he was going through a drawer by his desk, he saw a folded sheet inside. Putting his camera down, he took the sheet and unfolded it, surprised to feel it was camera paper as opposed to notebook paper. And he was met with quite a surprise at what the photo contained.

Seinor prom. He was dressed all nice in a tuxedo, smiling at the camera as his arms were around your middle. You were beaming, your dress being that same dress he helped pick out because it was his favorite shade of blue. You had a corsage on your wrist that he remembered the petals tickling your wrist every time you moved it.

You looked so beautiful.

He was surprised that he kept the photo, considering he made it a vow to get rid of everything. He must not have brought this photo with him when moving into that apartment.

He shut the camera off, planning to go back to recording soon. He exammined the photo, remembering that entire night.

He picked you up that night, sheepishly smiling as your parents gave him looks. Looks that would guarantee something happening to him if he ever hurt their daughter.

You looked so beautiful in your dress, in your makeup, with your hair styled so nicely. He almost forgot to give you the corsage because he could not stop staring at you.

The limo was also so nice, with you, him and your shared friends all chatting as loud music blared from the speakers. He loved how you made conversation with the driver after being dropped off, thanking them and apologizing if the group was too loud.

He dragged you to the line for prom pictures, to which you sighed because of how long it was. But the time went by fairly quickly because of how engrossed you were in a conversation.

He laughed at how cheesy the backdrop was, multi-colored fringe foil decorations barely covering the gymnasium door. The photographer, completely uninterested in what he was doing, simply told the two of you to pose and do whatever. He wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you tight as you both grinned.

"Ah! The corsage tickles!"

Schlatt folds the photo back up, this time stuffing it inside an empty pill bottle by his desk. He couldn't bring himself to get rid of the photo. He knew he still had some feelings for you even after all this time. He hated himself for hurting you so much and wished that things could have worked out.

He was hurt when he saw you blocked him, but he knew it was crucial for you to heal. And he hoped that you were doing well with everything you wanted to pursue. Your happiness was all that mattered.

He swore that he was over you, swore that he would be okay without you. But after seeing that photo, he wasn't sure if he was.

[sunlightandsuffering]

Bruh i think I gave Eren too much rizz, he's supposed to be bad with girls, BUT MIKASA JUST BRINGS IT OUT IN HIM!!

Mikasa is lingering in the Purdy’s chocolate line nervously, mulling over her purchases, to buy or not to buy. 

She’s a ball of nerves as a group of university aged guys slinks into the store, eyeing up last minute Valentine's Day chocolate purchases just like herself. 

The only difference is that their chocolate are probably for their girlfriends… not their moms. 

She should feel more embarrassed than she does, but Mikasa only clutches the container of candy hearts a little closer to her chest, she has nothing to be embarrassed about. She loves her mom! And well, she nervously eyes up her other purchase, a rather expensive and rather large box of assorted chocolates that she’s bringing to a Pal-Entines party tonight. She cringes internally at the name, stepping another spot ahead in line. 

They’re not the best plans she could have, but at least she’s not sitting home by herself writing fan fiction like a loser. 

Although the thought does sort of appeal to her because her nerves are going to devour her whole as she steps up to the counter, placing her spoils for the shopkeeper to ring up. She’s been invited to the Pal-entines day party by someone who is definitely not a palentine, she’s still unsure if that’s a word. 

She’d been invited by none other than her current situationship, Jean, a very tall, somewhat good-looking if not a little horse-faced guy she’d met in her political science course. And now here she is, contemplating every life decision she’s ever made as the Purdy’s chocolate employee judges her silently over the cash register. 

Mikasa taps her credit card against the debit machine sheepishly, taking her purchases before the employee can make some sort of snide comment about leaving things to the last minute. She needs to get the hell out of the mall, she’s already seen several men in business suits walk by with oversized teddy bears or bouquets, and she can’t have the sadness of her romantic relationships shoved under her nose any more today. 

So, Mikasa heads off, jetting out of the mall and towards a party she doesn’t really want to go to, but really, how bad could it be?

It’s definitely not great, to say the least. So far, the event is mostly composed of Jean’s male roommates, Connie, Armin and the third one who is conspicuously absent. There are exactly two girls at the palentines day party, and she is one of them, Connie’s childhood best friend Sasha is the other. 

Mikasa awkwardly throws back another swallow of her cheap tasting solo cup beer because she fucking needs it if she’s going to get through this night. Jean keeps reassuring her that more people will come, that he invited more girls, that it’s still early yet. 

But he’s been saying that since she got here an hour ago, and the longer she waits the less true it feels. There is a pizza, and Connie and Armin are nice, friendly, and she actually does like Sasha, she’s really cool, so it’s not the worst party she’s been too. But it’s still not great, made even worse by the fact that this seems to be Jean’s introduction of her to his friendgroup as perhaps a bit more than a situationship and Mikasa isn’t sure how to feel about it. 

His palm rests on her lower back as he makes some joke to Armin about their third roommate, something about him definitely not having a date on Valentine’s day. 

Mikasa laughs where she should, cringes into her beer when Jean’s hand skims just a little too low over the curve of her ass to rest there. 

She is saved from an awkward removal by the door opening to reveal a surprisingly large group of people. “Sorry we’re late, Ymir got lost,” A tall man’s boy’s voice booms through the small apartment and Jean visibly slumps in relief. The tall blonde man, Reiner she learns is followed by an equally tall dark-haired boy named Marco, a small blonde girl with pixie like features they call Historia and a lanky freckled girl who she assumes must be Ymir. They settle into the apartment easily and Mikasa thinks that maybe Jean’s friend group isn’t so bad at all, that maybe she could see herself fitting in with these people, although maybe not as Jean’s girlfriend, she’s still not sure. He’s cute and all, and the way he keeps smiling at her is endearing, but she’s just not sure if there’s a spark, not sure if it’s right. 

“Where’s Eren?” Historia asks from beside Mikasa, where she’s been excitedly cooing over her outfit and how pretty her hair is, Mikasa finds she quite likes the blonde girl, she’s very sweet. Mikasa looks around curiously, did she miss someone? Jean squeezes her bicep affectionately as he notices her stare, before tugging her under his arm, “He’s out getting snacks, but I sent him to the grocery store a while ago he should be home by now.” Ymir cackles, wiggling her eyebrows, “Maybe Yeager is getting some Valentine’s Day action after all.” 

Jean scoffs, “No way, not Eren.” The group around her laughs, an inside joke she’s not a part of, and Mikasa’s lips pucker into a pout, who is this boy, and why does his friend group think he’s so bad with women? She gets her answer about ten minutes later. She’s awkwardly lingering in the kitchen near the door as she refills her solo cup with red Valentine's Day punch when the door opens beside her, and she yelps a little as the handle digs into her back. A boy appears, and it is at that moment that Mikasa experiences true love. 

“Shit I’m sorry,” A deep gravelly voice hums from behind her, and there’s a hand on her waist steadying her as he kicks the door shut.

Mikasa turns curiously, figuring this must be the infamous Eren, and it feels like time stops.

He’s handsome, too handsome to be in this crappy little apartment on Valentine's Day, if you ask her he should be in her bedroom, taking her clothes off…with his teeth. At the very least, he should be out taking some other girl’s clothes off, he’s too good-looking to be here at a mostly singles party on Valentine’s Day. He’s well-muscled, broad shouldered and wearing little more than a black-t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats that Mikasa thanks god for. 

This is the guy everyone has been making fun of all night, this is the boy that's not good with girls? 

He bites his lip, his gaze dragging down her form and a thrill goes through her as he checks her out, beautiful green eyes roving over the curves of her waist, the swells of her breasts and finally she’s thankful she wore this low-cut t-shirt. 

Like he can’t help himself, his hand dips over her waist, a fleeting touch, and before she can say more, he’s tugging her shirt up just enough to expose the taut skin of her stomach. 

His touch is like a zap of electricity, thousands of volts shooting through her all at once, rough pads of his fingers skimming over her stomach, up her rib cage, stopping just shy of the line of her bra. “Did I hurt you?” He questions curiously, his mouth quirking into a little smirk because he fucking knows what he’s doing to her, there’s no way he doesn’t know. 

A little sigh escapes her as he drags his fingers back down her side and this time lingering over the waistband of her jeans, and fuck she hasn’t even spoken to him yet and already he owns her. 

She struggles to respond, her mind focused wholly on that hand, his thumb now caught in her belt loop, the rest of his fingers rubbing affectionately over her hip, perusing for bruises that won’t appear just yet. “I’m okay,” She finally struggles out, bringing her eyes up to his and shit he’s so pretty, too pretty, a strong nose, sharp jawline and those eyes, green eyes that could consume her whole soul and she’d let them. 

“You sure?” He asks again, making zero move to remove his hand from its spot on her waist and Mikasa nods weakly in return. “Good,” He hums, “Sorry I wasn’t expecting to find a pretty girl in my kitchen, and Jean’s an idiot I don’t know why he put the punch right there.” Mikasa shrugs before taking a long pull of said punch, just to take the edge off she promises herself, there’s no way she’s going to make it through this without alcohol. “I’m Eren,” He introduces himself, finally moving his hand away, but not without an affectionate squeeze to her hip and Mikasa inhales sharply, he has such big hands and he’s so warm. “Mikasa,” She replies, almost in a daze, as she sticks her hand out for a shake. Eren’s expression puckers up into a pout as he takes her hand in his own, and fuck does he have nice hands, warm and calloused and so much larger than her own, god the things he could do with those hands. 

She represses a little shiver at the thought, because fuck yes his hands are really big and Eren is very tall, and judging by those grey sweats Eren is most definitely proportional. 

“You're Jean’s girl,” Eren says, and it’s almost sad, mournful. She’s quick to nip that in the bud right there, moving a little closer to him in their kitchen alcove, thanking her lucky stars they haven’t been seen yet. “Sort of,” Mikasa tells him airily, and she’s very purposeful, moving her hand up to his forearm, silver eyes locked with emerald green, “We’re not exclusive.” God, she hopes she hasn’t broken bro code just now, hasn’t acted like a complete and total whore, but fuck she wants this boy more than she’s wanted anything in her life, something about him is just electric. Eren’s mouth pulls into a wicked smile that has her heart skipping several beats in her chest. 

“Jean didn’t mention that.” She shrugs innocently, he can do with that information what he will. “A pretty girl like you, liable to get stolen from him, he should really do something about that.” “He should,” Mikasa comments slyly, and they’re so close now, gravitating towards each other like magnets, his hands find her hips again easily, like they belong there, fitting perfectly over her sides, his fingertips just brushing the curve of her ass. 

She takes another sip of her drink before shooting Eren a knowing smile, issuing her challenge, “Before someone else does the job.” “I’ll make sure to let him know.” 

“You should,” She tells him huskily, her voice teasing because she absolutely wants this boy to steal her away from her current situationship, Jean isn’t even a blip in her mind. 

Eren’s eyes are on her mouth, caught on the pink of her tongue as she wets her lips, and before she knows it she’s leaning in, up just a little because he’s so much taller than her. Eren is leaning down too, and if she does kiss him in the front entryway of her sort of boyfriend’s apartment she wouldn’t care, it’ll be worth it. 

But just as she leans up on her tip toes Eren pulls away, the rough hands on her waist pressing her down and planting her firmly to the floor. 

“Where are you going?” She asks as he extricates himself from her, trying not to show her disappointment, pressing her lips together to stop her pout. Eren smiles at her darkly before he gives her ass a swift smack that sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, the ‘slap’ reverberating in her ear, “Gonna let Jean know if he doesn’t get his shit together, it’s not his bed you’re gonna be in at the end of the night.” Mikasa watches him go, lip bitten between her teeth and still holding her punch tight in her hand, “Shit.”  She is so, so fucked. 

[little-annie]

Another WIP Weekend is ahead of us!

Have I worked on different WIPs every weekend 😝 yes, yes I have. Am I going to start working on the same ones from now on? TBD

🏔 Eddie Bang- I can't reveal anything about this WIP until art claims have been completed, but still, I need to desperately work on it. MAKE ME WORK ON IT.

💼 Businessman Steve- This guy has been sitting in my drafts for too long. It's a 5 & 1 of times concierge Eddie has encountered Steve Harrington, the son of business mogul Richard Harrington. At first Eddie isn't sure of the young businessman who seems to have a sex and drug problem, but as he gets to know Steve through these few encounters, Eddie comes to find Steve is living a life he truly despises. Through these few encounters they become friends and eventually by the end fall in love.

🤘🏻 Role Reversal Steddie AU- @tinytalkingtina and I have been expanding our world of Trackstar!Eddie and Metalhead!Steve and can't wait to share with you all that we've created.

⛺️ Steddie Set Up- Steve and Eddie meet on a camping trip organised by the kids. Clueless to the fact that they've been set up they become fast friends and soon a couple.

You know the drill. In an ask send me the emojis of the fic(s) you'd like me to work on and post updates.

What exists of 💼 as of now, below the cut.

There's a commotion at the double doors of the hotel lobby, multiple men spilling in all at once. Tailored suits, expensive watches, and the numbers of their mistresses hardly hidden in their phones.

Every one of them looks like an asshole.

From where Eddie sits behind the reception desk doodling in his notebook, he inwardly sighs before standing and tugging at his stiff uniform to at least appear professional. Black slacks and a white button down that he's had to treat for Ketchup stains more times then he cares to count. It's the least personalised thing he owns and with the added fact of not being allowed to wear jewellery or have his hair down, he just feels like another cog in the machine.

God he hates his job.

"Good morning, Sir," Eddie says with feigned composure as one of the suit and tied assholes of this month's conference approaches the front desk. The guys sporting a full head of salt and peppered hair, thick and perfectly coiffed on the top of his head. Eyes haunting, smile sinister in a way that's much too menacing for Eddie's taste. Shark like in the way it makes Eddie feel pinned down like a hopeless piece of prey.

"Harrington, Richard Harrington," the man says with a thundering voice instead of a greeting, slapping his credit card and ID onto the marble countertop between them and turning his back to say something snappy to the man at his rear.

Harrington, Eddie thinks with distaste, remembering the name from his first day on shift. Richard, the pompous prick, was yelling at the poor woman training Eddie because she forgot to make sure his room came stocked with higher end liquor than their Luxury Suites usually did. Really, it was something so small it could have been handled with just a phone call down to the front desk. It's a rather vivid memory and Eddie's sure that at the time if that would have been suggested the man would've dropped dead of a heart attack.

Though really, would that have been so awful?

He's seen the man far too many times since. Monthly business conferences and meetings at the hotel keep the entirety of Harrington and Associates forever coming through the lobby doors.

Much to Eddie's dismay.

He sighs at the thought of the many more encounters to come, watching as the vein bulges from the side of Richard's head and he turns a rather grotesque shade of red. Eddie feels bad for the man Richard's snapping at. It's obvious not much has changed other than the jerk sporting a few more wrinkles and grey hairs.

With a hardly contained eye roll, Eddie types 'Harrington' into the system, the keyboard clicking under his fingertips before two separate bookings pop up on the screen. One for Richard and another for a Stephen.

Eddie hums in thought, as familiar as this gaggle of assholes are, he doesn't remember a Stephen from the past bookings.

Must be new. And related. Poor bastard, Eddie thinks absent-mindedly. He can't imagine working for this guy, let alone being his son, though, maybe this Stephen's no different.

He grimaces at the thought and hopes he doesn't have to meet the man if he is.

Quietly, as not to disrupt the hissing match happening in front of him, Eddie finishes checking Mr. Dick Harrington into the hotel. Sliding the room key, credit card and ID in the man's direction, Eddie watches as Richard does nothing but continue to berate the man before him. Something about scheduling or mergers or what the fuck ever that Eddie really doesn't have the time or energy to give even a single shit about.

From the edge of the crowd of assholes a young man steps in to grab the cards and quite frankly Eddie couldn't give two shits if this guy's helping or stealing from the rich bastard. Though by the near matching formal attire and the way no one bats an eye, he supposes he at least works for the guy.

Or…

“Steve Harrington,” the young, startlingly beautiful man says as he picks up his apparent father's ID and replaces it with his own on the marble countertop.

There's a cute twist to his lip when he talks and Eddie already hates himself for staring, but how can he not?

This is Richard's son?

No

No

Mr. Tall Tan and Beautiful cannot have come from that.

But the matching square of their jaws, tilt to their cheeks and hazel of their eyes begs to differ.

Fucking hell.

He's probably just as much of a prick.

The pretty ones always are.

The straight ones too.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, willing his apparent blush to go down Eddie nods once and selects the only obvious choice of name in the booking system.

Stephen Harrington.

He can feel the man's eyes boring into him as he's typing, searing almost in their stare, so much so Eddie wonders if he has something on his face or if the guy just has zero social skills.

Chancing a glance up his suspicions are proven right and Steve doesn't so much as move, his eyes not meeting Eddie's but staring a little lower.

Eddie swallows, the judgement feeling heavy as he pulls the collar of his shirt higher, making sure there's no evidence of ink or any other bad decisions peeking out from the white buttoned around his neck.

It wouldn't be the first time some business asshole had something to say about his tattoos or the occasional hickey concealer failed to hide.

“605,” Eddie says almost mechanically after placing Steve's room key between them, his voice finally drawing the man's eye away from his throat.

Steve coughs into his fist, nods and grabs his and his fathers remaining cards and room keys but he doesn't leave. Navy blue suit and eyes Eddie thinks will take him weeks to forget, Steve remains standing before him, chewing on his bottom lip until he… he does a quick once over of Eddie. Top to bottom. Head to tail. Hazel eyes scanning, judging, making Eddie's skin feel like it's on fire for completely other reasons.

Then without a second's notice he looks from side to side rather hastily and leans into Eddie's space across the marble countertop, the sound of his elbow meeting the surface between them, a dull thud.

He smells like the pine of a forest floor and the musk of a man who's been nothing but busy and exhausted for weeks.

But God it's doing something to Eddie and he hates it.

Steve works his jaw in an odd way, rubbing at the muscle before he asks in a hushed tone, “There uh, there any clubs around here, for the, you know,” he lifts his hand to drop his wrist limply, fluttering his lashes as he continues, “variety?”

He's asking Eddie if there's any gay clubs around.

He's asking Eddie if there's any gay clubs around?

What the fuck?

Eddie bristles, already feeling his brows pull into a glare. He's making fun of him. These businessmen always do.

It's not like he's wearing a pride flag anywhere or skipping through the fucking halls, but somehow these pricks always seem to pick up on his preferences.

It's been years and only once has anyone been genuine in their inquiry.

So genuine in fact that Eddie found himself with his dick in the guy's mouth not more than thirty minutes later when he went out for his smoke break.

But a Harrington? Richard's son?

He thinks Hell will sooner freeze over.

Really if anything Eddie wants to tell the guy to fuck off, but he can't because professionalism.

So he does the next best thing.

If the guy's gonna be a judgy dick, well…

In a matter of seconds Eddie prints off a map of the city that has each and every gay bar starred and hands it to Steve with a very fake and falsely enthusiastic, “Enjoy you stay in the city Mr. Harrington, I hope you find what you're looking for.”

And then before he even has a chance to catch the guy's reaction, he's waving towards the crowd, calling out “next please” and moving to the other computer to check in the next asshole.