#some bookkeeping even

[anavatazes]

Good thing I don't need it

So, last month, I ordered a book as part of a charity event. No big whoop, I try to take part of stuff like this every year, if I am able to. This is usually my gift for the holidays from the family. I get something I want and help out others in need. It's fun. So, this happened...

It was supposed to be delivered today. I was looking forward to it today as a reward for starting back to work. As some of you know, I live in the Charleston, SC area. The book made it to Charleston... then it found its way to Dallas... 🤦‍♀️. Supposedly, it will be here on Wednesday. On a day I will be too busy to properly enjoy it 😑. Still... I have to wonder where else it might end up on its journey to me. I had a friend who ordered a t-shirt from LA, and it ended up all over the world, before finally it found its way into Austin to her. What was supposed to take two weeks (it was print to order) took a year. I don't want my book to take that long, though.

[featherymainffins]

Kinda wish a lot of my friends would stop demonising NPD?? Like they're always like "I'm cool with personality disorders, people with them aren't to blame for having them" or have a PD themselves, and then they turn around and go "Ugh I'm done with pwNPD, they're all awful."

The kicker is that this is ALWAYS preceded by me saying that I have a LOT of NPD traits and would meet the diagnostic criteria some days of the week (much the same way my friend has NPD but would meet the criteria for BPD some days). Like...ok... I literally just told you that I have a lot in common with people with NPD...you KNOW our mutual friend with NPD. You KNOW that he has NPD. And you look me in the eyes and tell me that you think that we're both awful????? Hello??? Fuck you???

[seth-the-giggle-fish]

gah why is finding a mentor for this small business mentorship class so difficult?

[gollumpanties]

well i'm so overwhelmed i just burst into tears ✌️

guess i'm not getting anything else done today. i have Reached My Limit.

[maximumzombiecreator]

It's often remarked how D&D 5e's play culture has this sort of disinterest bordering on contempt for actually knowing the rules, often even extending to the DM themselves. I've seen a lot of different ideas for why this is, but one reason I rarely see discussed is that actually, a lot of 5e's rules are not meant to be used.

Encumbrance is a great example of this. 5e contains granular weights for all the items that you might have in your inventory, and rules for how much you can carry based on your strength score, and they've set these carry capacities high enough that you should never actually need to think about them. And that's deliberate, the designers have explicitly said that they've set carrying capacity high enough that it shouldn't come up in normal play. So for a starting DM, you see all these weights, you see all the rules for how much people can carry or drag, and you've played Fallout, you know how this works. And then if you try to actually enforce that, you find that it's insanely tedious, and it basically never actually matters, so you drop it.

Foraging is the example of this that bothers me most. There's a whole system for this! A table of foraging DCs, and math for how much food you can find, and how long you can go without food, etc. But the math is set up so that a person with no survival proficiency and a +0 to WIS, in a hostile environment, will still forage enough food to be fine, and the starvation rules are so generous that even a run of bad luck is unlikely to matter. So a DM who actually tries to use these rules will quickly find that they add nothing but bookkeeping. You're rolling a bunch of checks every day of travel for something that is purpose built not to matter. And that's before you add in all the ways to trivialize or circumvent this.

These rules don't exist to be used, that is not their purpose. These rules exist because the designers were scared of the backlash to 4e, and wanted to make sure that the game had all the rules that D&D "should" have. But they didn't actually want these mechanics. They didn't want the bookkeeping, they didn't care about that style of play, but they couldn't just say, "this game isn't about that" for fear of angering traditionalists. And unfortunately the way they handled this was by putting in rules that are bad, that actively fight anyone who wants to use that style of play and act as a trap to people who take the rules in good faith.

And this means that knowing what rules are not supposed to be used is an actual skill 5e DMs develop. Part of being a good 5e DM is being able to tell the real rules that will improve your game from the fake rules that are there to placate angry forum posters. And that's just an awful position to put DMs in (especially new DMs), but it's pretty unsurprising that it creates a certain contempt for knowing the rules as written.

You should have contempt for some of the rules as written. The designers did.

[shouyuus]

mma!bakugo who just so happens to train at the gym that you part-time at on the weekends (front desk stuff, bookkeeping, etc) and has always been a bit scary from afar bc he's got this constant scowl as if he's got a bone to pick with just about anyone and anything who crosses his path, but his coach (also ur boss) assures you that he's a big softie once you get to know him. you tell him in no uncertain terms that you think you're good, thanks.

mma!bakugo who's always the first one in and the last one out on your shifts, who's got shit manners but always holds the door open for you and sometimes you swear you can catch him watching you as you go about cleaning some of the equipment but goes tomato red whenever you catch him in the act and immediately yeets off to work on drills for about half an hour before he'll glance at you again.

mma!bakugo who doesn't know how good he looks when he's wiping sweat from his chin or chugging water from his massive 2-liter water bottle, a trickle of cold water dripping down his chin to run down his neck, his adam's apple bobbing as he gulps down the water, smacking his lips as he wipes his mouth on the back of his bandaged hand; doesn't notice the way that every girl (and a lot of the guys tbh) are staring at him, but he'll glance towards where he saw you last, standing helping a new guy sign up for the gym membership, smiling and laughing, and he knows it's what you're supposed to do but it doesn't stop the way his gut twists or the way he goes way too hard at the punching bag, hard enough for his coach to hike an eyebrow and ask what's gotten into him today? it's not like him to "lose control" like this

mma!bakugo who never calls you by your name where other ppl can hear, always says like "hey sweetcheeks, can you hand me a water?" or "dollface, can you do me a favor?" and you'd always roll your eyes and remind him that "that's not my name, bakugou-kun," even as you're doing whatever thing he asked for anyway.

mma!bakugo who keeps quiet and watches when a guy tries to hit on you (unsuccessfully) bc he knows you can handle yourself, but the moment the guy reaches out to try and put hands on you, he's on his feet, stalking across the gym to shove his way between the pair of you like "oi. she ain't interested." and by now, everyone's gone quiet, their eyes trained on him and the guy and you; the guy sizes bakugou up, puffing out his chest for a second, but the next, he seems to notice the thick cords of muscles braiding down bakugou's arms, the expertly wrapped knuckles on both his hands, and he puts two and two together fast enough to know that this really isn't a fight he should be picking.

so he scoffs and makes as if he weren't ever really that interested anyway, turning around and muttering beneath his breath that you weren't even that pretty to begin with.

"thanks," you say, but bakugo just frowns and cocks his head.

"don't let anyone talk to you like that, got it?" and there's still that signature grit to his voice, the sharpness to his eyes, but something about it is different today -- it's ever so slightly softer than he usually is. he opens his mouth like he's about to say something more but pauses at the last second and turns around, shoulders a little hunched, and you could swear you can see the tips of his ears go red.

mma!bakugo who, after you get him an omamori from a shrine visit that says "certain victory", can only stare down at his, mouth open, a lil speechless, until he looks up to find you blushing just as hard as he is, purses his lips, clears his throat and glances off towards the side, tucking the charm into his training shorts like "thanks. now i've really got no excuse huh."

mma!bakugo who when he wins (as you knew he would), throws up his hand, the charm you gave him clutched in his palm, catches your eye in the crowd, smirks and jerks his head; when you squeeze your way up to the barrier, he boops your nose with a gloved hand before tugging it off with his teeth, letting it drop to the ground, bending down so his eyes are level with yours, his chest still heaving, his skin flushed from the recent fight, there's a cut on his lip and a bruise blossoming high on his right cheek but neither of you seem to care -- all he can see is you.

he tugs on a loose strand of hair, cocks his head, you smile and glance at the omamori clutched in his hand and say, "guess the lucky charm really worked."

mma!bakugo who hikes an eyebrow at your words before his eyes track down to your lips and he sighs, leaning against the soft barriers, not caring that there are just about seven different cameras trained on the pair of you right now, runs a finger down your jawline till he can tip your chin back --

"or..." his voice is just a little hoarse, his normally bright eyes dark, his pupils nearly completely blown out, a total eclipse of the usual ruby red of his gaze --

"maybe my lucky charm is just you."

[catpriciousmarjara]

Getting a PHD literally anywhere else: Wow! Congratulations! What a great achievement! Amazing!

Getting a PHD in Gotham: Wow! Amazing! You're now on several Government, Civilian, and Bat watchlists.

So if any of the Wayne kids get a PHD, then the entirety of Gotham would be squinting at them suspiciously. They're rich, so resources, and most likely already insane with all the shit they pull.

What I'm saying is if Jason went and got himself a Doctorate in Literature, the whole city would anticipate the appearance of his villainsona called the Dead Poet(emphasis on the dead) or Bookkeeper or something else similarly nerdy and themed like that for sure.

I just know that it would turn into some Gotham inside joke with memes abound, and everytime Jason would, I don't know, give more funding to the neglected Arts Departments in Gotham University, or go to a school for read alongs to encourage kids to read, Gotham social media would go crazy and be like:

"The Dreaded Villain Dead Poet Reads Alice in Wonderland to Children! How Despicable!"

"Villain Dead Poet Lambasts Government on Banning Books! Leads Librarians to Riot!"

"Dead Poet Ramps up his Villainy by Establishing Educational Programmes in Crime Alley! Uplifting the Poor! What a Dastardly Villain!"

"Dead Poet Goes on Live Ranting About his Favourite Books! Favourite Author is Jane Austen! Is this the Feminist Agenda?"

And so on! It's a meme that refuses to go away. His siblings actively participate, and make the situation worse.

Dick held an online Gotham Villains and Anti-Heroes Poll and Dead Poet came out on top, over Red Hood. Jason is an actual Gotham crime boss, but his crowdfunded villainsona is more popular. No he's not salty about it at all.

Duke would create a montage of Dead Poet sightings.

Stephanie would make a Dead Poet meme compilation.

Tim would arrange Wayne Enterprises to donate to local libraries after allegedly being threatened by the heinous villain Dead Poet. (Jason did ask Tim to do that but not like that)

Barbara created an extremely popular Villain Watch account for Dead Poet.

Cass tweeted out Jason's favourite books as the villain Dead Poets reading list telling people to avoid them 'wink wonk', causing a massive uptick in the sale of those books ala Bigolas Dickolas.

Damian of all people tweeted out a pic of Jason playing with Alfred the cat accusing the evil villain Dead Poet of attempting to kidnap his cat.

And thats not to mention all the shenanigans they pull in their batsonas.

God bless Gotham and it's home grown, organic, not even remotely ethically sourced, free range chaos.

[castaccio]

A reminder for myself since I can't find the actual ask post:

Your first ask on the website was from Maxmallard, who came to be your first mutual. You don't seem to remember how you find them, or if whether they actually found you.

In this ask, part of this was revealed. To your memory, she had followed you after repeatedly encountering dank FNAF content—not believed to be your own—on your blog. They'd also discovered something else...

After your interest in FNAF had died down, you decided to evaluate the presence of Professor Layton content on this new site. And in appreciating it, you sent a stream of memories to their door.

In this ask they thanked you for it. And you reciprocated the appreciation. To your memory, that is all that occurred.

You must find this ask and ensure that this memory is restored in its entirety. But for now, this will do.

[fazcinatingblog]

I understand why normal people (((Eleanor Oliphant)))) use the weekends to get blind drunk because then they don't torture themselves thinking about WORK on their days off (which is way way more damaging than any amount of vodka)

[fratboykate]

I'm totally in support of the writers in theory but I'm trying to understand more of what you're fighting for because I've seen some people on twitter claim writers make more money a week than most of us make in a month so I'm trying to understand what the issue is. Also if that info is accurate. This is a genuine question. Not trying to have a "gotcha moment". I really want to hear from a writer.

people have always had wild misconceptions about how much a writer earns because of their lack of understanding of how the industry actually works. there's so many posts about how "you guys make 5k a week. what more do you want?!" yeah...let's do some math on that.

5k a week for 14 weeks (and that's a long room. a lot of rooms these days are 8-10 weeks. those are the dreaded mini-rooms we're trying to kill) is $70,000. for roughly three months of work. you'd think we're cooking with gas...BUT HOLD UP. that's gross! let's see everything that has to come out of that check:

10% to our agent

10% to our manager

5% to our entertainment attorney

5% to our business manager (not everyone has one but a lot of us do. i do, so that's literally 30% immediately off the top of every check)

most of these breakdowns ive seen downplay taxes severely. someone made one that says writers pay 5% in taxes and i would like to ask them "in what universe?". that doesn't even cover state taxes. the way taxes work in the industry is really complicated, but the short of it is most of us have companies for tax reasons so we aren't taxed like people on w2s/1099. if we did we'd be even more fucked. basically every production hires a writer's company instead of the writer as an individual. so they engage our companies for our services and then at the end of the year we (the company) pay taxes as corporations or llcs (depending on what the writer chose to go with). my company is registered as a "corporation" so let's go with those rates. california's corporate rate is 9% and the federal corporate tax rate is 21%. there's other expenses with running a business like fees and other shit so my business managers/accountants/bookkeepers have recommended i save between 35-40% of everything i make for when tax season comes.

you see where the math is at already??? 25-30% in commissions and then 35-40% in taxes. on the lower end you're at THE VERY LEAST looking at 60% of that check gone. 70% worst case scenario. suddenly those $70,000 people claim we make are actually down to $28,000 as the take home pay. and that's if you're only losing 60%. it goes down to $21,000 if it's 70%.

lets pretend you worked a long 14 week room (that's the longest room ive ever worked btw) and let's also be generous and say you only have 60% in expenses so the take home is $28,000. average rent in los angeles is around $2,800-$3,000. if you're paying $2,800 in rent that means you need AT LEAST $4,000 a month to have a semi decent life since you need to also cover groceries, gas, medical expenses, toiletries, phone, internet, utilities, rental and car insurances, car payments, student loan payments, etc etc etc. and again, this is los angeles. everything is more expensive so you're living BARE BONES on 4k. and these are numbers as a single person. im not even taking having children into account. so those $28,000 you take home might cover your life for 6-7 months. 3 of which you're in the room working. the reality is that once that room ends, you might not work in a room again for 6-9-12 months (i have friends whose last jobs were over 18 months ago) and you now only have about 3 months left of savings to hold you over. we have to make that money stretch while we do all the endless free development we do for studios and until we get our next paying job. so...3 months left of enough money to cover your expenses -> possible 9 months of not having a job. this is how writers end up on food stamps or applying to work at target.

this is why we're fighting for better rates and better residuals. residuals were a thing writers used to rely on to get them through the unemployment periods. residual checks have gone down from 20k to $0.03 cents. im not joking.

they've decimated our regular pay and then destroyed residuals. we have nothing left. so don't believe it when they tell you writers are being greedy. writers are simply fighting to be able to make a middle class living. we're not asking them to become poor for our sake. we're asking for raises that amount to 2% of their profit. TWO PERCENT. this is a fight for writing even being a career in five years instead of something you do on the side while you work retail to pay your bills. if you think shows are bad now imagine when your writer has to do it as a hobby because they need a real job to pay their bills and support a family. (which none of us can currently afford to have btw)

support writers. stop being bootlickers for billion dollar corporations. stop caring about fictional people more than you care about the real people that write them. if we don't win this fight it truly is game over. the industry as you know it is gone.

[sevsdollette]

quickie at work with trans sevika ;) no established relationship but they've definitely fucked before. coworkers with benefits, yk?

warnings for: smut, making out, clothed sex, breeding kink, creampie, brattaming?

not proofread. MDNI and men go away

silco had been making you run around all morning. there was a shimmer shipment coming in, runners needed to be sent out to sell, and there was a rumor that enforcers would be making rounds later. it was going to be a long day, and you probably weren't going to go home until late at night.

for the first time in hours, you had a moment to catch your breath. you were up in the warehouse office, stacking papers and putting down your pen. your job as silco's bookkeeper was to tame for your taste, but it kept you out of the dangerous chaos. you were smart enough to keep away from the grunt work of silco's trade.

you got to play out your little office fantasy. a big corporate woman up in piltover, bossing around interns and earning big paychecks. the reality of it was your cash was dirty, and your product was laced.

a heavy sigh fell from your chest as you leaned back in your chair and looked out the window. as you stared at the grimey street below, a knock came from the other side of the door.

sevika opened it without a word or further warning. you looked up at her and wrinkled your nose. she was just as pissed about the busy day as you were. your muscled coworker was always meaner when she was stressed. it made long days like this even longer.

you sat up in your seat. "can I help you?"

she was a sight for sore eyes no matter how difficult she was. you liked each other enough to have some hot sex on off days. you never saw yourself settling down with someone like her, and you assumed she never wanted to settle at all. nothing was official, of course. work would get more complicated than it already was.

but she was here for something.

the look in her eyes told you to go over to her, but you wanted to hear her say it. you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your desk and propping your head up. you knew that doing this let her see down the low collar of your shirt.

she approached your desk and leaned down. her calloused hand reached out and took your chin to tilt it up. her large frame loomed over your desk, face close.

she kissed you slowly, reeling you in. her rough lips consumed you all at once. and she was nearly pulling away today draw you up out of your seat.

you grabbed her face, hungry for all of her. she deepened the kiss and, soon, you were crawling over your desk to stand with her. you could have walked around, but that would mean you’d have to stop kissing her. and that just wasn’t an option.

she gripped your hips, holding you firm against her as she pressed you into the desk. she slid her hands down your thighs and up, fingers reaching under your skirt.

she massaged your ass and let you grind on her, her kisses dipping down your jaw to the crook of your neck. you moaned and hooked your arm around her neck, your other hand sliding under the hem of her shirt.

you were practically dying to have her already. with every movement of her hands or hips, you could feel your cunt ache. each heavy sigh that fell from her lips made you wet.

but she was leaning back. her lips dragged up your neck to peck your cheek before she stopped. she focused her tense gray eyes on your face as she stared to let go of you.

"sev..." you sighed, pulling her back. "sev--"

she chuckled at your neediness. "no, baby, i have to go now. they need me at the docks."

"just stay here,” you pleaded. you put your hands on her hips, trying to keep her close to you. “i'm dying with all this shit to do. i need a distraction."

"i've distracted you enough..."

her words and gaze fizzled away as your hand slid down to the front of her pants. you rubbed lightly over her clothed bludge and smirked against her lips. "you're such a brat, you know that?" she growled.

you hummed and smiled, your hot breath making her shiver as you pressed your core into hers. you laughed under your breath as you felt her getting hard though her pants. "what are you gonna do about it?"

she moaned in your ear, face hidden in your neck as you kissed her jaw as nipped at her earlobe. you rubbed your thumb over the jutting tip of her dick trough the fabric of her clothes. you nearly had her knees giving out as you felt the precum stain the front of her pants. but that was a problem for later.

you whispered in her ear. “come on, sev,” you drew out your words, your hand guiding hers back under your skirt to the band of your panties. “it would be so easy to just…”

you helped her grab the edge of your underwear and pull. she got the idea, dragging them down your legs and watching in awe as she got them off of you. the impression of her cock through her pants was practically pulsing with need. she saw the wet cloth of your panties and lost all common sense.

she lifted you up, setting you down on the desk and pushing your skirt up to your hips. she dropped to her knees and drove between your legs.

you cried out, your head tipping back as her tongue dragged between your folds. she needed to get you ready for her dick, her mouth working wonders to get you worked up.

she sucked your clit between her lips and you nearly screamed. you gripped her hair tightly, working your hips against her face. she was ravenous, licking through your folds and to your bud, spitting on your cunt to make sure you were worked up enough.

the sounds she made were filthy. she had no shame, no decency in how she desired you. two minutes ago, she was professional and working. now you were at her mercy.

as her mouth worked on your clit, her fingers slid between your legs to tease the edge of your hole. your tensing thighs and mutters of encouragement led her to dip two fingers inside your dripping hole.

she needed to open you up for her dick. she worked her fingers in, curling them inside of you to hit your g-spot just enough to rile you up. you didn't want her to stop, your hips rolling to match the motion of her fingers as you rubbed your clit against her nose.

but your whimpers and moaning were doing too much to her. just before you could finish, she stood back up, panicked hands grabbing at her belt. she kissed you quickly, letting you taste yourself and her spit, before moaning, “help me, baby—fuck, i want to cum inside you.”

you burned without her. your hands joined hers in undoing her belt and unzipping her pants. she pulled them and her boxers down enough for her erection to spring out. it was intimidating, and she left you no time to think of the stretch it was about to cause.

she grabbed your hips, pulling you to the edge of the desk before lining herself up with your hole. you felt the tip press against your cunt before she thrust in all at once.

you moaned and struggled, your nails digging into her back as she held herself inside of your. your cunt pulsed around her cock, whining from the sheer size of her. you needed to feel every ridge and vein rubbing inside of you, but she wouldn’t move. she held your thoughts, keeping you in place as you whined

“sev,” you sighed, breathless, “sevika, please.”

she huffed in your ear, her hot breath making you shiver. “you act like a brat and i’m gonna punish you like one. you’ll stay here until i say so.”

your head fell in defeat into her shoulder, a faint cry in your throat as all you could do was listen. you were at her mercy, listening to everything she wanted. you just needed her to fuck you.

but it seemed like she couldn’t listen to her own rules. at the sound of your distain and begging, she couldn’t contain herself. she held you close and dragged her hips back slowly. you breathed heavily and focused on every sensation in your core. how she rubbed every inch inside of you, sliding out.

she pulled out just so that her too was still inside. this was almost worse: the waiting. how you weren’t really empty, but it was hardly enough. you made some noise in your throat and encouraged her on, trying to beg but not having the words.

she thrust back in and moaned loudly in your ear. your eyes rolled back as she started to fuck you.

“hmph—!” you moaned, one arm wrapped around her and the other propped up behind you. the two of you positioned yourself in a smooth, easy position that let her decide on a slow, firm pace. you rolled your hips with every thrust, head tipping back so she could kiss the column of your throat.

she humped her dick into you, ravishing in the feeling of your cunt wrapping around her so perfectly. she was lost in the feeling of you, mind dizzy as she got pussy drunk off your cunt. she could still taste you on her lips.

her teeth grazed your neck and stuck to leave a kiss. she bit and sucked your skin, wrapping your legs around her hips and cradling your body against hers.

you tried but failed to keep your strength. you just needed to lie back and let her have her way with you. your arms holding you up gave out and you fell back into your desk, hands landing on hers around your hips as your head tipped back over the edge. you were upside down, the words spinning as she dizzied you and made you senseless. you felt so full, head fuzzy as all you could think about was her dick inside of you.

this new position made everything more intense. she was able to fuck deeper into you, her dick reaching that perfect spot inside of you. you were stretched so deep you could feel her in your lower stomach, splitting you in two. with every thrust, she worked herself closer to her peak. and she wanted you there with her.

she pressed the pad of her thumb over your clit and began to rub in slow, circular motions. the pressure and rotation had you keening and dipping your head back upside down. your thighs tensed and clenched around her torso as everything blurred.

tears grew in your eyes as you muttered stray pleas for her to let you finish. she began to fuck you harder and faster, so much so that your desk was scraping against the floor and your breasts shook with every motion. you were unreachable, everything spinning with hot, white pleasure until you felt her reach the perfect spot on your clit.

with one more solid slam of her hips, you cried out, nails raking down her forearms as you came. you moaned pathetic curses and whines that were lost to the air around you as you felt her finish as well.

she groaned and fell forward, her hand holding her back from falling on top of you as she came inside of you, filling you up.

for a moment, a dose of panic filled you as you realized what she had done. she heavied above you, face dipping to kiss gently on your neck and whisper admirations in your ear. she stayed inside of you, holding your hips close so you didn't move a muscle. you wrapped your arms around her and let her be sweet to you.

she kissed you and tasted your tongue, teeth nipping at your lip just enough to rile you up for a moment. then she pulled back. she rubbed your thighs gently and pulled out, her cock slipping out easily as her cum stayed inside of you.

you felt it dripping out of your pulsing core. it drove you insane to know she left you used and waiting. she got off and was ready to go back to work while you still needed hours of her attention.

"you're gonna have my babies, okay, baby?" she shoved her fingers inside of you, plugging your hole and rubbing her cum around to make sure it stuck. "god, it's gonna kill me to see you walking around here carrying my kid."

your face grew red and hot. "sev..." you were sore and tired from how large she was, and her fingers weren't helping. everything she said made her cunt ache for more of her, but fatigue was catching up to you.

her hot, large figure kept you comfortable and you could've dozed off in her arms right there. you looked up at her with wide eyes. “i don’t want you to go.”

she gave you a pitiful look and pulled her fingers out, making you shudder. she wiped her fingers off on the inside of your thigh and then patted your ass. “i’ll be by to pick you up later, okay, princess? just keep me with you for the rest of the day and i’ll fuck more into you tonight.”

she brushed some hair out of your face and kissed you softly. you were ready to melt, to get on your knees and beg her to stay, but she was leaving.

“i’ll see you later, baby,” she promised, she stepped back to fix her pants, adjust her shirt and walk out. you sat up, pressing your knees together and feeling how her semen moved between your lips and inside of you. you could feel it still, and your hips were sore from taking the girth of her.

but you stood up on shaky legs, finding your panties on the floor and pulling them back on. you shoved your skirt down, adjusting it, and shuffled back around to sit back at your desk.

you had to wait hours until you'd see her again.

------------------------------------------------------

oh my god what did i just do.

HI!!, i'm back. and of course, it's during October lol. i wrote this while procrastinating my midterm essay. don't tell my professor. but it kind of inspired me to write something else, so look forward to (maybe) some royal reader x knight sev. or something of the sort... with um more breeding kink because.. @-@ sorry not sorry.

tag list:

@archangeldyke-all, @cacston, @sevsarm, @sevsbaby @maneskinwh0re

[grimrester]

i am really so sorry to continue harping on about the watcher entertainment streaming service. but this kind of stuff (internet content as a business & marketing it as such) is truly my obsession, and i think i will implode if i don't talk about some of the takes i'm seeing.

i'd like to emphasize again i don't have strong feelings about watcher either way. i like ghost files, i watch mystery files sometimes, i watched worth it back in the buzzfeed days. i don't watch any of their shows religiously.

anyway, here's the main things i keep seeing crop up and my thoughts on each:

"watcher has 25 employees they have to pay, and employing people in this economy is good, so we should be banding together to pay them."

employing people is good if you currently have the capacity to pay them. i checked watcher's linkedin page, and many of their employees were hired within the last year or two. if they hired people they cannot pay with the business model they had before, something is seriously wrong with their internal bookkeeping/decision making. it means they either didn't know they couldn't pay these people long term, or they did know and were content with risking newly hired employees' livelihoods on a huge content pivot in the next year.

of note is that none of their employees' titles have anything to do with managing the finances of the company. they are the size of a small business but have no one aside from the figureheads of the company in charge of their finances.

this is the kind of company decision making that leads to downsizing and layoffs, which can be devastating. but you know what's worse than laying off a portion of your staff? laying off everyone because your business is going under.

"not everyone can afford the subscription, but those who can should pay it to support the watcher team."

no. $6/month for a couple hours of content (depending on what shows you actively watch and the natural fluctuation of their release schedule) is a fundamentally bad value. i can pay that much for a few movies on amazon. i can pay that much for dropout, if i want to support a smaller business instead.

and to be totally frank, even if people do sign up, i don't think they'd get enough to compete with the amount they get through patreon/sponsorships. and the fact that they didn't know how many of their subscribers would realistically sign up is a bad sign.

a pretty good conversion rate of free to paid subscribers of a service or content is 3% (usually accomplished through a free trial). given the very poor reception of the announcement, let's say about 1% of their 3 mil youtube subs pay for their service. that's 30k people paying for their new platform. that's $180k a month in their pocket.

(they currently only have 12k subs on patreon so we are being generous here.)

a sponsorship deal (based on my googling, i have less direct experience with this) is anywhere from $10-50 per 1000 views. they've gotten about 1 mil views on their last few videos. 3 mil subs is nothing to shake a stick at, but let's say they're on the lower end of the payscale at $25 per 1000 views. that's $25k a video, $100k a month if they release 1 video a week. their lowest patreon tier is 5 bucks, so even if all their subs are at that tier, that's another $60k, so $160k total. it's entirely likely they're bringing in much more than that when you factor in merch, adsence, etc.

did anyone on their team crunch numbers on how many people would need to sub to make the switch worth it? did anyone do market research on how many people they could convert to paid users? because if not, if they really didn't have a game plan for this, the subscription service was always doomed to fail.

"this was their only option to continue making the content they want to make, with the production value they want."

i watched their announcement video. a key point in that video is that they have done sponsored videos and that's what used to pay for their content, but they did not like the amount of creative control the sponsor had over the content.

look, i get that's no fun. we'd all love creatives to be able to make whatever they want. but when you are a small business with a team of employees relying on you, you have to think about making money, sometimes at the cost of creative liberties.

and they had so many other options to make money for the projects they want to make without jumping to a subscription platform.

they could have started actually promoting their patreon, and maybe done some restructuring of the tiers. why not a highly produced, special series just for patreon members? or a special high-budget episode of each series, while the main series is lower budget?

bite the bullet and continue taking sponsorship deals on some less-produced shows, while axing sponsorships from the ones the crew feels more passionate about.

schedule larger, blowout-production shows only when they can be afforded. this is what Notorious Amongus Guy streamer jerma does. he saves up for big productions like his baseball or dollhouse streams, so he can really get creative with them.

they had other options and they've tried very little, especially when you compare them to other content house business at similar scales. try guys and good mythical morning both put out significant content with significant staff, and have had to diversify their income streams with auxiliary products, shows with widely varied levels of production, etc. but it seems to be working for them. watcher has merch and that's about it, and seems to only want to increase the production quality of ALL their shows.

really, all this just boils down to a terrible business decision. it's hard to say if the watcher team is working with a consultant or anyone outside of their team, but they certainly don't have anyone internally who is experienced with running a business like this. to me, it seems very much like they got in a room together and did some extremely optimistic income ballparking with no research behind it.

and that might have been fine for three dudes running a channel alone, but if they're a business, they have to start making decisions like one.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

money troubles

Januarys in Tulsa were a different kind of hell. You wouldn’t think it would get that cold in Oklahoma, but Darry was surprised every year when December rolled around. His brothers hoarded blankets, stacking them as high as they could go. January and February were even worse.

It was his first winter without his parents, without his father’s salary. Heat was expensive, more so since their windows were thin and the doors couldn’t shut properly. Darry held out as long as possible before turning the heating on.

Pony grumbled a little, wrapping up in blankets and wearing Darry’s old football sweatshirts over every outfit. 

One night in December, Darry was half asleep when his bedroom door opened and his brothers padded their way over to his bed. He barely had enough time to wake up before they crawled on top of him and settled down. Before he could ask what was wrong, he felt Pony’s cold toes being pressed to his shin.

“Y’all are freezing,” Darry murmured as Soda snuggled into his side, forcing his cold nose against Darry’s shoulder. He sighed and rubbed their backs, “I’ll turn on the heat tomorrow.” With his Christmas bonus, they would be fine with the added expense. 

January was when things got hard. 

It was midnight and Darry sat alone at the dining table. When finances were tight, he always did the bookkeeping after the boys went to bed. He didn’t need them worrying, that was his job. And based on his calculations, they’d have to cut back somewhere. It was heat or food. 

Darry’s head fell into his hands. What the hell was he supposed to do? He never wished for his parents more than he did at that moment. A tear dripped onto the notebook paper in front of him. 

He could eat less, leave more for everyone else. That would save some money at least. But not nearly enough. Pony had track, he needed to be eating his fill. And if they didn’t eat with them, he didn’t know where half the gang would get their next meal. 

But if he turned off the heat, well he honestly didn’t know what would happen. He knew he couldn’t stand to see his brothers shivering in the cold, he couldn’t watch them bundle up and pretend nothing was wrong.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He didn’t hear the front door opening, or the footfalls in the entryway. He didn’t know that Two-Bit was inside until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Darry jumped, raising his hands defensively.

Two-Bit smirked and raised his hands, “Woah there, cowboy.” Then he saw the tears in Darry’s eyes. “What’s goin’ on? Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine.” Darry swallowed thickly and ran a hand over his face, “Ain’t nothing for you to worry about. The couch is open if you want to crash.”

Two-Bit’s eyes fell to the page in front of Darry and his eyes widened. Too late, Darry moved to cover it. Two had already seen. “Shit, I didn’t know things were that bad.”

“It’s none of your business,” Darry said shortly. He closed the notebook and slid it under a newspaper. 

He tried to stand up, but Two put a hand on his shoulder and forced him to stay seated. Two-Bit sat down in Pony’s usual chair. He was quiet for a long moment, leg jogging under him. Then he nodded to himself and started digging in his pockets.

A moment later, he put a handful of crumpled bills and a stack of coins in front of Darry. Based on his quick math, it was almost twenty five dollars.

“I’m not takin’ your money.” Darry leaned back as though physical distance could make the money go away. “Where did you even get this much money?”

Two-Bit shrugged, “Texas Hold ‘Em, odd jobs for a guy my ma knows. It’s not even that much money.” It was. It would be enough for food and heat and extra for next month.

“I can’t take this,” Darry pushed it towards his friend. He and Two-Bit had been pals for as long as he could remember, they practically grew up together. Two-Bit was a good guy, Darry trusted him with his family more than anyone else. He knew that Two could use this money for his mom or his sister. Why on earth would he give it to Darry?

“You need it. It’s not even that much.” Two-Bit sighed and for the first time in a long time, Darry didn’t smell alcohol on him. “Look, you help me and the boys, you give us food and…” He nodded his head towards the bedrooms, “I know Johnny is sleeping in the spare room. You forced him to so he wouldn’t sleep outside.” Darry looked down, it was true. “Exactly. So take the goddamn money and keep your kid brothers warm. And the rest of us yahoos that traipse through your door.”

Darry stared at Two-Bit, saying nothing. Two-Bit rolled his eyes, “It should not be this hard to convince a guy to take money.” 

“I don’t-”

“Darry.” Two-Bit and Darry turned around to see Soda standing in the doorway. His hair was all a mess and he looked like he was still half asleep. “What’s going on?”

Darry threw on a smile, “A stray just wandered through the door.” He slapped Two-Bit on the shoulder. “Figured I’d let him stay the night and then go from there. Ya think we should keep him?”

Soda chuckled, “Just until morning.” He yawned. “Y’all need to talk quieter. Pony and Johnny are fast asleep.”

“Will do,” Darry told him. “Goodnight, Pepsi.” Soda just yawned again and waved before plodding back to bed. Darry’s eyes stayed at where he was for a long moment. Then he turned back to his friend. 

Soda and Pony deserved a home that was warm and safe and with enough food for them and all their friends. They needed this money. He could suffer the shame of accepting money from a friend just this once. 

So he grit his teeth and said, “I don’t want to be makin’ a habit of this.”

Two-Bit grinned, “Wouldn’t dream of it, superman.” 

He squeezed Darry’s shoulder, “I’m going to sleep on the couch, tell Johnny that I get the bed next time.” Darry snorted and shook his head, that was never going to happen.

Darry looked at the pile of money for a long moment. His hands shook ever so slightly as he tucked it into the coffee can on top of the fridge. 

When he turned back, Soda was standing in the doorway again, watching him. He seemed more awake now. They just looked at each other for a long moment.

Soda crossed the room in two strides and hugged Darry. Just from that, Soda knew Darry had heard, or at least seen his exchange with Two-Bit. He knew that Soda worried about him, probably far too much. To Soda, Darry accepting help was nothing short of a miracle. 

“I love you,” Soda said softly. “You’re doing a really good job.”

Darry’s throat became thick with tears and he held Soda just a little tighter. “Thank you, honey.” Since their parents died, he’d been adrift, trying desperately to keep everything together. He kissed Soda’s head, “I love you too.” Darry pulled back and pushed Soda’s hair out of his face. Without all that grease, Soda’s hair was constantly covering his eyes. “Go back to bed.”

Soda huffed, “What if I don’t wanna?”

Darry couldn’t help the laugh that bust from his chest, “You’re soundin’ an awful lot like Ponyboy.”

“And he’s my favorite brother, so what?” Soda said sarcastically, earning him a thawk on the head from Darry. A few months ago, that would have hurt, even if it was a joke. Now he knew his brother was being a knucklehead, delirious in his sleep-addled mind. 

“Go to bed, short stack,” Darry said, giving Soda a light shove towards the hallway. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Soda smirked. He gave Darry another quick squeeze before darting back towards his bed. Darry followed him a few minutes later. 

Unable to help himself, he ducked his head into the spare room where Johnny and Pony had fallen asleep. The two of them were curled towards each other like parentheses, Pony’s thumb still holding place in his book.

With a fond smile, he leaned over the bed and pulled the book from his brother’s hands. He slipped a bookmark in and set it to the side table. Both the boys were covered in a thick blanket. Darry adjusted it around their shoulders.

One of Johnny’s eyes squinted open, “What?”

Just like he would one of his brothers, Darry touched his head affectionately, “Just me, buddy. Go back to sleep.” His heart warmed at the trust Johnny displayed as he closed his eyes again and snuggled back down. That was why he needed the money, Johnny needed a safe place to stay.

Darry closed the bedroom door and then moved to check on Soda. His idiot brother was still awake, not even pretending to sleep. Darry leaned into the door frame, “Golly, you’d think you were six, not sixteen.”

Soda stuck his tongue out, only proving Darry’s point. “I’m goin’ to sleep. Wanted to make sure you didn’t try to pull an all-nighter.”

“Goodnight, Soda,” Darry said meaningfully. 

“Night.” Soda snuggled down into bed with a content look on his face. Darry smiled and finally headed back to his bedroom. 

[star-anise]

are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

[midnightarcheress]

i know i just said that i was on a break, but casino!141 was giving me an itch, so here we are. phone writing, bear with me.

cw: nsfw. slightest dub-con at first? poly!141 is arising. cockwarming. simon talks you through it. f!reader. 3 | more casino!141

your footsteps echoes in the hallway, soundwaves ricocheting on the walls of the far too quiet casino. it's strange being there during the day, accompanied only by the more avid gamblers who need their fix, even when most lights are off.

"come in." John's voice travels from inside the office after your brisk knock and you open the door, quickly stepping in the room and opening your mouth to speak, but your jaw closes shut when you realize you're not alone with him.

he's sitting behind a desk overflowing with papers, cigar long forgotten on the ashtray, but your attention is diverted to the masked individual standing beside it, hazel eyes boring into your skull with an unerving stare. "hello, Ace."

his voice can't be described as tranquilizing, but the tone is a stark contrast from the glare. it's almost tender, alluring, and for a split second you forget what you were going to say. "uhm, Kyle said you wanted to see me?" your head turns back to John, offering him a timid smile.

"yes, that's correct." he leans back on the chair, rolling his tense shoulders and tilting his head in your direction, "Simon and i are working through some documents, you know, bookkeeping, management, the boring stuff behind the slot machines," you nod, attentively listening but not truly following, "and i'm needing some of your assistance."

"i'm sorry? assistance?" your brows knit together, confused by his words. he chuckles, index finger raised in the air motioning for you to come closer, and you swear you hear Simon snorting at the interaction.

you walk to the table and stand on his side, eyes darting between the pile of files and the malicious glint in his blue irises. his hand meets your waist and your sight drops from his face, down to his torso, down to his... bulge. "you see, Ace, you're always so good in helping me concentrate during the games, we might as well try something new, yeah?"

his fingers graze your hips, tracing down your sides and reaching behind your thighs, causing a shiver on your spine. "John, i–" a soft 'shh' comes out of his lips, and he starts unbuckling his belt, raising himself just enough so that his trousers can come to his knees.

heat spreads up your chest, your neck, your cheeks, and your vision swerves to the ceiling, mind racing with embarrassment and bewilderment. from the corner of your eye you peek into Simon's direction, and to your surprise, he's completely unfazed.

Price drags you closer, hiking up your shirt just enough to expose your belly, pressing long kisses on the flesh while his hands knead your ass. you shouldn’t give in so easy, you have a better judgement than that, but his touch is so enticing, soft, easily mistaken by loving, that you find it hard to define what's right and wrong – or to define if you really want this.

when he pops open the button of your pants, you know you're done for. even if your brain settled for a 'no', he wouldn't care, considering the amount of pre-cum leaking from his throbbing cock. the damp spot between your legs wouldn't care either.

he pulls your bottoms down slowly, trailing pecks from your navel to your mound. you're nervous, dangerously close to a cardiac arrest when he flips you around hastily, slap on your ass cheek making your body jolt forward.

a firm hand guide your hips to his crotch, while the other positions his cock on your entrance, teasingly stroking the folds to gather your slick. "deep breath for me." he's gentle, pressing kisses on your back while you sink into his length, the pain of the sudden stretch being easily overpowered by the wave of pleasure washing over you. "that's it, love." he groans, squeezing your waist when you finally hit the base, "now just sit pretty while i work, hm?"

you nod, pathetically so, biting your bottom lip to swallow back your moans. you imagined it would be big, and maybe you just needed to be prepared, but fuck, you were filled. John started ruffling through the papers again, meticulously skimming the words like his tip wasn't brushing your cervix whenever you dared to adjust yourself.

"you have to stop squirming, Ace."

your head snaps up to the side the sound came from, and you face Simon's piercing glare. he still holds one of the documents, but his focus is solely on you, an underlying primal desire hidden behind his gaze that makes your stomach flutter.

he chuckles, leaning in front of you, arms almost close enough to cage you over the table. "does it feel that good? having Price's cock stuffing your sweet cunt?" he patronizes, tapping your cheek to get your attention back on his eyes, "i bet it does."

if you had the energy, you'd curse him out, but you're lost in how good you're feeling, even with minimal friction. you look up to him, pitifully doe-eyed as a moan escapes your lips, "go on, pretty girl, feel it. it's pulsing, isn't it? each vein hitting the perfect spots." you grip the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white from the strength, desperately trying to ignore the smallest twitches of his shaft inside of you, "you want him to move, right?"

you hum, writhing on his lap to convince John into forgeting whatever business he has to do at the moment and just fuck you already. "you'll have to wait, Ace." you whine, looking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him. his gaze doesn't shift, but you note the slight blush creeping up his collar and you smirk, content that he seems to be suffering too, even if it's barely.

"if you're lucky, he might reward you later. throw all of that shite on the floor and bend you over the table." your walls immediately clench at the idea, coaxing a grunt out of Price. "and you are a lucky girl, aren't you?" a breathy 'yes' comes out of your mouth, and Simon's thumb brushes your lower lip, smearing the tiny drop of spit on the corner over your pout.

your thighs tremble, clit aching and begging for some stimuli, toes curling at the mere thought of being fully claimed by John. "be patient." he deigns, and you don't miss the smirk marking the black fabric of his covering. bastard. his hungry expression only makes you wetter, needier, disoriented by lust, and you absentmindedly nod, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves and wait. painfully wait.

but the action ultimately falters the second Simon's low whisper reach your ears, striking you like electricity, "good girl."

ideas for this are always welcomed mwah

[moongreenlight]

Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit. 

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely. 

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye. 

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled. 

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages.  Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own. 

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her. 

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier. 

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels. 

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.” 

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.