#store car in self storage

[storagenorthernireland]

Learn how easy and convenient it is to store your car, or vehicle in a secure self-storage unit.

[yourlocalbreadenthusiast]

Kindly take a break from scrolling to read this, it's important.

Take your time to grieve and come to terms with the election results, but once you've done that, it's time to get to work. We have two months. And a lot to do in that time. We have to prepare, to be ready.

Be careful about what you post or say online. Anything potentially incriminating should be avoided. Threatening language, even if clearly a joke, can be used against you.

Know someone who's trans? Someone who's had an abortion? Someone who's LGBTQIA+? Someone who's an immigrant? Someone who attends protests? Someone who's disabled? Someone who might in any way be at risk due to laws being put into place? No you don't.

Move away from social media platforms and browsers that require you to use your real identity or input a large amount of personal information. Now's a good time to find alternate means of communicating online. Tails, Element, Tor, Mastodon, Firefox, and Lemmy are all decent options.

Find a community. Someone you can talk to, either online or in real life, that you'll have reliable contact with. We need to try and create a network, but one that's as anonymous as possible.

Start scrubbing your trail as much as possible. Get rid of old accounts that can still be traced to you but are no longer used, delete personal data off the internet. There are websites out there that will freely remove your data from the internet, but be careful about which one you use, make sure it's safe and legitimate first.

Change any usernames that you can that contain any personal information. Names, birthdays, anything.

Plan B has a four year shelf life. Stock up, but don't take more than you you'll need. We don't want a COVID repeat where everyone buys an excessive amount of things and leaves none for everybody else.

There are doctors that will sterilize you, if that's the way you want to go.

Stop using online period trackers right now. Delete all data from it if possible first, then delete the app itself. If you must, write it down, but in a subtle manner and on something you keep at home. Don't label it, just put the dates. If you're really worried, discard older records and only keep the most recent few, and label the dates as other random events, like "go to mall" or "chicken salad for dinner this night"

Get your vaccines now.

Save money.

Archive. We have to start collecting records, media, data, books, and articles now. On racism, on fascism, on homophobia, on gender, on self-reliance, on survival, on safe travels routes, on equality, on justice, on anything that may be useful and/or censored soon. We can't let them erase it.

Collect those online resources. Bookmark them, copy files into your storage, Screenshot pages. Create a decentralized library where everyone is working to be part of a whole, storing what they can individually and sharing it between one another. Again, be careful about doing this.

Second-hand bookstores are your best friend. Books are usually very cheap in them, and they often have a decent stock. See what you can find.

When buying ANYTHING I have mentioned above, or anything else that maybe put you in danger, try to use cash to reduce your spending trail.

Check your car information online, many newer models can be remotely tracked.

Turn your phone completely off if you may be at risk due to your location and current activities. Turning off your GPS also helps.

Take note of where you are. Who are your friends? Who's a safe person? Where can you go besides your own home that you know you'll be safe? Establish these connections now.

Who around you is not safe? Who and where do you need to avoid? Do you need to move? If you cannot afford moving but need to, there are fundraisers that can help you. If even that is not an option, at least try to make sure your home is secure. Have someone who can help you. Have a fallback safe place.

And finally, I want anyone with resources to put them in the replies. Flood it with useful links, information, tips, anything. We're in this together. Do not panic. Organize.

EDIT: Please be civil in the replies.

[heavenbarnes]

completely self indulgent thoughts about older!bf simon inspired by today's events at work. I work in tech/sales and a lot of my days are spent setting up new phones for people who are 35+, that for the life of them, can't figure out technology. just thinking about older!bf simon needing to get a new phone and asks reader for her thoughts, but when reader starts talking about storage size or sim cards he gets confused and just tells her "pick whatever love, I trust your judgement" not just because he does in fact, trust her judgement, but also because he can't he bothered trying to learn and understand.

have many thoughts about this.

friend, 90% of what i write is entirely self indulgent- we’ve got to do it 🫶🏼

it’s a miracle you convinced older bf!simon to finally get rid of that god forsaken flip phone and start working with an actual smartphone.

granted, it was like pulling teeth (yes the prospect of receiving nudes whilst he was deployed helped) but what mattered was he’d finally entered the 21st century.

and then he drops his cellphone on the drive and manages to boot it into the side of the neighbour’s garage. the thing was absolutely munted by the time it’d come off the end of simon’s steel cap.

which is why you’re standing in the middle of the electronics store looking at endless tables of cellphones and simon looks like he’s there at gunpoint.

“i ‘ave been held at gunpoint, was better than this”

so you lead him to the smartphones that are smart but not too smart, the ones that look hard to break or get wrong. they also look older than half the people working in the store, but that’s besides the point.

“can i help you both with anything?”

right on cue, a young but cheery guy appears across the table with a lanyard that tells you his name is hunter and he’s ready to help!

“no”

your elbow fits nicely under simon’s ribcage as you gear up to play hunter’s defence lawyer for however long this interaction is going to take.

“hi hunter, this one is looking for a new smartphone- what do you recommend?”

and while hunter does a standup job at explaining the benefits of a handful of phones he probably hasn’t sold to anyone under 75, simon is suddenly well engaged.

“and we’ve got a selection of cases, just regular ones or tough ones”

“need t’be tough, don’t want the fucker breakin’ when i’ve got someone in a headlock”

hunter pales and you veeeery slowly turn to simon with a look on your face that begs to know what the actual fuck is wrong with him.

“oh simon, you comic trailblazer- you know what, you’ve been so helpful hunter, thank you!”

you cut the kid loose as he tries to leave the table without taking his eyes off simon, who coincidentally is doing the exact same thing to him.

“would it kill you to let him help us?!”

“just about, didn’t like the way he looked at ‘ya”

the kid didn’t look a day out of school and naturally your better half has to pick a fight with any guy that so much as exists within your atmosphere.

he’s lucky he’s so handsome.

“ugh, which one do you prefer? 32GB? 64?”

“whaddyou’ reckon?”

and you’re about to let out the longest sigh known to man when you catch the look on his face.

that same look he gives you when he’s dressed up for dinner or just come back from a haircut, the look he gives you that tells you he’s looking for your opinion.

approval

“32 would do you, i don’t think you need that much space”

he grunts before he pulls you into his side, taking you both to the counter so he can get you to say all that again to your helpful attendee.

“oi, hunter”

poor guy nearly jumps out of his skin but manages to settle when he realises he’s about to close the sale, even manages to upsell that tough case.

simon settles once he’s back in the car with you, eyes scanning the box his phone comes in and grumbling something under his breath.

when you ask him to speak up you immediately wish you hadn’t.

“lost all those videos ‘f yours, better be enough space f’the new ones”

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Self-Aware! BSD. Some bits about the house

Just wanted to write down some ideas about House layout. I have few ideas about it.

Pretty short, because I wasn't thinking too much about it.

The final layout is up to you.

What happened in the Library

Basement.

- Storage room (food and some things, that right now not needed. Example: Christmas/Halloween decorations)

- Ayatsuji's doll room (Ayatsuji's old collection were transported in real world with him, but he intends to make his collection bigger. Cute fact, even if you gift him a doll for little kids from cheap store, he, after making some comments, still will make it a part of his collection)

- Shibusawa's collection (all abilities, that Shibusawa has collected, were transported to this world. Very dangerous room, because, not even Shibusawa can tell, what abilities he has down here. Dazai, Shibusawa and Chief Taneda are currently working on making a full list of abilities in collection. Still, the room is very beautiful).

- Interrogation room/Operation room (room, where BSD Gang can drag people, that wronged you. For the most part it isn't used and used as Yosano's operation room. In Part I of We will protect you Kunikida, Yosano, Ranpo and Dazai were interrogating Robber in this room)

- Bram's room. Old-fashioned. Bram sleeps in the coffin, but he has a bed here, in case you want to spend the night here and cuddle.

- Lovecraft's room. There is a small pool in the room. Small, but quite deep. Some shelves. Very comfortable bed. Floor that is covered in blankets and pillows. Lovecraft sleeps either in the pool underwater, on the bed, or in a pillow/blanket fort. Each time you decide to cuddle with him, you became a mix between plush toy for cuddling/pillow.

First floor.

- Meeting room (room right after the front doors. Sometimes, meetings are held here)

- Dining room (big, cozy. There is a back door)

- Kitchen (big, normally, at least three people are on cooking duty)

- Library (there is a back door. You also have a collection of heavy bronze busts of writers. There's also a phone, that is always on speaker. And it stands on a table with a crack on it. Let's just say, there was an incident, that involves a late night phone call, sleep deprivation, BSD Season 5 ending and real-life Dostoevsky's bronze bust.)

- The Purple Sigh is kept in the Library. Anyone can take it and spend some time with you in your room without interruption. Used by people, who feel overwhelmed, sad and lost.

- Common Room (big room where you held movie nights, play games and so on. There is a back door)

- Medical room (Yosano's/Mori's and Doc's office)

- Two bathrooms

Second, third and fourth floor

Living quarters.

It's up to you, dear readers, who, on what floor and in which room live.

There are only two things I will tell.

1. [Y/N]'s room is on the third floor 'in the middle, like it's surrounded by other rooms'.

2. Each floor has a bathroom. Some rooms have joint bathrooms ([Y/N]'s room has one. Other rooms with bathrooms are up to you.)

3. Every room is unique.

4. Ayatsuji's two cats live in his room.

5. Karl lives in Poe's room

6. Gogol has bird feeders outside his window.

7. Rimbaud's room is very warm, almost toasty.

8. Natsume has his own room and nowadays transform into a cat only if he needs to follow someone quietly or if he wants to cheer you up.

9. Ranpo has a hammock in his room.

Attic

Storage for old things.

_________

Outside

-Small farm. John and Kenji insisted on growing their own vegetables and fruits. Right now, it is still small, but they are planning to make it bigger.

-Barn. Came with the house and land. Empty right now, but Kenji want to get some cows.

- Playground for Oda's kids.

- Picnic area with wooden tables. Good place to have lunch on the open air.

- Garage. (Few cars, Chuuya's and Albatross's bikes)

- Sports/Training area. Place for jogging and doing exercises.

- Swimming pool

[weird-arcanefangirl]

Rainy Days

TW:signs of depression, blood(described), wounds and later chapters WILL discuss suicide and self harm. If you are triggered by these themes do not read this. I will make happier stories

I do not relate to this, and this might not be accurate. My grammar and writing abilities aren’t good, please correct me or give me constructive criticism ❤️ also, this story was !!!PERFECTED!!! with AI, I wrote it myself, everything, but because I’m German and my whole family doesn’t know much English, this is one of my only options. I have the original where I wrote it into my notebook and made notes for myself and I still have it in it’s earlier stages (I already wrote much more when I was younger, my grammar was pretty bad tho) if anyone wants proof (the notebook) I’ll release it on @toulouseradiosilence <3

enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rose

I wake up to the sound of rain pouring onto the roof. The first thing I do after lying on my side for another 5 minutes is to look at the alarm clock. The time it’s displaying is barely visible, yesterday’s meal is standing in front of it. Would you call that dinner or breakfast? It was at about 4AM, so I’m not really sure, but it also does not matter, so I shove the leftover ramenbox and cheap diet lemonade off of the bedside table. The bottle shatters on the floor, startling me. Besides the cars, rain and airplanes outside this is the first noise I’ve heard today, and probably one of the ones I will hear. I finally look at the time. 10:30 AM. I’m not late to anything, I haven’t been late to anything in months.. or years. Because there is nothing to be late to. Nobody needs me, I’m not part of this “system”. And I think that’s not as bad someone would expect. I don’t have any responsibilities whatsoever. I don’t have to take part in this society, I can do whatever I want. And I choose to lay in my bed, draw or sleep. I have food in my storage (ramen, diet lemonade/ water). Sometimes I crave foods I used to eat when I was younger, but it’s certainly not worth going to the store for. Some days I eat a lot, some I don’t eat at all. Most days, actually. Some days I don’t get out of bed and some I don’t even wake up. Others I don’t sleep. Sometimes I look at drawings or other posts on tumblr. That’s all I really do. Sometimes I think about signing up and posting my drawings, but I’m not good with social stuff and this is too social for me in many ways, so I don’t. I have to go to the toilet, which is pretty unusual for me, considering i barely drink anything. I don’t want to get up though, so I continue lying in my bed for another 20 minutes, until I feel too uncomfortable. I sit up and put my feet into the ground. Something sharp cuts into one of them. I don’t do anything; I don’t even look down to see what just hurt my foot. Another minute of just sitting there and staring goes by until I decide to check. A piece of a broken diet lemonade bottle. I stand up and shove the trash under my bed, I didn’t remove the shard. I start walking. The cut stings. I really do not care though. Dragging myself into the bathroom, I push the door open and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I quickly look away. I sit down onto the toilet and.. pee.. yeah, I pee. Afterwards I continue sitting on the toilet and my eyes trail along the way I was walking on, from the toilet to to the door. The door is open. I live alone. There’s a trail of blood on the floor. What? Oh. It’s my blood. Wait, yeah, of course it is. Who else’s would it be? I put my leg into the other to look at my foot. The shard is still in there. I actually kind of panic because it looks really, really bad. Almost my whole foot is cut open. And THAT is a reason to stay in bed all day (as if I wouldn’t do that anyway.. but now I have an excuse, I guess.) I limp over to my bed, but before laying down I check whether I still have some water. Luckily, I do. So I let myself fall onto the bed back first, take a chug of water and start to sleep.

Next chapter will probably release next week❤️

omg I just read through it and the amount of typos I made?? Guys pls tell me if there are mistakes this is embarrassing 💀😭

Also I hate the pace, its so fast…

[gaywattpadstorykid]

Rainy Days

TW:signs of depression, blood(described), wounds and later chapters WILL discuss suicide and self harm. If you are triggered by these themes do not read this. I will make happier stories

I do not relate to this, and this might not be accurate. My grammar and writing abilities aren’t good, please correct me or give me constructive criticism ❤️ also, this story was PERFECTED!!! With AI, I wrote it myself, everything, but because I’m German and my whole family doesn’t know much English, this is one of my only options. I have the original where I wrote it into my notebook and made notes for myself and I still have it in it’s earlier stages (I already wrote much more when I was younger, my grammar was pretty bad tho) if anyone wants proof (the notebook) I’ll release it on @toulouseradiosilence <3

enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rose

I wake up to the sound of rain pouring onto the roof. The first thing I do after lying on my side for another 5 minutes is to look at the alarm clock. The time it’s displaying is barely visible, yesterday’s meal is standing in front of it. Would you call that dinner or breakfast? It was at about 4AM, so I’m not really sure, but it also does not matter, so I shove the leftover ramenbox and cheap diet lemonade off of the bedside table. The bottle shatters on the floor, startling me. Besides the cars, rain and airplanes outside this is the first noise I’ve heard today, and probably one of the ones I will hear. I finally look at the time. 10:30 AM. I’m not late to anything, I haven’t been late to anything in months.. or years. Because there is nothing to be late to. Nobody needs me, I’m not part of this “system”. And I think that’s not as bad someone would expect. I don’t have any responsibilities whatsoever. I don’t have to take part in this society, I can do whatever I want. And I choose to lay in my bed, draw or sleep. I have food in my storage (ramen, diet lemonade/ water). Sometimes I crave foods I used to eat when I was younger, but it’s certainly not worth going to the store for. Some days I eat a lot, some I don’t eat at all. Most days, actually. Some days I don’t get out of bed and some I don’t even wake up. Others I don’t sleep. Sometimes I look at drawings or other posts on tumblr. That’s all I really do. Sometimes I think about signing up and posting my drawings, but I’m not good with social stuff and this is too social for me in many ways, so I don’t. I have to go to the toilet, which is pretty unusual for me, considering i barely drink anything. I don’t want to get up though, so I continue lying in my bed for another 20 minutes, until I feel too uncomfortable. I sit up and put my feet onto the ground. Something sharps cuts into one of them. I don’t do anything; I don’t even look down to see what just hurt my foot. Another minute of just sitting there and staring goes by until I decide to check. A piece of a broken diet lemonade bottle. I stand up and shove the trash under my bed, I didn’t remove the shard. I start walking. The cut stings. I really do not care though. Dragging myself into the bathroom, I push the door open and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I quickly look away. I sit down onto the toilet and.. pee.. yeah, I pee. Afterwards I continue sitting on the toilet and my eyes trail along the way I was walking on, from the toilet to to the door. The door is open. I live alone. There’s a trail of blood on the floor. What? Oh. It’s my blood. Wait, yeah, of course it is. Who else’s would it be? I put my leg into the other to look at my foot. The shard is still in there. I actually kind of panic because it looks really, really bad. Almost my whole foot is cut open. And THAT is a reason to stay in bed all day (as if I wouldn’t do that anyway.. but now I have an excuse, I guess.) I limp over to my bed, but before laying down I check whether I still have some water. Luckily, I do. So I let myself fall onto the bed back first, take a chug of water and start to sleep.

Next chapter will probably release next week❤️

[doberbutts]

OK this is a weird one & u don't have to respond but I just wanted to say that like, it's about how you've spoken about owning a gun or PPD before. I'm in the UK and I'm very much a minority but I've never had anything too terrible happen. And then today a man threatened to beat the shit out of me and my dog, and called me slurs, and we were alone in a field while he was in a car. And that was the first time I've ever thought "oh if I had a gun this wouldn't be as scary, I would be a lot.safer". Of course if I had access to a gun so would he, so there's a major downside. But also if my dog were a big dog who could defend me I wouldn't have been anywhere near as worried or scared. I just wanna thank you for how candid you are about Defending Yourself because yeah, I sure am thinking about when I can get a bitey dog - I hoped it wasn't something I needed but it turns out maybe I do.

This is an older ask, one that was buried at the bottom of my inbox and I never really knew how to respond to it.

To begin: I have never owned a gun in my entire life. The closest would be a brightly colored plastic water gun from the dollar store in the early 90s, and even then my parents weren't super comfortable with their kids handling them, so I think they were in use all of two or three times before they went in the attic for storage and never returned. I never had any sort of fake gun besides that, even one that didn't fire anything. I remember playing with a plastic light-up gun (no chamber, you pulled the trigger and the sides and barrel lit up and it made a loud laser pew pew noise) at my cousin's house once and my mom caught me and FREAKED OUT even after I showed her it was fake.

I do, however, know how to fire a gun and know gun safety. I have held and used guns in the past, as a child. My mom's family hunts for sustenance as they are often too poor for the grocery store and ammo can be gotten cheaper, and my Grandfather was adamant that no grandchild of his would go hungry because they didn't know how to shoot game. I startled a friend of mine when I correctly mimicked firing a rifle during a story I was telling, because he exclusively knows me as someone who does not like guns, and he did not expect me to know how to hold one.

I understand gun culture is very different here than in the UK, and that the above paragraphs may come as a bit of a culture shock to you. I don't know the UK self defense laws very well as it's not really my country, but I've heard they are very restrictive on what you can do to protect yourself without getting in trouble for having a weapon in the first place. I would tread lightly when thinking about getting a protective dog to defend you. You might end up with having your dog taken away.

[genshin-impacted]

Exchange of Rings

(Alhaitham x Reader - 5/?) 

Love can speak a multitude of languages. You think you're beginning to turn into a polyglot, and you can only hope Alhaitham can understand. OR change + convenience + hypothesis

Word Count: ~4.4k

Notes: afab!reader*, second person pov “you”, gn!reader, switches pov with Alhaitham, modern au, arranged marriage, fall first/fall harder, slow burn

*(really) vague mentions of reader having a menstrual cycle

[Previous - Next]

.

.

.

Not many things have changed since you've come to terms with your feelings for Alhaitham. There is no dramatic reveal, no major shift in perspective. Perhaps you have always been a little in love with Alhaitham, because this self-awareness has given you the chance to love purposefully and unabashedly. 

You buy him small trinkets just to see him smile. They remind you of him (green gems like the necklace he always wears), or you think Alhaitham would get a kick out of how interesting something is. You never thought he would be into art-- and maybe he isn’t. The point is the two of you both still get your kicks out of that one wonky sculpture he bought ‘just because,' so you bring him shiny things as a gift, much like a crow. You think Alhaitham and you both make the same connection because you see him reading a book on corvids the same week you bring back a ‘funny-looking’ marble. 

For the most part, you don't see a lot of the trinkets you buy laying around the apartment. You don’t actually mind if he eventually throws them away. Most of the things you get are cheap and for a bit of a laugh without much actual utility, but you have a feeling Alhaitham has stored them away somewhere safe. 

(The mini, inflatable boyfriend that grows with water is the only thing you know he threw away. You saw him do it, purposely, in front of you with a deadpan expression that still gets you into stitches when you recall it.)

You cook him his favorite meals based on what he's liked of your cooking so far and with a little help from his parents. They were very eager to share their recipes with you, even offering to come over and teach you how to make it. You kindly turn them down– you aren't sure how Alhaitham would feel about being so close to his parents yet– but you appreciate their willingness to lend you help. It is so very evident to you how much they cherish their only son, and their warm wishes for your union with Alhaitham only makes you appreciate them more.

It's freeing, knowing exactly how you feel for Alhaitham. It gives you the courage to invite him to outings just to spend time with him. You try not to overwhelm him with so many invitations, with how much of a homebody he can be, but he has been amenable to all your plans so far, which could not possibly make you any happier. You hike together to see the sunset. You take him out to lunch at the city to try out something new together.

Even for menial tasks, you ask if he wants to come along too. He doesn't always go with you, but when he does pick up to-go with you or drop by the shop to buy something, warmth nestles inside of you from the trip there and back.

You tend to drive on these outings. Just a preference agreed upon by the both of you. You like using your car and Alhaitham likes reading in the passenger side. 'My passenger princess,' you call him teasingly, and Alhaitham always only gives you a shrug, not once denying the allegation. When convenient, you drive him to places he needs to go, though it will always be convenient if you do it for him. This, too, is something you do out of love.

Alhaitham often ‘rewards’ you for your diligence by reading to you in the car upon your request. It's your choice of book usually, if he wants to not have you fall asleep at the wheel. If you were being particularly teasing or bothersome, he pulls out the book on Introductory Harmonic Analysis and reads it to you whether you want it or not. The passenger storage container now fits the emergency kit and two books: the fictional book you want Alhaitham to read aloud and Alhaitham’s book that he keeps for the car rides. Alhaitham's smooth and sonorous voice is a pleasure to listen to, your own personal kindle reader who only pauses when the two of you arrive at your destination. 

In love as you are, you have your off-days. For the most part, you are content with where you are with Alhaitham. You like to think you have a growing understanding of who he is as a person, so you believe even if he isn’t in love with you as you are with him, he has at least grown fond of you. He shows that he cares not through words but through actions, making menial tasks streamlined for you or providing you with help that makes your life easier. He once told you, “To some extent, I want everyone to lead the lives they want to live.” You like to think he has a special interest in making sure that your life is especially to your liking and take it as a hopeful sign of affection.  

Still, some parts of you yearn for open declarations of love. Of someone holding you close and telling you how lucky they are to have you. Of telling someone ‘I love you’ and having them say it back without hesitation. Even the fanfiction you used to read and enjoy, you still enjoy, but your mind always drifts back to Alhaitham and putting Alhaitham into the stories instead. You are by no means blaming Alhaitham for whatever actions or words he cannot give you, but you admit that it makes living with Alhaitham the tiniest bit lonely at times. 

During these sloughs, you deal with it by watching sad videos that make you cry your eyes out. (If it works, it works.) You wipe the tears gathering in your eyes and see Alhaitham, who is beside you in bed reading a book, occasionally glance over with mild concern. He hands you a box of tissues at some point, and you gratefully grab some to dab at your eyes, now completely refreshed after the bout of crying. 

“Thanks, Alhaitham,” you say, returning the tissues to him.

“Sure…” He trails off, watching you carefully. You blink at him, watching as the metaphorical gears turn in his head as he decides whether or not to continue. Eventually, he asks you, “Are you okay?” 

Your heart flutters at the thought of his concern for you the same time you laugh at how worried he looks. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you explain. “Just a few sad dog videos online. Followed by some cute stuff that makes me reaffirm my faith in people. Makes me a little emotional.” 

You see him mutter ‘only a little?’ to himself and let yourself laugh again. Your heart is set to burst with love for him as you put your phone down to throw yourself at his side like you always do. “It’s that time of month again too,” you say.

“I did restock the bag of chocolate in the cabinet today,” Alhaitham tells you. “As for your other items, I just checked whatever you already had and bought the same ones.” 

“You restocked everything for me?” You ask, not even bothering to hide the adoration in your voice. “Thank you.” 

“No need to thank me,” he says, turning back to read his book. “It was convenient for me to get them is all.” It’s what he’s always told you whenever he does something nice for you. But you know the grocery store you both often go to does not have every product that you would need, so you would always need to make an extra stop elsewhere. ‘Convenient,’ he says. It cannot be ‘convenient’ to drive an additional distance away from the apartment to get something he doesn’t need. 

He does it for you, you think warmly. You think you almost tell him ‘I love you’ then.

Instead, you lay your head where his arm rests and gently hook a finger onto his, the closest thing you can get to holding his hand. You think if he asks, you’ll tell him you were just examining his hand, but you hope he lets you stay near him until you fall asleep.

(You sleep earlier than Alhaitham for once, so you do not realize Alhaitham keeps your hand in his until he turns away to put his book down and join you in slumber as well.)

.

.

.

Something has changed. It is so subtle of a shift that Alhaitham almost doesn't notice. But he is more observant than most, and when the changes involve you, who is often the focus of his observations, it is only a matter of time until he realizes something is different. 

It started when you began to ask him out more often to places. A restaurant, a park, the post office– it doesn't really matter where, but you explicitly seek his company more often. He doesn't always accompany you to your desired destination, but he does it more often than not. After all, reading at home is much like reading in the car when you drive with an added plus of stopping by the library or the local book store if there's time left before supper. And he would rather not leave you unsupervised at a stationary store lest you bring home a box worth of things you 'think' you might use.

Though, he admits convenience is not the only reason. He's also curious about the sudden developments, and perhaps he will understand what has changed and the reasons why if he comes along.

For one, you have been giving him more ‘gifts’ as of late. Small trinkets and baubles that have caught your eye when you pass through the flea market or at the shops while he’s at work all end up in your shared apartment. Some of them reminded you of him, and others you found too amusing to not show him. The most notable trinket you have brought home to him (aside from that inflatable boyfriend you bought as an April Fool’s joke) is an artsy take of a drinking bird and a Newton’s Cradle. When questioned as to why, you responded with “it’s funny” and “you like physics, right?” 

(The answers are 'yes,' and 'you're not wrong, per say.')

Other things you have brought him are marbles you describe to have the same shade of green as his eyes. It seems you’re building a collection because the vase you’ve begun to fill with these marbles you find is getting fuller. Not all the marbles are the same exact color though. Some of it has a twinge of orange or yellow, the green a cooler or warmer tone. When Alhaitham takes note of this, you still insist that they are the colors of his eyes. 

“You don’t get to see them in a different light but I do,” you tell him as you turn into the grocery store parking lot. “It’s hard for you to see your eyes without a mirror, right?”

Alhaitham glances up at the dashboard and closes his book. “I suppose so. Just don't look at me so much while you're driving. I'd prefer to avoid a motor vehicular accident, if possible,” he replies, looking over at you. The incoherent sputter is enough of an answer for him, and he can’t help the huff of laughter despite your grumbling about how you would never do that because you're a safe driver, if he couldn't tell!

(He could tell. Alhaitham just thinks your reactions are amusing.)

Alhaitham would think that the gifts are like tokens of appreciation, though Alhaitham can’t fathom what he has done to warrant such gratitude. Any changes he may perceive, he does not believe he has changed in any way since he has lived with you. Yes, some of his habits are affected by you, but his way of living, the ideals of life that he strives for has not changed. Thus, he concludes that the change must be inward; something must have changed in you for you to be acting differently than before. 

Nonetheless, his observations end up inconclusive. 

Alhaitham can conjecture all he wants, but he cannot prove why the change has occurred. Something has changed the way you act around him, but is it from an active force (a decision, an event, a realization) or is it a change that has simply run its natural course? Alhaitham does not know you before the arranged marriage, so he cannot know whether or not this slight alteration in behavior is a result of you becoming comfortable– if this is simply a ‘you’ that he has only just unlocked. It could be both, he reasons. There is no reason why an active force could not act as a catalyst for your change, but he figures he cannot truly know unless he asks.

Not that he will, though. 

In the end, there is no need for Alhaitham to do a thing. As far as he is concerned, the change has only yielded positive things. He’s been able to understand you more and he’s been able to visit places that would be too far (read: inconvenient) for him to go alone. Your gifts do amuse him, and your desire to spend more time with him is more endearing than annoying as he would have previously thought. 

If there was one point of concern, it would be the fact that you seem… distracted at times. You are a person more present than most, so when he finds you with a far-away look and an almost wistful expression on your face, he finds it cause for notice. It’s a normal occurrence for him to walk into the dining room and find you reading something on your phone. What is not common is seeing you stand at the kitchen counter and stare off into the distance, a call for your name unable to bring your attention to him. 

When Alhaitham peers over your shoulder– perhaps something you read has made you contemplative– and asks what you’re reading, your yelp and jump is so sudden that even he is taken by surprise. You gasp when your phone drops onto the floor with a loud clack. Alhaitham instinctively covers the corner of the counter with his hand as you scramble to pick up the phone and check for any damages it might have attained. 

“Whew, it’s all good.” You sigh in relief. Finally, you look at him and smile sheepishly, the bright gleam in your eye present as always. (Alhaitham doesn’t realize but he feels tension leaves his body the moment he sees your familiar smile.) “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did you call for me?”

“Not exactly,” he says. “I was just wondering what you could be reading that would make you so distracted.” He trails off when he sees you freeze like a deer in headlights. 

"Um, uh," you start to say succinctly, looking anywhere but at him. Alhaitham knows he often made you nervous when the two of you first started living together, but this is the first time it has happened in a while. 

When you start to mumble something, Alhaitham raises his hand and stops you. If it's something you don't want to share, he finds no reason trying to make you. "Never mind. It's fine if you don't want to tell me-"

"Well, no, it's not like that," you blurt out. You press a hand to your face in the way you always do when you feel your face grow hot in embarrassment. "It's just, um…" He watches as you bite your lower lip in thought. "You ever heard of fanfiction?"

"Of course I have," he says, and his heart leaps without his permission when he sees you turn your head to him, eyes wide with stars. He wonders if it's truly that much of a surprise, but as you go onto a long-winded and, as it seems, long-time coming explanation of fandoms and fanfics, it's evident that you did not anticipate a warm reception to your hobby.

But he does not judge. Why would he? The effort to determine whether one hobby is worth more than another is simply too much for something that does not affect him. In regards to what is ‘socially acceptable,’ has he ever been one to care what society determines as ‘acceptable?’ You seem to have forgotten this facet of his personality, much to his amusement, murmuring a quiet ‘oh yeah’ when he tells you as much.

He truly believes that writing, in all forms, has its merit. Fictional works have never been his moda operandi, but the written word has always been a part of his life. His father is a professor, his mother is a journalist, his grandmother is a librarian– it doesn't come to a surprise for him that his fiancé is involved with prose to some extent too.

“Oh, and your mom has a blog too, right?” You recall, “I remember you telling me she usually talks about her job on there.”

Alhaitham pauses for a moment in his explanation before nodding in confirmation. Perhaps it should not come to a surprise to him that just as he can remember the minute details of the conversations with you, you can too. He remembers the number of times he’s talked to you about his family can be counted on one hand, much of it in passing detail. And you remembered? He didn’t expect you to, but the fact that you did rather… pleases him.

Throughout this conversation, your expression settles in between gratitude and relief. Alhaitham doesn't think what he's saying is particularly praiseworthy, but the way you beam at him so brightly keeps his lips zipped from any further comments. 

Your gifts to him would make sense in this situation, but instead, you offer to cook him one of his favorite meals. It wasn’t out-of-the-blue, it seems, since you gather the needed ingredients from the refrigerator and begin your prep work, humming all the while. Midway through your preparations, Alhaitham begins to recognize what you’re trying to make: chicken-wrapped shawarmas. 

You must notice his calculating gaze because you shoo him out of the kitchen to set the table for dinner that is rapidly underway. Before long, the two of you are sitting at the kitchen table, and you watch him with rapt attention as he takes the first bite. Alhaitham feels a smile tug at his lips at how tastefully familiar it is, and you match his expression with your own bright grin. 

“Is it good?” You ask, though he is sure you already know his answer. 

“It tastes exactly like how my mother makes it,” he says. The words delicious and flavorful are synonymous with his compliments, and you understand, if the way you duck your head bashfully is of any indication. Alhaitham glances at you almost coyly. "Almost like you have her recipe.”

“I asked her for it," you say sheepishly. "I hope you don’t mind.”

Many facets of your personality, Alhaitham finds, are endearing. The way you shift between pride and humility when he praises you, the effort in which you place into getting to know others, his family included. The thought of you getting along with his parents strangely pleases him as well. It’s not like you’re marrying his family (just him; though some books have said marriage is the joining of two families…) and his family’s approval has never been something he needed. But the idea of his parents and you enjoying each other’s company is a nice thought. Alhaitham takes another bite of the shawarma and thinks about his grandmother and how she would also like you as you are: lively, witty and kind. 

He must have been quiet for a moment too long because you tilt your head at him curiously. “Is it your turn to be contemplative today?” You tease, spreading the yogurt sauce into the pita bread.

It is only a hypothesis, but he finds no harm in sharing his thoughts. “I was just thinking my grandmother would like you too,” Alhaitham says. “As it seems my parents seem to have taken a liking to you. My mother does not share her recipes with just anyone.”

“W-Well,” you stammer, fidgeting with your plate like you are wont to do when shy, “it’s because I’m cooking for her son, of course she would send me the recipe. But, um…” You trail off, looking down at your shawarma. “Your grandma… I know how much you care for her. You really think she would like me?” 

You look worried when you ask. Though he cannot empathize, Alhaitham does understand why you would be concerned just because of who you are as a person. Of course, you would worry about what his family thinks, about making a good impression. You value family, so it is only natural for you to want to be a part of his family.

He believes your worries are misplaced though; there is no reason to worry when he is almost certain that his family already loves you. Hypothesis yet to be proven, he thinks, but he imagines you are one family visit away from being included in his mother's journal entries, invited to his father's outdoor barbecue, and doted on by his grandmother who will squeeze your cheeks. The thought of it soothes him.

Alhaitham also predicts if you ever bring up meeting his friends (or more likely, when they bring up meeting you), they will end up liking you too. You might even laugh at Cyno's jokes while making glances with Tighnari and Dehya who will like you the moment they realize you win arguments against Alhaitham. Nilou and Kaveh will especially get along with you. You are a creative soul, and they will know almost immediately and flock to you like birds of a feather. 

It is not hard to imagine, Alhiatham thinks. You are easy to love.

“Yes, I’m quite certain my grandmother would like you," he says finally, much to your relief. "You'll find them much more agreeable than me."

"Well, that's not much of a competition, is it?" You joke, and you laugh when he quickly snatches the condiments you were reaching for out of a pretense of spite. 

Even Alhaitham cannot hide the hint of a smile when you complain to him. It’s all an act when you do it, goading him into bantering back and forth with you. A well-laid trap that he willingly walks into because it feels easier to do so than not. Sometimes, though, he watches you whine and gripe about something to see what you would do without his responses. 

Like tonight, when you roll into bed with him at what you consider an early bedtime, you tell him you can’t sleep, looking up at him anticipatorily for a reprieve that he can provide you. Alhaitham knows you want him to read to you. It’s something he does for you often, in the car, in the living room. You find his voice soothing, perfect to lull you to sleep, so you say. He isn’t prone to mischief, but even he finds ways to amuse himself at the tiniest of your expense.

“Alhaitham…” 

“Yes, what is it?” 

Alhaitham doesn’t have to glance away from his book to know that your lips have formed into an involuntary pout as you decide whether or not to ask him to– for a lack of better words– read you a bedtime story. You find yourself embarrassed at the strangest (to him) of things, not that Alhaitham is complaining. He gets to flip through a few pages of his book as you stew in your thoughts, and it’s as if Alhaitham can see the mental gymnastics you’re doing to work yourself up to ask for something you want. 

“If it isn’t any trouble,” you begin, and Alhaitham already begins to mentally sift through the possible books he can read to you before you even finish asking. He thinks anything might do if his voice truly has that effect on you, but if a story isn’t necessary, math will do just fine to put you to sleep. “Can you read something to me for a little while?” You scramble with your words for a moment, “Just until I fall asleep, I mean. If you don’t mind.” 

“Is that all you wanted to ask?” Alhaitham can’t help but say just to watch you huff in mild indignation. A smile is on his face before he even realizes it. “How’s the book I’m reading right now?” 

Even now, he still startles slightly when you snuggle right up to him, if only to squint at the book cover he’s currently holding. When you tell him that anything is fine, his heart has already begun to settle again, your warmth comfortable and familiar at his side. And he begins to read. 

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. You’re on your side, breathing steady, with your head in the center of the bed where you moved in closer to him. As animated as you are, with your body language and your expression, it is something of a novelty to see you be so still in sleep. Alhaitham feels something stir inside his chest as he watches you for a moment longer, his hand reaching out to pull the blanket up higher to tuck under your chin. 

Alhaitham doesn’t know how long he sits there in his own thoughts, but eventually he finds himself getting ready for bed as well. He turns off the lamp on his bedside table and gets under the covers, turning toward the center of the bed where you still are. It’s a little cramped on his side, but he finds he would rather keep you where you are than run the risk of waking you up to move you. It was due to his efforts that you’re now asleep, after all, so it would only be a hassle to ruin all that work. 

And it is a cold night tonight. Spring is fickle with its temperatures, with its sunny mornings and cool sunsets; your presence by his side serves only to make his sleep more comfortable. It’s why he’ll let you stay as close as you are- among other reasons he can think of, and he thinks he can come up with more. 

There are two thoughts that run through Alhaitham’s head before he falls asleep. One, he’s pleasantly surprised that you’ve been able to keep up the habit of sleeping early like you had hoped for. And two, he can smell your shampoo from how close you are– the scent of citrus that suits you so well staying with him even in his dreams. 

.

.

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taglist:

@crowbird @thetwinkims @jaguarthecat @tanspostsblog @dxstopiaa @yoimyas @theprinceofkhaos @homeinhobii @nagisuterus @sleep-deprivedracoon @scentedcandlesandcookies @secretlyrexlapis @kibbly-bibbly @loki-zos-galvus @teapartyspilled @herbal-tea-and-manga @quintessentialdreaming @detectivesparrow @certaindreampost @kazuharem @flooffi

[kotylynnemerrill]

Alrighty y'all,

Can't believe it but here's ch. 10!

As always I hope y'all enjoy it, and again a big thanks to the wonderful @aquamarine-dreamer for helping me edit this beast.

Your Words I Hold Forever Ch. 10

September 19th, 1968  5:58 pm

Thunder clapped loudly as Lexi turned the page of her book.  She glanced up just in time to catch a brief flash of bright light through the store window.

A whisper of breath escaped her lips as she returned her focus to the book.

She and Ash had finished ‘Something Wicked This Way Comes’ and were now reading ‘The Inhabitant of the Lake and Less Welcome Tenants’ by Ramsey Campbell, a collection of interconnected short horror stories Ash had picked out.

Normally she wouldn’t be reading while in charge of the register, but due to the storm the Dairy had been horribly barren of customers, so she decided to take advantage of the quiet.

Ash, of course, was slightly annoyed by this.  ‘Light work’ he called it, but Kitty, with a self-satisfied smile, reminded him he was still treading on thin ice.  Apparently, ‘what the hell do you want’ is not something you should say to customers, and Ash knew better than to push his luck.

She glanced up again as the storage room door opened and Kitty walked in holding a medium-sized cardboard box in her arms, along with what Lexi assumed was the day’s mail tucked in her left hand.

“Ash still moping?” she asked the blond woman as she set the box down on the floor beside the counter.

Lexi tried her best to ignore the envelopes in Kitty’s hand, but her eyes darted to them anyway, something she did out of habit now.  Always searching for the familiar red and blue border of an air mail envelope.

Her lips pulled downward a little when the only thing she could make out was plain white envelopes.

“Does he do anything else?”

Lexi softly chuckled, earning a smirk from Kitty.

“Okay, we got some flashlights, just in case the electricity goes out, plus some extra candles, matches and batteries.”

“Should we be worried about flooding?”

“Nah.  Everything is supposed to clear up by tomorrow. We might close up shop early though before it gets too bad.  This is gonna go on all night.”  As if to accentuate her words, there was another rumble, closely followed by a loud crack so close Lexi could feel the vibrations through the surface of the counter where her forearms rested. 

Kitty muttered under her breath and turned towards the storage door, “Ash! Come here and take this box to the caddy please.”

There was a muffled response before Ash appeared a few seconds later with a scowl on his face.  He grabbed the box roughly and headed towards the door.  He spared Lexi a glance as he passed her and noticed the book held loosely in her hands.

“Which story you on?”

“One where the killer uses a meat hook to dispatch his victims.”

“He get Mrs. Rion yet?”

“Not yet – wait, he kills Mrs. Rion?”

“Maybe.”

Lexi let out a ‘humph’ in disappointment. “Well damn.” 

Ash snickered as he made his way out the door.

“Jesus, what are you two reading?” revulsion laced Kitty's voice.

“Some murder mystery…it was Ash’s turn to pick,” Lexi replied with a shrug.

“Oh, fantastic.”  Kitty rolled her eyes.  She began flipping through the mail and suddenly stopped, a smile forming on her lips. “Here, take a break from that – I got something better.”

Lexi frowned, confused, as she closed the book, but then saw what Kitty was holding in her outstretched hand.

Red and blue border -  ‘via air mail’ logo with the eagle wings on either side.

“Oh!” She nearly choked as she shoved the book to the side and snatched the envelope from Kitty's grasp. She read her name in his neat angular scroll and clutched the envelope to her chest.

“Go on, go out to the car so you can read whatever mushy word vomit he's written you, and I’ll have Ash help me with closing up.”

Grinning, Lexi hopped off the stool she was sitting on with as much grace as her excitement would allow and rushed Kitty, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Are you sure?” Lexi asked when she let her go. “I can help before –”

“Go on. You've been waiting for this letter. I’m still gonna kick his scrawny ass.” Kitty finished with a shake of her head, more as an afterthought…a reminder.

“Who’s ass we kickin’?” Both women turned to see Ash standing in the doorway, wiping rain from his face.

“Your brother’s.”

 He quickly shut the door and walked over to the counter where Lexi was holding out a roll of paper towels she had pulled from under the counter. “Here.”

 Ash mumbled a ‘thanks’ before taking the roll, tearing off several sheets, and setting it down on the counter.  He dried the rest of his face, forearms, and hands before handing the wet paper towels to Lexi.

She scrunched her nose as she took the soiled trash and tossed it in the small waste basket under the counter.

 “Yeah.” Ash ran a hand over his short dark hair.  “Dumbass – he gotta make it back first.”

“Well, no matter - in this life or the next,” Kitty grumbled. “Now come on. You're helping me count the register, then we're heading out.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Thanks Kitty.”  Lexi gave Kitty another quick hug before grabbing her hooded jacket and putting it on.  She secured the hood over her head and put the letter in the left large side pocket, then tucked the book in the other pocket.

“Where are you going?” Ash asked, exasperation heavy in his voice.

“None of your business – stop bothering her.” Kitty swatted the back of his head.  Ash opened his mouth to protest when Lexi kissed her fingertips and patted his cheek as she passed him before continuing towards the door.

 She barely caught Ash’s unamused ‘what the hell’ as she made her way out the door.

Thankfully it wasn't raining as hard as she thought, but the downpour was steady.  With a sigh, Lexi hugged the jacket tighter around her and darted down the steps and into the rain.

She quickly made it to the passenger side door and practically flung herself into the seat when she got it open. Just as quickly, she shut the door and nearly cursed when she realized she had nothing to dry her hands on.

Lexi settled for wiping them on her jeans, the only part of her that didn’t get damp, and once her hands were dry enough, she pulled the letter from her pocket.

Her hands were shaking slightly as she released the top fold from its seal and pulled the piece of notebook paper free, discarding the envelope on the dash.

She held it in her hands for a moment, letting the sinking feeling in her stomach dissipate.  Why was she nervous? She shouldn't be, her heart told her he would be nothing but supportive, but deep down a doubt had made a home within her. Ugly and nauseating.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

Maybe it was residual emotions from the fight with her mom, who still hadn’t reached out. Lexi didn't really expect her to, but she had hoped. She still wanted her mother.

Another intake of air.

Just do it – read it!

Lexi unfolded the letter, and her hand instinctively went to the growing swell of her stomach as she began to read.   

*****

Lexi,

It feels like it’s been forever since I last wrote to you.

Wish I could have written sooner, but the past few days have been busy…more like hell, if I’m being honest.

We’ve moved away from our post at Da Nang, and we've settled just outside a small village about thirty clicks (18 miles) south of Hol An.

 This place is beautiful.  It’s incredibly isolated and, of course, surrounded by a ton of jungle, but it's beautiful.  There’s a constant thrumming and everything is incredibly vibrant.

Reminds me a little bit of those fantasy books you've been telling me about. If I can, I'll be sure to start sending pictures so you can see for yourself.

I got your letter on the 1st and I’ve been trying to figure out what to say.  I’ve probably started this letter a hundred times by now, but I keep scrapin’ it every time.

I guess God didn't see it necessary to bless me with the gift of words…not like you. Maybe I don't need them to be all fancy, but I wanna say the right thing, you know?

I’ve never really allowed myself to want things…big things.  The farm, and the family we talked about, those were just dreams…never goals I actually envisioned for myself. 

My life in Cali – the choices I made, a part of me I think kinda always thought maybe it was too risky. Plus, Kitty always made it a point to tell me love was an instinct you couldn’t trust.  And if it did happen…I don’t know, I was always too afraid to let myself find out.

Until now.

Now I find myself thinking about those things all the time…and more and more I’m realizing I want these things – I want them with you.

Something about you…how you make me feel.  The way you treat me like I’m equal, like I’m someone valuable, has changed that. 

And now you’re having a baby.  Our baby – that’s wild.

I’m still trying to process the gravity of what that means.  I can only imagine how you’re feeling.

I want you to know I’m scared too…nearly threw up the first time I read your letter.

This is not how I wanted things to go.  I never meant to get you into any kind of situation. And I sure as hell never meant for you to have to deal with something like this on your own. I will never be able to tell you how sorry I am, especially if things get messy…if they haven’t already.

I can’t stand the thought of being the reason your family is put out with you. I already have a pretty good idea how they gonna feel about me after this. 

I hate that too…

I don’t want that for you.  I don’t want them thinkin’ you’ve ruined your life or that you’re stuck with some deadbeat’s kid.

It makes me angry because a part of me fears that it’s true. I caused this mess and left you to pick up the pieces…not intentionally but…

You deserve a lot more than that…a lot more than me, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful.

But I don't regret it. And I could never be mad about something like this.

I can't. Not when it feels like fate, like this thing between us was predestined.

Call it love, or whatever you want - it is what it is, and I can't change it now.  You're it for me.

I want to be able to reassure you that everything will be okay – I hope it will be. But I don’t want to make you a promise I can’t keep.

 But I will promise this….

 You’re not alone in this.  We did this together, and I’m gonna support you no matter what.

I probably don't gotta say it, but if things aren't good with your mom after you tell her about the baby…or if something happens to me, I want you to go to Kitty. She'll look after you – both of you. Whatever you need.

And I have some money saved up…nothing impressive, but it'd be enough to give you a good start - help Kitty and Ash out a little bit too.

It's the best I can do for now.

I imagine Kitty will have a few choice words to say about this, but she loves you just as much as I do. She’s not going to blame you, that’s for sure.

But I don’t want you to worry about that.  Just keep up the prayers (they might actually be working) and do what you need to do to keep yourself right. 

A couple of the guys in my platoon have kids and I thought about asking them for advice…help me prepare a little bit, I guess, but I haven’t done it yet.

I don’t know, I kinda like being the only one here who knows…like it’s my lucky rabbit’s foot or something.

Sometimes it’s hard not to pipe in though when the guys are talking…

My friend Hardy was telling me a story about his little boy the other day, something he doesn't do often - says it's bad juju to talk about personal stuff when you're at war.

It was his son's first day of kindergarten or something like that. I didn’t get too caught up on the details, but he had this look on his face…

Love, pure devotion, pride. He was practically glowing and it floored me a little bit.

I hope I get to experience that, to share that with you.

For now, I guess the letters will have to do, so I want lots of them. Let me know how our kids doing . I’m sure soon you’ll  be learning all kinds of facts.

You should have Kitty take some photos too…one every month so I can see the progress of the bump.

It’s getting dark now, too dark to write, and this torch I got hanging from my bunk is doing a piss poor job as a lamp.

I don’t know what else to say anyway…but I love you and I miss you.

Tell Kitty and Ash I love them too and I'll write them a letter soon. And make sure Ash behaves - he's the man of the house right now and needs to start acting like it. Tell him to keep up with his schoolwork too.

And I want you to tell Kitty about the money - she's not exactly oblivious to my little side hustle but tell her (if she asks) I did it because I wanted to be able to give something back.

P.S.

Kiss the belly for me.

Forever yours,

Fez

*********

Lexi’s eyes stung as she finished the letter, and her hands began to shake again. She slumped back into the seat, letting out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in.  She let the letter slip from her hands as she brought them up to cover her suddenly very warm face.

Kitty opened the driver’s side door as Lexi let out a sob. Ash opened the passenger door a second later…

“Hey –” he paused seeing Lexi was crying. “What’s the matter with you?” Lexi could hear the alarm in his voice, but she couldn’t speak. She was only making soft whimpering noises in response.

“Ash, get in the back seat.”  Kitty scolded, motioning with her thumb.  He spotted the letter in Lexi’s lap and understood. Without another word, he made his way to the back passenger door, opened it, and climbed in.

Kitty climbed in the driver’s seat very slowly, like she was approaching a wild animal or a bomb and shut her door.

“Well, what’s the scoop? He okay?”

Lexi hiccupped and sniffled slightly, as she let her hands fall to her lap.

“He said…he loves us and,” Lexi let out a long sigh.  “And he said sorry it took so long to write. His platoon has moved out of Da Nang apparently. He…,” she swallowed thickly trying to loosen the lump in her throat, but it was too tight and hard to breath.

“Lexi… breathe doll.”

Her lips began to quiver as she swallowed again and took a couple of deep breaths.   “And…” New tears filled her eyes. “He said kiss the belly for him.”  Then the dam broke, and tears flowed down her cheeks again.

“Well, shit.”  Kitty’s own eyes became glassy. “So, he’s on board? Well, of course he is.”

Lexi nodded. 

“Oh Lexi, that’s great.  And he’s okay?”

Lexi nodded again.  Kitty leaned in grasping her by the face and gave her a big kiss on the forehead.

“Oh shit.  I got lipstick on you.”

Lexi let out a watery laugh.  “That’s okay.”

“Someone wanna explain what’s going on please?”

“Nothing bud. Everything’s going to be just fine.” Kitty smiled wide, gently pinching Lexi’s cheeks.

“Yeah…it’s going to be fine.” “He…there’s something he did want me to talk to you about…”

“When we get home. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Kitty nodded and took the keys from her pocket; they rattled as she stuck them in the ignition. With a twist of her wrist, the caddy roared to life.

[queer-crip-grows]

Right-to-buy council houses without specifically only releasing housing that already had a replacement built was of the most notable ways of the *many* that Thatcher et al screwed the UK.

I’d love to have a law put in place that landlords either have to sign contracts to provide housing under council house-type contracts with rent controls to people on housing benefit etc, or sell to the local council at compulsory purchase prices.

Same for all the houses not being lived in - use to house people under contractual controls, or have to sell to the council housing central fund.

Personally I’d start converting all the office units that are no longer needed because so many people are working remotely now into housing too.

Same for the huge city centre shops - I’m not sure if the pattern repeats elsewhere, but I live near Glasgow and the city centre has basically died since Covid. No one is renting the huge retail stores and the place is full of unhoused folk, which is a fucking scandal. So convert them into housing; let the buildings see use, and let those folks get off the streets. Pets and kids specifically allowed too - get families out of one-room shelters and into proper homes of their own.

I’ve heard that there would be issues putting in water infrastructure, but given the place is literally crumbling already and usage in so many areas is so low that having workers digging up the streets to install water lines wouldn’t cause enormous disruption, the time to do this is *now*. Build rainwater catchment and purification systems on roofs too - we get so much rain in the UK it’s kind of ridiculous not to use it! Some of that could go directly to drip irrigation in gardens, but plenty could go right into the houses/flats too. And of course this would provide tons of jobs in construction, architecture, planning etc etc.

Install gardens and green spaces around the place while you are doing this - offer some at low rent, or to buy cheaply, to market gardeners, but specifically put spaces in for communal gardens with the idea of offering allotments and encouraging people to grow their own food.

Put solar panels on every roof and integrate spaces for smaller wind turbines amongst the houses too. Huge storage batteries in basements to make the new blocks as low-footprint and self-sufficient as possible power-wise.

It would be a *fantastic* opportunity to create genuinely accessible housing - office buildings and shops already have lifts and wide corridors ideal for wheelchairs and other mobility devices, so keep that in the design when creating housing. There is a hidden epidemic of houselessness amongst disabled people and older folk with mobility needs, so create low-rent council housing that specifically fits those needs there.

It would regenerate the areas - all the smaller shopfronts not suitable for housing conversion would fill up with people offering the things people in residential neighbourhoods need, with a guaranteed payer base. People on low incomes *use* all of their incomes on necessities, so small businesses selling those necessities will do well. Offer small businesses low rents to provide those necessities. Any that don’t fill up, offer to charities and use for council staff offering the aid and advice people transitioning into housing actually *need*.

Carers are generally low-paid - so this would be an opportunity to offer them cheap housing close to a huge client base in the new accessible housing. No need for low-paid, mostly-female workers to dash constantly between clients in cars. They could walk to work and walk in between clients, who would also no longer be trapped in inaccessible homes, so people who are not actually bedbound would hopefully be less housebound.

Put rooms in the blocks for communal and co-op activities to reduce isolation - with the lifts and wide corridors, even people who are functionally housebound are likely to be able to make it to a room in their own building, and even quite young children could get to those places safely on their own if their parents are working. Wraparound childcare, paid and informal, near where folks actually live.

City centre areas that are now largely dead other than unhoused people, with limited and decreasing zero economic activity taking place and a decreasing incentive for businesses to set up there rather than in out-of-town retail parks people need to drive to, would become vibrant communities with every incentive for businesses to set up there, particularly for the small businesses that still employ the majority of people.

It wouldn’t take a lot to extend this model to transform those out-of-town business parks that are currently largely empty either; nothing says the businesses that are still there would need to move, and they would have a huge new pool of potential employees living within easily walkable distance, though there would need to be oversight to make sure places like Amazon didn’t attempt to buy them up and turn them into company housing. There would need to be a little more investment to provide green transport links like electric buses and trains so that it would be easier for small businesses to move in to provide services, but given the tax income that would result and the reduction in pollution the investment would probably pay itself back within a decade or so.

[mischiefmanifold]

Explanation of the Diagnostic Criteria of Conduct Disorder (CD)

In order to be diagnosed with conduct disorder, one must meet at least three of the following fifteen criteria in the past 12 months, with at least one criterion met in the past 6 months. Symptoms must be repetitive or consistent and clinically significant. If one is 18 years or older, they may only be diagnosed with conduct disorder if they do not meet the criteria for antisocial personality disorder.

AGGRESSION TO PEOPLE AND ANIMALS

1. Often bullies, threatens, or intimidates others.

This includes bullying on social media (cyberbullying).

2. Often initiates physical fights.

May be extremely eager to physically fight others.

Getting into frequent fights may also affect their friendships, especially if they end up getting into fights with their friends.

3. Has used a weapon that can cause serious physical harm to others (e.g., a bat, brick, broken bottle, knife, gun).

"Used a weapon" is a vague statement, but a good assumption to make is that it counts if you used the object against another person (e.g., throwing a brick at them).

4. Has been physically cruel to people.

May push, hit, or bite others (especially earlier in life).

Physical cruelty may be disguised as "teasing" (e.g., hair pulling, poking/jabbing, yanking, "roughhousing").

5. Has been physically cruel to animals.

Methods include shooting, animal fighting, torture, beating, throwing them around, burning them, stabbing them, kicking them, dragging them, malnourishment, poking/jabbing hard, excessive teasing, etc.

6. Has stolen while confronting someone (e.g., mugging, purse snatching, extortion, armed robbery).

This means you're stealing things from a person directly.

Another example is pickpocketing (a form of larceny [theft of personal property] that involves the stealing of money or other valuables from a victim's pocket without them noticing).

Mugging is the act of attacking and robbing someone in a public or semi-public place (commonly alleyways, at least on TV shows).

Extortion is when one obtains something, especially money, through force or threats.

Armed robbery is the act of stealing from someone by using a weapon.

7. Has forced someone into sexual activity.

Pretty self-explanatory; if it confuses anyone or you want more detail feel free to DM me.

DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY

8. Has deliberately engaged in fire-setting with the intention of causing serious damage.

May have an unusual fascination with fire.

Others may find burn holes in carpets, beds, or furniture.

May pocket fire-starting materials (e.g., matches, lighters) and keep them hidden.

May light candles, fireworks, and other things, despite being told not to.

9. Has deliberately destroyed others' property (other than by fire-setting).

This is also called "vandalism."

Examples include smashing car windows, egging cars or houses, keying cars, slashing tires, defacing park benches, altering or knocking down street signs, and kicking and damaging someone's property with your hands or feet.

DECEITFULNESS OR THEFT

10. Has broken into someone else's house, building, or car.

Some professionals may count exploring abandoned buildings in this criterion, especially if you did not receive permission before exploring and the site was private.

Breaking into lockers and other school areas logically seem to be the most likely course of action for a younger child.

Other places include homes, storage units, and stores/pharmacies.

11. Often lies to obtain goods or favors or to avoid obligations (i.e., "cons" others).

White lies (to spare someone's feelings or avoid their wrath): pretending they can't find a sweater their friend wants to borrow because they don't want the friend to have it; expressing excitement about an achievement of someone else's but at the same time angry/upset that you didn't get it; telling their friend they forgot their lunch so the friend will share with them.

More harmful lies (intended to be malicious, to deceive, or to get something to which one is not entitled): stealing a friend's iPad and then telling the friend they don't know where it is; refusing to admit that they shoplifted and instead blaming someone else; taking credit for other people's work.

12. Has stolen items of nontrivial value without confronting a victim (e.g., shoplifting, but without breaking and entering; forgery).

"Without confronting a victim" refers to the idea that this criterion is talking about theft that does not include a single victim and perpetrator; instead, the perpetrator is stealing from stores or forging signatures (I think identity theft goes here, too).

Shoplifting is classified as a misdemeanor in the United States until the perpetrator reaches a certain price value of the goods they have stolen, when it becomes a felony (e.g., in Texas, shoplifting becomes a felony when the value of all of the stolen property amounts to $2,500 or more).

SERIOUS VIOLATIONS OF RULES

13. Often stays out at night despite parental prohibitions, beginning before age 13 years.

Kind of self-explanatory, if requested I can elaborate

14. Has run away from home overnight at least twice while living in the parental or parental surrogate home, or once without returning for a lengthy period.

Most runaways are not gone for more than 48 hours to a week, but based on this criterion I would say that being gone longer than a day or so counts as a lengthy period

15. Is often truant from school, beginning before age 13 years.

Truancy laws depend on the area you live in. For example, in Minnesota, you're considered truant if you have three or more full or partial school absences that are unexcused. In Texas, if you are absent without excuse for 10+ days or partial days in a 6-month period in the same school year, you're considered truant.

SOURCES

https://www.surgeactivism.org/articles/torture-by-teasing-animal-videos-are-racking-up-millions-of-views-on-social-media

https://www.hopkinsallchildrens.org/Patients-Families/Health-Library/HealthDocNew/Firesetting

https://www.findlaw.com/criminal/criminal-charges/vandalism.html

https://examples.yourdictionary.com/examples-of-lying.html

https://www.simsfirm.com/blog/2015/march/will-i-go-to-jail-for-shoplifting-in-texas-/

https://safesupportivelearning.ed.gov/discipline-compendium?state=Texas&sub_category=Chronic%20Absenteeism%20and%20Truancy

https://www.crowwing.gov/1647/Truancy

https://www.lovetoknow.com/parenting/teens/teenage-runaways

[bluntforcespatter]

ranting, long, mentions of ableism

my apartment should be 700 a month given that it's a shithole

like i pay 1400 a month and this place has holes to the outside. it's an apartment complex and ours is just shit for some reason. we have multiple bug problems because of the holes. one of the walls isn't sealed so that room is perpetually cold and full of bugs. you can't use it as storage due to the aforementioned bugs. there was a hole to the outside in the ceiling when we moved in. the walls aren't installed even remotely properly. i can't even use my indoor wheelchair here so most days i am in bed. all day.

and accessible apartments go for 3k. you pay more for accessibility. even if i could work and could afford that somehow, working would deteriorate my health (as it already has, hence the prescribed wheelchair!) and then like. how long would it be until i couldn't work and therefore couldn't afford the apartment anymore? not to mention a job to stock store shelves requires a bachelors. i don't have a credit co-signer so i can't take out student loans. i can't afford school because i can't get a minimum wage job that would pay my rent let alone my uni fees - staying on campus is more expensive than getting a room somewhere. but i am in a wheelchair. so i can't share a house with a bunch of students because none of them are accessible. i need help washing my hair. i can't move in with strangers and live "on my own" amongst them even if the whole place had ramps and chair lifts.

disability is only 1k. so you need to find a rental that is 800-900 max so you still have 100/200 for food and like. a internet/phone package.

but then. your grocery bill is literally 200 a month, bc where i live has a 300% - 600% inflation rate. if you're american and reading this, if you can buy kraft dinner for one dollar and twenty-four cents, that box is four dollars and ninety-nine cents where i am. a single box. just as a comparison. there is no such thing as cheap food. your 25c ramen is 1.25 for me. (i am not blaming you or saying your life isn't hard or w/e use reading comprehension skills here please.)

all the food banks are up several flights of stairs and are open for only 2 hours per place first come first serve. if you wait in the line outside and the two hours are up and they haven't gotten to you (bc that's how dire shit is here!) you go home. and you can't drive, so you can't even get there anyways! starve.

can't drive? no groceries. get them delivered! can't afford a credit card interest because your phone plane is 50, your internet is 50, and that leaves you with a hundred a month for groceries? can't afford delivery. whatever, you couldn't afford delivery, because it starts at an eighty dollar fee. starve.

i am lucky, fucking blessed, to have my roommate so i can afford to be alive but holy shit. i am dependent on her entirely. i cannot drive. she sits at the edge of the tub to wash my hair. she helps me up. she pushes my chair, because i can't self propel. she cooks. and honestly, being that dependent on someone else for reasons you can't control WILL make you suicidal. every day i consider that she would be better off without me - but the kicker is that she couldn't afford rent without me here. she couldn't afford internet and a phone plan and credit card interest and groceries and gas and car insurance and the occasional non-essential all together if i didn't pool with her - because she takes care of me, i take care of her too. (and she claims she likes to care for me, that it makes her less suicidal herself to have someone who needs her and someone to hang out with. but dear god i feel like the shittiest waste of life on the fucking planet.)

my government actively pushes medically assisted suicide onto disability recipients. they want us dead, and i'm not being hyperbolic. if you don't take medically assisted, then starve, or die out on the streets in the cold. our shelters will take you in for a max of three nights, some places it's only one. our food banks are upstairs with no elevators. our livable paying jobs require a post-secondary degree, because all other jobs are for teenagers, and we believe adults do High Paying Jobs That Require Education, so you cannot afford a place on a "teenager's first job" type job. but our schools are 4-10k a semester ON BURSARIES AND GRANTS AND SCHOLARSHIPS (of which i had EIGHT and it was still 5k!) and to afford JUST THE TUITION FEE, NOT HOUSING, NOT FOOD, NOT BILLS, on minimum wage, you'd have to work over three hundred hours a month, and going to uni (I WAS IN LAW SCHOOL which expects 600 hours a month!) is 400-500 hours a month, which in total is more hours than there ARE IN A MONTH. why are you so poor? why do you choose to be poor? being poor is a personal moral failing. you are a personal moral failing. you are a failure.

i am fucking sick to death of people who think people like me are a drain on the system or w/e. if you think like that you shouldn't be here. our system is broken. like deeply. when i became homeless and i was still in uni i asked them what they could do to get me from place to place so i could move in on campus and they told me to ask my parents. while i was homeless. what parents bro tf. their campus wasn't even wheelchair accessible i was studying from home because of that. you cannot dig a pit and put disabled people into it and then blame them for not being able to climb out. all people my age did was blame me for not going back to school. "why can't your mom and dad just pay for it? why don't you just work to pay for it?" why are you fucking stupid britney? mommy and daddy paid for your bachelor of arts so you could get a slightly-above min wage job and bitch, it's pay to play, so if you have no parents, no grandparents, if you're me, you're fucked. game over, just go die quietly so we don't have to look at you. kill yourselllllllf!

this counts for any of you, by the way. if you read this far, anyways. if you're systemically denied the opportunity to succeed because of your mental health or poverty or mental disability or whatever. it's not your fault. and i am angry too.

[nataviashop]

Transform Your Car’s Interior with This Amazing Back Seat Organizer.

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Introducing the Magic Box Car Organizer

The Magic Box Back Seat & Front Seat Car Organizer from Owleys stands out among its competitors. This versatile product can be attached to both the back and front seats, offering unparalleled flexibility.

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Investing in a car seat organizer is a smart decision for anyone who values a clean and organized vehicle. The Magic Box, with its thoughtful design and practical features, offers great value for money. It not only keeps your car tidy but also enhances your overall driving experience.

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[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 2

“Need a ride?”

Wrench | Paranoia | Club

Masterlist

Cw: detailed descriptions of gore, all hurt no comfort, torture, heavy abuse, restraints, kidnapping, hand/eye/mouth whump, heavy dehumanization, broken bones, blood, amputation, implied death/murder, whumper turned whumpee, caretaker turned whumper, just be careful with this one friends

The garage light flickered.

Caretaker glanced up, their lips pressing thin together. It must have been years since they’d last changed it—if ever. They weren’t prone to spending time in the garage. Detached from the house, it served more for storage than anything. There had been a point where they had parked their car in there, but it hadn’t lasted more than a few weeks before it came more inconvenient to store it away than just leave it in their driveway.

Now, the garage was home to many boxes, bins covered in dust and stacked messily. There was a workbench against one wall, scattered with tools and stray nails. Their woodworking phase hadn’t lasted very long either. But that was alright. They found a different use for all the tools they had bought, birdhouses in mind when they had first gone to the hardware store. That certainly wasn’t what they had been shopping for the last time they had walked out of the shop, three bags weighing their arms.

Some of the stuff had been for Whumpee. A lock for the inside of their bedroom door, because the door to Caretaker’s guest room didn’t have a lock and they wanted Whumpee to be in control. Never again would they be on the other side of a lock. They had free rein of the house, Caretaker encouraged them to poke around and explore.

“It’s your house too, Whumpee. There’s nothing in here that will hurt you.”

They had bought a can of pale green paint, and a plastic sheet that they had draped over the bed, desk, and dresser Whumpee helped them push to the center of the room—though they weren’t particularly strong anymore, quite likely hindering the effort more than helping, Caretaker had let them. They spent the entire day painting the dull beige walls. Whumpee’s favorite color was green.

They bought lights, the kind that strung across rooftops when Christmas was near, a soft yellow glow, and they had hammered small tacks around the crown mounding to hang them as a surprise for Whumpee.

That hammer, they had bought too. They had one, somewhere in their indoor toolbox, but it had the build of a rock tied to a stick. They needed a better hammer than that, so they had splurged a bit. It was heavy and steel, a clawed end opposite the head. If Caretaker dropped it, it would likely shake the entire house.

It was a nice hammer.

The garage had a stale feel to the air, dry and dusty. It was cold outside, in just a month or so, Caretaker would have to start preparing for it to snow. They wrapped themself in a jacket before going out, a black pullover that they zipped and flipped up the hood.

They shut the door behind them with a slam, rattling the walls. A grin, a genuine smile curled across their lips at the panicked little whimper that cut through the dim room.

Caretaker didn’t think of themself as a violent person. Not at all. They were gentle and caring and nurturing—just look at Whumpee, seriously. Barely a month into their recovery, after years of captivity, torture, and conditioning, they were already beginning to show fragments of their old self. Little broken shards, but Caretaker could see, when they made Whumpee’s favorite for dinner, or invited them to curl next to them for a movie night, the little light that would flicker in their eyes. They recognized it. Slowly, they were putting the mirror back together, the glass that had shattered on its way to becoming whole.

They would never hurt anyone, especially not Whumpee. Caretaker was the kind of person who, if they found a spider in their house, would grab a cup and a piece of paper and move it out to their back yard, rather than smush it.

Caretaker hummed to themself, a single melody echoing through the exposed insulation like a cavern. They crossed the garage, after making sure to lock the door, to their workbench, where they pulled on a thick pair of gardening gloves. Something else they had gotten from the hardware store.

That place really had everything.

They stopped humming.

“You know what Whumpee told me today?” They spoke lightly, voice carefree, a tone that one might use when discussing their day with a partner over dinner.

“They told me about this one time, when they tried to escape, you made them choose. Either have both their ankles broken, or have two fingers cut off.” Caretaker tugged open one of the drawers, grabbing their new hammer. Not a single mark on it. Not even a scratch from the tacks or a dent. They set it on top of the desk, before reaching back in to grab a wrench, pliers, and a box cutter, setting it all in a neat pile. They turned to look across the room, leaning one arm against the desk.

They had cleared out a corner of their garage, moved all the bins out of the way to create an alcove of sorts. They had laid a tarp down over the cement, not because Whumper didn’t deserve to sleep in fucking cold cement for the rest of their life—however long Caretaker decided to drag that out to be. Only because they didn’t want to get blood on the floor. That crap stains.

They were so fucking pathetic, Whumper. Their hands bound in front of them, duct tape winding countless times around their wrists and forearms, inhibiting all movement. The tape snared around their torso, pinning their arms to their sides. Their legs were bound also, with a coil of rope, tied at the ankles, knees, and thighs, as tight as Caretaker had managed to pull it.

Their fingers were free, Caretaker supposed that they could simply reach out and grab something that could help cut them loose, but they’d taken care of that issue, weeks ago.

Their bones had snapped surprisingly easily in Caretaker’s hands. At least their pinky and ring finger. The other ones, Caretaker had to resort to stomping down on them, crushing the joints beneath their heel as they ground their boot against the flesh.

Now they doubted that Whumper could even twitch their fucking fingers. Crooked and swollen, blood trapped beneath the skin, knuckles split open.

They were covered in blood and grime, built up over weeks. Their skin was pale, mottled with bruises of all stages and colorings, slick with sweat. Caretaker had only taken them out once, dragging them behind the garage when they were sure Whumpee was asleep to drench them down with the back hose. They’d need to do that again soon. Their nose wrinkled as they stepped closer.

They weren’t blindfolded, but Caretaker doubted Whumper could make out much. One of their eyes nearly swollen shut, the other slit with a deep gash cutting from their eyebrow to their cheekbone, they weren’t seeing crap. They were gagged, though, an old cloth shoved in their mouth and secured in place with duct tape, winding around the back of their head. It couldn’t have been good for their jaw, which Caretaker had broken only a week ago. The teeth, a handful molars which Caretaker had first cracked and knocked loose with the hammer, twisted the rest of the way and ripped out with the pliers they now picked up, were certainly not feeling great now. They didn’t care. Really, it amused them to see the way Whumper squirmed and mumbled, incomprehensible sounds behind the gag that they were sure were pleads for either mercy or death—Caretaker supposed those would be synonymous by now though.

The funniest part, though, was something Caretaker had decided at the last moment. Whumpee had never mentioned anything about it, but Caretaker had noticed the bruises. The slight indented ring around their throat, only visible if you were really looking for it, finally fading with a special balm that Caretaker had spent a week’s paycheck to get. The shit was expensive, but it helped, and the scars—the older ones, at least—were finally beginning to lighten. A thick leather collar, one Caretaker had found in the pet care aisle. A small box on the back, two short studded prints jutting out into Whumper’s neck. The remote sat tucked in Caretaker’s dresser, the top drawer. It had a hell of a range. Sometimes they’d wake up in the middle of the night and twist the dial for no good reason.

Scratch that, there was a good reason. With Whumper, any reason was a good fucking reason.

They had been half tempted to buy a crate, as well, when they were at the store. One of those wire ones that would be uncomfortably small for any animal, let alone a human- if Whumper could even be considered that anymore. They certainly weren’t in Caretaker’s mind. But they had already spent more money than they should have, not that they were tight on funds, but Caretaker always liked to have at least a couple hundred emergency cash on their card, so they didn’t get it. Maybe they’d go back, after they get paid for the week. Toss a blanket over it, make sure Whumper was tied up as cramped as possible, maybe they’d shove a pair of noise canceling headphones over their ears, and let Whumper really suffer for a bit, left alone with only their pain to keep company.

“Their limp is getting better, you know, they don’t need the crutches anymore.” Caretaker stopped only a foot from the edge of the tarp, looking down in disgust. The hammer hung loosely from one hand, pliers and wrench and box cutter held together in the other.

“I think that would be equal to… ankles, knees, and four fingers? Five? Ah, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to lose them all eventually. I say we start with four, then if you’re still conscious, we can continue. Sound fair?”

Of course it did. Whumper wouldn’t agree, panic flickering through the small slit of their eye, some sort of whine swelling in their throat. But it didn’t matter if Whumper agreed. They didn’t get a choice.

Caretaker took the sound as an affirmative.

“You agree? Oh, Good.”

They dropped the tools, hitting loudly against the floor.

“I was thinking we’d start with the middles, remember how you broke Whumpee’s when they flipped you off?“

Caretaker grabbed the box cutter.

“We’ll take this nice and slow today. Whumpee’s staying the night at Old Friend’s place, so we have all the time in the world.”

They couldn’t keep the blood contained on the tarp this time, a trickle of red running off the edge and spilling onto the floor.

This was far worth having to clean up afterwards.

———————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

There’s so many tropes I want to write for the rest of may but I want to write them all right now and I can’t decide aaaahhhhhh I’m probably going to end up writing nothing lmao

[man-and-atom]

The company plans to use solar farms in places that have little to recommend them other than a railway line nearby as filling stations at which to charge heavy but cheap batteries built into goods wagons. A 100-car train… could deliver three gigawatt-hours to users.

We wouldn’t normally suspect The Economist of innumeracy. On the other hand, solar boosters are hardly above suspicion of deliberate deception, and sometimes seem to revel in self-deception.

American railroad hopper-cars, much larger than those used most other places in the world, carry typically 100 tonnes of coal each. A modern, efficient gigawatt coal-fired power station typically burns something like 300 tonnes of coal an hour. (Those numbers will vary with the thermal efficiency of the station and the quality of the coal.) Three gigawatt-hours would then require about 10 carloads. The typical unit coal train is 100 cars long, or about 30 gigawatt-hours. At that, most of the coal-burners built in the past half-century or so have been mine-mouth stations, because for distances of about 500 km or less, it’s cheaper to burn the coal at the pit-head and send the power onward by high-tension lines.

Good lead-acid batteries (presumably the “heavy but cheap” option mentioned) store about 50 watt-hours (0·05 kWh) per kilogram. At this rate, one train car could carry a freight of 5000 kWh. The whole trainload would then be 100 times that, 500 000 kWh or half a gigawatt-hour. Only if you assume an externally-imposed economics-be-damned mandate for solar-plus-storage, as in California, does this begin to make some kind of sense.

If the numbers as given simply don’t seem to accord with reality, neither does the claim that solar “only gets cheaper and cheaper”. Solar power requires land, and vast tracts of it — land which only tends to increase in price. Besides that, each additional increment of generation tends to use more land, because the land most favorable for the purpose is usually developed first. Similarly, the vast raw materials requirements call for exploiting poorer and poorer sources, at ever-escalating costs.

Compare all that with a single half-meter-long CANDU fuel bundle, containing about 30 kg of uranium, which in the course of its time in the reactor will produce more than 1 500 000 kWh. Nuclear requires only modest quantities of land and raw materials, and depends primarily upon technological skill and know-how — which, unlike land or raw materials, constantly gets cheaper.

[blusandbirds]

zanna made me watch national treasure and all i got was riley poole as my new blorbo

@zannolin, a riley ficlet, this is ur doing

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it’s like a math problem. if riley poole has an event that starts at 3:00 PM EST and ends at 4:00 PM EST, and riley poole has two friends who are either “working, i’m so sorry, but have fun, okay?” or just “busy,” then how many people are expected to arrive at riley’s event by 3:30 PM EST? the answer, of course, is none. just riley himself. just him, hidden away at the back of the bookstore, tucked between the cookbook and magazine sections.

the only people he’s seen today were one harried mom in yoga pants looking for better homes and gardens and the store owner themself who came to inform riley that the bathroom on-site was out of order and if he needed to use it any time, he should go to the café across the street. it’s probably the best crowd riley’s drawn yet.

ben and abigail think it’s an ego thing. they’re not completely wrong, because he does like it. his name on the covers, the enthusiastic 3.35 by 4 inch newspaper reviews, the flourish of his signature across the front page. but most of all, it’s because he isn’t like them. he can’t do the genius never to be understood thing. he wants— he needs to be seen. riley poole, in ink, proof that he was here at all.

so riley, sitting in the back of a bookstore even quieter than the museums and mausoleums he’s adventured to, takes an extended course in perseverance.

no matter how many of these he’s had to suffer through—the “are you ben gates?” questions and the driving back home with his own cardboard smile in the backseat—he’s not ready to quit. he’s not willing to be the guy who helped find two lost caches of priceless treasure, but then gave up because nobody came to his book signing. he’s not the last kid alone on the playground anymore. he’s got a cool car and recognition from the white house and two friends who he loves almost as much as they love each other.

give it ten more minutes, he decides. ten more minutes and then he calls it a day. ten more minutes and then he goes home to chalk up another failure on the riley poole is a big loser board.

three of his allotted ten minutes pass by, the hands on his stupid fake rolex limping forward like he’s listening to one of ben’s colonial architecture tangents. he blows invisible dust from a cover. he taps his fingers across the table surface. he sits. 

he thinks about doing this for seven more minutes. he thinks about doing this for twenty more events. he thinks about doing this for the rest of his life. the future stretches out before him, an endless aisle of waiting at empty tables for people who never planned on coming.

oh, who is he kidding?

riley kicks his foot under the table, shoving out the empty cardboard boxes so he can sweep the unopened, unsold books back into storage. it’s gonna be a pain getting it all back into the ferrari, like the world’s saddest game of tetris, and even afterwards he’ll have to reconfigure all the boxes to fit into his living room. his living room, which has become somewhat of a monument to his oh-so-successful writing career. stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes, taking over the space, bursting to overflowing. well, it’s not like he has guests over anyways.

empty tables. full boxes. riley poole’s life.

somewhere in front, footsteps pad down the carpeted floor. he doesn’t look up. it’s not for him.

the steps come to a halt oddly close to the table. someone clears their throat.

a familiar voice, “am i in the right place?”

riley’s head jerks up, nearly clipping the edge of the table. from behind a pile of books appears the face of the fbi’s very own special agent sadusky.

“agent sadusky?” riley shakes his head. “sorry, the self-help section is over there.” he points aimlessly. it’s only then that he notices the item in sadusky’s hand. instantly recognizable, given the dozens he has spread around him right now. a copy of riley’s book, coffee cup ring on the cover and the jacket dented. sadusky grins when riley meets his eyes.

“sorry i was late.” the agent shrugs. “we got a tip about somebody trying to steal the constitution.”

it’s 3:41. something lifts in riley’s chest. he settles into his chair and matches sadusky’s smile. “guess originality really is dead,” he says.