#give me my morning luxury drug food

[my-beloved-ghosts-and-me]

My thoughts about which deadly sin each Usher represents.

I would like to say that they all could easily represent more than one sin, but only one sin was deadly to them and that's what I'm using as a parameter.

Roderick and Madeline - Greed

The twins are Greed. For me it's pretty obvious they're Greed because even Roderick said so. No amount of money would ever be enough. Their greed for more was the beginning of their downfall when, decades ago, they decided to accept that deal.

Prospero - Lust

Another one that I find pretty obvious. His life was all about a luxurious and hedonistic lifestyle, but ultimately what caused his death was his decision to keep the orgy going.

Camille - Envy

I think Camille was envy because that's exactly what led her to her death.

Camille's resentment towards Victorine comes from having to deal with all the dirt from the family, but her sister who is just like her, as Verna said, gets to be their "Madre Theresa" just because she hid better. This is what led Camille to be so hateful of Victorine, her envy for her.

If Camille wasn't so envious of Victorine she wouldn't be so determined to bring her down, if she wasn't so envious she wouldn't be so personally focused on finding the dirty Victorine was hiding despise Verna giving her the chance to step back and not get inside.

Ultimately envy led Camille to her death.

Leo - Gluttony

Leo can easily be Gluttony because his over-consumption and over-indulgence of drugs and drinks it's exactly what led him to his death. Pluto was never dead, he was hallucinating because of all the drugs he took the night before. (I do believe the hallucination was especially so vivid because of Verna though. She disseminated the idea that led each Usher to their death but also gave them the chance to step back. She offers temptation and the chance to regret their choice)

Jules even let it clear, to us, the audience, the alarming amount of drugs he consumed. His drug-induced hallucination ultimately led him to his death. Had Leo not consumed too many drugs, he wouldn't hallucinated that morning and wouldn't have gone after a new cat that caused him to spiral into a deepening psychosis aggravated by the excessive amount of drugs he consumed on a daily basis.

Victorine - Wrath

Victorine for me represents wrath because that was her downfall.

She was rude to Verna when they bumped into each other for the first time, she was rude to her security guard after the conversation with her older siblings... That shows us how easily angry she was all the time.

She was angry that she needed to put more effort into her job because it was harder for her, a Usher bastard. She was angry that her older siblings got to grow up with her father figure around and with the "legendary Annabel Lee", the only woman Roderick loved enough to marry while her mother was just a nurse. She was angry that their father had thrown the food at them just to see them fighting for it. She was so angry at everything and eventually, that was going to blow up.

But anger it's not wrath. Wrath, by the Bible, it's when you get consumed by rage to the point of acting irrationally and immorally. 

And in a fit of rage, blinded by the wrath that bubbled inside her all her life as an Usher, she killed her partner, went mad with regret, and when she realized what she had done she killed herself consumed with remorse.

Wrath was the sin that led Victorine to her death.

Tamerlane - Pride

First of all the sheer amount of mirrors in her house, it's a huge clue that she's Pride, but there are others.

She considers herself above Juno and even calls her "it", refusing to acknowledge that she's a human too. And why? Because she's a "junkie"?

Tamerlane considers herself better than her siblings too. She only stopped texting at their funerals because her husband stopped her. Their funeral meant nothing to her because it wasn't about her or her launch.

She thinks of herself above her husband too. Could be anyone there, any face, the brand would be a success. And why? Because she, alone, is behind it.

Just before her death, she could have given up her pride and called her husband. But she didn't. And she died completely alone because of it while destroying the last mirror and the last way she could see herself, her ugly self.

Pride was Tamerlane's death through and through.

Fred - Sloth

Fred is Sloth because he didn't demolish the building as his father ordered, he procrastinated. What led his wife to the orgy was his lack of attitude in their relationship, his lack of proactively in their life.

Fred tried to be like his father but he couldn't keep up with his rhythm, he was a cover band off-key, always a little slower.

If you look closely, all things are always delicated interconnected.

Fred's sin caused Prospero's death and his own. A full circle.

Had Fred stopped procrastinating and started doing his job, the building would not be there. Had Fred stopped being accommodated in his relationship, Morrie wouldn't be tempted to go to Perry's orgy.

Poetically the consequences of the sin that ultimately led Fred to his death were the slowest. Sloth is lazy after all. He was the first to sin, but the last to die. And he died laying down, without moving, representing perfectly his deadly sin and exactly how he lived his life.

Obs: Fred and Prospero are so interconnected, they are like a double ouroboros. The end and the beginning of the Usher's heirs massacre.

[pigeonwhumps]

Signing up

Pets of the Silver Screen masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3

Eloise signs up to be a pet.

2.5k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation, non-con nudity (non-sexual), collar, minor whump (Eloise is about 14/15)

Eloise swallows as she looks at the white brick with its shiny brass plaque gleaming in the morning sunlight. It's a beautiful day. She wishes she could stay out here forever.

Her stomach growls loudly, as if to remind her why that isn't an option. She has, quite literally, nothing.

She walks up to the door and presses the bell, heart in her throat. Her dress is the best she has, the only one she has, but it's frayed and faded, more patch than fabric. It might not be enough to gain her entry into society, even as a plaything. If they don't accept her... well, then she really does have nowhere to go.

The door opens to reveal a stern-looking man in a suit.

"Yes?"

"This the WRU offices?" she asks, hoping she hasn't got lost.

"Yes."

"Great. I'm 'ere to apply to be a pet."

The man looks her over with new interest. "Right this way, miss."

He leads her through a waiting area to a wooden door, knocks, and opens it. She waits until he gestures for her to enter before heading inside.

The office is very luxurious, with a large desk in the centre, covered with neatly-organised papers and a few decorative glass and copper paperweights. A globe stands on a side-table. There's nowhere for her to sit, so she stands somewhat to attention in front of the imposing man examining her from behind the desk. The door shuts with a snick, and she swallows. No backing out now.

"So. You're here to become a pet."

"Yes, sir."

He smiles slightly at that. "Good start. What's your name?"

"Eloise, sir. I dunno me last name."

"That's no problem. So tell me, why do you want to be a pet? No nonsense about this being your first choice of job or anything, I want to hear the truth."

Well, that makes it easier. She's never been as good with words as she'd like, but she can tell the truth.

"I got nowhere to go, sir. This is me last option. I 'eard I can get food every day 'ere, an' a roof over me 'ead. It's a secure job, sir, that's what the bloke at 'yde Park Corner said, an' it's for life. I need summat, sir, I ain't got nuffin else if I don't get this."

The man nods. "Sounds like you're just the type of girl we're looking for. My name is Mr Bridgers, but you can carry on addressing me as sir if you like. That's what you'll address me by if you're employed by us, anyway. Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? Water?"

"Tea, please, sir."

"Very well." He rings a small bell and after a moment a pet enters. She's plainly dressed in a blouse and knee-length skirt, no shoes, a thick leather collar around her neck. The tattoos denoting her status are plainly visible on her forearm. She bows to Mr Bridgers, barely sparing a glance for Eloise, and sets a tray on the desk.

"Thank you, Jane. Would you like milk or sugar, Eloise?"

"No thank you, sir."

Mr Bridgers fills a teacup, then hands it to Eloise, placing a saucer at the edge of the desk. He pours some for himself before settling back into his chair and waving Jane out.

"Go on, drink. Now, I'm going to explain a bit more about what being a pet will entail. You can walk out of here at any time until the collar's around your neck, at which point you're ours for life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. The first step of the process will be to tattoo you with our logo and your number, which you will be referred by until your new owner gives you a name. You'll also be injected with a drug designed to induce amnesia. It might not work completely, it's still experimental long-term, but we find it makes pets more compliant and easy to work with. Before all this, though, you'll receive a collar and be measured for a uniform. Your own clothes will be taken off you. The collar won't be removed by us unless it's absolutely necessary, and training can take several months so you should get used to it. In my experience most owners don't remove their pet's collar either. You won't really want them to, because that means there's a reason for it. You've seen the uniform on Jane, it's a skirt and blouse, and a neat enough hairstyle, typically one meant for young girls. People like their pets looking innocent. Do you understand? There's no flexibility here."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, you'll be training in the flat upstairs from here. Pets are housed in cages at night, ten to a room. You'll eat once a day, enough to fill you up, and your behaviour will be subject to strict rules, with punishments for breaking them. Tomorrow, you will undergo a series of tests to determine what you can offer to a potential buyer, and then you will be on the market."

"I can't read or write at all, sir," interjects Eloise worriedly. Is she about to lose this?

Mr Bridgers chuckles good-naturedly. "Not those sort of tests, girl. We're looking for obedience, affection, household skills, that kind of thing."

Eloise flushes. "Yes, sir."

"Now, once you're on the market, we'll recommend you to potential buyers. They might want to view you before making a decision, that's perfectly normal, but that will only happen if our trainers deem you obedient enough. You seem to me to be a good girl, so although every pet goes through the basics I don't think you'll have anything to worry about. And then once you're bought, you'll be trained to your new owner's specifications. Any questions?"

Eloise nods. "What're the rules an' punishments like, sir? Jus' so I know what to expect."

"Nothing strenuous on the rules front. Don't speak without being spoken to, obey unquestioningly, address all staff by sir or ma'am, etc. Punishments usually involve stress positions or a light caning on the soles of your feet. Sometimes they're more severe if what you've done is a danger to yourself or others. Anything else?"

"What 'appens if me owner dies, sir?"

"Typically, you'll either be passed down in their will or resold. I can't tell you for certain though, it's down to your owner."

Eloise nods. It makes sense, she supposes. She'll be property after this.

"I don't 'ave any more questions, sir."

Mr Bridgers sits back upright and opens the largest notebook, dipping his quill into a pot of ink. He writes something down. "Right. I just have a couple of questions for you then, if you still want to become a pet."

"Yes, sir."

"Firstly, how do you feel about doing anything sexual? We'll take your preferences into account when deciding on owners."

Eloise shudders. "I'd rather not, sir, if it's all the same to you."

"Very well. Do you have any allergies?"

"No, sir."

"Is there a chance you could be pregnant?"

"No, sir."

"Do you have anyone you need to notify about your decision, any belongings to pass on?"

Eloise blinks rapidly, refusing to acknowledge the memories of her long-dead family rushing up. "No, sir."

"Final question. How old are you?"

"I ain't sure, sir."

Mr Bridgers sighs. "You have to be eighteen to be a pet, Eloise. So I'll ask again. How old are you?"

"Eighteen, sir." Eloise has to lie, she has to, even if she doesn't like lying.

"Okay then. If you're willing to sign up as a pet for life, kneel in front of my desk so I can put your collar on."

Eloise swallows hard. This is it. Her last action as a free woman. She has reservations about this, but she has to do it. She has no other options. Carefully, heart pounding hard enough that she's sure it'll explode out of her chest, she gathers up her skirt hem in her hands and kneels on the hard wood floor, head bowed. She hears Mr Bridgers round the desk, sees his polished black boots come into view as he approaches.

He crouches down in front of her, cups her hair in one hand in a strange imitation of tenderness. "From the moment I put this on you, you will be known as 95, and I will expect unquestioning obedience."

Eloise feels sick. She can't bring herself to look at the strip of leather that's sure to be in the man's hands. He drags his hand down her cheek and tilts her chin up, wrapping a thick band of leather around her neck and buckling it at the back.

Eloise gags as it's fastened. Oh, God, what's she doing here, she can barely breathe, this was foolish. The collar's choking her. She tries to claw at it, get more air in, but someone catches her hands.

Mr Bridgers catches her hands.

"Hey, hey, calm, 95. Breathe. I haven't seen anyone react so strongly in a while. You can handle this."

Eloise forces herself to take breaths, one after the other, just to prove that she still can.

"Sorry, sir," she whispers.

"It's fine. We won't move to the full tightness just yet. I'll give you a chance to get used to your collar first."

Tighter? It's going to be tighter? She whimpers. It's so restrictive already, so heavy against her collarbone. And he's going to make it tighter?

"95!" Mr Bridgers shouts, and she freezes. "I've given you leniency, now pull yourself together before you earn yourself a punishment. Right now."

Eloise breathes and forces herself to look up. Mr Bridgers nods approvingly.

"Good girl. As you know, your number is now 95, that will be all you'll be addressed by here and I don't want to hear you call yourself anything else either. Address the staff and any other people you may encounter as sir or ma'am unless otherwise indicated, and don't speak unless you're told to. I don't want a sound out of you without permission. No making eye contact with people either. You are no longer a person, you are a pet, with the same status as animals, and you will be treated accordingly. You will treat people as they deserve to be treated, beings far above you. Your life is no longer your own. I expect and will have unquestioning obedience, to me and to the rest of this organisation. Is that clear?"

Eloise bows her head, looking away from Mr Bridgers. His harsh tone makes her shiver, so different to how he spoke to her earlier. It feels like a lashing.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now let me take a look at you." She stays completely still as he lifts her chin again, tilting her head from side to side, then circling her. "You're very cute. I reckon you'll be sold as a lapdog. Performing pets are popular too, if you can pick up skills. Now strip and head through that door to the adjoining room. Once you're there, kneel in the appointed spot. Someone will be there to take your measurements and prepare you shortly. Think of this as a test of your ability to kneel. You should always kneel when you're staying in one place with your owner, you'll receive further training on that later. Go."

Eloise takes off her old dress as quickly as possible and heads into the adjoining room, leaving her dress where it is – she didn't get any instructions on that, after all.

The room is warm, whitewashed brick with a large window that lets in the sunlight, and she proceeds to a large square on the floorboards marked out with white paint. There's a ring embedded at roughly head-height in the wall and she kneels down beside it nervously, trying not to think about what it might be for. They're tattooing her today, and she needs to prepare herself for the pain. She stares out of the window at the tiled rooftops, ignoring the rest of the room, trying not to think about anything else.

It doesn't work.

She's not free anymore. She's owned, a pet, the lowest rung of society. Even lower than she was previously. She doesn't have control over anything in her life. Not even her own body.

Her life as a free person is over. She needs to forget about that. This is her new life now, everything that matters.

Grief wells up unexpectedly, large and lumpy and wet, sitting heavily in her throat. She didn't think she'd feel anything about leaving her old life, it's not like there was much to it, but now she finds herself missing the dirty streets and leaf-strewn gutters, even the children that used to bully her and the adults that used to shout. But at least she could make the decision to leave or fight them.

At least she has a chance at a meal here. It's been a while since she last had one. Even if the trade-off is the choking sensation around her neck, and the loss of free will forever.

The door opens and Eloise keeps her head lowered as footsteps enter.

"Right. 95, is it? On your feet." Eloise obeys and a woman stops in front of her, attaching a chain leash to a loop on her collar and then to the ring on the wall. "I'm here to measure you, clean you up, and sort out your injection and tattoos. Once you're prepared someone will take you to the kennels, where you'll stay until your tests begin. I won't tolerate any hesitation or sound, if you think the pain is going to make you cry out tell me now and I'll fetch you a gag. Do you think you'll need one? It's a one-time only offer, and you won't be given it after today either. If you say no and then make a sound, you'll be punished."

Eloise doesn't have a choice. She's always been squeamish, and the size of those tattoos...

"Yes, ma'am."

"Right." The woman's footsteps cross the room and then she's back, folding a strip of cloth between Eloise's teeth and tying it behind her head. "I'll remove it to clean your face and hair, but you can wear it until then. I'm going to measure you now. Stay perfectly still."

Eloise obeys, terrified by the woman's clipped, almost angry tone, like she's annoyed at Eloise just for existing. Mr Bridgers was almost the same.

Will her new owner be like this? Will they be kind, or will they be harsh and sharp and horrible? Some people have animal pets they treat well, after all, but control over people... She swallows. Those who crave control over others tend to not be so nice.

She's starting to regret it. She forces the feeling down though, forces down the utter terror at what she imagines she might go through. She can't afford to feel that. If she didn't really have a choice earlier she certainly doesn't have one now.

Or ever again.

[insomniacdreammerbb]

Synopsis: a slow burn love story of my favorite chaotic mess of a man Dieter Brave and F!reader. 18+ eventually, minors dni

Trigger warnings: mentions of drugs, death, death by overdose, domestic abuse. Eventually smut.

Authors Note: I haven't written in years, but I have fallen down the rabbit hole of so many talented writers here on tumblr with Pedro Pascal character fanfics. I’m a sucker for a good slow burn, smutty, fluffy love story. Goal is to keep it around or under ten chapters. Any feedback would be appreciated! Also I’m new to tumblr and don’t really know how to use the platform so any advice on that would be nice too.

Chapter One

You cringe when your phone rang for the fourth time today. This is what it was like when Dieter had nothing to do. He’d constantly be blowing up your phone asking you where you put the sex toys that he’d ordered, what's next on his schedule for press or shoots or sometimes it’d be even something more ridiculous like if you believed that Octopuses were really aliens that landed on earth from a meteor. He’d be like this whenever he didn’t have someone to keep him company or in between projects.

“Yes boss?” You answered as you placed your iphone on speaker as you continued typing away at your MacBook finishing up Deiter’s reservation at a resort up in Canada for a project next year.

“What am I doing this weekend?” Dieter asks not bothering to greet you first, this was normal.

You clocked on the calendar on your MacBook, “You have a podcast with Stephen from Vanity Fair Saturday morning at eleven. Other than that your day is free.”

“Hey set me up a reservation for the Marriott in the Marina,” Dieter began barking, “and book two seats for the sunset cruise and dinner on the bay.”

You opened up google typing in the resort, you were used to Dieter giving you demands like this.

“Two seats?” You questioned him and you clicked book now, “who are you going with?”

“A friend,” Dieter replied sheepishly.

“A friend?” You repeated with a raised eyebrow, “Who is it? I’m gonna have to put her name on the second seat for the cruise so you’re gonna have to tell me anyways.”

Dieter was quiet for a moment, “Lola.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” You said, rolling your eyes, “her again?”

“What she’s hot,” Dieter responded, you could practically see her pouty puppy dog eyes he had as he spoke, “and her and her ex just broke up.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again,” Dieter said dramatically, “she’s on the rebound and slumming it and I’m loving it.”

You rolled your eyes again, “you know you don’t have to pick women who are slumming it just to get laid you know. There’s plenty of beautiful women all over L.A. who would happily spend an evening on a sunset cruise. Why do you need to pick the wicked witch of the L.A.?”

“See that’s where you’re wrong,” Dieter began to say, “Those women only wanna hang out with me because I’m a big time movie star. They dont really give a fuck about me.”

“And you think Lola does?” You pointed out.

“No not really,” Dieter said with a hint of sadness in his voice, “but honestly fuck it. I just wanna go out on the ocean, eat some good food and then eat some good pussy. Lola’s good for that.”

“Alright,” you said, conceding knowing that this was a time old argument the two of you have had many times. You knew that it wouldn’t go anywhere and you still had too much to do today to spend the time arguing.

“Do you want the all inclusive romantic suite with, jacuzzi bathtub with an ocean view or would you rather have the scintillating views of downtown LA with the wood burning fireplace?” You asked reading through the options of the luxury suites that were offered.

“Hm they both sound nice,” Dieter said mulling it over in his head, “where would you rather get eaten out? In front of the fireplace or on the edge of the jacuzzi tub?”

Neither, you thought to yourself. Your boyfriend that you’ve been dating for the last few months didn’t really like eating you out and wasn’t all that good at it.

“It’s the middle of June,” you pointed out, “it’s too hot for a fire. But then again knowing you and Lola you’ll be all over that room before the nights over.”

“I know,” Dieter said with a small growl of anticipation in his voice as he palmed himself through his sweats thinking about it, “Fuck it, give me the jacuzzi ocean room.”

“You got it boss,” you said, selecting the room.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds were the clicking of the keyboard on your MacBook and Dieter’s low breathing. Once you finished all the bookings you said, “I’m forwarding your reservation and the tickets to your email.”

“Thanks,” Dieter muses and then mechanically says, “what are you doing this weekend?”

“Matt’s taking me to that new Italian place 7th St,” you responded.

“Oh so Matty Cakes finally decided to step up his game and take you someplace nicer than Wok n’ Roll?” Dieter teased.

“Hey I love Wok n’ Roll,” you pushed back, “And not everyone can afford a sunset dinner cruise for dinner. Some of us are just regular people instead of big superstar actors.”

“Urgh thank God I’m not one of those,” Dieter responded.

You and Dieter had been friends for nearly ten years now. You met for the first time at your drug dealer's house, the two of you happened to be buying cocaine at the same time. Honestly you don’t even really remember the details the first time you met. You had come to LA to try to be a dancer while also attending UCLA. You had spent most of your early twenties shamelessly partying, doing drugs to keep your energy up to dance, working as a bartender, and going to school. You hadn’t declared a major in anything, you had a long list of ideas of what you wanted to do but couldn't decide on any one thing.

You and Dieter would spend a year running into each other before you two really became friends. You ran into each other at your dealer's house, at the bar where you worked and even a few parties. At the time Dieter had been a smaller actor, getting a few small parts as a supporting cast in a few movies and a handful of appearances on Law and Order. You two would make small talk, giving life updates in between weeks or months of not seeing each other.

One thing was perfectly clear from the moment you met Dieter. He was absolutely handsome and he knew it and was a total slut. But despite that he never did hit on you. Albeit you had a different circle of friends and there was a never ending line of hot women that threw themselves at Dieter. He was also twelve years your senior which may have played a part in why he never hit on you.

Your life had come crashing down one night in October. When you had moved out to LA to attend school you already had a brother living out here. He had left your home town a few years back. He was the one that had convinced you to move out here and to apply for UCLA. Your brother was your best friend, you had been so mad when he announced that he was moving out to LA when you were still a teenager stuck at home.

Then everything went to shit. You had gotten a call from Cedar Sinai letting you know that Brandon had overdosed. You were beyond devastated and catatonic for months after that. You had stopped eating, gotten fired from the bar you worked at because you kept calling out and dropped out of classes because you couldn't keep up with the work anymore. You spent endless months in your tiny shitty apartment, only ever leaving for groceries. It was then and there that you had decided to quit. You flushed everything you had and never did any drugs since then.

Then about six months after Brandon’s death you were sitting at an Ihop at 3am. You needed to get out of your apartment after months of being a recluse and you only picked his Ihop because there was no one else in it. Then Dieter walked in alone and went to sit at the counter and ordered a coffee. You sat in the booth, minding your own business until Dieter saw you.

He exclaimed excitedly about how he hasn’t seen you in awhile. How he even went to the bar you worked at asking for you. Your drug dealer had told Dieter that it’d been months since he had seen you. You were surprised to hear this from the eccentric actor. However a few breaths in Dieter had picked up that something was wrong. He sat in the booth across from you, inquiring what happened.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. You had told him everything that had happened. He stared at you with those damn puppy dog eyes and listened diligently. He was deeply sympathetic and kind to you that night. You had told him about how you were about to get kicked out of your apartment because you were behind on the rent and out of money. How you had considered moving back home.

Dieter had talked you out of it. He ended up getting you a job as his personal assistant and let you live in his guest house that was off the main house up on the hill in Sherman Oaks. He paid you well, even set you up with his therapist that apparently made house calls. His therapist would come visit Dieter at the main house and then send him to the guest house for you. You always gushed to Dieter about how you couldn't afford to live in Sherman Oaks and a therapist who made house calls. But Dieter insisted, that was the thing about Dieter. If you could get into his inner circle he was loyal to the death. You weren’t exactly sure how you got there but you did.

As the years had dawned on you two had developed a deep friendship. He never once attempted to hit on you which you kind of appreciated. You appreciated Dieter as a friend far more than a lover. That was the curious irony of Dieter, he was loyal to a fault but also went through lovers and girlfriends like you went through your socks. Dieter was far too chaotic for your tastes. It was entertaining to sit on the side lines and watch him make a total ass of himself. He also landed a few dream roles over the years and became a superstar and you were thankful that you got to play a part of that. He really was a brilliant actor and a good friend when he wasn’t being a pain in the ass.

Hours later you were standing in front of the mirror near the front door, putting on the finishing touches to your make up. Matt had texted you saying he was a few minutes away. You grabbed your light blue denim coat and threw it over your black dress and made your way out the guest house. The main house was attached to a long paved driveway that was about thirty feet away from the guest house. A black SUV was parked near the door, a man in a suit was opening the back passenger door.

Lola stepped out wearing a short white skirt with a red tank top with a deep V neck, her bleach blond hair was styled in big curls and an ostentatious diamond necklace laid gently between her tits. She had her face hidden behind big sunglasses and didn’t even give you a second glance. Dieter quickly appeared at the front door making his way down the front steps.

“Damn baby,” He said eyeing her up and down quickly, “You looking fuckin’ amazing.”

“Thank’s hun,” she said, throwing her arms around him as he came down to her.

Dieter immediately placed his hand on her ass as he kissed her deeply. Afterward he looked up at you.

“Damn little black dress tonight?” Dieter said, looking you over while he kept his hand on her Lola’s ass, “Matty Cakes finally getting lucky tonight?”

“You better not call him that when he gets here,” you shot him a warning look, “You know he hates it.”

“I know that's why I keep calling him that,” Dieter smirked playfully, “it’s funny to see him get all pissed.”

You couldn’t tell but you were pretty sure that Lola was rolling her eyes behind her Armani sunglasses.

“So did Dieter tell you that he’s taking me on a sunset cruise tonight?” She chimed in, running her hands up and down Dieters chest while keeping her eyes on you.

“Nope sounds romantic,” you smirked while Deiter looked down at his pleather shoes sheepishly.

“He really is,” Lola said, glancing between him and you, “and then we’re staying at the Marriott near the marina. He really is the sweetest.”

This was something Lola had done from the beginning. You could tell she was the jealous type, she always made a bit of a scene of staking her claim in Dieter in front of you. Despite the fact that you and Dieter had repeatedly told her you two were just friends, Lola still liked to dangle Dieter in front of your face like a shiny toy. Dieter always seemed to tune out whenever she did, he didn’t care for the drama that Lola always seemed to start.

“So where’s Matt taking you tonight? That tacky Chinese place down by the beach?” Lola questioned while still hanging off Dieter.

“Um no we’re going to that new Italian place that just opened up,” You replied trying to be civil.

“Oh I’ve been there so many times already,” Lola purred as if she were bored with the conversation, “word of advice if you wanna fit into that dress of your come summer order a salad. Their pasta dishes are huge.”

“Thanks Lola,” you nodded sarcastically, you were used to her many backhanded compliments.

“Alright well I’m bored,” Dieter said turning back in, “let’s go baby, I wanna go get on the boat already.”

He turned her around and slapped her ass as the two of them climbed into the SUV. As they were pulling out of the driveway Matt’s car drove up and pulled to a stop near you. You went to go get in until he turned the car off and got out.

”Hey, you ready to go?” You asked curiously as he got out.

“Actually we need to talk,” he said as he placed his arms on the hood of the car.

You felt your stomach flip at his words but also wasn’t surprised. In fact you were surprised by the fact that you weren’t surprised by what he was saying, “Okay.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t think this is working out for me.”

“Okay,” you said glumly, “why?”

“I just can’t stop thinking about what you had said last time you were over at my apartment when we were watching that movie,” he went on to explain.

“What I said when?” You said trying to rack your brain that night.

“What you said after I finally got you to go down on me,” Matt stated, “about how you used to have a reputation for giving the best blowjobs at UCLA.”

“It was a joke Matt,” you replied with feeling your anger build, “I told you the actual story behind it. It was a stupid rumor that went around my dorm building but everyone knew the truth, they were saying that about me ironically.”

The truth was that you had been blowing this guy you were seeing but you were so drunk that you had ended up puking mid job. It was definitely not funny at the time and embarrassing as hell but over the years you’ve learned to not take life too seriously and it was a little funny now looking back on it. You were young and dumb and luckily made it through those days relatively in one piece.

“Really? Because Travis has been asking me a lot of questions about you lately,” Matt continued on, “he asked me if your reputation still holds up and if I’d be willing to share you with him.”

“What?” You asked shocked, “what the fuck, why would he ask you that?”

“Have you been flirting with him?” Matt questioned.

“No,” you shot back, “he DM’d that one night at like 3 am and sent me a dick pic which I told you about by the way and I blocked him after that.”

“Well now I’ve been hearing from all my friends that they all wanna bone you and I don’t like it,” Matt ranted on, “and now they all know about your UCLA dorm reputation of being a slut and now they wont stop asking me about it.”

“How did they hear that story?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Huh?”

“How’d they hear that story?” You repeat yourself, “I only told you that story because you’re the one who brought up embarrassing stories after telling me yours. Did you tell them?”

“Look it doesn’t matter how they know,” Matt redirected, “the point is that I don’t want a hoe for a girlfriend and no one’s that good at giving head unless there’s some truth to it.”

“Oh so that’s what this is about?” You asked amused, “so you liked the head I gave you?”

“Well not anymore because now I’m just wondering how many other guys' dicks you’ve had in your mouth and now I’m just grossed out,” Matt said, throwing his hands up, “and I don’t need to hear it from my friends or whatever other dudes you’ve had.”

You stood there in a stunned silence as he got back into his car and drove out the driveway to the gate. Did you just get dumped for being too good at giving head? There’s no way. You didn’t believe that was the real reason, sure you may be alright at it but you didn’t think that you were extraordinarily talented at it or anything. But you could tell from the beginning that Matt’s friends were all douchebags and Matt kind of was too. You wanted to give him a fair chance but you weren’t very attached to him, you didn't even really care that you had just gotten dumped you were just surprised that you were.

Well fuck it, you thought to your self. You had been looking forward to going to that Italian restaurant. Even if it meant going alone and eating a whole damn bowl of pasta by yourself, you’d find a way to have a good evening.

*******************************************************************************

You sipped the red wine from your glass slowly, scrolling on instagram mindlessly. You had blocked Matt and all his douchebag friends. An empty bowl of Alfredo mushroom pasta laid next to you. It had been delicious and well worth the trip. The restaurant was definitely one of sophistication and romance. You had tried to ignore all the couples or families that were out together. You ended up not being able to get a table without having to wait forty five minutes so you opted for the bar. It did you better anyways because then you could have your back to everyone around you and try to ignore the sting of being out alone on a Friday night.

Then out of nowhere a familiar voice came from behind you, “this seat taken?”

Before you even had a chance to respond Dieter slid into the chair next to you. He had his sunglasses on and avoided your gaze, he was rubbing his temple in discomfort.

“What are you doing here?” You question him, “I thought you and Lola were gonna have a cunilingis party in your jacuzzi tub.”

“Yep we didn’t make it that far,” Dieter confessed and got the bartender's attention, “crown whiskey please, neat.”

The bartender nodded and turned to get a tumbler glass.

“Where’s Matty cakes?” Dieter asks, still avoiding your gaze.

It’s only now with Dieter sitting besides you being aloof that you thought to really look at him. The side of his face was a little pinker than normal and there was a small cut on his cheek. You went to grab for his sunglasses, taking them off delicately. His eyes snapped at you with anger while you sighed frustratedly.

“Did she hit you again?” You say hushed toned.

“Well it’s not like I didn’t deserve it,” Dieter replied taking the sunglasses back from you and sliding them up his face, “she was being a bitch, I was being a dick. You know the same old story.”

“You still shouldn’t be allowing her to hit you,” You say sternly, “it’s not right.”

“Eh fuck it,” Dieter said shrugging, “it was more of a bitch slap anyways. I’ve had worse, besides the girls a total psycho. She’s out there throwing a temper tantrum because her rich lawyer boyfriend won’t shell out the $135,000 she needs to go to New York for fashion week.”

“And let me guess, instead she asked you for the money?” You asked unsurprised, taking a sip of wine.

“I would have done it if she didn’t have such a stick up her ass,” Dieter went on to explain, “we were on the dinner cruise and a group of women came up to me and asked for a selfie. She sat at the table and pouted the rest of dinner and before we even got the Marriott she blew up on me because she thought I was eye fucking those women that wanted the picture.”

You weren’t surprised, Lola was incredibly jealous of every other woman that was in Dieter’s vicinity. She had even tried to convince Dieter to kick you out of the guest house even though you and Dieter had always had set a boundary early on of not entering each other’s spaces without notice.

“I don't understand why you put up with her,” you grumbled, “yea she’s hot but there’s plenty of hot women that would line up for you. She’s a selfish manipulative gold digger who’s going to throw a toddler-like tantrum every time she doesn’t get her way. You could do much better.”

“But she’s the one that keeps coming back,” Dieter explained, “and besides when she is in the middle of her temper tantrums the sex is crazy good. We were in the lobby of the Marriott, I tried to off to take her upstairs to make her legs shake all the way to New York, she asked me if I’d give her the money and I made a joke about how she’s like my own personal Vivian Ward and she slapped me and left.”

You rolled your eyes, it sounded like a typical fight between the two of them.

“So where’s Matty Cakes?” Dieter asked now just noticing, “Why you sitting at a bar alone?”

“We’re done,” you said bluntly.

“Good for you!” Dieter said, placing his hand on your shoulder affectionately, “I was hoping you’d wise up and leave his sorry ass.”

“Oh you mean just like how I tell you all the time to forget about Lola?” You pointed out.

“Yeah but you’re a lot smarter than me,” Dieter retorted, “besides you definitely could do better than that ass hat.”

“I’m not sure how true that is,” you responded, swirling the wine in your glass around, “he broke up with me.”

“Why?” Dieter asked, looking over towards you behind the shades.

“Well first off I don’t believe what he said,” you began to explain, “I think he’s full of shit but I don’t know why he’d lie about it. Probably just has a stick up his ass too like Lola.”

“We ought to hook the two of them up,” Dieter responded.

“Please Matt can't afford her,” you retorted simply.

“So what did he say?” Dieter questioned further.

“He said that he’s pissed because a couple of his friends are into me a guess and he told them the story about how I used to have that reputation for giving the best at giving head at UCLA,” you started to explain.

“From that time you ralphed all over that guy when you were drunk?” Dieter questioned, recalling one of the many late night talks you two had over the years, “What did you puke all over him when you were going down on him tonight?”

“No,” you said flatly.

“Hm too bad,” Dieter replied, “he deserves it. So he's pissed that his boys are into you? That’s stupid, if that were me I’d just make it clear to my friends that you're mine and show you off like you deserve instead of being a little bitch about it.”

“You’d think so,” you agreed, “but he said that he agrees with my reputation and doesn’t want a girlfriend that’s too good at giving head because obviously that means that I’m a hoe.”

“Wait so he actually broke up with you for being too good at giving head?” Dieter asked with a furrowed brow. A few people around the restaurant started giving you two funny looks, but you were used to getting stares from Dieter’s blunt openness even in public, “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard! If you’re that good at it he should be on his knees begging for your mouth every night.”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond. You didn’t really think you were that good at and also agreed that it was a stupid thing to get dumped over. But there wasn’t enough attachment to Matt. You were getting sleepy off the wine, you were ready to put this day to rest.

“Was he good at going down on you?” Dieter continued to question.

“Not really,” you confessed, “he didn’t really like to do it. Even when we were dating I tried to tell him if he wouldn’t do it to me that I wouldn’t do it to him but he bitched, moaned and complained if i wouldn’t.”

“Jesus,” Dieter said, running his hands through his hair, “Alright let’s go back to the Marriott.”

“Go back to your hotel with you?” You asked surprised.

“C’mon,” Dieter said, standing from the bar and tossing a fifty dollar bill on the counter, “let’s drown our sorrows in Mary Jane and we can play scrabble all night.”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Kitten Heel

Fandom: DC Comics

Summary: Roy meets Jade in college and she offers to help him study chemistry in exchange for help in her music class. They develop feelings for each other, but Jade disappears after the semester ends. Nearly a year later, Roy catches a glimpse of a woman with a baby getting on the train. And she's wearing his bracelet...

Chapters: 5/?

Characters: Roy Harper, Jade Nguyen, Dick Grayson, Koriand'r, Ryand'r, Karras

Relationships: CheshRoy, DickKory, KoryKarras

Additional Tags: College AU, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Falling in Love, Complicated Relationships, Arranged Marriage, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Single Parents, Good Friend Roy Harper, Past Drug Addiction, Past Torture, Breaking Up & Making Up, Trust Issues, Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Five: Gender and Sexuality

Jade’s apartment put Roy and Dick’s little dorm room to shame. He swallowed hard at the realization she’d slept there without a complaint. Her apartment was large and luxurious. "You can hang your suit on the coat hanger. I'll get to it in the morning… And shoes go in the locker," Jade stated, "Hungry?" Roy nodded, still in a daze at the state of her apartment.

"Sure, um-. Jade, your apartment's huge," Roy stated. Jade rubbed the back of her neck.

"My husband left it to me when-. He left it to me,” Jade answered. Roy nodded.

“Can I help you in the kitchen?” Roy asked.

“Nuh-uh. Sit,” Jade replied as she pointed toward the couch. “You always make the food runs. Let me do this for once.”

“Can I watch you?” Roy questioned. Jade nodded.

“I used to imagine someday I’d throw elaborate dinner parties with lots of guests, and I’d wear my best dress-. And well-. You’re the only person I’ve ever had over,” Jade whispered. Roy sat at her kitchen island.

“Maybe I can come over sometime in a suit and have a fancy dinner party with you… It’d be awful to deprive you of a grown-up fancy dinner. Not to toot my own horn, but I clean-."

Jade giggled. "You'd dress up for dinner with me?" Jade asked.

"Yeah, you make me feel like we’re kid best friends. All my friends when I was a kid were so grown up… It felt like we never got to be real kids… But it’s different with you. You-.” Roy lost his train of thought as he met her gaze. “You-. We’re like kids… ‘Cause we never got to be kids.”

“Smile again,” Jade commanded.

Roy chuckled and tapped his fingers on the counter. “Smells good,” Roy changed the subject.

Jade offered him a chili pepper. “Don’t touch your eyes. Take a bite,” Jade whispered. Roy took a bite of the pepper, and Jade poured lime juice into a shot glass while she waited for him to react. “Nothing?”

“Sorry, Jade. My old man’s chili is ten times spicier than this. It’ll take a lot more than that to take me out,” Roy grinned. Jade was quick in the kitchen. She cut, sliced, and mixed without looking up… But every now and again, Jade would glance in Roy’s direction. Jade hadn’t told him that sleeping in his dorm was the only time Jade ever felt safe. She couldn’t tell him that he was the only comfort she’d ever had. No… That would ruin everything. “When you said you’d make me dinner, I imagined some frozen pizza… I didn’t think you’d go through all this trouble.”

“I like it. Haven’t you ever had a meal that you know was special? Just for you? And you feel it in your mouth when you taste it, and then you’ve got this warm sensation in your belly that makes you feel like everything’s gonna be okay?” Jade asked.

“You want me to feel at home,” Roy observed. Jade nodded.

“I always feel at home in your dorm. So, it’s your turn,” Jade replied, “You can go in the fridge and get something to drink.” Roy stood up and walked behind her before opening the fridge. He grabbed a soda.

“Want me to get you something?” Roy asked.

“No, thanks… But I’ll split that pop with you,” Jade replied.

Roy nodded, watching the expression on her face. Something about her eyes. Roy drank half the soda, giving the rest to Jade before walking over to her couch and dozing off. Jade’s face lit up as she listened to him snore. It was nice.

The oven timer went off, and Roy sat up, watching as Jade plated his meal. She didn’t notice that he awakened. So, he caught her singing to herself. It was beautiful. Her voice was cool and distant… Almost ghostlike. “Dinner smells great,” Roy stated as he yawned.

Jade chewed her lip and brought Roy his plate. “You have a beautiful voice. You should do open mic night at the cafe,” Roy complimented.

“Oh no, I’m-. I couldn’t do that,” Jade replied. Roy stared into her eyes, offering compassion.

“What if I was with you? Besides, it’s extra credit,” Roy replied.

Jade sat beside him, and Roy dug into his food. "Only if you come with me," Jade replied, "And it has to be a duet." Roy grinned.

"Deal,” Roy replied as he ate.

Jade chuckled as she watched him clean the meat off the bones out of the corner of her eye. “I made enough chicken for you to get more if you want-.”

“Oh, this is how I eat my wings,” Roy interrupted.

“We’ve had wings before,” Jade laughed.

“I’ve never had yours, though,” Roy explained. He was so sincere in everything he said. Even when he was sucking the sauce off his fingers.

*

After dinner, Jade took her shower, and Roy took his. “You can stay in the other bedroom. I never use it, but I think it’ll be more comfortable than the couch,” Jade whispered. Roy took her hand, swinging it back and forth.

“I don’t wanna say goodnight yet,” Roy whispered, “Can I tell you something?” Jade nodded. “Thank you for dinner and the past few days. I hope we can still hang out like this after the semester ends.”

“Of course,” Jade replied.

Jade laced her fingers with his. “And thanks for not letting me be alone while my roommate’s gone,” Roy thanked her.

“You’re awfully sentimental tonight, Roy Harper,” Jade half-joked.

“Well then... I’ll let you go to bed. Goodnight, Jade,” Roy whispered. She waved and shut the door on her way out.

*

Roy lay underneath her, chuckling as she pinned him down. “Stop flinching. You’re gonna mess it up,” Jade giggled.

“You’ve got a pencil by my eyeball. Of course, I’m gonna flinch,” Roy laughed as he dodged her. Jade playfully grabbed his throat with one hand. Roy’s eyes widened, and his laugh simmered to a sweet grin. His eyes traveled to her lips. Jade’s hand traveled from Roy’s throat to his chest as her smile faded.

“We’re just friends,” Jade whispered as she leaned closer.

“Mhm,” Roy replied as his lips touched hers. He wrapped his arms around her, and their lips parted. Jade took a breath and smiled.

“How many mints did you have after you ate?” Jade laughed.

Roy took one arm and propped himself up. “You want to talk dinner mints, or do you want to get naked?” Roy asked, half-serious as he locked eyes with her.

Jade’s breath caught, and she allowed Roy to see her as she was. She embraced him and smiled at how perfectly her face fit between his neck and shoulder. Roy softened, rubbing her back. “Hey, we don’t have to do anything… You okay?” Roy asked. Jade nodded. “I’ve got you…”

“I want to… Just—. I need a second to pull myself together,” Jade whispered, “Once we do this—. Roy, I like you so much.” Roy swallowed hard. He felt the same way, but it’d been so long since his heart felt that way. So long since he held someone in his arms that way.

“Look at me,” Roy gently whispered. Jade pulled back, and Roy smiled. “Let’s go on our fake-date... And if you still think it’s worth it, we can have pretend-sex—. If you want to. We don’t have to do anything.” Jade grinned, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand.

[toalliveloved]

8/10/24

Money. This foolish concept.

It determines what you eat, or lackthereof. I reached for the flour tucked in the cupboard. I’m glad I never make eggs in the morning, I seem to buy them and romanticize the idea but they’ve now been my savior. I added too much water to the eggs and flour. I hopelessly mixed the unmeasured ingredients in a Tupperware, hoping for the best. I center poured them like pancakes on a skillet. I shuffled around the spice cabinet to find cinnamon and 1 Splenda I could mix with water as dip. This is all that I will eat in a day. Trying not to let an oyster platter on Instagram throw me off the edge.

I was supposed to be in residential treatment at this time. My insurance policy wouldn’t cover it. I needed a 3,500 deductible, which isn’t even two months of full-time work for me. After I filed for FMLA from my main job, I was informed I haven’t accrued enough money to use PTO. I have nothing but $30 and a month off. My rent payment is gaining on me. Miraculously, I have a temp job floating around luxury hotels and condominiums as a front desk agent. I watch people in fancy jewelry snark at my rough edges. I’ve never tasted caviar, but I’m sure they abandoned their leftovers at some five star next to a pathetic tip.

I’m mostly concerned because I’ve read only two chapters of a library book, and touched my DBT (dialectical behavioral therapy) workbook maybe twice. I’ve done nothing but sit in my room, inhaling the comfort of weed and exhaling this insatiable discontent. I have no money to fly home and embrace my family who I’m so far removed from. It’s been a sweaty marathon of work for maintenance. I have little time for therapy and spend too much time rationing old prescription drugs. I can’t even afford to be sick.

$30 will only fill up a quarter of my gas tank. I have $5 left on a McDonald’s gift card in case I have to consider shoplifting. I don’t qualify for food stamps because of the 1,100 dollars I make biweekly. My rent is one of those paychecks, my car note is $428, my insurance is inactive because I can’t afford it. I have gas, little groceries and miscellaneous fees to take care of with the remainder of my income. I know what you’re thinking. It’s a luxury to have a car, an expensive one at that. My 2017 Jeep Patriot is big enough to sleep in, parked neatly out front, just in case I have to live in it; again.

I was born economically six feet under, so I have to work twice as hard as the average citizen to live. Simultaneously, I must attend college, watching federal student aid take a sledgehammer to my credit report. I sought moving to another country to avoid this bloody hamster wheel. I’m a dreamer, an empty vessel washed on the shore of Miami Beach. I couldn’t move 2 feet without the current pulling me back out to sea. Moving to Spain would band-aid a hemorrhage, my fake husband and I were living in the clouds. Our dreams quickly turned into nightmares, lawyers fees, and stagnancy which are all one and the same. I thought of going back home to Boston, remembering this same feeling, just frostbitten.

I was conditioned to this lifestyle. I’ve only ever been a minority in big cities. I’ve had glimpses and appetizers of what money could buy me. I feel I deserve more than what my circumstances are. I try to ignore the way kids in alternative countries have no shoes, but they never knew any better. I only engage in the thought of their happiness, having a sense of community and always having a hot plate, even if it’s from the neighbors. You could be homeless here, a product of the streets and even I wouldn’t blink an eye. The idea that my few cents would buy drugs angered me. Hidden behind windows and my steering wheel, I knew that even I couldn’t afford to give up a few cents.

Among the hardships of what this life provides, money has value in the way you handle this life. How I long for a residential facility in Wyoming to gather my thoughts and rebuild myself. How I wish food wasn’t a privilege. Money to build a wall but no money to cover tuition. I didn’t need luxury, I needed a sense of belonging and basic necessities. I didn’t want to decipher what I did and did not need from Dollar Tree. Money is enough to break us down to our knees. Imagine, a deficit in every other department of life.

[vividaway]

It was April and the sky was a mix of a light pink and a baby blue, and they blended together as if an artist had painted the scene just for her to experience for just a moment. The clouds in the sky appeared to Alexandria as if they were plucked out of a graphic novel and placed where they are now. It was a picture perfect morning for their plans. 

"Hurry up!" She called out, before beginning to pick up her pace again. They were only three buildings away from the hotel when Alexandria tripped and fell over herself with a loud 'Umph!' sound. Everette stopped to look towards her, only offering a groan of annoyance. "You're slowing us down."

"I think I twisted my ankle." Alexandria replied earnestly.

"You're an idiot. I need you for this."

She signed. "Can't it just wait a minute? It's literally right over there. Let me rest my ankle for a minute and I can probably get going."

Everette let out another sound of annoyance. "You know what? I should seriously just do this without you. I don't even know why I brought you along."

Alex wiped the dirt and dust off of her clothes as she brought herself up to a standing position. She leaned all her weight onto one leg before limping her way to the edge of the building. "What are you doing?" Everette hissed out. 

"I'm resting! If you can do it without me then do it without me! I don't give a shit!" She waved her hands in the air before dusting them off on her pants. She was wearing a black long sleeve crop top and a black pair of leggings which had now been stained tan with dust and dirt. "Stop being a bitch! You know I need you. Just shut the fuck up and rest or whatever?"

She rolled her eyes. She didn't exactly like Everette, but he provided stability. A place to live. Her life hadn't always been as easy as it was now. Or, at least, she told herself she had it easy. All she had to do was release a couple of songs, and post a couple of photos, and sometimes perform here or there. It was really simple. 

People had grown to love her music over the years, and so Everette took it on himself to become her manager. Her friend, Benji, helped her with producing all of her tracks. Despite this, she was still on top of the roof tops, with Everette asking her for just one more favor. She owed him, he said.

It were true. He had been supplying her with drugs, recently. He took her out of a shitty situation she was living in, and even started to provide for her. Of course, she had to do the cleaning and she was still expected to run her own career, but aside from that, Everette provided everything else. 

It wasn't much, if she were being honest. A roof over her head, food in her belly, and a warm safe place to sleep. There wasn't much luxury in her lifestyle, but sometimes there was the occasional celebrity party she got invited to as an up and comer. She even had a management team who helped her work through the drama she got into.

You see, Everette liked to watch fights. Sometimes the two would go out, and if he saw a really rowdy girl at the bar, he'd ask Alex to start a fight. He'd tell her he'd get her all of the things she wanted. A new purse, to go out on all these dates, or even drugs, and so of course, she would do it.

She didn't win all of the fight she started, but she always came out looking like the better person, somehow. Maybe it was by luck. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of the way she would go about her fights. She didn't like to dwell on it. It was something he promised he'd never do again.

She looked down at her bruised legs. Alex had tried to leave him multiple times. It wasn't like she WANTED to be with him, but having to find a place to stay, and find a way to keep making money when he's so entwined in her life and career was difficult. She threatened to leave multiple times, and even managed to succeed a couple of times, staying with friends. But she always found herself coming back to Everette.

"Are you ready yet?" he called out while kicking his feet underneath him. He was always very impatient. He didn't like how long it took Alex to get ready, or how long she stayed at certain events. So she stopped going, and she stopped getting ready. It was her tomboy era, and her boyfriend era, she told herself. 

"Yeah. Let's get this over with." Alex replied, slapping her hands to her knees as she stood up. The buildings were close together, and there was a window that lead into the Star Haven hotel from the side. She could see it in the distance, even from where she was at. They trekked the rest of the way, Alex's ankle hurting all the while.

READ THE REST HERE

[tablestakesyogi]

What Would Ayu Say?

Ayu at Lincoln Memorial My friend Ayu is a bright, young Balinese woman who works for the Bank of Indonesia. Last year, she took a business trip to Washington DC, Philadelphia, New York and Boston. Her Facebook posts about these places were positive and showed off our country’s famous landmarks. But over dinner the other night, she asked a difficult question: “Pak Dave, why are so many people living on the streets in America?” I struggled to find an answer. I told her the problem just isn’t in those cities, but nationwide especially in California where I live, and in my town of Berkeley. “But what is happening Pak Dave?” Ayu quizzed. “I thought America is the richest country in the world. Why are these people on the street, and why are they hungry and very dirty?” A little background…The view from a Balinese person’s perspective is that all Americans are indeed wealthy, even the budget travelers. How else could they afford to fly across the world to this beautiful island, live in hotels and eat at restaurants.  Traveling is a luxury that only the well-off can afford in Indonesia, although that’s beginning to change some as it develops a middle class. Ayu wasn’t trying to dump on the USA.  She was honestly trying to understand the disconnect between her perception of America and the reality she observed.

Homeless in Berkeley I gave it a shot. “Well, housing is very expensive in my country, and the people who cannot afford it must live on the streets. Some cities and states provide temporary shelters for these folks, but there’s just not enough room for everyone.” Ayu shook her in response, but I could tell she didn’t get it.  I tried again.  “Also, some of these folks are mentally ill or are alcoholics and drug addicts, and they don’t know how to access services or don’t want them.” That seemed lame the moment I said it. “Honestly Ayu, I really don’t know why this is happening, and I’m embarrassed I don’t know.  I walk past a dozen or more homeless people every day in Berkeley.  I give money to some of them, steer clear of those who are raving, and just feel bad when I see two older women packing up their tent every morning, so they won’t be harassed by the police. I’ve never researched the causes of why people are homeless, and why our governments can’t solve the problem.”  Ayu took pity on me and changed the subject. But I could not forget her simple question. Why are there so many homeless people in the richest country in the world? In the weeks that followed in Bali and on trips to see friends on the islands of Flores and Lombok, I looked for homeless people and pestered my friends with questions of how they deal with poor people who don’t have homes.  The truth is I never actually saw any homeless people on any of these three islands although there were plenty of poor people living in very humble places.  Also, there are nearly an estimated three million people living in Jakarta. My Balinese friend Putu explained that in Bali the family takes care of its own, finding food and shelter for all, including those with mental illness.  Backing up the family, is the banjar which is a traditional Balinese neighborhood organization that rallies the community for funerals, weddings and other key ceremonies.  It also keeps track of every member, and notes who needs help including food, health care, housing… you name it. One of Putu’s jobs is to maintain a database of every member, noting who might need extra help.  The banjar makes sure no one falls through the cracks.  There are a lot of banjar rules and regulations to follow, and like any small group everyone knows everyone else’s business. The final layer of help is the government at the village, region and provincial levels who allocate funds and services for people that the banjar identifies as needing them.  This four-layered support system works. Even during the COVID crisis when Bali’s economy tanked, no one went hungry or unhoused.

Martina & Jek and their big family. A similar system exists further east on the island of Flores, which is a primarily Catholic population compared to Bali’s mainly Hindu population. Our friend Martina and her husband Jek both come from very poor families, but they have managed to take care not only of their four kids, but also dozens of nieces, nephews, cousins and others over the years.  They cook on a wood fire, but no one goes hungry or without someplace to sleep even if it’s on the floor with a blanket.  Backing up the family in their Maumere community is a uniquely Indonesia institution known as the Rukun Tetangga (RT).  The RT in Maumere includes about 30-50 households and its function is like Bali’s banjar system. A Chair and Vice Chair lead the RT, and members take on various roles including identifying people that need services and resolving neighborhood conflicts.  The government provides additional services as identified through the RT.  The system is nationwide in each of Indonesia’s 13,000 inhabited islands. I don’t want to be too gushy about all this.  I’m sure there are plenty of places in Indonesia where the system is a mess especially in Jakarta where there are large ghettos with high-rise buildings next door.  But for the most part even in the poorest villages, people have something to eat, can access health care and have some kind of shelter even though it may be a tin roof shanty. One of the key takeaways is that at least in Bali, Lombok and Flores people are seen.  Someone knows who they are and their family story.  There is not the same level of isolation and alienation that we have in America.  And there appears to be a system in place that identifies those in need and provides services even if they are meager compared to what we have. Not long after my trip to Indonesia, we were having dinner with a new friend in New York City.  I was describing Indonesia’s support system.  Initially, she was impressed as I was, but after thinking about it a moment she said that the banjar system seemed a little too intrusive for her with everyone in the neighborhood knowing your stuff, not to mention all those social rules to follow. She preferred a little more independence, and I could see her point. I cherish freedom and independence too, and life in the banjar might be a little too restrictive.  But maybe we need to stretch our comfort zones.  Sure, we need to take care of family first, but perhaps we need to learn from our southeast Asian friends that a more systematic approach to community that sees all of our neighbors, most importantly those in need, might help avoid people falling through the cracks.  It might be a start to solve our homeless problem and also the isolation, loneliness and alienation that so many Americans suffer from. I wonder how Ayu would suggest we get started. Read the full article