#how hazard insurance works

[all4insurances]

How Does Hazard Insurance Work?

[gallusrostromegalus]

Basically. I got screwed.

I am very sorry for how relatively quiet this blog has been but I've been dealing with a very unpleasant situation the last few months, and now I need help.

Essentially, I tried to help someone out, and she took advantage of me, and I have no way to recoup my losses.

Earlier this year, I moved into a new house. Before we sold the old house, a Now-Former friend ran into some trouble and was about to become homeless with pets and a small child. Not wanting them to be on the street, we offered to hold off selling the old house so she could stay there for a little while, if she could pay the cost of the mortgage on that house (because I could afford one mortgage but not two) while we helped her find somewhere more permanent.

I was not making money from this- since I was still paying the utilities and property taxes, I was actually losing money, but willing to soak that in order to help her save up and get her on her feet.

Instead, she:

Never Paid a Dime towards covering the mortgage costs like she agreed ($12,000 for the nine months she was there)

Trashed the house ($500 dump fees for the trash alone)

Let her pets piss and shit all over the house ($1,500 bio hazard cleanup, $4000 to replace the carpet and other damaged flooring)

Caused an electrical issue in the garage ($900 to repair)

Broke the washer, dryer and refrigerator ($2500 to replace)

Broke the fence ($1000 to repair)

When I told her I could no longer financially support her and that I needed to sell the old house, she illegally squatted there for a solid three months and I had to hire a lawyer and actually take her to court to get her to leave ($2,500)

The resulting stress has been, as you can imagine, stressful.

So stressful, in fact, that it aggravated a the medical conditions my husband had and made him extremely sick. He had to go to the hospital and take time off work to recover. Now the health insurance is trying to weasel out of paying his short-term disability claim.

So net, this woman has managed to cost me around $25,000 and that's not taking into account the missed paychecks and medical expenses. I do not have $25,000, and until at least $13,000 of that is spent to repair the damage she did, I legally cannot sell the house to even begin to recoup my losses.

Theoretically, I could sue this woman, but she doesn't have any money and it would be me paying even more money I don't have to get... Nothing. So I'm asking for help to cover the costs of getting the old house ready to sell, my husband's medical expenses, and other expenses incurred by this debacle:

If you can help out in any way-share, donate spare change, anything- I'd be extremely grateful.

Thank you.

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

prostitution is legal in germany but the crux is that you have to get REGISTERED as a prostitute - and most prostitutes are NOT meaning they are still working illegally.

they get fined, arrested and they dont profit from social insurance (health insurance, sick pay, unemployment benefits) which the german government claimed was the goal when the law was introduced.

on top, this has increased demand, which naturally leads to more trafficking. impoverished women from eastern europe are the biggest group among prostitutes in germany - especially the young men and women from bulgaria and romania often dont even know german. tell me, how are they supposed to consent if they dont even understand what to? do you think they know their rights?

this also puts prostituted people in more danger: if you are not registered, you are working illegally. you will most likely not go to the police if you get assaulted.

on top, prostitution being legal has made it easier to groom young people into it - prostitutes as well as sex buyers. it is not uncommon for young groups of men going to the brothel after they graduate.

also, the german government claims it is unethical to tell people how to have sex - so there are no regulations for sexual practices. how long should a blowjob be? how much choking, hitting and spitting is allowed? how long should anal be? does the „customer“ have to come? how many minutes and hours of penetration per day is okay before it becomes a health hazard?

and furthermore, prostituted people have to get checked for stds regularly - but sex buyers dont? they also dont have to prove that they dont have a history of sexual violence? how are these people allowed to pay for sexual dominance over vulnerable people, no matter their criminal record?

the law was pushed through under the guise of protecting people in prostitution, but has essentially just left the most vulnerable in a precarious position while legitimising sexual exploitation and making shit easier and nicer for sex buyers and brothel owners.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for outing my father at his old job?

I (M22) recently got a job hauling hazmat across the US in a semi. I had to take tests to not only receive my CDL, but to know what to do in case of an emergency when hauling things like explosives, flammables, corrosives, etc. The hazardous material part of the test was done on computer on site, however if you fail they let you log in and try again from home. But I passed that part right away because I already knew everything that would be on the test.

My father (M53) worked the same job for the same company and when I was in middle and high school, and pressured me into taking the hazardous material test for him so he could get the job. His reasoning was he had been out of school for so long he wasn't good at studying for tests, but I was used to it. Plus he was dyslexic and ADHD (both true), and he would probably fail the test no matter how many times he tried it because he couldn't read well or pay attention. I said it was probably important for him to know this stuff since it IS hazardous material, but he said he DID know everything he needed to, he was just bad at tests. And that if I didn't take it for him he would fail, and then he would be unemployed, and then we would be out on the street and it would be my fault. So I studied his hazardous materials booklet front to back and took the test for him and he passed.

It didn't stop there, though. With this job you're also required to take refresher safety courses online every week, and you can't get your next assignment till you pass. He used the same argument to get me to take those tests for him every week as well, until I knew everything about the placards and hazmat and road safety etc better than he did.

The trainer (M49) I was assigned was friends with my dad when he worked here, and said something like "If you're as quick a study as your dad then you'll be our best driver," and I said something like "I've been your best driver for almost a decade, you just didn't know it." He asked what I meant and I told him how I was the one taking those safety tests for my dad every week until he quit 3 years ago, and actually he quit because I was moving out and I said no to coming over to his house every week to keep taking the test for him.

I told the trainer because A) I thought it didn't matter because my dad didn't work there anymore, and B) Honestly? I've never really gotten along with my dad, and some part of me wanted to tell on him for one of the many things he pressured me into doing as a kid. I expected to make him lose a friend, maybe tarnish his "perfect" reputation a little bit, but it's gotten a lot bigger than that.

My dad doesn't work with hazmat anymore, but he did have a job delivering food to nearby grocery stores that he apparently lost because that trainer called and told his boss what I told him, and my dad called me and cussed me out and said because of me he probably would lose his CDL and not be able to be a truck driver anymore, and that's all he knows. He's not exactly rich, either, so he's probably just a couple missed paychecks away from being in serious trouble, and he also lost his health insurance. I for sure didn't mean for it to go this far. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[goodbuckcharlie]

Dirt and oil - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn would like to consider himself a gentleman, raised by THE Ellen and all, but when he finds himself in need one the side of the road, he can’t help but be surprised when his Knight in shining armor is a 5’2 girl named Daisy

Note: just a short one today, this was also written fast as I spent my morning at the hospital waiting on my grandma to be okay. She fine now but this helped me not lose my mind. So please give this short fix some love and maybe when everything is better I’ll make a cute part two.

“Shit this is not happening right now.” All Quinn wanted was to go to the grocery store in peace, but of course his front left tire was flat. Now his father has taught him many lessons in life, but changing a tire was not one of them.

As the blinking lights of his hazards went off, Quinn sat on his phone hoping to find a YouTube tutorial on how to change a tire. He was way too embarrassed to call one of his teammates for help. About 15 minutes later, Quinn had learned absolutely nothing off the internet and was currently debating on calling a tow truck.

That was until a school bus yellow jeep pulled up right behind him on the side of the road. Quinn expected another man to exit the vehicle, but to his surprise a short woman with black curly hair and more tattoos than he can count exits the front seat.

“Hey there big guy looks like you can use some help?” The girl walks over to Quinn with her tool box in hand, “my name’s Daisy and I think I can be of assistance, so tell me what’s your problem?”

“Oh I just got a flat tire,” Quickly Quinn turns off his phone and faces the girl next to him, “I don’t want to inconvenience you so I’ll just call the tow truck company.”

“It’s seriously no biggie,” Her button nose cringes from the cold breeze, but her perfect customer service smile doesn’t falter, “I was just heading in to work.”

“Oh then I would hate you to get in trouble with your boss,” Daisy giggles at Quinn comment. The boy nearly lost his mind at the juxtaposition of her soft giggle and her tough outward appearance.

“Oh I doubt my boss would mind, but let me make sure,” Daisy looks into Quinn’s driver side mirror, “Hey Daisy is it okay if I’m late to work cause I’m helping this poor boy is distress? She said it’s fine as long as the poor boy in distress tells me his name, you know for insurance reasons.”

“I totally forgot, I’m Quinn,” Daisy holds out her hand as Quinn introduces himself.

“Well Quinn, let’s change that tire for yah,” Daisy directs Quinn out of his car, and he opts to stand to the side of her as she worked on his tire.

“So if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get into working on cars?” Quinn attempts to make small talk.

“My paps owned the shop up the street and since he was a single parent, I had to spend a lot of time at the shop,” Daisy works on the tire with ease, “I learned how to change a car tire before I could even drive.”

“Woah I’m impressed,” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how bad that sounded, “I mean I’m not impressed that you can do it, I mean I’m impressed that you learned from a young age.”

“It was just another life skill you know,” Not moving her attention from the tire, Daisy continues the conversation with Quinn, “just like learning how to ride a bike. When you grow up around cars, it’s second nature.”

“You know I understand that,” For some reason, Quinn feels comfortable around Daisy, and he can feel himself opening up to her, “I love what I do and all so I have no complaints, but Hockey has become second nature to me since I grew up around it.”

“Hockey huh?” For a moment, Daisy looks towards Quinn, and he can’t put his finger on it, but something about the tiny spot of grease on her face causes him to admire her more, “You look to delicate to play such a violent sport.”

“Looks can be very deceiving,” The two share a laugh before Daisy goes back to working on the car. They make some more small talk until the car is done.

“That spare should hold you for a little, but I recommend stopping by the shop so we can get you a fresh set.” Daisy pats the side of the car like a dad would.

“Thank you so much,” Daisy just shakes her head insisting it was no problem, “Well tell your boss I’m thankful that she let you come to work late to help little ol’ me and if there’s anything I can do to show my appreciation just let me know.”

“Well you didn’t hear this from me, but the boss loves the coffee shop next to the shop,” She walks over to her own car while walking away from Quinn, but before entering she shouts over to him, “maybe when you get your new tires you can ask her to a coffee date?”

Before Quinn could respond, Daisy is already back in her car setting off back onto the road. When Quinn got back into his car he notices a business car on the front seat.

Reynolds’ Autobody shop

7am-5pm Monday through Friday

He flips the card over and a smile is brought to his face.

Daisy Mae Reynolds

(xxx)xxx-xxxx Call me hockey boy

[winchesterwild78]

Austin

Austin Master List

Chapter Warnings: Language, mentions of cheating, angst, phone sex-masturbation, Fluff, feels

A/N: Reader is new to the Austin area with her husband and teenage son. When a car accident brings her face to face with Jensen Ackles. Absolutely no disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not represent reality. This chapter is a little long, but I needed to set up the story. I edited this fast so please overlook any mistakes.

All work is my own, don’t take it

18+ Minors DNI

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

You sat at a stop light in downtown Austin. Music playing, singing loudly and windows down. The gentle Spring breeze blowing through your car and tossing your hair around. As the light turned green you started to go but slammed on the breaks to avoid the car that ran the red light. Unfortunately the car behind you couldn’t stop in time and ran into the back of you.

“Shit!” You said as you turned on your hazards and pulled to the side of the road. Of course the car that ran the red light was long gone but at least the driver who hit you pulled over too. You got out and walked to the other car. “You okay Sir?” You asked as the very tall man got out. “Yeah, I am so sorry. Are you okay” he asked as he approached you. “Yeah. I’m sure I’ll be sore tomorrow, but I’m okay.” You chuckled.

The two of you surveyed the damage. There wasn’t too much damage to either car, but he said he would call the police so there could be a record of the accident. You told him “No, it’s fine. Let’s just exchange information and let the insurance companies figure it out. No need to get the police involved.” You smiled.

You walked back to your car to get your information and get a paper to write down his. Something about him seemed familiar. You hadn’t been in Austin long, but he seemed familiar to you. You walked back to his car and stood on the side of the road waiting for him.

He walked over to you taking your information down and handing you his. Oh My God! You screamed in your head. The man that hit you was Jensen Ackles. As you read his information you slowly looked up at him with your mouth slightly open. He smiled coyly. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Figured this was easier than to tell you outright who I was.” He said. “Oh um, sorry I’m a huge fan and I’m just in shock. Here, don’t worry about the damage. I’ll take care of it” you stumbled over your words. “Absolutely not. It was my fault and I take responsibility for things I did.” He said.

You relented and agreed. “Well, it was nice to meet you Jensen. Regardless of the circumstances.” “It was nice to meet you too, Y/N. I hope you’re not too sore tomorrow.” He smiled. You smiled back. “Oh let me give you my new number. The one on that is wrong. In case your insurance company needs to get in touch with me” you said writing down your number. He nodded and the two of you went on your way.

You drove home and when you walked in the door you were greeted by your son. He was a teenager who was brooding because he didn’t want to move across the country and away from his friends. “Hey kiddo. How are you today” you asked with a smile. He rolled his eyes “fine”. “Look, I know this is hard on you. I’m sorry we uprooted your life and moved here but we did what we thought was best for all of us.” You told him. “Yeah right. You moved to get away from dad’s girlfriend and try and save your marriage.” He growled. You looked at your son shocked and a little hurt. You thought you hid all of that from him. Tears pricked your eyes “I’m sorry. I really am.” You walked to your bedroom.

You closed your door and sat on your bed crying softly. He was right. You found out your husband was having an affair with a younger woman and it broke your heart. You’d given him everything. He swore he wouldn’t do it again but you decided to move anyway. The company he worked for had an opening in Austin so he transferred and y’all moved. He was dedicated to saving your marriage for a while. Now it seems like you are back to square one. He’s distant, rejecting your advances and taking phone calls away from you. You’re trying to make it work. You love him and would do anything to save your marriage.

A few hours passed and you heard the front door. Your husband was home. He came upstairs and found you lying on the bed. “What happened to the car” he asked. “I got into an accident today. Was hit from behind. Everything is okay. I’ll call the insurance company tomorrow and give them the information. How was your day” you asked. “It was fine. Where’s Jacob. I didn’t see his car outside.” He asked. “He’s probably exploring the city. Um, he knows about the affair. I don’t know how, but he knows. He knows that’s why we moved here too.” You told your husband. “Shit! I thought we kept it from him. Great, now he probably hates me too. Maybe you should have just left me.” He said harshly.

“Please stop. I don’t hate you. We agreed to work on us. I love you and I’m trying my best. I’m not ready to give up on us, but are you saying you are” you asked him as tears fell from your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m exhausted and need to shower.” He walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

You got up and felt your heart breaking all over again. Your mind drifted to the accident. Jensen was so sweet and kind. You smiled at his kindness. You walked in the kitchen and started to cook dinner. You heard the shower running so you knew your husband was in the shower. You sent your son a text.

You: Hey honey, I’m sorry I kept things from you. I was trying to protect you. I’m cooking dinner and would love for you to be home to eat.

Jacob: I will. I appreciate you trying to protect me, but who’s protecting you? I can’t believe Dad would do that to you.

You: Honey I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. This isn’t your fight. Your dad made a mistake and I don’t want that to ruin your relationship with him. He loves you.

Jacob: I know he does. I just need time. Love you Ma, I’ll be home shortly.

You: okay baby. I love you too. Be careful.

You put your phone down and started cooking dinner.

*Across Town*

Jensen pulled in his driveway and Danneel came to the door to greet her husband. When she saw the car her eyes went wide. “Jensen, what happened. Are you okay?” “Yeah, just a minor accident. Not too much damage to either car and the other driver is okay.” He said. Jensen smiled slightly at the thought of you. Danneel noticed but didn’t say anything. They both walked in the house. He could hear his children playing somewhere in the house. Their laughter filled the air. “So Jensen, what are you going to do about the accident. Did you call the police, exchange information, is some stranger going to show up here demanding money?” She fired questions at him. “No, I was going to call the police but she didn’t want me to because there wasn’t a lot of damage, we exchanged insurance information and other pertinent information, and nobody is going to come here asking for money. When she realized who I was she was willing to pay for the damages herself. I insisted that I pay since the accident was my fault.” He told his wife. “Okay, Jensen. Just don’t get taken advantage of.” She said with a sour voice. He nodded and walked away.

You were standing in your kitchen waiting for your husband and son. Dinner was done and you could still hear the shower running. Jacob came in and got washed up for dinner after giving you a hug. You went upstairs to check on your husband since he had been in the shower a really long time. As you approached the door you heard voices and what sounded like grunts. Then you heard a woman moaning. At first you thought he was watching porn and getting off. What you heard next confirmed your fear. He was still cheating. “Oh Cindi, touch yourself. Mmm, yeah. Just like that. Fuck! I wish I was pounding that sweet little pussy again.” You stood there unable to move. “Soon baby. I can’t wait to move there. Then we can be together again. Oh Rob I’m going to cum.” “Cum for me baby girl. I’m right there with you.” You heard her moan and scream and him grunt. Still unable to move you felt like throwing up and tears streamed down your face.

You willed yourself to move when you heard the shower turn off. “I love you Rob” she said. “I love you too Cindi. Let me know when you get in town and I’ll meet you.” Your husband said.

You walked back downstairs to the kitchen. Your son saw you and stood up. “Mom, what’s wrong. What happened” he asked with panic in his voice. “Oh no, I’m okay. I guess the car accident earlier gave me a bad creak in my neck. I turned around wrong and something popped. I’m just in some pain. I’ll be okay. I’m sorry I worried you.” You lied to your son. You weren’t sure if he believed you but he sat down. Your husband joined dinner a few minutes later and noticed you had been crying. He took your hand and asked if you were okay. You pulled your hand back and nodded yes. Now that, your son noticed. Your husband looked at you confused but started eating.

At Jensen’s house he was enjoying a quiet dinner at home with his wife and kids. The kids talked and giggled and Jensen smiled at his kids. He glanced over at Danneel and she looked like she was deep in thought. “Hey D, you okay” he asked. “Um, yeah. I’m fine. Hey um the girls and I wanted to get together tonight is that cool.” She asked. “Yeah, go have some fun. The kiddos and I will be fine.” Jensen said smiling at his kids. “Okay great. Thanks babe.” She smiled then took out her phone and sent a text. Jensen noticed how her face lit up with the incoming text but brushed it off.

After dinner you cleaned up the kitchen and told Jacob and Rob you were going for a drive to explore the city some. Jacob offered to go with you but you turned him down. Rob told you goodbye and seemed a little too excited you were leaving. You got in your car and drove to downtown. You figured it was the best place to see the area and find some good places to shop.

It wasn’t long before you found an old ice cream shop and decided to go in. You sat at the counter and an older woman greeted you with a warm smile and a hello. You smiled and asked her for some mint chocolate chip ice cream in a bowl. She smiled and said “coming right up dear”. Then she went to fill your order. You looked around the shop and it was pretty empty. You heard the bell above the door ringing and the sound of children giggling asking for different kids of treats. You heard a man’s voice telling them to calm down a little and to have a seat in the booth. You turned at the sound of the voice. It was Jensen and his children. He saw you and looked surprised and you offered him a soft smile. He approached you and said “hey Y/N. I can’t believe I’ve run into you twice in one day. At least this time I didn’t damage your car.” You snorted and turned red. The older woman came back with your order and you thanked her. Jensen turned to her and said “Howdy Ms Betty, how are you doing today.” “Well Jensen Ackles, it’s good to see you honey. I see you have the kiddos with you. Where’s D” she asked. “She’s out with some friends tonight. Can we get the usual and 4 spoons please.” He said politely. “Coming right up sweetie. Give D my love”. She said as she turned around.

Jensen looked at you smirking at him. “We are regulars. Been coming here for years. Ms Betty is like a grandma to all of us. Her and her husband opened this place decades ago.” He said to you. You nodded and smiled taking a bite of your ice cream. You didn’t mean to but you moaned loudly. Jensen laughed and you blushed. “Sorry. That’s just the best ice cream I’ve ever had.” He smiled and nodded. His daughter, JJ came up to him and told him she wanted her own ice cream because she was old enough now. He smiled at her and nodded. “Hmm daddy’s girl” you smiled. “Since the day she was born” he said. “Um, excuse me Ms Betty, JJ has decided to get her own. You mind putting some in a separate bowl for her please.” He asked sweetly.

Your chest warmed at his kindness and his smile. Ms Betty returned with his order and as he turned to walk to the booth he leaned over and said “if you think that one is good, wait until you try the chocolate brownie. It’s orgasmic”. You met his green eyes as you swallowed hard and your thighs clenched together. You bit your lip and he walked away.

You could hear his children engaged in a lively conversation with him and ever so often you would hear him laugh a deep hearty laugh. The kids giggles filled the shop. You smiled as you ate. Once you were done you got up to pay your bill and Jensen came up behind you. You could feel the heat coming from him as he stood close to you. “How was it sweetie” Ms Betty asked you. “Oh it was the best ice cream I’ve ever had. I need to bring my son, Jacob here. It might lift his spirits. He’s still a little out of sorts from the move.” You said. Ms Betty took your hand and said “oh honey, you bring him here and I’ll fix him right up. I’ve always said ice cream is a cure all.” You smiled and nodded. As you tried to pay the bill Jensen told Ms Betty to add it to his. He told her about the car accident this morning. You tried to argue but it was Ms Betty and Jensen against you. There was no use.

As you started to leave you turned to tell Jensen thank you. “Thank you for that. You didn’t have to pay for my ice cream. I told you this morning it was just an accident and everything was fine.” “It’s nothing, really. So how old is your son” he asked. Oh he’s 16. He’s upset we moved here. We didn’t have a choice really. My husband’s job transferred him out here. So we packed and moved.” You almost told Jensen the real reason but you stopped yourself. You’re actually not sure why you almost told him. You told him good night and thank you again then left.

As you drove home Jensen was on your mind and then you started thinking about Rob and Cindi. Was she really moving here. You moved across the country to get away from her and now she’s following you. You should have just stayed where you were and left his ass.

Just as you pulled in your driveway your phone went off with a text notification.

Unknown: Hey Y/N, this is Jensen. I hope you don’t mind me texting. It was good seeing you tonight. I meant what I said about the chocolate brownie ice cream. 😆

You: Hey, Jensen. No it’s fine you texted. It was great seeing you and meeting your kids. Maybe next time I can meet your wife. I’ll keep that in mind about the ice cream.

You saved his contact information and smiled. You walked in the house to find Jacob on the couch and your husband no where to be found. “Hey Jacob. Where’s your dad” you asked. Jacob shrugged “I guess upstairs. He disappeared after you left. Did you find anything interesting in town.” “Yeah a really good ice cream shop. I want to take you to soon.” You said. You kissed the top of his head and told him good night. “Night mom. Love you” he said. You smiled as you walked upstairs.

When you walked into your bedroom your husband was asleep in the bed. You noticed his clothes were off. You changed and crawled into bed. Rob was snoring softly so you rolled over and scrolled through social media. Somehow you ended up on Jensen’s account. You smiled looking through his posts. As you were scrolling a new post popped up. It was taken tonight at the ice cream shop. The picture was of him and the kids. The caption made you chuckle. “Took the kids to a local spot for ice cream. Next time I’m going to have the chocolate brownie. 😏”

You liked the photo and commented “I heard it’s mind blowing. Ms Betty makes amazing ice cream.” Your phone went off

Jensen: mind blowing huh? 😏

You: well I believe I was told orgasmic but I didn’t think I should post that. 🤭

Jensen: probably not. So what are you doing

You: just laying in bed scrolling social media. Now I’m talking to you 😝

Jensen: I’m in bed too. The kids crashed hard. D is still out with her friends. Can I ask you something?

You: yeah, sure.

Jensen: you said you moved here for your husband but you were at the ice cream shop alone. Was he at work?

You: No. He was at home. He didn’t want to go out with me tonight. No biggie. I’m used to it.

Jensen: oh. I’m sorry Y/N.

You: Thank you.

You: Well I need to get some sleep. Talk to you later Jensen. Good night.

Jensen: Yeah. Talk to you later Y/N. Good night.

You put your phone down and closed your eyes. You heard your phone ding and smiled when you looked at it.

Jensen requested to follow you on Instagram and put his phone down. He sat back thinking about you and the events of the day. A twinge of guilt crept into his chest as he thought about Danneel. He loves his wife but there is something about you that excites him. He smiled when he saw you accepted his request.

You both drifted off to sleep smiling. Not knowing why either of you felt the pull towards each other.

Tags: @nescaveckdaily @kr804573 @k-slla @jackles010378 @jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @roseblue373 @cheynovak

[white-chalk-sapphomet]

I wish I could chart out how each business, industry, or department practices its labor policies. Things like do employees accrue pto, will they be made to take long lunches to offset overtime or do they have the flexibility to leave earlier in the day instead, do they experience an intense slow season, etc. Are you lucky to even get a smoke break or 5 minutes to eat a snack? Does employer health insurance cost less per month than your largest rent bill / under 30% of each paycheck earned? Do they rely on their employees receiving medicaid, do they unilaterally provide AD&D when exposing you to industrial machinery that Could kill or dismember you, does such a thing as hazard pay exist for you, do you pay for your own transportation and mileage, etcetera. Like I feel like if workers want to leverage their time effectively or plan for the future, these kinds of work-condition variables are like. Huge. there's like glassdoor and shit, but I can't say I think it's cutting it really

[tigergirltail]

TIGER HRT CHAPTER 3 - MONTH 0 - BIOCHEMISTRY

First - Prev - Next

It finally arrived today!!

I'm shaking with excitement as I arrive home and start opening the large package. My partner is there too, watching closely. They had expressed interest in therian HRT when I brought it up, but were a bit more hesitant about committing to it, at least until I do it first.

Besides, it's a bit of an expensive process. Not just arranging the visit to the clinic in the first place, but also getting the actual meds. Something about import costs for a potentially hazardous substance? Whatever it was, insurance wouldn't cover it, and I had to pay through the nose for it.

Inside the package is a cardboard box marked all over with "FRAGILE" labels. Inside THAT is a solid block of foam. Not like packing peanuts, but the sort of shaped styrofoam that computer monitors come packed in. Lifting out the top half of the foam, I see it. A glass bottle with a black rubber stopper, containing a blurry white fluid. Lifting up the bottle and swirling it around, the liquid inside seems slightly viscous, like maple syrup.

"What kind of RPG-ass potion bottle is this?", I wonder aloud. Noticing some labels on the opposite side, I turn the bottle around…

And immediately get the spook of my life as I recognize the biohazard trefoil.

"What in the…" Did I get sent the wrong package??

I take a look at the second label below it.

PANTHERA TIGRIS

MUTAGENIC HORMONES

TAKE 1 T▮P PER WEEK WITH FOOD

DO NOT EXCEED

There's a bit of a smudge on the dosing information, some spilled ink maybe. I'm pretty sure I can make out what it's supposed to say, though.

My partner leans in and spots the biohazard symbol as well.

"Are you still sure you want to do this, love?"

I lean my head towards them. "Not as sure as I was five minutes ago…" I take a steadying breath. "But yeah… I think I am."

Into the kitchen. Get out a measuring spoon. Eat some snack food so I'm not on an empty stomach. Get some water ready to wash it down.

I turn to look at my partner. I know the meds take months to work, but it feels like this is the last time they'll get to see me as a full human.

They silently walk up to me and pull me into a tight hug. It's enough to give me that final bit of courage.

Carefully, I pour some of the biohazardous liquid into the measuring spoon, and then it's down the hatch.

"How's it taste?", my partner asks.

"It's…" It's weird. It tastes weird. It's like if the smell of dust after rain, petrichor I think is the word, it's like if that was combined with the sound of wind rushing through grass, and the result was a taste.

"…It tastes like running free."

[waltwhitmansbeard]

time for part 3 babey

what cars would the bells hells drive?

orym: orym does a ton of research into vehicles before buying one, bc he wants the top safety features but also enough room for his friends but also not something so big that he becomes a hazard on the road but also everyone's phone needs to pair so they all can take turns being the dj but also he'd like a hybrid so it's good for the environment. he ends up with a sensible suv (green, ofc) that he takes very good care of, except for the glovebox, which belongs to fearne and quite frankly it's none of his business what's in there.*

fcg: i'm so sorry but they are a tesla bro, just an absolute elon musk fanrobot. he's convinced ai is going to save the world and if a few errant children need to be run over to get us there, well, then, where were their parents?

imogen: yes, imogen has a massive, heavy-duty pick-up that she uses to haul her horse trailer, but her everyday car is an old, slightly rusted chevy, one from the 50s with the wooden bars along the sides of the bed. it's red and the fender has seen better days but imogen does enough work on it to keep it running.

laudna: laudna has the bike that margaret hamilton uses at the beginning of the wizard of oz. let me be clear. she doesn't have a bike like the one margaret hamilton uses. she has the bike. no one knows how she got it, or how much it cost, and she can barely pedal it bc she has no leg muscles to speak of, but the children whisper whenever she passes on the absolutely ancient thing.

chet: an olllllllllllllllllllld chrysler town & country, one with wood paneling, of course, real wood, not that vinyl shit. he keeps it in excellent condition by not actually driving it anywhere but instead bumming rides from his friends. one time dorian looked at it and chetney threatened to gouge his eyes out.

fearne: fearne doesn't drive. fearne is driven.**

ashton: ashton doesn't drive. ashton despises cars and car culture. this is a public transport bitch. they know every single bus driver, their names, their routes, how long they've been driving. he knows the turnstiles you can jump and the ones that are monitored. they'll tell you the stories of all the graffiti in the subway system, and only half of them are made up, but you'll never figure out which half.

dorian: he tries to pretend he doesn't have far and away the nicest car of all the hells, but there's only so much you can do to hide a bright blue camaro. he likes to go fast and make a lot of noise, which is helpful, bc he is literally never on time. he pays the price whenever he shows up twenty minutes late with an obnoxious starbucks order in his hand by being absolutely razzed by the rest of his friends.

(vox machina) (mighty nein) *the glovebox is fearne's bc shotgun is always fearne's. even if fearne isn't in the car. the seat next to orym belongs to fearne at all times in all situations. no one else may sit there under penalty of fearne's big, sad eyes and incredible tits. **but fr can you imagine fearne behind the wheel of a car?? i'm an excellent driver!! she insists as she knocks over her third mailbox of the day. just an absolute menace. could NEVER get insurance. orym let her drive ONCE and immediately went to update his will.

[frostedpuffs]

RECAP OF MY DAY:

got a flat tire on the way to work

i have a spare!

i do not know how to change a tire.

youtube it!

i do not have a car jack.

i just bought these damn tires 2 days ago

angry.

call boss and say i got a flat. boss asks "when can you come in"

i don't fucking know

boss angry.

cry

at least it happened close to a dunkin. i got iced coffee.

my tummy hurts.

call my insurance. apparently i do not have roadside assistance. i could also not add roadside assistance to my account today because it is a sunday and my agent's office is closed. will have to pay out of pocket for any help

how much is help? $95 to have someone come out to put my spare on

no thank you.

call family members. all busy

call friends. all busy

all of my coworkers are at work because it is a sunday, which is full staff day

finally call mom. mom is very angry about being woken up but begrudgingly comes to meet me anyway. she tries to get her insurance company to help

no help

mom decides to call the POLICE STATION???? HUH????????

for some reason they send a cop out. he cannot get the flat tire off since it is screwed on so tight.

begrudgingly i pay for the $95 tire assistance

RANDOM KIND STRANGER OFFERS TO GO HOME AND GET HIS CAR JACK AND POWER TOOLS!

cancel the roadside assistance! get my money back!

stranger puts the spare tire on!

the spare tire is almost flat.

i leave, turn my hazards on, and make it to the nearest gas station to put air in the spare

out of order.

cry

make it to the next gas station

get air in tire

the spare tire has a hole and doesn't hold air

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

call my insurance to see how much they charge to tow

$150

no thank you

the mechanic i got my tires from is a mile away. i have a warranty on the tires

I DRIVE WITH A FLAT TIRE TO THE MECHANIC BECAUSE I HAVE NO OTHER OPTIONS

get a different tire. everything is fine

get to work

everything at work goes wrong. it is so busy. a client yells at me a lot

find out a coworker I've been nothing but nice to has been talking mad shit about me and spreading rumors about things that are untrue

angry.

get out of work late

decide to order myself pizza and a salad to make up for the shit day

get home and realize they got my order wrong

[topaz-witch-tea]

To your last post: I love a hc that all the protection charms Yanqing wears are from Jing Yuan: he's proud of his student (son) and is confident in his abilities but deep down as a parent he's deeply worried about Yanqing's well-being, especially when he isn't near to personally insure his safety. (and Yanqing certainly doesn't make his life easier, running away to fight criminals and go on solo missions kskdkd). He totally prays to Lan

P.S. I love your fics and headcanons about the HCQ and Yanqing so much! Thank you for writing them!!

Hello!!!! I'm so glad you love my work, I really enjoy making them for everyone to read!!!

I know this reply is a bit late, I am behind on answering all my asks 😅

In canon, I have a headcanon that Jing Yuan took Yanqing in when he was a little baby, barely a month old. Jing Yuan was already so tired of his role and his life when he came across Yanqing. He was absolutely taken in by the baby, who seemed to babble endlessly and cry when Jing Yuan set him down. With this new sense of fatherhood also came a sense of fear and anxiety since babies are so fragile and Yanqing was so, so very curious.

The first was the silver lock charm, which was originally on a silver hoop to prevent Yanqing from choking. Jing Yuan got it not long after he took in Yanqing. The charm was decorated with auspicious symbols for Yanqing to live a long and healthy life. He knew a long life was a small ask for Xianzhou Natives, but he had seen war and knew full well how easy it was to die. Yanqing enjoyed the charm greatly, especially the little tinkling sounds the bells made.

The second was the red string on his ankle, a symbol of protection and good fortune. Yanqing was probably about 6 months old when he got the anklet. A gift from Jing Yuan, he had heard of the tradition from Yukong when she got Qingni and Tingyun a red bracelet. Survival is based on luck 50% of the time and he prayed that Yanqing could receive all the good fortune he could get.

The last one was the bells, a bracelet that was also given to babies for good luck and protection. The bracelet was bought in conjunction with the lock charm but Yanqing had a habit of sticking the bells into his mouth so the bracelet was removed of out of fear it was a potential choking hazard. It was given to Yanqing at 1 year old when he outgrew the phase of shoving things in his mouth and instead started the crawl off. The jingling of the bells quickly signaled his location and allowed everyone to keep an eye on him. In the early years, the bells were the most useful protection charm Yanqing had.

While they did not get rid of his anxiety, they did assuage it a little bit. A little bit of hope for Yanqing's safety and survival and a symbol of Jing Yuan's love for his only son.

Please feel free to send more 🥰

[infiniteeight8]

What if Stephen wins the lottery? Like, literally. Maybe he and Tony enter as a joke or as publicity or all the funds go to a certain charity or whatever. Idk.

And then Stephen *actually wins*. Now he has 2 million dollars. The aftermath is up to you.

Stephen never actually checks the lottery ticket. He bought it on a whim, more as a prop for a joke he was playing on Tony than anything else. He doesn’t need to check it; it’s served its purpose. But FRIDAY checks for him, which is how he finds out he’s won 2 million dollars.

Tony looks amused at her announcement. “Why’d you even enter the lottery? It’s not like you need the money.”

He’s not talking about himself. Stephen had been heavily insured when he was a doctor, not just against malpractice lawsuits (which were an unavoidable hazard of the profession, no matter how good you were) but also against interruptions to his career. It had taken a long time to push the claim through the system (once he started trying; in the immediate aftermath, it had felt like surrender), but his benefits were quite generous now. More than he needed, really—most of it went to support Kamar Taj.

“I needed a ticket for that joke I played on you,” he says.

“Wait, that was a real ticket?”

Stephen nodded. “It was easier than faking one.” He rubs his forehead tiredly. “I don’t even know where it is now.”

FRIDAY has the answer, of course. “It’s in a drawer in the boss’s lab,” she provides. 

Stephen winces. “Shit. What the hell do I do with it? I can’t claim it, how would that look? Someone with a seven figure income, who is dating an actual billionaire, claiming a prize that would be life changing for someone else? What a disaster.”

“If you don’t claim it, they’ll just roll it into the next prize,” Tony suggests.

“No, taking the easy way out got me into this situation in the first place,” Stephen says. “With my luck, someone will track down the ticket.”

Tony shrugs. “Then claim it and donate it. You can tell the truth and everything: you bought it on a lark, never expected to win, and want to make sure it goes to people who need it.”

Stephen considers that and nods slowly. “Yes, that could work.” Relieved, he leans over and gives Tony a grateful kiss. “Thank you.”

[mordenheim]

This is getting ridiculous

(The idea behind this story is credited to the wonderful @ask-de-writer )

Finn sighed as he guided his work van through the rubble and wreckage that used to be the central part of the city.  He gritted his teeth as he occasionally heard broken branches or downed inert power lines scraping across the already heavily damaged and dented vehicle’s once-white paint.

He stopped here and there, shaking his head and rolling down the window to take snapshots of the destruction.  The cream colored goat straightened his tie and ran his fingers through the messy mop of red hair between his short, curled horns.

“Third time in two years.  This is getting ridiculous.”

As soon as he reached the address indicated on his location tracker, the short goat clambered down out of the van and almost tumbled right into a massive hole.  One of several, actually, in the shape of a gigantic paw print.  Taking advantage of his natural nimbleness, he hopped his way across the thin areas of dirt left between them to reach an area cordoned off with hazard tape.

Ducking under the tape, he made his way through the utter destruction of another Trivial Matters Industries testing laboratory.  A cheetah police officer came jogging up towards him.

“Sir?  Sir, you need to be behind the tape, please!”

He tapped the ID card on the front of his shirt.  “Finn Chuul, assessor for Macro Destruction Insurance Association.”

“Ah, Mr. Chuul, right this way, please.”

He followed her along a path cleared through the rubble where he found a blue haired Calico cat in a lavender jumpsuit having an animated discussion with a doberman officer.  He was apparently trying to get her to tell him just what had happened here.

For her part, she was trying to explain some very technical processes to do with the one undamaged piece of equipment in the building.  For his part, the officer was just trying to get her to slow down.

Finn shook his head as he listened in, starting to make notations on his clipboard about the level of destruction.  His floppy ears twitched now and then as he tried to pick up any needed information.  Finally, seeing that the officer was getting flustered and having had some experience with this kind of thing, the goat made his way over to them.

“So, this thing went off by accident, right?”

The feline suddenly turned in his direction and smiled, nodding, “Exactly!”

“And it made a giant monster?”

She rubbed the back of her head, touseling her short blue hair.  “Uh, kinda?”

“And how did that happen?”

Before he could even react, she just said, “Like this!”

She kicked the base of the machine and there was a sudden blinding flash of green light.  Finn threw his hands up in front of his face, staggering back, trying to clear his vision.  He felt like something was crushing him, squeezing him tightly, then a bursting sensation all over his body.  He was losing his balance, falling backwards, but it all seemed to be happening at a slower and slower speed.  It seemed to take forever to hit the ground, landing flat on his back and feeling something crunch beneath him.

He blinked up at the sky to clear his vision before slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position.  Looking down at himself, he clapped his hands over himself, in embarrassment as he was totally nude.  Glancing around, he saw both of the officers and the feline scientists, similarly nude and all crushing the remains of what looked like a model city beneath their collective rears.

Looking down at the “model” beneath him, he could see ant-sized furres fleeing, tiny cars racing down cracked streets away from the four of them.  He swallowed hard as he realized what had just happened.

“I…  am SO fired…”

[theknightmarket]

"Who wouldn't be angry?"

In which Wilford's return has less fanfare than what he hoped for. TW: cursing, slight sexual references Pages: 13 - Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Closing up the bar was the best part of the night. After everyone had gone home, either willingly or under attack from your broom, and the only sound left was the quiet tap, tap, tap of a faucet someone forgot to turn off – that was when you felt perfectly at peace. The adrenaline of work was fun, of course, but reaping the rewards of a 20-dollar tip and pair of earphones made the 2 o’clock chime all the more satisfying. 

You unwrapped the apron from your waist and tossed it over your bag. A wayward sex on the beach meant it would need washing before you could wear it again, not that you minded it too much. It was, after all, where that tip came from, and the man who spilt it was almost too apologetic. You’d had worse. 

Dimly, as you wiped down the tables for the last time, you lamented the loss of your winter-holiday themed apron. 

You preferred the Halloween one anyway, so it wasn’t a weight on your conscience that drew you to breaking into your bar late at night. The work kept you busy enough that you didn’t, and couldn’t, despair over small things. The taxes, the patrons, the staff – they were all great, but sometimes you did wish you had time for yourself. A Sunday off, once a month, that would be enough. But, as you said, no time to despair. There was still work to do. 

That night, the work entailed taking the cash out of the register and tip jar, counting it, and stuffing it into the safe, locking all the interior doors and windows, and, finally, flicking the light switch. The neon pink sign blinked once, twice, and died out at its third breath, while you brought out your keys to officially lock the front door. The little hole-in-the-wall that the bar was, it didn’t run the risk of getting broken into too strongly, but there was no reason not to take precautions. You’d heard your neighbors tell you that it was so much a safe town that you needn’t bother locking everything. You told them that you quite liked having money, thank you very much, and there was no way in hell that you were going to pay any more for insurance. 

The night’s air nipped at your face, reminding you that you were still standing outside. Your brain, meanwhile, reminded you that you weren’t on your couch, wrapped in a blanket, and watching random nature documentaries. It might have also said something about paying your rent, but you decided to ignore that part. 

So, your frigid breath fading away in front of you, you waltzed down the four blocks between you and your apartment, watching the few other folk out and about make their own ways home. A group of teens scuttled across the road, technically jay walking but you weren’t going to say anything, while a ruffled office worker took off in a hurry in the other direction. Probably wanting to get into a safe place with the baggy of drugs stuffed into his suit pocket. 

The town you lived in wasn’t a well-off one. It was two steps up from rock bottom, and only because the local deli hadn’t been closed down due to health hazards yet. You liked to think your bar made it better, but there were going to be people who didn’t agree. Those teens, for instance, who always threw crude remarks when you denied them a beer. You didn’t hold it against them. How could you, when you had done the same thing once or twice when you were a kid. It didn’t bother you anymore, so why not wait until they reached 21, or found good enough fake IDs.

You fished your keys out of your bag when you were at the stairs inside your apartment building. The little, pink bear was the only thing that distinguished it from any others, and you ran your fingers over the dimples and nicks as your legs moved for you. Fourth floor, second door on the left. Whistling the few beats of a song you could still remember from the radio, you spun the plastic toy around in the air, caught it with your other hand, and pushed it into your door.

The entry was cold. That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but you were always reminded of the difference between the welcoming warmth of your bar and your home’s casual wave of air. Bringing a jacket with you was a moot point since you only needed it when you were actually inside. No, you just had to put up with it until you could get out of your work clothes and surround yourself with the fluffiest blankets you could find. You had this down to a fine art at that point, there was no reason why you couldn’t do it from muscle memory alone. 

Your keys clattered to the wooden floorboards.

No anticipated reason. None at all. You should have been moving into your bedroom by now. You should have been leaving the line of sight of your kitchen and heading to your dresser. You should have been doing anything except staring right at the man who had settled himself against your countertop with a bowl and spoon in his hands. 

You weren’t certain if you’d have preferred a complete stranger, maybe someone with a mallet ready to bash in your head. Something told you it would have been better that the mallet he had poised to bash in your heart with. 

Your mouth dropped open and you forgot about the keys on the ground. Eyes scanning his figure, you begged to find any reason that this wasn’t him, but, if there was, you were too shocked to see it. First, came the slow, creeping sensation of confusion, then a dismal sadness washed through your veins, followed within the second by a tidal wave of anger. 

In a single movement, you’d scooped up your keys, singled the sharpest one out, and lunged for Wilford. 

The fucker was lucky he had those teleporting, magic, screw-the-laws-of-physics powers that let him appear behind you before you cut through his arm. That didn’t stop you from whirling around and trying to get at his shoulder, though, but you missed again. And again. And again. 

“Stop moving!” you yelled, skidding into the fridge. It was a poorly choreographed dance that involved the two of you going around in circles, neither graceful nor calculated. The most math Wilford was doing was making sure he didn’t end up on your stove-top, and you were barely thinking, regardless of how many times the counter drove itself into your stomach. 

His response of a stern, “No!” went ignored while you flung yourself towards him for a sixth time. You were considering just chucking the keychain at him and hoping you struck gold, but luck always seemed to be on his side – if not for his evading of your attacks, then for the fact that his bowl hadn’t spiled whatever was inside it. Although, just as you cursed him for it and a bunch of other irrelevant things, he placed it near the sink and watched you fumble with the keys. Your hands were sweaty against the frigidness of the apartment, the exercise was wearing you out quickly, but you didn’t let up. He’d always liked that about you, but he was getting tired, more of the repetitiveness of the situation than the exertion.

So, what else could he do but twist your arm behind your back, hold your other hand down onto the countertop, and ignore the suggestive position it put you both in to disarm you? You didn’t stop struggling, to which he tutted and wrenched your shoulder back further. Nothing to hurt you, too much, he just needed you to calm down. If there was one thing he’d learned in your past encounters, it was that you didn’t react well to simply being verbally ordered around. 

“Now, why are you so angry?” Wilford asked. 

For a second, you stilled. He couldn’t be serious, but, then again, when was he ever? This was the norm for him. Both the prudent ignorance and the method of disarmament. After jostling for moment more, you let out a breath that gave you more wiggle room against the countertop. 

“Who wouldn’t be angry? You ate all my cereal and faked your death for three years.” 

Wilford apparently deemed you pacified enough to let you go, and you fell forward slightly. God, your arms hurt. You turned to face him as you rolled the shoulder that he had pulled behind you. Military man. You hated when he actually used what he was taught.

“I didn’t fake my death,” he scoffed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you ate all my cereal and abandoned me for three years. That better?”

“I didn’t abandon you.”

You finally met his eyes. Six feet between you, far out of arm’s reach, you hated that they didn’t betray any lies. More often than not, his emotions were masked by a haze of insanity, but the genuineness was crystal clear, like the spark of lighting across a night sky. It was the kind of purity that meant he fully believed he hadn’t abandoned you, but that just made it worse. 

You forced yourself to look away.  

“You still ate all my cereal.”

“For that, I am sorry.”

You believed him there, and you hated that you did. But that was the same Wilford who left all those nights ago, wasn’t it? No reason to anything, not leaving, not coming back, not a single thing.

Huffing, you gave up. It wasn’t worth arguing about, and you now had one more chore to do before you could settle down for the night. “What do you want?” you asked as you dumped the remainder of the cereal from Wil’s bowl.

“Can’t a man check in on an old friend out of the kindness of his heart?”

You levelled him with a blank stare. His grin cracked for just a second, but it was enough for you to spot, not that you changed your expression any.

“I- well, I thought we could catch up. What have you been up to for the last… what did you say, three years?”

You took a moment to try and figure him out again. Even if it would get you nowhere in the long run, you weren’t going to entertain him if he was there out of boredom. The little voice in the back of your mind reminded you that you didn’t have to play along with him, it reminded you that you had a job and a home and a life outside of whatever Wilford was swept up in. You didn’t have to jingle around the room like a court jester playing it up for laughs.

But you still sighed, ran a hand down your face, and vaguely gestured to the kitchen counter. “Go on, then.”

Wilford waltzed over to one of the stools as though that was just what he expected you to say, and, ashamed as you were, it likely was; it was some kind of routine you used to have, albeit without the giant gap in between. When you got home from working the bar, he would be there at the stove, cooking whatever it was caught his fancy in the books lately. You’d talk about your day and ask him about his, pouring both of you a drink. You couldn’t drink on the job, but your shift ended the minute you stepped through the apartment door.

Then, of course, after solid months of strange domesticity, Wilford up and vanished in the blink of an eye. Magic.

And, what, he appeared in just the same manner, and you fell into the habit, just like that? God, you really were weak.

“So, how’s the family?” was Wilford’s first question. You didn’t answer until you got the bottles out of the fridge and laid them on the countertop in front of him.

“Fine. Youngest brother graduated; parents adopted another dog.”

You turned away from grabbing the glasses only to see your guest wedging the top off the bottle of gin with his teeth. The cork pressed to the side of his mouth a clear danger, you swiped it from him, tossed it to your other hand and grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer in one swift motion.

“You’ll crack a tooth,” you muttered, knowing damn-well he wouldn’t heed your warning as you watched him shrug and remove the cap of the vermouth as well.

You didn’t bother to be surprised when the martini glass you’d seen on a shelf disappeared and reappeared in Wilford’s hand. That little voice, whispering again, reminded you that the magic trick was old hat to you now. You didn’t have to be shocked at the casual manipulation of time and space.

“I didn’t think Danny-boy was still in schooling. What’s he going to be, eh?”

Ignoring the sudden pressure in your chest, you replied, “A pilot.”

“Oh, a ladies’ man, then!” His laugh was more suited to a world war general than the pink-moustached maniac sipping straight from the vermouth in front of you. “I wish him the best of luck.” To which he raised the bottle, and, with a final wink, chugged the thing until half of it remained.

You almost didn’t want to risk finishing the martini you were making for him. You were well aware of how high Wilford’s alcohol tolerance was, but that didn’t make it any healthier. Still, when you had taken back the vermouth and poured it into the glass, you slid it over to him, warily eyeing the rest of the bottles to see if they’d been opened in the meantime. The sight of them all the same as before didn’t bring you much comfort regardless.

“And how’s the bar doing?”

You nodded slightly, your brow still furrowed and avoiding looking directly at him. “It’s doing well. We got a new bartender, she’s… she’s good.”

“Maybe you’ll finally take some time off, then,” he thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers, “there’s a new roller rink opening up on Alto Street. We could go there on your next day off!”

That pressure tightened into a vice grip. “We?”

“Yes, we. I wouldn’t recommend it if I didn’t think it’s good.”

“But you want to go together.”

“Is that a problem?”

Avoiding looking at him didn’t help, but making eye contact wasn’t any good, either. You only got an expression of confusion. Nothing betrayed an ulterior motive. You squinted but found only that. Surprise, maybe. You tilted your head one way and then the other, as though an angle would let you see something you couldn’t before. It was all the same.

“What are you doing, Wilford?”

Only more surprise. He laid down the martini glass, a mere sliver of alcohol left in the bottom, before placing his head in his hand. “What do you mean?”

“What is this? What- what do you want?”

A tut broke the tension for a second until it rose again tenfold.

“You’ve already asked that one.” 

“Yeah, and we’ve caught up. You can leave now.”

“Well, you haven’t asked me what I’ve been up to.”

“Oh, yeah? What have you been up to, then?”

Wilford opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again with a hum. Go figure, he couldn’t tell you. Whether it was because he was bound by some contract, or couldn’t remember, or just plain hadn’t done a thing, you didn’t know, and you never had.

“Look, it was nice catching up with you, but I have to work in the morning—”

“Hold on, hold on!” Your moving away from the counter was blocked by Wilford rushing to stand and securing his hands on your shoulders. He held you in place, a new emotion appearing on his face. Desperation. The smallest amount, but it was there, and it had you changing your mind about shoving him away.

“How do I make it up to you?”

“I don’t think you can.”

You weren’t about to beat around the bush with this, even if it made you the bad guy – the kicked puppy look certainly made you think you were, but you stayed your course; you couldn’t give in so easily.

“I just… how do I know you aren’t going to disappear again?” 

“I won’t!”

“How do I know, though? You don’t have the best track record.”

When he moved his hands from your shoulders, you thought he was going to leave, walk straight out the door into the night. It took only a second longer for you to realise he was grabbing your own hands. “This time I promise I’m telling the truth.”

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Damn him and damn yourself and damn it all. You were weak, of course, but you were weak for the man in front of you with the stars in his eyes and sugar on his lips. And if that man was asking for a second chance – for a third time – who were you to deny him?

“Fine. Okay. Sure,” you spoke slowly, coming to grips with everything that had happened in the last half an hour.

You felt Wilford’s grip tighten at your hands and then release, and that was all that you expected, but you were talking about the time-travelling maniac in front of you. His arms were wrapped around you before you knew it, warmth and his moustache tapping at your skin. You supposed this was some kind of thanks, which you still appreciated. Gently, you lifted your hands to pat his back, causing him to squeeze slightly more, until he pulled away a few seconds later. 

“Alright,” you mumbled, barely getting the word out in time for a yawn to overtake you, “I’m heading to bed.”

“Goodnight! Sleep well.”

You returned the pleasantry with obvious tiredness in both your tone and your body. Dragging your feet, you made your way to your room while Wilford cleared up, the clinking of glasses and bottles only making you slightly worried about how much you’d have left come morning. It wasn’t enough to stop you from conking out the very instance that you touched your comforter, ready and poised to forget the last half hour’s shenanigans.

You woke up in the morning. Not surprising. It happened a lot. What didn’t happen a lot, though, was the smell of pancakes stirring you from your sleep instead of the blinding sun through your windows. You cracked your eyes open, only to see complete darkness. Immediately, you jumped from your bed and scrambled to stand up straight. Nothing. You couldn’t see anything. A creeping sense of dread curled in your stomach, wrapped around you heart, and pulled. Where was Wilford? Did he do something, was he okay, why did it still smell like pancakes—

You hand made contact with something covering your eyes. Oh. Pulling it off, you were slowly greeted with the light of the day, as you expected, and an unfamiliar piece of fabric in your palm. It was silky when you ran your thumb over it, something you didn’t think you’d ever touched, let alone owned.

You left the sleeping mask on your chaotic mess of sheets. Overwhelmed by the haze of adrenaline and sleep, you stumbled to get ready – which, given that you still had to figure out that smell, consisted of swapping out the uniform that you’d passed out in for a tank top and shorts. You weren’t fully awake when you got to the door, but you had nothing else to do but get to the kitchen and hope it was nothing you’d have to call emergency services about.

All three of your panic-questions were answered when you stopped at the archway between the mini hallway and the kitchen. The scene of Wilford at the stove, his back to you but clearly flipping something in a pan, quickly greeted you. Sizzling filled the air and disguised your footfalls on the wooden floorboards. They were nearly silent anyway, and yet you were caught as you got close to the countertop’s stools.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Wilford sang, turning to wink at you so that you could see the ‘kiss-the-cook’ apron he now sported. Something panged in your chest, like a string cut loose; you’d bought that for him years ago, back when he was cooking dinner for the two of you. The face of the cashier stuck in your mind, somewhere between amused and sickened, but you didn’t care. The only time he hadn’t worn it when cooking was after you’d wrestled it away from him to wash. And then, obviously, after he disappeared, it was stashed in the back of the drawer, piled onto by old cloths and semi-broken utensils. You wondered how he found it again.

“Did you put a sleeping mask on me?” You collapsed onto a seat and rested your arms on the laminate surface. 

“I did, yes.” He went back to peeling the sides of a pancake off the edge and said nothing else on the matter.

“…why?”

Wilford flipped the pancake once, twice, a third time, then pressed it down in a ritual you had seen many times before. The crack of batter shocked the air around it. “Given how tired you were last night – too tired to change out of your clothes, at least – I didn’t want the sun to wake you up too early.” 

“And the curtains weren’t enough?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” he tutted, “I’ve seen how much gets through those flimsy things. It’s a wonder how the stars themselves don’t keep you awake.”

He wasn’t wrong. It happened often that you would wake up in the middle of the night, drowsy and blinking, only to realise that it was ten hours earlier than when you needed to be out of bed by. It happened now, and it happened three years ago. You just never put in the effort to fix it.

So, you just sighed, giving up the debate as fast as you’d started it, and dragged your hands down your face. According to the clock on the wall opposite you, there was still six more hours until the bar opened – you didn’t like encouraging day-drinking and four o’clock was the lowest you would go – and, frankly, you didn’t know how to spend them. A routine of stupid conspiracy theories and paperwork was offset with Wilford’s presence, leaving you with the shambles of a normal morning.

You blinked back to life when he set out two plates of pancakes on the countertop, one of them in front of you and the other just to your right at the next stool over. As he rounded the jutted-out edge, he brushed the small of your back with his hand, still warm from being near the stove. You couldn’t help but tense up, entirely focused on that point of contact like you’d been called to attention by a drill sergeant. 

Wilford dropped into the seat and handed you a pair of cutlery. You didn’t notice the toppings spread along the edge until you blinked some more times to rid the blur of your vision. Half of them had been pushed to the very back of the cupboard while the other half you weren’t certain you had ever bought in the first place.

Something stopped you from reaching for any of them. Something stopped you from doing anything. 

It was a shared feeling between the pit of your stomach and your throat. Like you wanted to scream and cry and laugh at the same time. Manic, you guessed was the best word for it, but even that felt wrong. Your heart thundered in your chest and raged against your ribcage, as though it were the only thing stopping it from telling you just what was wrong with you. Maybe this was just what happened what Wilford was around you, or maybe this was just what happened when he left. You didn’t think you were sure of anything anymore. 

“Is this it?”

“What do you mean?”

The words struggled against the rush of blood in your veins. You weren’t angry. You understood that you should have been, but you weren’t, and you weren’t bitter, and you weren’t resentful. It was another feeling on the tip of your tongue. But you held onto that feeling because it was undeniably there. You would have bashed your head against the counter if you weren’t paralyzed with…

You were scared. That was it. You were downright terrified.

“Are you,” you swallowed thickly, “are you here now?”

“Honey, whatever are you talking about?” Wilford asked, facing you with that sugar-coated grin you’d always gotten so hung up over. “I’ve been here since last night.” 

Just those words made you break into an internal panic. The only way that it shone through was in the frantic movements of your pupils, darting back and forth, searching desperately for the truth in his own. Meeker than he had ever heard you before, you asked, “Are you staying?”

And, just like that, he realized what you were asking, what you were going through. The eyes were the windows to the soul, after all, and, as he secured his hands on your shoulders, he saw your soul shattered into pieces. He had left, and the memory of stepping out of that front door was seared into his mind. He couldn’t forget, not even under the cover of discos and murder-mysteries, the way that the click of the lock echoed down the hallway and the stairwell, chasing after him when he was out of the building and seeping into the cracks of the pavement. It was karmic justice that the thought of you prevented him from entering any bar from that day onward. He didn’t want to risk it, and, well, he’d already forgotten so much. The few sane memories that remained were ones he didn’t want to taint with similar experiences and get them muddled up in his mind. 

Now that he was back, Wilford couldn’t imagine leaving again, not when you were staring at him, panicked and desperate for a response.

Slowly, gently, he brought you closer until your chest was pressed against his. The embrace was tight but comfortable. Supportive. A promise he couldn’t yet put into words. He shushed you as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, your own arms tugging him even closer than that, as if you expected him to disappear at any moment – not that it was unjustified. His grip on your shoulder blades tensed alongside yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. On your part, you were too preoccupied with holding back the floods of tears that threatened to spill over at any second. A few had already escaped and dampened his dress shirt. On Wilford’s, he understood already.

The pair of you sat there for five minutes more. It felt like longer, but the clock was barely passing half ten. The most concrete thought that dragged through your head was that the hug was nice. You hadn’t been held like that since the last time Wilford was there. Sure, you’d been close to other people, but the complete relaxation of your body was a sensation you could see yourself chasing like an addict’s high.

It was practically painful to pull away, though you kept your hands secured around his waist.

“Shit,” you laughed quietly, voice clogged with tears, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you.”

“Pish posh! I think we both needed that, and I’m more than welcome for another in the future. For now,” he rose from his seat and gathered your plates, “I’m going to make some more pancakes.”

As Wilford passed behind you, he leaned around and pecked your cheek with his lips. It must have been an unconscious decision because his eyebrows raised, and he sounded apologetic as he spoke.

“Was that too much?”

Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it, but that didn’t make it any less appreciated. You had gone from trying to stab his with your keys to crying in his embrace in less than a day, you imagined you could handle a little kiss. And, as it happened, a larger one, too.

Wilford watched as you got up from your own stool and took a step closer to him. He was almost worried you would shove him out of the door, but you did something different. Very different.

In one swift motion, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him forward. For a second, he was focused on keeping the plates steady in his hands, before he felt the oh-so-familiar warmth of your lips on his, and, had he forgotten, this was a pleasant reminder. He sighed into your mouth as his shoulders fell from their tensed position and he tilted his head for a better angle. A lopsided grin spread over his lips, only somewhat messing up the kiss, but you continued. 

You lifted a hand up to cup his jawline, smoothing a thumb over the texture of his skin; the other you used to card through his tousled hair. Your reward? A light groan so quiet that you nearly missed it. Luckily, you didn’t, even as he tried to twist it into a hum. He’d missed this, and so had you. And besides, who were you to ignore the order on his apron?

Eventually, you had to separate. Time-travelers and bartenders both had to breath, after all.

“Oh, honey,” Wilford muttered, slowly but not subtly moving closer again.

You accepted another kiss, and then another when you parted, and then another after that. Each of them was slow and sweet, only half like him in that regard. 

“Still making those pancakes, are you?” you managed to get out in the interim.

His chuckle was just as carefree as his other sounds, but he did step back to put the plates by the sink. You moved to start cleaning them as he prepared the next pancakes. The splash of water against the sizzle of batter warmed your chest, and the glimpse of Wilford standing next to you had you grinning ear to ear.

This was good. Making breakfast in a tiny apartment, not yet dressed for the day but content to stay like this for the rest of it – you were happy with this life.

You were certain of it.

[It's weird that this blog has been open for over a year and yet this is the first Wilford one-shot I've done. Side note: this was inspired by @valentivy-makes so you should go and check out their amazing art of Wilford, because, um, you should. Thanks for reading <3]

[bullet-prooflove]

StolenMoments!Series - Part One: First Date - Vostanik Sabatino x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @novamariestark @words-and-seeds

You try not to like Sabatino, you really do. He's a spook, a CIA Officer, a master of manipulation but there's just something about him that captures you. You know that the outcome of that last mission weighs on him, you can see the regret in his eyes when he talks about Brendan Broake’s death.

Murder is what you’d thought when you’d first encountered him under his alias.

Accident is what he had told you in the aftermath.

You believe him, despite yourself.

When he’s not wearing a persona, he’s captivating. He talks with his hands, the left side of his mouth quirks up into a smile, his accent is sharper, more defined. It’s a far cry from the alias he was using when you first met him, an insurance adjuster called Roger who simply spat out the word lawyer.

“I heard you had to cancel a date tonight for this?” He says as he sits beside you in an unmarked car, watching the building across the street.

You’ve been here for a couple of hours, keeping an eye on your target. He hasn’t done anything more interesting than pass by the window a couple of times with a glass of top shelf whisky in his hand. In comparison the two of you are now eating Chinese from white take-out boxes with chopsticks.

“Sam and Michelle are trying to set me up with a teacher friend of theirs.” You tell him, your eyes fixed on Sidorov’s window.

“I’m guessing you weren’t looking forward to it.” He says, digging through the noodles in his box in search of the chicken.

“Trust me I much prefer being here with you tonight.” You utter, grimacing as Sidorov lingers in front of the glass with his robe open. “I never know what to say when they ask what I do for work…”

“Because if you say law enforcement, they either lose interest or they get a little too interested.” He summarises, nodding knowingly.

He’s been there, he was DEA before he became an operative for the CIA, he’s met his fair share of badge bunnies. They’re good for a night but anything more than that and they start to get a little crazy.

“I had a guy take me home to show me his murder wall once.” You reveal and suddenly his interest is piqued. He tilts his head towards you.

“O.J, JonBenét Ramsey or Jonathan Luna?” He asks because he’s been on the receiving end of the first two before and the third is more of a personal favourite, he’s listened to it recently on a true crime podcast.

“Technically two of those are already solved.” You remind him and he almost spits out his food because there’s not a person in his very small circle who knows who Jonathan Luna is, despite how weird the case is. The fact you do…

It makes him like you just that little bit more.

“Jonathan Luna’s not solved.” He protests, pointing the chopsticks at you. “There’s not a chance in hell that was a suicide. You can’t convince me otherwise.”

The edges of your mouth twitch up into a smile and his gaze meets yours. A blush creeps up his cheeks because he’s just betrayed a part of himself, shown you something that he’s passionate about. You want to explore that a little, hear his thoughts, his theories. You want to hear all about those true crime podcasts you know he listens to.

“It was The Golden State Killer.” You respond to his earlier question “Before they caught him.”

Boring, he thinks. Every man and his dog had a theory on that one before Paul Holes had managed to track down the killer. He is curious though…

“Was he close?” Sabatino asks, picking up his soda from the cupholder and sipping through the paper straw.

“Not even a little.” You laugh and he shares a smile with you because he gets it entirely. He’s lost count of the number of parties he’d attended before he turned CIA, where people would literally assault him with their theories. It’s a hazard when you’re law enforcement.

“I can’t even keep a plant alive let alone a relationship.” He confides in you, before gesturing between the two of you. “This is probably the best date I’ve had in years.”

“It’s in my top three.” You say with a humorous lilt. “Stuck together in a car, eating Chinese food while we wait for Sidorov to finish fucking his mistress. It’s dinner and entertainment.”

He laughs then, it’s a rich, warm sound that resonated through his body. It catches him off guard because for the first time in a while it’s genuine. He’s used to pandering to other people, making them feel comfortable, it’s part of his job. However, sitting here with you tonight, it’s the most real he’s been with another person in a long time.

“I guess the second date will have to make up for it.” He says, setting the takeout container on the dashboard before he wipes at his mouth with a napkin.

“Oh, you think there’s going to be a second date, do you?” You tease before setting your own little white box onto the panel so you can hunt down the carrier bag. He pulls it out with a flourish before holding it open for you. A clean stakeout space is a happy stakeout space. He waits for you to deposit the trash before he fastens the bag, and he tosses it in the back seat before he turns his attention back to you.

You’re an attractive woman, he thought that the first time he met you but it’s more than that. There’s a connection between the two of you, an undertone of something. He finds himself slipping back to the person he used to be, the man beneath all the identities. He hasn’t been that person in a very long time.

“I’m kind of liking the vibe we have, aren’t you?” He says dipping his head so that he can meet your eyes. “And I can promise you that I don’t have a murder board at home, that’s strictly for office use only.”

“You’re serious?” You ask him and he smiles.

It’s his real smile, the one that no one else gets to see. You can tell because his eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yea.” He says quietly as he leans in a little, his gaze lowering to your lips. “There’s an Italian place not far from the Boatshed. A little dinner, a little wine, we can get to know each other better.”

“You can tell me about your true crime podcasts.” You murmur as he reaches out, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. The scent of his aftershave floods your senses, something woody with a citrus undertone. His nose trails along the length of yours and you tilt your chin up so that your mouth brush over his.

You’re surprised by how soft his lips are, how tender he is with his kiss. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw and already you know you’re falling for him. And that’s ok, because he’s falling for you too.

“Sidorov’s on the move.” Sam’s voice comes across the radio. “Back exit.”

The two of you break apart reluctantly before pulling on your seatbelts.

“Tomorrow night.” He promises, his gaze focusing on the road ahead as he starts the engine of the car. “We’ll do it tomorrow night.”

***

The second date never happens.

Instead, the two of you end up sharing a cigarette outside of the Boatshed. He lost a friend today; a partner and you can see how much it devastates him. It’s in the way he pinches his brow when he strides outside to get some air, his hunched shoulders. He’s barely keeping his shit together.

“I have to go to Washington tonight.” He tells you wearily and you nod your understanding. You’d heard they were setting up a taskforce to bring down Sidorov, you know he has to be there. That even if it was a choice he’d still go. You didn’t like Synder, but he deserved better than being shot to death on a basketball court.

“Nik.” You say his name and his head inclines towards you.

Your fingertips brush over his cheek and he raises his hand, clasping your palm to his face. He closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, savouring your touch because he knows it’s the last time he’s going to feel it.

“I’m sorry we missed our moment.” He says, his lips brushing over the hollow of your wrist.

“Yea.” You whisper with a sad smile. “I am too.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lurkingintheback]

So I was trying something for the Tabletop Game Jam going on, but this is way over 200 words. Still liked the concept, so here's this one while I work on another!

Lemonade Mogul: The Corporate Warfare Card Game

A competitive game for three to five players. Might be able to play it with two, but you're probably going to have more fun flipping the table if there are more people on the other side of it. When a group of kids get the exact same get-rich-quick scheme idea to get them through the summer, tensions get high. There isn't enough room in this town for three, let alone six competing lemonade businesses, and you little Timmy/Suzy/Brook, are not going to be the one getting your hopes and dreams bought out or destroyed.

Materials Needed

Three to Five Players!

One deck of Lemonade Mogul themed cards! (Roughly about thirty cards divided into ten Location, Benefit, and Hazard cards)

Play Money! (Real Money not recommended for games with strangers, exes, or any small lemonade stand owning urchins with a mischievous glint in their eyes and nothing to lose.)

A notepad to keep track of winning bids.

Lemonade! (Optional, but who wouldn't want a refreshing glass?)

Playing the Game!

Lemonade Mogul starts with each player being given an equal small amount of play money, hazard cards, and benefit cards, along with one location card at random while the remaining stacks of location cards, benefit cards, and hazard cards each lie face down on the table. Each player is given some time to look over their cards before the first location card is turned over; revealing one of the places you can sell lemonade at!

Or rather, could sell lemonade at. The first thing you have to deal with is the Bidding Phase.

Bidding Phase: Each location card has their own perks and drawbacks; and each one gets you just a little more money each turn, depending on how much the card states. However, locations can be bought by other players if they have the same amount of money as the winning bid. Though players don't get additional money from new location cards on their first turn, each location provides passive benefits; or passive drawbacks. Maybe that country club provides you with a lot of money, but you're having to spend more time there and can't draw other locations. Maybe that graveyard doesn't provide you with much money, but the local necromancer's a big fan of your lemonade, and he'll sic zombies on one of your competitors every three turns to keep them busy. Maybe the church protects you from THE BOGEYMAN.

Development Phase: Now for the fun part. This is where you slam down your benefit cards or toss a hazard card at someone else. Maybe you trash a player's location, preventing them from getting money from it for another turn. Maybe you get a big sale from a wealthy eccentric old lady covered in cats who thinks your small business is the bee's knees. Maybe you commit insurance fraud; discarding a location for a big sum.

Some benefit cards exist only as counters to specific hazards or benefits (siccing the cops on a fraudster and forcing them to drop the location without a cash boost, exorcising the ghost in your refrigerator sent to stall you from getting your money, ensuring your lemonade stand has a clean bill of health), while other benefit cards specifically just benefit you or another player.

Despite the fact that there can be only one Lemonade Mogul, you're free to use your benefit cards on another player's behalf; or work with them! The competition is as friendly or as unfriendly as you make it.

Hazard cards meanwhile, are legitimately just hazards you're throwing at one player for a turn. Though you can only toss one (usually, unless the card has different rules) at another player, you're free to gang up with other players on someone. Maybe you're summoning a spooky ghost to haunt a competitor's fridge to halve their income via taking up their time, or you've tricked a gang of angry punk rock fans into thinking that your opponent hates the indie band they like, and they're trashing the location. Some hazards only last for one turn, while others are perpetual until they've been handled.

Finally, there's the Buying Phase; the point where players can look over previously bid locations and buy them out; putting their play money back in the pile and swiping the location card. It doesn't matter how much money the player has; as long as it's at least a dollar more than the winning bid, it's their own! The objective is to buy out every location the other players have; if a player runs out of locations and can't bid for any more, they're out of luck and on the buying player's team; though they can still play hazards or use benefits, any money they've made is funneled directly towards the player who bought them out.

All you've got to do is buy out everyone else; then you'll take the coveted title of Lemonade Mogul!