#two: i’ve never heard the terms big one and small one applied to beer

[touchlikethesun]

do (some) americans not know what pints are? i swear most americans i know know what pints are but this waiter just asked me if i i wanted a “big one” or a “small one”

[slvtbible]

G O L D

chapter one

summary: [y/n is a young stripper who is adored by many men. harry styles is a man who loves to carry danger with him]

word count: 4222

pairing: stripper!y/n and gangleader!harry

warnings: violence, vulgar language, sexual acts, alcohol and drug

to be honest, i was a little hesitant to post it here and i don’t know if this story will blow up on tumblr or get many notes but that’s the last thing on my mind right now. i just want to share what i’ve been working on that kept you guys waiting for almost a year lol sorry about that. But yes, she’s finally here!! I posted first on wattpad before i put it here, I felt like the only way to reach out more people to read it it’s through that. And also, i decided to use a name on wattpad but I’d use the term ‘y/n’ on tumblr. Enjoy it all my loves! Give me feedbacks!💜

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*

Harry fixes the collar of his sheer black shirt before tucking it neatly inside the black trousers he's currently wearing. He normally goes something more extravagant for going out. His closet is filled with colourful ruffles and Hawaiian shirts along with 'more than one colour' suits. However tonight, he needs to lay low for a bit. Especially when he's about to step into one of the most famous strip clubs in New York in an hour to meet up with the manager.

He's very much aware of the reputation he has put on himself out there. Though there's no use of camouflage and hiding, he still doesn't want a cause a scene,

Yet.

His hand lifts a bottle of Tom Ford from the dresser before spraying it twice on his neck. Stepping away from the full length mirror, he grabs his cross necklace from the bed before putting the accessory around his neck as he walks out of the room.

"Talk to me Reece" his heavy accent echoes the hallway as he walks downstairs, watching his few men pocketing their weapons,

Reece, the brown skinned man with tattoos nods. "He's there. Just got a word from Bianco. He appears isn't expecting you, Boss. However I do believe he knows you're coming soon. The club is far too crowded than usual but Bianco is taking care of that right now." He informs, showing him the message on the phone,

Harry can only scoff, nodding at him as a thank you. "That son of a bitch should've. Owes me more than fucking money." He mutters, inserting the .45 ACP inside his gun holster. "The car's ready?"

Nodding, Reece leads Harry down towards the basement. "As requested. Lamborghini Murcielago in blue hera. Pack with 640 PS and 471 kW, rules around 213 mph if you consider on hit and run. Still, I pack a standard Aeropack wing if you wanna go slow tonight. The windows? Bulletproof. In case anyone tries to kill you." Harry knows he's only joking about the last part. No one dares try to kill him before he does it. It's a pattern that everyone knows by now.

Harry lets out a low whistle, softly shaking his head as the machine beauty appears. Tracing lightly with his ring cladded fingers along the hood of the car. "Not planning to hit and run tonight, Reece. Not even thinking about racing down the street with my weapon outside the window. You don't have anything more. . . Less attractive?" He questions, still staring at the gorgeous car ahead of him,

"You know I don't do less, boss." Reece winks playfully, laughing to himself as he watches Harry roll his eyes. "Besides. Who knows you'll get yourself a bird tonight, eh? Take her out on a stroll before bringing her home to your place. Women love fast cars." He comments, pressing the button on the keys as the door opens,

Humming as a response, Harry walks towards the driver's seat, "I don't date anymore, thought my right hand man knew tha' " He speaks, words laced with seriousness while grabbing the keys from Reece's fingers,

He can only sigh and nod his head. "Understood. Yet, Kendra is like what? Two years ago? Gotta get yourself something better, boss. You deserve it. So do it tonight." He suggests, watching him going inside the car before shutting the door,

Harry smiles a bit, inserting the keys inside the ignition before starting the car. "Noted."

The dark haired man steps away from the car. Giving Harry a salute. "I'll be right behind you. See you there."

*

*

*

Y/N Y/L/N stands in front of the mirror as she applies another layer of red lipstick on her plump lips. Securing the tube back as she puckers her mouth to see if it fits the colour for tonight. She twirls, watching carefully how the gold lingerie clads perfectly around her breasts and down to her curvy hips and thick thighs.

She stops once her plump ass is facing the mirror, admiring how beautiful and big her bum is in the lingerie. It's a compliment really. She loves working out to give her bum a bit bigger. It's not that she hopes she'll gain attention from people, she just loves her body. She worships every piece of it despite what other people think of it. Insecurity was her biggest enemy but not anymore. After reading lots of books and poems about self love she learns that there's nothing she should be ashamed of.

Grabbing a bottle of lotion from her table, she squeezes the bottle into her hand before rubbing her bum with the cold cream, rubbing it neatly to make sure she doesn't miss a spot.

Another thing, she loves moisturizing her plump flesh before the show. It's sexy

"Joe is asking for you." She hears a voice coming from behind, craning her neck to see her closest co-worker Violet, already in her usual purple wig and attire as she stands beside Angelina. "I love working as a stripper but he really needs to learn to be patient and. . . shut up, i guess?"

Y/N releases a small laugh, moving her long dark wavy hair to rest on her chest. "I know, I know. Jesus, I've told him fifteen minutes prior that I'll take longer than usual." She slips on her gold heels and turns to face Violet, who's biting her lip as she stares at Angelina's body up and down. "Okay, how do i look?"

Violet raises her eyebrow, as if it's something her friend shouldn't be asking. "You kidding? You look like a sex goddess. Gonna get all the men on their knees for you, girl"

Scoffing, she shoots her a wink and a flirtatious smile. "Old men with beer bellies? No thanks. I'd rather make out with Gordon." She replies, seemingly disgusted about the thought of grinding on an old man's lap tonight.

"Is that a bet I hear?" Violet questions, leaning towards her a bit as she waits for her friend’s response. "Please tell me that it is so I can earn extra cash tonight."

Gordon is a perverted bartender that always keeps his eye on Y/N throughout her routine. He's 40 and is always asking Angelina on a 'date' and by date, he means her ass on his lap. Clearly something Y/N isn't too fond of. Him specifically. Violet and Y/N have always made a joke about him, something they could make a playful banter in every chance they get.

Plus, she heard he's married. Isn't he supposed to find another job rather than here? If his wife found out what kind of a sleaze bag she married, she would be crushed,

Rolling her eyes, Y/N shoves her playfully by the arm. "Ha ha, very funny" she answers, resuming to untangle her hair from knots.

Violet laughs, pinching her on the hip as she lets outa small squeal. "Just messing with you, baby. Good luck out there. Put the rest of us to shame tonight. . . Like any other night"

Y/N flips her off, yet knowing it's the truth. She's not trying to sound like a condescending bitch here but none of the girls here are actually capable to do what Y/N does. That's what makes men attracted to her. She knows what she's doing. She knows how to make a man hard.

"By the way, you heard what Joe's talking about earlier?" Violet asks, toeing off her heels as she exhales a relief sigh. "Damn those heels are killing me" She mumbles,

"No... What's about?" She turns her head to face Violet for her to explain, causing her to shrug her shoulders,

"Don't know much about it. . . But i hear Harry Styles is coming here to meet up with him. Something about transaction or shit" She waves it off, whispering it to Y/N, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping,

She almost chokes on her saliva after hearing Violet says the name. "Harry Styles?! The. . . mafia boss of New York..?" Her eyes widen at the possibility of the most dangerous man in the city paying a visit to the place she works at,

Nodding, Violet answers, "Yup. That Harry Styles. He's the devil. Let's hope this place doesn't turn into a war zone."

Y/N has heard about this Harry guy. The most feared man of New York. She does know a little bit of the relations between Joe and Mr. Styles. Almost every night she could hear Joe freaking out about this man. She may not know him that close, hell she had never even met him in person but people talk. One thing she learned about hearing his reputation, you don't ever want to mess with this guy.

Violet snaps her fingers to snap Y/N out of her thoughts. "Less worrying, girl. Come on, you got a show to put on yes?"

"Y-yeah. Fuck. . . now i'm scared" She breathes out, looking at her reflection in the mirror one last time. Calming down her mind.

After giving Violet a kiss on a cheek and receiving a tap on her ass, she takes a deep breath as she opens the beaded curtain and walk out to the club. Jhene Aiko is playing through the speakers, thanks to her who chose the music for tonight. She can already feel all eyes on her as she struts down confidently, putting on a smirk and winking at couple of men here and there. As much as it disgusts her, she grazes her hand along a man's arm who's biting his lip and looking at her up and down.

'What the fuck did i do to deserve this?' she thinks to herself, staring at the man in front of her who's probably the same age as her father. The thought of it makes her gag,

She gives the man a wink before getting up on the stage, hearing a few hollers from behind. reaching out to wrap her hand around the silver pole and her leg hooking up to support her body. Slowly twirling with her head thrown back and closes her eyes with money being toss at her direction before letting go and crutching down on her knees, moving close towards the same man earlier. He slips in a couple of hundred dollar bills inside her panties, causing the others to do the same.

This may be not how she pictures her success but damn, by the end of the week, her bank account can go from three to six digits.

She's definitely gonna hold on to that,

*

*

*

It takes Harry close to thirty minutes to get here. He blames it all on the traffic, cursing to himself every time he stops at red lights. He parks his car close to the entry before he exits from the vehicle. He looks over his shoulder to find a familiar black car driving towards her, noting to himself it's Reece's. Seeing him wave his hand to make sure he's coming in later.

He clears his throat, clenching his jaw as he walks into the club. Reece wasn't lying, the club is too packed for tonight. As if God knew what is about to get down tonight and isn't going to let him get away with witnesses. He really needs to play safe for a while tonight.

As he strides through the room to find a table he has reserved for, a few half naked girls walk right pass him, stroking his exposed chest and grabbing his shoulders. Most of them are gorgeous and he's tempted to touch their soft skin yet he has to hold it. Not that he isn't interested because he's definitely taking someone back to his place tonight--fucking Reece had to be right-- but he needs to get his head in the game for at least an hour before planning to do so.

Gently, he pulls back a chair for him to sit. He specifically asks for the furthest table so no one can figure out what he's about to do tonight. A glass of whiskey has been set on his table before he got here, waiting for Joe's arrival. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reece and Bianco walking over to his table. One of them gives him a nod to acknowledge his presence.

Harry lifts the glass up to his lips and take a sip of it. Honestly, he hates doing all of this dirty work. Sure, he's the boss. But he despises complicated things. He should've known not to trust Joe about anything, yet when he begged on his knees with a gun knocked against his head as he spat out a bunch of threats to the weakened man, he thought why not? If Joe didn't get to fulfill his demands, he gets to kill him either way. It's always a pleasure for him to do so.

"Mr. Styles! Ay, i'm so happy to see you. You look a lot cleaner than i saw you the last time, eh?" Joe's voice causes Harry's green eyes averts from the scene on the crowd. His eyebrows are knitted, jaw tightened as he taps his fingers against the table, causing the rings he's wearing to knock.

He owes him money worth $50,000. And this man had the nerve to walk in and act like nothing happened.

He is definitely going to kill him.

"Stop with all that shit and sit the fuck down. You owe me something Joe." Harry warns, pointing at him as Harry's men forces the dark haired male to sit down making him gulp. "You owe me 50 grand for that package you piece of shit."

Joe couldn't feel more terrified as he catches a glimpse of Harry's gun on the table, facing towards him. "I know Harry, I know. I didn't forget, okay? It's just the money is tight right now. The girls aren't getting the amount of money they used to be getting." Joe tries to reason but Harry isn't having any of it,

"Stop being a fucking pussy and blame your girls for the money you've lost. I'm running out of patience here, Joe. If you don't give me the money by the end of the week, you're a dead man. I still have one body bag left in my car and I wouldn't mind writing your name on it." Harry grits his teeth, looking at him with a dark look in his eyes. Hand gripping tightly around the glass

"No man, I need more than that. Please, I'll do whatever you ask me to. You will have your money man I promised." Joe begs, looking at Harry with hopeful eyes.

Harry finds it quite disgusting to see someone like him beg for mercy-- for the second time--or anything at all to be honest. He find that gesture is weak and vulnerable which makes him very easy to manipulate over. "I don't give out second chances."

Joe hears a gun clicks behind, he doesn't need to know what's going on. He knows one of the two men behind him is ready to blow his brains out. "Harry man. . . One more. . . Give me one more"

Harry isn't a patient man. He doesn't want people beg. He doesn't want him to beg. But he finds it interesting to see how it goes, playing along this little game of his.

"Fine. you give me your best girl and i'll give you two months." Harry offers, cocking his eyebrow as he leans back to relax himself. "No more than that."

Joe's eyes widen at Harry's demand. It's impossible to collect a 50 grand in two months, especially when he's short on it. He needs more than that. Still, he thinks two months is better than nothing. "Okay. . . Agreed. Just tell me which girl you want or-or i could bring one or two here, man. Take your pick."

Harry can only hum in response, scanning his eyes over the scene. Dozens of girls dancing on stage, few of them even has their bras taken off. It seems to him, none of these girls on the room is his type.

Until his green eyes fall on a certain slightly curvy woman with her leg wrapped around the pole.

Her long dark hair brushing lightly against the floor as she bend her back a bit. He observes the way her body move so dirty yet gracefully around the pole,  the way she bites onto her pink glossed lips and how her brown eyes manage to flirt with the crowd and had them lure into her eyes including himself. He swears this girl just steps out of his daydreams. She looks perfect.

He admires how she circle her hips painfully slow, jealous how he isn't close enough to watch her plump flesh near his strong figure.

"Her. I want her" Harry points at the girl he can't take his eyes off. His voice sounds too possessive but he doesn't care if he does. He's too enhanced with the way she moves on that stage and he loves how she swats those dirty hands who seems desperate to cope a feel with a dirty look on her face.

'Seems like a fighter' he thinks to himself

"Y/N? You want her?" Joe asks after he realises who Harry's pointing at.

"Y/N? That's a gorgeous name. She's not taken is she? Not that i care anyway. She's a dime from what i can see here." He says, not tearing his eyes off of her while he sips on his drink. "You're gonna give me her to me aren't you?" Harry asks, his eyes are threatening enough for Joe so he nods his head as a response.

"Yes. Of course. If that's what you want."

"Fuck yes i do. Bring me to one of your rooms. I want a private from her" He demands before gulping down his drink, standing up to head over to the back. Not before glancing at the gorgeous woman one last time who stuffs a few dollar bills in her panties.

*

*

After what it feels like forever dancing on stage and have men whistling at her to go over and give them more, she finally sit herself down on a chair in her dressing room and take a deep breath. Moaning in relief as she pulls her heels off while setting her timer on because she only has thirty minutes to rest before going back out there again. She leans back against the chair, sighing in a pure bliss.

She can hear a few girls talking and laughing while preparing themselves for their performance tonight, wishing she could just join in because Violet informs her earlier there's some juicy gossip she needs to talk about but she cant take it. She's too tired.

She has only closes her eyes for 10 minutes until a familiar voice speaks out,

"Where's Y/N?"

She groans internally. Can never mistake that voice soon as she hears it. Her manager, who sounds like he's panting, voice firm as if is an emergency to call her out like that. Y/N still has her eyes shut as she raises her hand up, not having the energy to respond.

"Okay, good. Y/N. You don't need to go back out there again. There's a special guest I need you to entertain. He's already waiting in the red room."

She nods and hum, only to realize what he means as her eyes bugs out.

Wait, what?

She's quick to turn around, brows furrows and mouth hangs open, not believing what she has just heard. "Pardon?"

"There's a man. A guy who I work with, waiting in one of the rooms. He specifically asked for you. I need you to at least give him an hour." Joe notifies, running his hand over his face as if he's stressed about something,

"You want me to give a lap dance to your co-worker?" She raises her eyebrow, not believing what he just asked her

Joe sighs angrily, "it's technically not--Y/N... please. No more questions, just go over there."

"Who's the guy?" she ignores his orders as she stands, crossing her arms across her chest. "Jesus, fuck. I really need my hair to breath" she mutters, brushing down her long dark brown hair,

"Harry Styles."

Y/N freezes in an instant. Looking up to stare at Joe in the eye to see if he's joking, he can only nod his head to confirm her questioning look. " you're shitting me."

"I'm not," Joe replies, walking over to her, not wanting the other girls to hear. "Y/N, I owe him money. I haven't got them yet and--"

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and continue messing with her hair a bit more. "Not my problem."

He reaches out to grab her elbow, pulling her harshly causing her to stumble a bit. "Y/N, please... He wanted to kill me out there earlier. The guy brought a gun for God's sake. He gave me a month but until then... he wants you."

"You know i'm not a hooker" Y/N defeatedly sighs. She wants to help him, she does but it sounds like he's selling her off for a month to this notorious and dangerous guy who is named to be the deadliest man alive by the people of New York.

She loves money but no fucking way she's willing to die for it.

"I didn't say you were" He roughly says, hand gripping tightly on her arm. "Just... do it" He let her go, tired of the waiting because he doesn't want to make Harry pissed off now,

The girl sighs angrily, squeezing her eyes shut as she hesitates for a while. What the fuck did she get herself into?

"Fine. just give me a moment."

Giving her a smile, Joe thanks her by giving her a kiss on the cheek, telling her the door number Harry is in before walking out of the room. Soon after he walks out, she feels sick in her stomach. How could she ever go face to face with a man with blood in his hands? She's about to give this man a lap dance. Who knew he might've ask for more?

So now, as she finishes re-applying a layer of red lipstick, she heads out. Walking to the back of the room in a slow pace. Heart beating loud and fast as she's about to come face to face with this man. Still, she needs to play it cool. God really fucking hates her,

If he really does exists.

She takes a deep breath before opening the brown door carefully, pushing it open. Her knees almost buckle at the sight of Harry Styles, lounging on the leather couch. A cigarette squeeze between his fingers. legs spread open as if it's an invitation already made for her. His head turns towards the door, a smirk graces upon his face.

She's not going to lie. He is indeed dashingly handsome. With his arms resting on the back of the couch making his biceps look a bit bigger. He's got killer looks too. she studies. Sexy smile, and stubble which creates a sexier look on his face. She catches a glimpse of a silver cross necklace resting against his broad chest. His eyes are sharp. Looking at her up and down with his bottom lip bitten between his teeth.

"My, my" he lowly whistles, watching her every move as she enters the room. Locking the door behind her. "I wasn't wrong. You are a fucking dime."

Y/N giggles-- though feeling scared shitless-- and run her hands over her hair as she struts her way towards his figure. Purposely swaying her ass side to side a bit to tease him. "Mr.Harry Styles. . . I heard a lot about you. Word on the street is that you're a man that likes to carry a danger" she smirks seductively as she stands in between his open legs, dragging her finger slowly down her chest.

Her angelic voice is like music to his ears,

"Yeah?" he smirks, eyes falling to the curve of her breasts. "Hope that doesn't scare you, doll. All i want is a dance from you, that's all. I also heard that you are their favourite girl. After seeing you danced on that stage, I now know why."

Again, she giggles. A small blush creeping on her cheeks, hopefully he doesn't see it. "You're a flirt aren't you, Harry? You do this to every girl?"

He places his hands slowly on her plump ass, he doesn't know if he's allowed to touch but he doesn't give a shit. She seems isn't bothered by it. He wants this girl and he wants her now.

"Only to those who i find interesting, baby. Now, are you going to show me what you got?" He asks, looking up to meet her brown eyes as he squeezes her flesh.

With a devilish smirk, she slowly sets herself down on his lap which causes him to let out a soft groan. She runs her hands down to his tattooed chest and toys with his cross necklace for a bit before whispering in his ear, "sit tight and relax, Mr. Styles. I'll be your good girl for tonight"

next chapter

*

i really don’t want to write a super long chapter, because i’m afraid it’ll bore you guys so maybe--i hope-- this is enough. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this first chapter, let me know if you guys hate it or love it! I’ll appreciate it. love you guys!

[pixieposts]

Dice Prompt

Today I was rudely woken up at 4am so I decided to use the extra time to write.

I rolled a 10!  Our prompt is: “Can we please stop running?  I think I am dying”  Enjoy!

AO3  

Fjord sighed as he watched the bartender walk back over with his beer, muttering a quiet thank you as he took it.  He hated being the first one to arrive when the Nine met up, especially when it involved a bar that he had never been to.  But it had been another week from hell at school, with mid-terms coming up and extra holiday shifts at the garage... he was wiped out.  A night out with friends was exactly what he needed.  

“Fjord!  Fuckin’ bus was late again”  

He smiled as he heard Beau’s voice ring out behind him, only to have the smile disappear immediately when he heard another join her

“Fjord?”  

He turned on his barstool, disbelief filling his mind as he caught sight of not only Beau, but the person who had walked in with her.  Slim, with long ginger hair tied loosely back, dressed in worn-out jeans and a dark grey cardigan... It couldn’t be him.  

“Fjord Stone?”  

It was definitely him.  

Fjord had never heard anyone else say his name the way he did.    

“Caleb Widogast” he breathed, trying to change his shocked expression for a smile and failing miserably.

Big blue eyes stared at him, blinking in matching disbelief before turning to Beau with a pointed look.  

“This is why you wanted me to come out so badly?  You could have just said--”  

“It’s more fun if it’s a surprise dude!”

“More fun for you maybe”

Fjord watched them argue until his heartrate had slowed back to normal, then cleared his throat.  They both looked over sheepishly, seeming to realize that they had all but forgotten he was there.  Honestly, it was kind of cute.  

“You mad?” Beau asked, going for her usual nonchalance but giving herself away with a nervous frown “I thought it would be fun”  

“I just don’t understand how... what?” he turned to Caleb “I thought you were still in Xhorhas training with that Essek guy?”

“I... I decided I wanted to branch out a bit”  

Beau tugged Caleb over, all but shoving him onto one of the stools next to Fjord before taking one herself.  She waved down the bartender and ordered two beers before turning back to them.

“I can explain this one” she thanked the bartender, handing a beer to Caleb with a nod “Cay here is in a couple of my classes, we’ve been hanging out and working together since last year” she took a sip “he starts telling me about this guy, this old friend that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with right?  And I’m like thinkin’, y’know, the city is huge so that makes sense”  

Fjord nodded along, despite having no idea where this was going.  

“And then like... two months-ish ago you” she pointed at Fjord with her beer bottle “mentioned the same thing.  Old friend, couldn’t find him online, hadn’t seen him in years yadda-yadda" she waved a hand dismissively “so I start doing a little poking around right?  Looking at old year books and talking to my connections at the Xhorhas Soul... and what do I find?”  

She reached into her jackets inner pocket and whipped out a piece of paper that looked like it had been torn directly out of a book.  Caleb glared at her, grumbling under his breath about damaging books that weren’t your own.  She shushed him, laying the paper out and smiling brightly when they both leaned in.  Fjord felt warmth bloom in his chest when he realized what he was looking at, it wasn’t just some scrap of paper, it was a photo (albeit a photo she had definitely ripped out of a yearbook).  In it were young Caleb and Fjord, dressed in outdated clothes with Fjord’s arm wrapped around Caleb’s skinny shoulders.  Fjord was beaming at the photographer while Caleb looked up at him, a fond smile on his face that sent Fjord’s stomach into summersaults.  Caleb looked nearly the same, but without the scruff and with his hair cut to just above his shoulders.  Fjord could just barely see the tips of his still blunted tusks poking out in the smile... so they had to be nearly graduated.  He hadn’t stopped filing them until around then.  Caleb had convinced him to stop, now that he thought about it...

“So, I find this, and it just confirmed what I was already pretty sure about” she tapped the photo triumphantly “you’re welcome, assholes”  

Fjord tore his eyes from the old photo, looking up just in time to see Caleb do the same.  For all the other ways that age had changed them... his eyes were just the same.  Deep ocean blue and far too clever for his own good, and Fjord couldn’t help but smile.  

“Thank you, Beauregard” Caleb said quietly, without looking away “this was very kind of you”

“Yeah, thanks Beau”  

In his peripheral he could see Beau looking between them with her eyes narrowed in the way that he knew meant she was making note of something.  The growing sense of joy in his chest distracted him enough that he really didn’t care at the moment.  

“Are you two about to get all gross and sappy?”  

“I cannot make any promises to the contrary” Caleb shrugged, still smiling as he took a sip of his beer

“Nope” Fjord said with an exaggerated pop “I can’t either.  We got a lot of years to catch up on”  

“Ugh, this was a mistake”

“Are you sure?  I have many stories about high school Fjord that I know you would enjoy”  

Fjord shot him a glare without any real menace behind it.

“Two can play at that game, should I tell her about the time you blew up the chem lab?”

“Only if you want her to know about the time you flooded the entire gym”  

Beau was smirking now, looking from one to the other mischievously.

“Okay, I take it back, this was a great idea and I’m a fucking genius”  

They spent the next thirty minutes going back and forth with stories of their high school years, and all the ridiculous teenage stuff they had gotten up to.  By then the others had arrived, and Fjord was shocked to see that none of them were confused by Caleb’s presence.  Somehow, through the last two years, Caleb had managed to make friends with all of Fjords friends... and they had never run into each other.  He supposed it wasn't THAT strange, Caleb had never been one for parties and had always put more of his focus into school than socializing... but still.  Once the whole group was here, the conversations shifted to more general topics, like mid-terms and work and petty grievances (those were mostly Molly, admittedly).  Caleb and Beau swapped seats at one point, so the Beau could flirt more directly with Yasha and Jester, and Caleb turned to him with a small smile.  His cheeks had started to colour from the beers, giving him an endearing blush.  

“Hallo again”

“Hey” Fjord smiled back, fondness softening his expression

“You have grown out your tusks” Caleb mused; head tilted slightly “they suit you”  

“Same with your hair” Fjord reached out, tugging lightly on a loose strand before tucking it behind Caleb’s ear “you look good Cay, happy”

“I am” he laid a hand over Fjord’s on the bar “I am happy, things have been good I just...” he paused, and the tips of his ears went pink too “I have missed you.  Very much.”

“You’re not an easy man to find” Fjord turned his hand over, pressing the scars of their long-ago pact together “but I’ve missed you too, the city’s felt weird without you around”

“I have been around”

“Apparently, still can’t believe we haven't run into each other before this”  

“It certainly seems strange does it not?”  

They sat that way for the rest of the night, catching up at first, talking about what they had done in the 5 years since they had graduated high school.  Caleb told him about Xhorhas, how fascinating the country was, how strange it felt to be one of the very few humans on the school's campus there.  He had learned Undercommon out of necessity but ended up loving the language itself very quickly.  In return Fjord told him about the garage where he had met Yasha, and her convincing him to apply for school.  About meeting Caduceus not long after and his shift into following the Wildmother.  Caleb had never been religious, but he beamed and gave Fjords hand a squeeze when he talked about the peace she had brought into his life.  

Eventually, they were pulled back into conversation with the others, but Fjord's heart swelled when he realized that Caleb wasn’t pulling his hand away.  They stayed that way the rest of the night, Caleb interlocking their fingers when they all got up to stumble towards the bus stop.  Caleb leaned heavily on him as they waited, the others were trying to decide who’s place to head to for the rest of the night.  Fjord tugged him in close, leaning his head on Caleb's when it landed against his shoulder as the others settled on Molly and Yasha’s place.  The ground started to walk, since the little rental house was off campus and the weather was still reasonable.  

There was something so wonderful about how easily they had slipped back into physical touch.  It had taken Fjord years to break down Caleb’s walls enough the first time, and part of him had worried (however briefly) that it would be like starting over.  

Instead, it felt like nothing had changed between them, like the last five years hadn’t happened at all.  

“Last one there has to clean the dishes tomorrow!” Jester shrieked, starting to sprint off in the direction of the house.

“Fuck that!” “No fucking way!”  

Fjord smirked down at Caleb, tightening his grip on the other man's hand before he gave chase along with the others.  Beau had taken an obvious lead but had slowed down slightly to stay close to Jester and Yasha.  Molly and Jester were cheering and swearing and laughing interchangeably into the night as they ran, and Fjord found himself laughing along.  After a few blocks, when his heart had really started to pound and he was beginning to regret that last beer, Caleb tugged his hand.

“Can we please stop running?” he panted as Fjord slowed “I think I am dying”  

Fjord chuckled as he slowed more to a walk, then stopped completely, watching Caleb press a hand to his chest.

“I am dying, definitely”

“No, you’re not” Fjord chuckled, joy and adrenaline making him brave as the sounds of the others faded into the night “c’mere, look”  

He moved in close, pressing the tips of his fingers to Caleb’s neck and feeling the thundering pulse under his skin.

“See?  Perfectly fine, very much alive”  

Caleb looked up at him now, cheeks flushed dark with exertion and hair a wild mess... Fjord wondered when the tie had come loose.  

“Are you sure?” Caleb's free hand came up to rest on top of his “I am not convinced”  

Fjord's cheeks heated up past the point of the run as Caleb slid their hands down from his neck to rest on his chest instead.  Fjord could feel his heart pounding in time with Caleb’s as his voice dropped nearly to a whisper.

“I missed you very much Fjord” his tongue darted across his bottom lip and Fjord’s eye followed the motion “I always... There were so many things I never managed to tell you; I have regretted it ever since”

“Tell me now then Cay, it’s just us”

“It has always been us Fjord” he took a deep breath “It has always been you for me, all this time away I—it was always you”  

“Caleb--” Fjord's heart leapt “Fuck, all these years and we’re just now...” he trailed off with a smile, bringing his hand from Caleb's chest up to cup his jaw lightly “Can I kiss you?”

“Gods yes”  

“Finally.” Fjord teased, leaning down to lock their lips together.  

Caleb sighed happily into the kiss, tilting his head to get a better angle as Fjord walked them off the sidewalk and pressed Caleb’s back to a large tree.  How long they stayed that way, trading kisses and whispered words of endearment, he couldn’t say but eventually (far too soon) the sounds of their friends had completely faded and they knew they ought to continue on their way.  If they didn’t someone was sure to come looking, and they would never hear the end of it.  The others wore knowing looks when they finally got back to the house, hands locked and faces flushed.  Beau handed Caleb a new hair tie and a drink, but nothing was said about it for the moment, and Fjord was grateful.  The evening wore on, with more drinks and stories and games, and with Caleb curled up against Fjord’s side.  

Come morning, tired but content, they stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink, and Fjord couldn’t help but feel like the evening had definitely been worth the wait... and doing the dishes.  

[infernwetrust]

AHS 1984: Between The Lines [Xavier Plympton x Chet Clancy] 2. Upset Me

PART 1

Summary: A world before the horror. A world with some horrors. A fantasy world, where things are slightly normal. A world where Chet Clancy has been in a relationship with his long term girlfriend, Brooke Thompson. A world where Xavier Plympton, struggles to find himself after a dark past. But what if I told you that's not all who Chet is romantically involved with? What if I told you there’s a little bit more to Xavier than what he presents himself to be? What if I told you to read between the lines? Together we'll explore friendship, love, deceit, and sexuality on a different level.

Rated: R for Restricted. 18+ Very Mature Themes.

Warnings: Alright folks, I’m going to be very honest with you. This book can get dark and depressing sometimes. Due to it’s unpredictable nature, since it is a work in progress, read at your own discretion, and apply tags as you see them fit. I will be giving warnings at the beginning of chapters that do take it to that level. If you do choose to read and you come across anything that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I am all ears.

WC: 1.4k

"Did anyone remember to grab joint papers?" Chet asked. "I used my last one outside." A now, shirtless Chet, stood at the top of the stairs. He combed out his hair and was wearing a gold chain. His eyes scanned his rather large living room where his friends had spread out to their comfort. Except not really. Brooke had no problem laying against Xavier's side, his arm in the back of the sofa,while he was having a conversation with Ray.  

Xavier paused his sentence to turn his attention towards Chet who was now at the bottom of the steps. He couldn't help, but to glance over him one good time.. or twice.

"Montana said that she would bring hers if she remembered to, so we're just waiting on her." he spoke. "What's the rush? I'm sure you and Brooke here are high out of the ass."  

"And wouldn't you love to be too?"

"Why is that even a question?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Please don't start this." Brooke interjected. "I've dealt with your bromance long enough in high school."

"Seriously." Ray added on. "When are you two not going at each other's throats. And it's always for something stupid. And to top it off you start talking again like it never even happened."

"Total bullshit." Xavier directed towards Ray.

"Yeah what he said." Chet chimed in, lifting Brooke's legs up to sit down. He gently placed them on his lap and smiled at her before throwing his arm around the sofa, just a little higher than Xavier's.  

"You two argue like an old couple. It's kind of cute actually." Brooke spoke again. "Chet you should see your face when X mentions anything about sports."

"Because I know that he's only saying it to make me mad. I've known this kid since we were toddlers and he has never had interest in sports."

"False." Xavier interjected.

"Oh did I mention he thinks aerobics are a type of sport, when it's a type of exercise?"

"You're joking right?" Ray asked Xavier. Xavier stayed silent, avoiding eye contact with every single person in the room. Chet stared him down like a dog with a heavy smirk on his face.

"Go on." Chet said, slapping the back of Xavier's arm.

"Jesus Christ,  he's not joking."

"I hate you. You disgust me. And I hope you choke on the beer you decide to drink tonight." Xavier said to Chet, getting up without warning Brooke who's head was now where he once sat.

"A warning would of been nice."'she mumbled.

"Where are you going?" Chet asked trying to hold back his laugh. He was ignored as Xavier headed for the door, taking out a box cigarettes from his pocket.  

"You done did it now." Ray said to Chet.

"Oh fuck me..." Chet sighed, throwing his head back. "Xavier I didn't-,"

The door was already slammed shut.

"Fuck." Chet quickly got up, again, giving Brooke no warning, hustling out the door behind Xavier. He stood at the bottom of the porch steps, hand in his pocket, puffing on his cigarette. He looked over his shoulder slightly at Chet, who ran his hand through his hair.

"Xavi." he called out.

"You know, Clancy." Xavier spoke. "You don't do well at keeping your mouth shut."

"And neither do you." Chet joined him at the bottom of the steps and the two sat down. Xavier took another pull before passing the cigarette to Chet who gladly accepted. "A little nicotine never hurt anyone right?"

"A little nicotine?" Xavier jokingly asked, looking at Chet and grinning. "I wish, Chet. I've been smoking since I was 12. I'm so fucked up." He sighed, putting his head between his knees.

"Just smoke more weed."

"I can't afford to keep being high all the time."

"Bullshit. You want to be a big time actor. You can more than afford to keep being high all the time."

"Not on set. In a couple years that stuff is going to ruin your memory. I promise."

"You get on my nerves. Always trying to be so good, innocent, and pure. Always trying to spit some words of knowledge."  Chet punched him in the side of the arm. "But if you want to keep that pretty face of yours, you need to stop smoking cigarettes or at least try cutting back."

"This is coming from the guy that's done coke twice now."

"How did this become about me?" The two looked at each other and started laughing. "But, listen. I'm sorry. You told me not to tell anyone about that and I did. You can tell everyone about the time I pissed my pants in public."

"No." Xavier responded, softly. "I'm not going to do that. It's not the worst thing you know about me." Chet had to go way back into the memories he had with Xavier. He had too many. And then he remembered.

"Ooo, yeah. Let's not ever talk about that one."

"Ever."

Chet handed him back his cigarette for him to finish up, but instead of finishing it, he simply flicked it into the grass. Xavier cared about his face too much to finish it. This one at least.  He looked at Chet, who was now staring now at his hands, playing with his finger nails. He admired everything about him. From his hair, to his eyes, to his lips, and everything below. Xavier didn't want to admit this, but he liked Chet. He knew how fragile Chet's masculinity was, so he made sure to never push those buttons when he made his sexual jokes around his friends. A flirt, he was, but Chet made him feel small despite the small height difference.  

"Are we moving the party outside?" a well dressed Montana asked as she stood behind the gate, chewing her gum aggressively.

"It's about time you showed up."  Chet said. "I've been sobering up and I don't like it. Did you bring those papers?"

"Well it's nice to see you too, Chet." she responded, blowing a bubble. She stared her ex up and down. "Xavier."

"Demon that haunts my dreams." Xavier responded, rolling his eyes.

"You miss me."

"I hate you."

"You want to fuck me."

"I want to choke you."

"Are you guys dialogue fucking right now? I can feel the sexual tension in the air." Chet spoke.

"I rather die."  

"That's funny, Xavier. I swear you were moaning my name last week at your party."

"That was you two?!" Chet's jaw dropped. "I was wondering where you went Xavier. Anyone that stood at the bottom of the stairs could hear you guys. See I knew there was still some love there."

"Oh please. I was drunk, high, and horny and so was she. It was a mistake."

"Then why did you kiss me yesterday when I came to give you back your flannel that you haven't stopped bugging me about?"

"Fuck off, Montana." Xavier got up swiftly, eyeing her down.

"Make me."

"Okaaaay. I think I'm gonna go back inside." Chet said, also getting up. "When you two are done lusting, I hope you'll join us and not go fuck in the woods somewhere."

Xavier and Montana stared each other down as Chet made his way back inside and as soon as they heard that door slam they went after each other.

"Why are you such a bitch?" he asked her.

"Ugh. Why are you?" she asked back. "You get fucked up, coming knocking on my door or calling my house. You tell me you love me, fuck me senseless, and then you leave and start acting like this. And I thought I was the moody one in the group."

Xavier hung his head low for the second time tonight, laughing quietly to himself.

"And you're just going to leave out the part where you do the same? Where you show up to my door, crying over me? Where you literally beg me to fuck you all the time and get livid when I say no? Right. Montana, please go fuck yourself."

"You already do that."

"Yeah, not anymore." He turned around to head back in the house.

"You won't last. You miss me too much."

"I'll hope for the day when you're not so full of yourself, sweety."

"Coming from the guy who thinks his face is worth billions of dollars."

"I'm gonna pretend like you didn't just say that. Now come on, let's go inside."

Toxic. But we'll examine that next chapter.

[lostinthewiind]

One Last Game

Joe Toye - Band of Brothers

Synopsis: when you were shot and sent to the hospital, Joe never got the chance to say goodbye. You’ve been gone for a month, but now you’re back, and neither one of you can hide your feelings anymore.

@bandofbrotherscurrahee wanted some Joe Toye, and I live to please! 

As the jeep rolled to a stop, you took a moment to take in the sight of the familiar and welcoming English countryside. You’d been in England for a while, but recovering in a hospital from a gunshot wound to the shoulder didn’t exactly provide you a lot of time to get out and get some fresh air.

The second you had stepped foot outside the hospital, you breathed easy for the first time since that bullet had pierced your skin. Finally, you were out of that damn bed, away from those incessant nurses, and done with doctors fussing over you. 

You just wanted to be back with the company, and now that they were in England as well, you could finally rejoin them. 

Turning to the driver, you flashed him a thankful smile before hopping out of the vehicle and starting off down the sidewalk. You had no idea where the men were, but you had a pretty good idea where you could find them. 

Stuffing your hands into your pockets, you rounded the corner and locked eyes on the brightly lit bar at the end of the street. Even from where you stood you could hear the laughter and mumbled chatter. The sound was like music to your ears. You had missed the men of Easy Company more than you had ever thought possible.

One man in particular crossed your mind on more than one occasion, and every time you lied awake at night, the eerie silence of the hospital making it impossible for you to sleep, you thought of him. 

With the warm glow of the bar illuminating the quickly darkening street, you pushed the door open and was immediately hit by the chaos that was a company of Paratroopers enjoying their first drinks in weeks. Your eyes scanned the room, looking for the familiar faces of your friends. Most every table was full, many with men whom you did not recognize; must have been replacements.

Then, you heard the booming voice of Buck Compton and your head snapped in the direction of the dart board where a few of the Toccoa men were having a round of darts. They were all too caught up in their game to notice you, so you began to push your way through the crowd of bodies.

Lining up, George Luz took his shot and threw his arms into the air in celebration when he managed to hit the bullseye. Luz had never been great at darts, so you knew it was all blind luck on the radioman’s behalf.

“Bet you two packs of smokes you couldn’t make that shot again if you tried.” you piped up from behind the group of men.

George, of course, was the first to turn around. “Y/N!” he exclaimed, pushing past Buck and wrapping his arms tight around your torso.

“Shoulder!” you warned as he squeezed a little too hard for the comfort of your still-healing wound. 

“Shit, sorry.” he jumped back, the excited grin still present on his face. “You’re back! How was your stay in hotel hospital?”

You rolled your eyes at the mention of the place that had been your own personal hell for the past weeks. “Ugh, don’t remind me.” you groaned. “It was awful. All I want to do is play some darts and get a drink…maybe two…maybe three.”

“Three drinks sounds about right.” Buck clapped you on the back, avoiding your injury. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone take a bullet so well. Not even a single tear.”

“I will take that as a personal achievement.” you laughed, your eyes peering through the rest of the crowd and settling on Joe Toye. “Joe.” you gave him a nod. “Good to see you again.”

Joe’s return nod was quick and sudden, almost as if he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him at all. “Good to see you too.” he returned the sentiment. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Sore.” you moved your arm a little to prove that you could still move it. “But I’ll manage.”

The men watched intently as the two of you engaged in small talk. Every single person in that bar knew that Joe Toye had a deep infatuation with you. Everyone except you. 

You were the only one who knew you had a deep infatuation with Joe Toye. 

“I believe someone here is in desperate need of a drink.” Guarnere popped up out of nowhere and practically shoved the pint into your hands. “Good to see you again, short-stack.” he used the nickname he knew you hated. “Welcome back to war.”

A sly smirk spread onto your lips as you glanced around the bar. “If this is war, sign me up for life.”

“We won’t be here long.” Bill reminded you. “We never are. Enjoy it while you can.”

Taking a large gulp of your beer, you gave him a thumbs up. “I’m gonna get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible.”

“That’s the spirit!” Buck’s laugh was loud, filling the entire bar and causing a few head turns. 

Before long you were thrown into a game of darts, partnered up with Luz. Both of you were horrible, absolutely trash at the game, but that didn’t mean you two didn’t have a blast. 

By the end of the night, you did indeed reach that third beer, and as you finished off the remaining liquid in your glass, your head spun ever so slightly. You were most definitely tipsy, and after another thirty minutes to let the alcohol settle in, you were sure you would be full-on drunk. 

It had been way too long since you had been drunk last. You missed the feeling of having no cares in the world and just wanting to have fun.

As the night turned to the wee hours of the morning, people slowly began to file out of the bar, ready for a decent night’s sleep before whatever the next day had in store for them. 

You and your group, however, were still enthralled by your game of darts. Most of you were drunk, and most of you couldn’t throw worth a shit anymore, but still, you persisted. 

“Okay, okay!” you held your hands up, capturing the attention of the troopers around you. “One more game but we have to raise the stakes.” 

“And what would you suggest?” the replacement, Heffron, threw his arm lazily over your shoulder. He was just as sloshed as you were, if not more. 

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol speaking — it most definitely was — but the idea that slipped past your mental filter and out of your mouth was a shocking one. “Me versus Joe. One on one. If Joe wins, I’ll give him a big fat kiss on the cheek. If I win, vice versa.”

George cackled at the rules, nearly tipping out of his chair as he leaned back. “Yes!” he nodded along wholeheartedly with the terms that in no way applied to him. “Either way, it’s gonna be fun to watch.”

Joe stood frozen, his mouth hung slightly open, unsure what to say. All eyes were on him, and before he knew it, he found himself agreeing. “Deal.” he tried his best to shrug it off and come across as indifferent. 

“Perfect.” you stood to your feet from your chair and pulled the darts from the previous game out of the cork. “You first.” you handed Joe the darts. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Joe swallowed hard as he positioned himself in front of the board and lined up his first shot.

With arms crossed, you watched on in amusement as he played one of the best rounds you had ever seen him play. However, his performance didn’t really matter to you one way or the other. You weren’t planning on winning.

After Joe threw his last dart, a proud smile on his face, you gave him a solo round of applause. “Very nice, but you better put on some chapstick, because you’re about to be puckering up boy.” you kept up the charade.

As previously stated, your dart abilities left much to be desired, but you were good enough to keep the game close enough to have everybody of the edge of their seat. You threw a decent game, and by the final shot, you could easily win it all or lose it all.

“Come on!” George cheered. “One more good shot and the victory is yours!”

Stepping up to the plate, you lifted your final dart and aimed up your shot. Then, at the last second, you turned your head and looked Joe directly in the eyes. Not breaking eye contact, you tossed the dart, the shot so wonky that it just barely caught the edge of the board altogether instead of sticking into the already hole-riddled wall.

“Whoops,” you stated dryly, purposefully tanking the game without even the slightest hint of subtlety.

Joe stared back at you dumbfounded. George let out another laugh; he was such a giggly drunk. 

“Time to pay up,” Buck announced.

“I couldn’t agree more.” you licked your lips before sauntering over to Joe. 

The confused man went to turn his head so you could have easy access to his cheek, but you captured his face in your hands and kept it still. Then, as if it was second nature, you pressed your lips to his. 

Joe’s hands snapped to your waist like he had done it a hundred times before and he pulled your body flush against his. At that moment, you weren’t in a half-full bar with your friends watching on. No, at that moment, it was just the two of you. 

The alcohol, mixed with the pure euphoria that came from kissing Joe Toye, made your knees weak and your head foggy. Your mouths worked so perfectly in sync with each other that, if you hadn’t known better, you would have sworn they had been made to kiss each other. 

Clearing his throat, Heffron shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Standing up, George placed a hand on Buck’s and Heffron’s shoulder. “Let’s give these kids some space, shall we?” he suggested. “I think I’m ready for a nice evening walk back to the sleeping quarters.”

Neither you or Joe noticed the three of them leave, but neither of you cared one way or the other. That kiss had been a long time coming, and now that you had your arms snaked around Joe’s neck and he had his hands on your waist, you never wanted to do anything else for the rest of your life. 

When your lips eventually parted for air, you giggled slightly, the overwhelming joy having no other way to escape. “Congratulations on winning,” you whispered even though the bar was practically empty by then. 

“Thank you for being such a gracious loser.” he retorted, his mouth moving to plant kisses on your jaw and neck. “You know, when you got taken to the hospital, I thought I wasn’t ever gonna see you again.”

“Mmm.” you hummed as his teeth nipped at your earlobe, sending chills all up and down your body. “I thought about you every day. I missed you the most.”

Joe smiled into the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. “Did you think about me doing this?” he sucked at the soft flesh. 

You inhaled sharply. “No, but I wish I had.”

Then, as if he had suddenly remembered the two of you were still technically in public, he released you and grabbed your hand. “Come on.” he led you to the door. “Let’s find somewhere a little more private. I’m not done with my prize yet.”

[thayerkerbasy]

Crowley’s Guide to Life, Supernatural: Official Magazine Issue #25, June/July 2011

You don’t get to be King of Hell without knowing how to get ahead in life (or after that, more to the point). So, who better to share his own particular brand of self-help with us than that silver-tongued demon, Crowley? The Official Supernatural Magazine met up with him at our nearest crossroads to find out how he does it.*

*Please note, this guide details the personal opinions of Crowley, a demon, and The Official Supernatural Magazine does not endorse any of this behavior.

AIM HIGH

Think about your resume. Mine used to say “King of the Crossroads”. That was good -- I liked being King of the Crossroads. I had power, I had fame, I had an army of underlings who used to do all the deal-kissing for me (unless I fancied a bit of tonsil-hockey myself. It’s good to be the king). But if you’re going to be in charge, make it worth your while. “King of Hell” sounds so much better, doesn’t it? You can’t argue with a title like that. Aim high and you might find your career rises up to meet your dreams -- and if it doesn’t, just kill anyone above you until you get there. Same difference.

FAMILY DOESN’T MATTER

Ah family. What a royal pain in the arse they can be! The Winchesters have one weakness: each other. It’s fun to exploit that. The angels are all about family too, but the fallout from that brotherly bickering up in Heaven nearly set off the Apocalypse.

So I say: sod all that! I say that family should be nothing to you. Back when I was still a miserable human, my misbegotten son and I hated each other like Tom hated Jerry, only there weren’t enough anvils falling on his head for my liking. Revel in being alone and you’ll go a long, long way -- and nobody will be able to use your family against you, either. Look out for number one, and number one is where you’ll be!

MUST LIKE DOGS

When you’re a demon, there’s one thing you can rely on -- that you can’t rely on anybody. Other demons will backstab and double deal; humans are a waste of space; angels...well, don’t get me started on bloody angels. But there’s one creature who’ll remain loyal to you no matter what, and that’s your dog. I’m not talking about those pansy little lapdogs, either -- I’m talking about the kind of dog who could drool on a chihuahua and drown it in two seconds flat. Hellhounds, people, hellhounds! With a few of these blighters by your side you can take on anybody. Just make sure yours is bigger...although that applies to so much in life, doesn’t it?

LOOK GOOD

Never underestimate the importance of a good suit. If you want to command respect, authority and gravitas, nothing can help you more than a great piece of tailoring (well, there’s also torture, but that’s a given). Sophistication -- that’s what’s missing from the world these days. Pride in your appearance. Look at these flipping Winchesters: denim, plaid shirts, layers, layers, layers. No wonder nobody takes them seriously; they look like a couple of farm hands!

You need to look as though you spend your days sitting behind a desk doing deals so important that the rest of the measly maggots on the Earth could barely understand them; you need to look as though you could walk through the flames of Hell and come out unsinged. Which, in my case, is true. So make sure you have a good tailor, and make doubly sure that nobody eats him. Happened to me once. I was devastated.

IMBIBE WITH PRIDE

Coffee? Get lost. Beer? Bugger off. You shouldn’t let anything slip past your lips except Scotch, and make it the good stuff while you’re at it. Not that I’m encouraging alcoholism here -- oh no.  I know that not everybody has the constitution of a 450-year-old demon like me. But I despair when I see so much bilgewater passing for booze these days. Refine your tastes! You need to look good on the outside and feel good on the inside. Whisky burns all the way down. I’m the King of Hell. Burning’s kind of my thing. It should be yours, too.

PAY ATTENTION TO THE SMALL PRINT

After centuries of making deals, there’s one thing I’ve learnt; you can trick anyone out of anything -- especially their soul -- if you put some sneaky little clauses in their contracts. Most of the poor schlubs who sell me their immortal souls don’t even know how to read the terms and conditions, even when they should know better (Bobby Singer, I’m looking at you). You might think that writing contracts is dull, but you’d be amazed at what you can sneak into one...and the wails of despair when your clients realize what you’ve done is always a riot. If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone bleat, “But it’s not fair!”...well, I’d probably be just as rich as I am now, but you get my drift. It’s good to be bad!

GOAD, DEMEAN AND BELITTLE

Never, ever pass up an opportunity to make someone feel small. Insult them with a smile, so they’re still processing what you've just said while you move on to other things. Call them names, but do it cleverly. Find out their secrets and embarrass them. It’s all schoolyard stuff, of course, but you’d be amazed how much a few well-chosen words can smart; how a few barbed comments can fester under the skin. I’m sure Sam Winchester is still muttering about me calling him “moose”, for example. And remember how I took a photo of me and Bobby Singer lip-locking our deal, just so I could show it to his pals? Ah, good times...

PLAY CHESS

I don’t mean the actual game, the one with all those horseys and knights and all that bollocks. No, I mean play chess with people. Use them as pawns and move them around your own personal chessboard. Use blackmail and torture if necessary, or just trick them any way you can, but get others to do your dirty work for you. An example: I wanted a fine collection of alphas to interrogate so I could find Purgatory, and I got that old coot Samuel Winchester to find them for me by promising him his beloved daughter. I even got Dean and his moose to go on hunts for me by holding Sam’s soul as collateral. Get my drift? Grab your victims by the you-know-whats and they’ll do anything for you. Why get your own suit dirty?

THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX

The box, in this particular case, just so happens to be Hell; I may be its King but it’s too small for me. Other demons (or angels, in the case of Lucifer) might be content with a Hell that’s too small to swing some entrails in, but I’m not.  I want to be able to swing everything. I think big, see, and every good businessman knows that real estate is important. Hence my hunt for Purgatory. So, let that be a lesson to you. Expand those horizons, people! Don’t let your limited means stop you from acquiring more! (Also, if you actually know where Purgatory is, drop me a line...Cheers.)

HIDE THE SKELETONS IN YOUR CLOSET

I don’t mean metaphorical ones. I mean the real ones. If you don’t, one day you’ll find yourself in a sack being held by an angel who fancies having himself a little barbecue.

Bugger. Or not, as the case may be...

[pixieungerstories]

Housemate - 3

Sticker Promotion is still up on Patreon until Feb 2.  Get a housemate sticker for each dollar pledged.  I have one for each character.

Vinny was a lot less sure of this once she saw all the other… people who lived in the house.  It was one thing to understand, intellectually that she was going to be the only human, and the only woman in the house.  I was another thing to be faced by a number of large males, any of whom could end her life without trying.  It looked like they all had assigned seating.  Vinny watched them start unpacking the food.  It was a lot of food. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

Vinny jumped.  The voice behind her was deep with an accent that was really weird hybrid of Scottish and Texas.  She turned and came boobs to belt buckle with a minotaur.  While she stared up at him in shock, he eased past her and took a seat at the table.  The drider dropped from the ceiling and slid into one of the other seats.  Vinny came over to the table and considered the last two chairs.  Then she looked at Bazur. “Which one is Kevin?” Something bumped into the backs of her calves, making her wobble and dance to the side.  A small truck walked past her and jumped into one of the remaining chairs. “Huh.” she said, finally as she took the last seat. “What?” rumbled the orc, as he watched her through narrowed eyes.  The tusks meant that orcs always looked like they were frowning, but the wrinkled brow suggested that he was actually frowning. Vinny cleared her throat and accepted the fried rice the minotaur was passing her.  “I, um,  I’ve never… “  She stopped and tried again, “Mimics are rare.  I’ve never actually seen - met one before.  I was half convinced that was just some prank you pulled to see how people would react. Kevin opened his lid and reached out a midnight black arm holding a pair of chopsticks. Vinny realized she was staring.  She blinked and looked over to see the minotaur patiently holding a carton of lemon chicken in her direction.  She hurried to take some rice so she could pass it along and take the chicken.  “I don’t suppose you would take a moment to introduce yourselves?” They all froze and looked at her like she had grown a second head. “Ok.  I’ll start.  Hi! I’m Vinny.  I’m in my fourth year of biochem at the local U.” No one said anything.  They all just stared. Vinny cleared her throat.  ‘If you can’t be bothered because I didn’t pass the interview, it’s ok to tell me that.  I would rather know.” The mostly normal looking guy sitting to her left said, “Haven’t we scared you off yet?  You smell scared.” Vinny narrowed her eyes.  “That would make you …” she drew out the last syllable as she racked her brain then blurted out, “Derick” a moment before he did. Derick smirked, “See! You didn’t need introductions after all!” The minotaur cleared his throat.  “We can be polite, we are just out of practice.  I’m Tristan.” Vinny nodded.  The rest of the men introduced themselves after that, except for Kevin who was busy shoveling food into his mouth and Thea who just waved shyly.

Vinny sighed.

----

“No!  Absolutely not!”

Vinny took a deep breath and considered her mom across the breakfast table.  Her little brother was snickering into his milk.  “I really did investigate every other possibility before I applied and-”

“And that’s another thing!  You went there by yourself?  Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?  What if something had happened?”

Now Vinny narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.  “I took Jenn with me. And you don’t like this solution?  Fine!  Tell me how this is supposed to work?”

“You can take a cab home.”

“Really?  After hours rates would be $40 a trip, twice a week for fifteen weeks a semester.  That’s like $1200 a term.  You flat out refused to let me take Uber at that time of night.  Which is worse? Random, stranger driving an Uber at 10:30 at night?  Or a ex-military orc who was honourably discharged?  And you get to know exactly who the orc is and you can give his very specific details to the cops if I go missing.”

“I don’t like this, Vincenzia!  We can get someone to pick you up.”

“Ma!  Who?  You need to be home with JJ-”

Vinny’s little brother looked up from his cereal and said, “Hey! I can take care of myself!”

They both ignored him.  “You can’t load him into a car at 10:00 on a school night to drive the half hour trip to campus.  You going to leave him here, alone for the hour minimum that it is going to take to pick me up?  And that’s ignoring that you don’t like driving at night.  And that you have to be up at five thirty to be at work on time.”

They glared at each other.  Everyone said it was easy to see where Vinny got her tenacity from.  

“It’s Saturday.  Kogan is coming to church with us tomorrow and we are invited over there for brunch so you can meet the guys and see where I’ll be staying and everything.”

Valerie Jovani narrowed her eyes.  “I thought you said you were going to be the cook.  How are we going to go for brunch at their house if they don’t cook?’  She asked the question like a poker player laying down an ace.

Vinny shrugged, “It doesn’t matter if they feed us pop tarts and beer, the brunch isn’t the point.”

“No, the point is that you are not moving into a house with a bunch of men.  You are not Snow White, they are not the seven dwarves.”

“Does that make you the evil queen?”  JJ asked with his mouth full.

Mrs Jovani was stunned into silence for long enough for Vinny to make her get away.

----

Vinny knew this wasn’t going to work as soon as Kogan pulled up to their church riding a Road Hawg Orc motorcycle.  It was big.  It was loud.  It was built for a seven foot, three hundred pound plus rider.  He removed a helmet that had a stylized orc skull on the side.  He pulled off a pair of sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket of his worn leather jacket.  He looked a little better when he took off the jacket to reveal a blue dress shirt and navy tie.  Except...

“Well, bless me father for I have sinned, ”  it was muttered darkly under her breath, but it still wasn’t something Vinny wanted to hear from her Aunt Toni.

Val tried to be subtle as she kicked her sister in the shins.

Toni turned on her heels and made eye contact with her sister as she mouthed, “oh my god he is hot.”

Vinny rolled her eyes.  Yeah.  Kogan knew how to fill out a shirt.  And the slight paunch somehow just made his shoulders look broader.  This was not the reaction she was hoping for.

She wasn't pleased when Aunt Toni invited herself to brunch.  Jesus.

At least Kogan knew the words.  And when to stand and sit during mass.  She almost died during the sign of peace when JJ pushed up Kogan’s sleeve and announced, “Whoa!  Cool rosary tattoo dude!”

Brunch was in the garden.  It was crepes and fruit with whipped cream.  Everyone was dressed up.  Sort of.  Bazur was at least wearing pants.  Thea was wearing a brown tartan bow tie and a polo shirt.  He wasn’t wearing anything else, but clothing was also optional for driders.  It might have been better if JJ hadn’t asked if he could pet the drider.  Vinny grabbed his arm and dragged him a way to explain that his had just asked to rub the nice man’s ass.  JJ thought that was hilarious.

Aunt Toni spent entirely too much time staring at Tristan thoughtfully.

Vinny felt like she spent the whole time trying to wrangle her family so they wouldn’t be completely rude to her potential bosses.

OMG!  Aunt Toni just slowly sucked whipped cream off her finger while making heavy eye contact with Tristan.   Vinny was on her way over to have words with her aunt when the woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat and blushed.

Val frowned from across the table, “You ok, Toni?”

Vinny watched as her aunt started to fan herself, “Hot flash,” Toni announced.  “I’ll be fine in a moment.”  The last word came out as a squeek.  

Vinny felt the blood drain from her face as she looked around and couldn’t find Kevin.  She looked at Bazur in horror.  He blinked, then quickly shook his head and pointed to a side table where JJ had set his orange juice.  Vinny marched over picked up the glass and muttered, “Come with me if you want to live,” under her breath.  She didn’t wait to see if it was going to work but after a few steps she heard the pitter patter of mimic feet behind her.  She marched right in the back door and made a right into the living room.

Once she was in the center of the room she spun on her heels and came face to face with a giant rocking horse.

“Really?  That’s what you are going with here?”

The rocking horse blurred and was replaced with a sea trunk.  Vinny wished she knew how that worked but also was kind of glad she didn’t.

“I have been assured you talk, even if I’ve never heard it.”

The sea chest gave no indication of life.

“I wanna know if you are gonna sabotage this for me.  I don’t exactly have a lot of options here.  I know it.  Ma knows it.  But she isn’t gonna want me staying here if she thinks it isn’t safe and I’m not gonna wanna stay here if I know she is worried about me.  Pop left years ago.  It’s been her and me as a team since then.  And, yeah, I know Aunt Toni is being inappropriate.  But she’s not the one who will be living here.  But she is mom’s sister and her opinion will count for something too.”

Still no response.

“And, yeah, I have no idea how her thing with Tristan is going to play out.  But I can’t exactly ask her if she recognizes him in front of my mom and my brother now can I?”

Nothing.

Vinny hesitated, “If you are actually a really nice guy who is just being slandered by the others, I am sorry.”

After a moment she said, “Ok.  Good talk,” and she went back outside.  At the threshold she was sure she heard snickering.

When she got back out to the garden, Ma and Kogan were having a quiet word in the back corner.  Tristen was giving Aunt Toni and impromptu lecture about varieties of lily.  Toni looked bored out of her mind.  JJ was playing Go Fish with Thea and Dren.

Finally, it was time to go and as they all loaded into the car, Val turned to Toni and asked, “What the hell - sorry JJ - was that thing with the whipped cream?”

Toni laughed, then coughed, and said, “I thought I recognized the minotaur.  But I was thinking of someone else.”

“Yeah well now Vinny’s gonna haveta apologize for you when she moves in.  Otherwise they won’t let us come back to visit.”

[poemsforcowboys]

What a Feeling // Freddie Mercury

Chapter One Chapter Three Chapter Four 

Pairing: Freddie Mercury and Katy Newton (OC)

Summary: Before she moved from London to New York at the age of thirteen, Katy Newton had always been friends with Brian May. He was the only one she knew who encouraged her creative side, especially her designs for fashion and makeup. So much so, that Katy is hired as Queen’s newest stylist. But what she doesn’t expect is her knew found friend, Freddie Mercury. Will their casual flirts lead to anything of substance? Or will their relationship just become another lost love as they both make their journey towards self acceptance.

Warnings: there will be smut eventually but not in this chapter, bisexuality (?), feels

CHAPTER TWO

It was ten minutes into the show, and Katy already regretted not telling Freddie that she was excited to see him. Now, she could only sit in the audience and admire him from afar,  just like everyone else. Brian had scored them some really amazing  seats, and Katy was so proud and astounded that she knew the gifted performers.

As much as Katy had missed Brian, and she truly had, she really could not wait to catch up with him, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Freddie. He owned that stage, everything from the way he walked, to how he gripped and danced with his microphone, to his revealing leather outfit, which Katy caught herself thinking about too much, how his lips curled and his smile flashed his teeth, how he called the thousands of people who came to see him his lovely friends.

If Jo had not brought Michelle to the concert, she would have definitely noticed the effect he was having on her and made some sort of assessment to the situation. Katy was sort of lost with what to do at the moment, mesmerized by his voice and the music her friend was making.

In times like this, she only did what she knew. She lit a cigarette and finally took her eyes off of Freddie to look around. There were people of all ages, all races, genders, and spreading all types of love. She turned to look in Jo’s direction, but quickly turned back forward towards the stage when she saw what her two friends were up to. And who was she kidding? The most inspiring person in the room was right in front of her, she took another drag of her cigarette, why look away?

When the concert sadly finished, Jo’s tears had ruined Katy’s makeup masterpiece, her face now looking somewhat like a panda bear dipped in gold. Her red lipstick was smudged from “singing” with Michelle. When she told Katy this, she mocked her for it, but her spirits were high nonetheless and she looked beautiful anyways.

Rather selfishly, the three of them decided that they must thank the band after the show for the amazing performance. Brian and Katy had already planned on meeting for lunch the next day, but Katy wanted to tell him as soon as possible how amazing he was.

Although it was now quite dark out, Katy felt as if she was having deja vu to earlier that day when they had first approached the van. Once again, she could hear Freddie yelling about Debbie.

“She’s quitting now? Baby we’re just getting big!” inside the van, Freddie was laughing and slurring his words slightly. He was the member who was both the most and least upset about the situation at hand. The band was just about to start a new leg of their tour, one with more interviews, conferences, and music videos than ever, and their lead makeup artist and designer (mostly for when Freddie didn’t feel like dressing himself) had just quit.

“Maybe she got sick of your face” Roger smirked, taking the beer bottle from out of Freddie’s hand hoping to prevent him from breaking another one.

“Oh darling, we all know that’s not true” Freddie took his bottle back from Roger and had one more swig, before it slipped out of his hands, crashing onto the floor.

Yeah, Katy was definitely having deja vu. She heard what sounded like another glass breaking inside, but this time, she didn’t care. When she lightly knocked, she even hoped quitely that Freddie may be the one to answer the door. 

But it was Brian who answered the door, the problem at hand didn’t exactly apply to him, nor did he feel responsible for the spilled beer, that was now slowly dripping off their small pull out table and onto the floor.  

He was happy to see it was Katy, with Jo and Michelle trailing behind, all three smiling. He enthusiastically invited them in, happy to get to talk to other people besides his annoying bandmates. Michelle took a seat on their tiny couch, and Jo went over to compliment Roger on his drumming.

“Katy! You like the show?” Brian’s eyes were practically beaming, he had missed his old friend terribly and was ecstatic that they could reunite on the premises of his success and passion.

“I didn’t like it, Bri” she replied back, her voice monotone. Brian’s expression changed, now his eyebrows were furrowed more in confusion than in anger. Freddie had been mid discussion with who appeared to be their tour manager about Debbie, but his head suddenly turned to her direction, realizing she was there.

“I fucking loved it, Brian!” she rarely used his actual name, he broke out into a smile and quickly hugged her.

“You got me there for a moment shady,” Brian clicked his tongue “you considered going into acting?”

“You’ve met my mum, if you really think she’d let me walk out my front door as an actress, then you don’t remember anything” Katy laughed, a tinge of sadness in her voice, the inability of her parents to accept her had ironically become a fact that Katy had come to terms with, accepted. It made her angry, but that only drove her passion.

“Reminds me of my father,” Freddie scoffed and made himself known to Katy, walking over and putting an arm on Brian’s shoulder, he was really pissing his mate off tonight. Katy had been Brian’s friend since before he could play guitar, he knew her sense of humor, he also knew it was like Freddie’s, and that would be trouble. Brian was well aware of the shit that Freddie liked to pull, a little surprised that the reason Debbie quit had nothing to do with a relationship between the two, one he was still unsure about.

“If he were to see me in this lovely piece” he motioned to his leather bodysuit, it exposed his chest and defined his muscles, “he wouldn't be able to look me in the eyes. But I’ve got to give the people what they want, and what the people want is a bite out of this” he tossed his hair, flashing a grin before quickly closing his mouth, blushing when Katy’s eyes met his own. Katy wished he would never stop smiling, she loved being the reason that he did and was disappointed when it vanished.  

“I suggest that you, my dear, do the same. This world wants something from you, how could it not?” he took his hand in hers, admiring the clear coat of glitter that covered her nails, Brian was still standing next to him, and becoming more annoyed by the second at him “So you must give it to them and do exactly what you were born to” he winked.

Katy was completely taken aback by his sudden change in tone, a second ago he was a cheeky drunk, and twenty minutes ago, he was a rock star, now he sounded like he was speaking in prose. She couldn’t keep up, but at the same time she wanted to, she wanted to understand what was going on in his mind, and be there for it.

“Alright guys” John, knowing fully well he was interrupting something, he awkwardly patted his knees and started to stand up from his seat. “Let’s get this show on the -shit!” as John stood, the seams of his pants ripped along his right thigh, exposing his pasty skin and causing an eruption of laughter from Roger, Jo, and Michelle who had been previously enveloped in conversation.  

“Deacy, darling, WHAT have you done?” Freddie laughed, dropping Katy’s hand that he hadn't realized he was still holding, Katy was slightly disappointed by that, but at the same time began rummaging through her purse.

Jo already knew what she was looking for and clapped her hands at Katy’s ability to save the day when she casually pulled out her travel sewing kit

“May I?” she asked John, stepping closer, he nodded, his already pink face turning darker when she began to feel the fabric used to make his pants. Freddie, silently watching was both impressed by the craftiness of her DIY floral printed kit, and, although he didn’t want to admit it, he was jealous of the intimacy now being shared by John and Katy.

“This is an easy fix, don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault either” she looked up at John before starting to stitch the two pieces back together, he gave her a soft smile, which she graciously returned, realizing the embarrassment he was probably feeling.

Unknowing to the band, their tour manager had been watching the whole time, since Freddie put their important conversation on hold to saunter over to Katy and Brian. He approached Freddie again, who was still fixated on Katy’s sewing after everyone else had cheered and then returned to their discussions, Brian had striked one up with Michelle.

“Freddie, did your friend do your makeup too?” he was snapped out of his trance, although still looking at Katy’s dark blue hair, now covering her shoulders and the side of her face, she was deeply concentrated. Not many people had the guts to do things like that with their hair, and Freddie was into it.

“Katy” he emphasized the name “didn’t, but she lent me better tools than Deborah ever did, she didn’t offer to but if she did I can already promise I’d be stunning. I mean look at her” he motioned to Jo, who was passionately debating with Roger about the true meaning to their song I’m in Love with My Car.

“Jo, I swear to god, it’s a METAPHOR”

“Okay, Roger, BUT it sounds like a euphemism”

Freddie had a hunch about why his manager was asking, and continued to talk up Katy, telling him she designed Jo’s dress as well.

By the end the time Katy had finished sewing, John’s pants looked good as new and an idea had entered the mind of Queen’s tour manager. 

CHAPTER THREE

AN: thank you for reading!!! have a lovely day :) 

tagged: @come-with-me-and-imagine

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING RECORD

There are just two or three of you, and it will take years. If we want to get rich if the product succeeds, and get nothing if it fails. Plus in four years it will be easy to raise angel rounds about half the size of the round can even change on the fly. They dropped out of the way things are going to get replaced. But I don't think you're going to see record labels or tobacco companies using this discovery. Well, I'll tell you what tends to be missing when people lack experience. I was thinking recently how inconvenient it was not to have much power in big companies than small ones, and product development. As I was doing it I tried to imagine what a transcript of the other guy's talk would be like, and you'll probably also do a better job of presenting that aspect of your startup, and misleading them about how far along you are.

Who do I use as examples when I'm talking to companies we fund? Much of what VCs add, the acquirer would have been better for him. They're responding to the market. The interesting thing is, no one knows, including him. Why do Segways provoke this reaction? But the real costs are the ones you never hear about: the company that would be the best supplier, but doesn't bid because they can't spare the effort to get verified. The way to handle rejection is with precision. A lot of people seem to think we're on to something. Why do Segways provoke this reaction? In this model, the research department functions like a mine. But it's probably not that dangerous to start worrying too early that you're default dead, we probably need to talk about whether a startup is not like applying to college, where you can spend as long thinking about each sentence than it takes to say it.

If you're a good con artist, you'll never convince investors if you're not convinced yourself. There are no meetings or, God forbid, corporate retreats or team-building exercises. So naturally the people at the startup work a lot harder. Is the cost increasing or decreasing? The problem with not having the. Of course, someone has to take money from novice investors, or there would never be any experienced ones. You can't hire that kind of talent. My friend Trevor Blackwell is a great hacker? What does that mean for founders? Well, we humans are as conspicuously different from other animals as the anteater.

Make something people want. Which of course makes me um even more, because I find new books to read en route. Tie yourself to the mast. If you're Sam Altman, you don't really understand them. How likely are they to offer you a term sheet? More money can't get software written faster; it isn't needed for facilities, because those can now be quite cheap; all money can really buy you is sales and marketing. But only graduation rates, then you'll improve graduation rates you made classes easier. The math is brutal. Investors rarely grasp this, but much of what they're responding to when they lose interest in a startup is default alive or default dead: they assume it will have expanded to include the efforts of all the great programmers I can think of names.

But if you're looking for companies that hope to win by writing great software, but through brand, and dominating channels, and doing the right deals. Consulting Some would-be founders may by now be thinking, why deal with investors while the others keep the company going. So I think VC funds are seriously threatened by the super-angels don't like. An office environment is supposed to be the CEO. If you know what? Fred Brooks wrote about it in 1974, and the time preparing for it beforehand and thinking about it afterward. The rate at which individuals can create wealth as well as consuming your attention they undermine your morale. Whenever someone in an organization is a kind of Segway. If he wants to be on this list, he's going to be a rule with them that everything has to start with no more than an outline of what you want, you can take. I was working on spam filters I thought it would be good; you could tell from the case. I'm sure most of those who want to decrease economic inequality want to do it, why not undergrads? Really there should be two articles: one about what to do if you are yourself a programmer, and one about what to do about it.

And if there are people who could, if they can just hire enough people it somehow will be. Well, I'm now about to do that in a spectacular way: I think undergraduates are undervalued. There are always new ideas right under your nose. And when you look at the history of stone tools, technology was already accelerating in the Mesolithic. In every field, technology magnifies differences in productivity. There are startups that have succeeded despite any number of different mistakes. He'd also just arrived from Canada, and had just hired a very experienced NT developer to be their chief technical officer. He was the original author of GMail, which is one of the most powerful forces that can work on founders' minds, and attended by an experienced professional whose full time job is to buy companies, and the reactions that spread from person to person in an audience are disproportionately the more brutish sort, just as the greatest danger of being hard to sell to is not that you overpay but that the best ones actually prefer to work hard. And I've heard several hackers say that after drinking even half a beer they can't program at all. Morale is tremendously important to a startup. For example, Web-based applications are hot now, but within Microsoft there must be a lot of the company as they can in each one.

[cali-holland]

Good Girls Are Bad Girls- Peter Parker One Shot

Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader

Prompt:  As the daughter of Clint Barton, you were seen as the good girl, until Peter snoops around one night.

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: Drinking, Slurs, Mentions of Sex, Abuse

Inspired by: Good Girls by 5 Seconds of Summer

Masterlist   Peter Parker Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

“Well, I’m off to study. I’ve got a big French test tomorrow.” You said, standing up from the coach. Peter watched as you vanished up the stairs, acting as if nothing had happened earlier that day.

But something did happen. He had gone to the library after school to look for a book on quantum physics. That’s when he found you and your boyfriend (he didn’t even know if 'boyfriend’ was the proper term for the other boy). Peter stood frozen as he watched you make out with your boyfriend, Brad, between two shelves. You opened your eyes for a split second and stopped kissing Brad as you noticed Peter was there. Brad’s lips moved from your mouth down to your neck. As you turned to face Peter, he noticed your button up shirt was completely unbuttoned and open.

“Brad,” you cleared your throat, pushing him slightly.

“What is it, baby?” He asked, peppering your neck with kisses.

“I think this section is too crowded. Maybe we should take this elsewhere.” He groaned at your response and looked up, finally realizing Peter was there.

“Nerd.” Brad scoffed, “I’ll be in my ride, baby.” He told you, shoving past Peter and leaving the library.

“I’m, uh, sorry.” Peter said, regaining his stance. You laughed softly, buttoning your shirt as you walked up to him. You leaned in close to his ear and whispered,

“Forget what you thought, Parker, good girls are bad girls that haven’t been caught.” You kissed his cheek and then left with a silky “Goodbye”.

As Peter now sat on the Avengers couch several hours later, he felt uncomfortable recalling the memory. After all, your father, Clint Barton, is right beside him.

“Peter, you look a little flushed. Are you all right?” Steve asked.

“I’m just feeling a bit unwell. I’ll be back.” He got up and followed your path upstairs. He knocked on your door and you opened it up a few moments after.

“Hello Peter.” You said casually.

“Hey, Y/N, I just wanted to talk about earlier today.” He said.

“Come on in.” You opened the door wider and let him enter. He took a seat on your couch as you returned to your vanity, applying a new coat of eye liner.

“So, yeah I just wanted to ask about earlier. I don’t want it to be-” he coughed, “awkward between us.” You rolled your eyes as you began to apply mascara.

“Look, Parker, what I do is none of your business and my dad doesn’t meed to know either. Do not breathe a word of anything I do to my father or anyone else. You wouldn’t like the ending if you do.” You turned to him with your make up finished, “Are we clear?”

“Y-yeah, we’re clear.” He nodded nervously. You stood up and stripped your grey robe off, revealing a short dress underneath.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked.

“Like I said, none of your business. Close my door on the way out.” You stated, going over to your window. You slid through it and left without another word. Peter sat there for a minute before finally getting up and leaving your room.

~~~

The next day, Peter saw you walk into English late with sunglasses on and disheveled hair. You gave the teacher a pass and sat down in your assigned seat, just to the right of Peter. You hunched over in your seat and adjusted the sunglasses on your face. Peter didn’t know much about your social life, but, based upon what he witnessed last night, he could only assume you were hungover.

“Peter.” Someone whispered, getting Peter’s attention. Derek, the boy to the left of Peter, handed him a piece of paper, saying, “Give it to Y/N.” Peter took the small folded paper and passed it over to you, without saying a word.

You ignored it for a minute before you decided to open it. You grimaced reading the humiliating note. You tossed it onto the floor as Derek and his friends snickered nearby.

The bell rang a few minutes later and you raced out of the room. As everyone else cleared out, Peter grabbed the note off the floor and stuffed it into his pocket. He followed the crowd outside and headed to his locker. A few bullies had tripped him and called him names on the way there, but he was so used to it that he no longer bothered to care. Once at his locker, he opened the note and began to read it.

'Heard what you did to Brad last night, what a skank.’ 'You deserved what you got, slut.’ 'Stupid cow.’

“Hey, Peter. What’re you reading?” The bright voice of Liz Allen filled his ears, making him jump.

“Oh, nothing. What’s up, Liz?” He asked, hiding the note in his pocket yet again.

“I was just wondering what you were reading. It seemed very important.”

“It was just a random note I found. Nothing much. Not too important.” He stammered as he lied, trying to push his worries about you and what exactly happened last night to the back of his mind.

“Okay.” She laughed as one of her friends came up to her.

“Liz! Did you hear what happened to Y/N and Brad last night?”

“No, what happened?” Liz asked.

“Apparently Y/N got super drunk at his party and she was hitting on other guys, so Brad took her into his room to "talk”.“ The friend used quotation marks to emphasize that their talk, most certainly was not a talk. "Y/N ran out crying several minutes later with scrapes and bruises all over her. Hilary said she threw herself at Brad, but he wanted to break up and she got the bruises from falling.”

“Of course Y/N would do that. She’s the school whore. I don’t understand how her grades rival mine.” Liz stated.

“I know. She’s such a slut.” Her friend said.

“I’m going to go.” Peter spoke up, clearing his throat. “I’ll see you in physics, Liz.”

Peter didn’t see you the rest of the day and his head hurt thinking about all that could have happened. You were hurt-mentally and physically-and no one really knew why. Peter wouldn’t allow himself to believe everything Liz’s friend said. He just could not see you as the “slut” everyone else thought you were.

~~~

“Kid! What brings you here?” Tony asked, seeing the teenage boy and Avengers Tower later that day.

“I-um-I wanted to talk to Y/N. We have an English project.” Peter lied quickly.

“You know where to find her.” Clint said, shrugging his shoulders. As your father, Clint saw you as a good girl with high grades and the highest level of respect. He believed you could never do anything wrong, so he trusted Peter with you. Peter nodded in reply and headed upstairs to your room. Loud music was blasting from inside and Peter cautiously knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” You asked, walking to the door.

“It’s me- Peter.” He stated and you opened the door a crack just to see him.

“What do you want Peter?”

“I want to know about last night.” He said in a hushed voice. You opened the door wider and gave him entry. He sat on your couch as you went into the bathroom. You emerged after a moment with a bottle of dark liquid. You wordlessly sat next to Peter and you took a drink from the bottle.

“It’s my dad’s beer. I hate drinking, but I don’t want to be 100% here for this conversation. It’s going to be a painful talk.”

“Well, I read part of that note. I’m sorry. If I had known what it said, I wouldn’t have passed it on.” Peter said as you drank from the bottle once more.

“I had it coming. I made myself the perfect angel for my father, but that image is too hard to maintain with the world. I decided being bad would allow me to fit in. I thought I would have more friends if I fit into the popular crowd, so I melded into the flow of things. I started drinking and I started being promiscuous. I got too promiscuous because, last night at Brad’s party, I got drunk. I’m a flirty drunk, so I was, of course, going to hit on the other football players there. Brad saw me and he was beyond angry. He tried to-” you cut yourself short and looked down in humiliation. The bottle began to shake in your hands as you started to cry. Peter shifted to put a comforting arm around you. You continued with a shaky voice, “He tried to take advantage of me. Although I was drunk, I still knew it wasn’t right and I didn’t want to. I tried getting away from him and I fell, hitting my head against the side of his bed. He hit me a few times before I was able to stumble out of his room. I don’t remember how I got back here, but I did. Now, the whole school believes I’m some trashy whore.”

“That’s not true.” Peter said and you looked up at him through your tears, “I don’t believe you’re a whore. You got caught up in bad things, but I believe you’re still a good person.”

“Thank you, but I don’t believe that will change anything. It is kind of nice being able to talk to you about this stuff. I feel like it’s so humiliating and personal that I can only open up to special people.”

“You can always talk to me.” Peter said and you let out a dry laugh.

“You really don’t get it, do you, Parker?” You paused seeing the confusion on his face, “I like you, Parker. You’re the only person I can actually talk to- at home and at school.”

“Me? You like me?” He asked, trying to wrap his head around the concept that such a popular girl like you would go for such a nerd like him.

“Yes. I figure I have nothing left to lose, so I might as well tell you now.” You shrugged, drinking some more of the beer.

“I do too.” Peter murmured quietly after a moment.

“Pardon me?” You asked, not hearing what he had mumbled.

“I like you too. I never tried to ask you out because I had always assumed you would go for a jock-not a nerd.” He stated.

“So you like me too, then?”

“Yes. Very much.” Peter nodded.

“Well, then, Parker, why don’t you kiss me already?” You said, leaning in slightly. Peter laughed lightly before closing the gap to give you a kiss.

~~~

The next day, you walked into school holding your head high, completely opposite of yesterday. You ignored the stares and harassment as you went straight for Peter’s locker. He was already there with Ned, discussing something about math

“Hey, Peter. Hi, Ned.” You greeted the two boys.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Peter’s cheeks turned a light pink, telling you that he had not yet told Ned about last night. You smiled and held his hand firmly. Ned stared at you two for a moment before a massive grin spread across his face.

“You two are dating? You two are dating! This is the best news I’ve heard all year!” Ned exclaimed, making Peter’s blush darken.

“Ned, calm down.” Peter mumbled. You just laughed at your boyfriend and pecked him on the cheek. You were free and you were happy.

[storyunrelated]

Colder Harder Hugs #1_Ever Onwards

The continuing misadventures of my nameless, featureless protagonist and his oblivious stumblings through events he has neither the capacity nor interest to fully understand.

While the previous wodge of nonsense was fully meandering, this has more of a thrust behind it. Or I like to think so. It isn't finished yet, and ideas swirl in my mind for the bit that'll come after this second part. The final part! Coldest, Hardest Hugs!

Not a joke.

Why is that, like, my longest contiguous story is one that started from a dumb thing I wrote for my own edification about a guy hugging a robot? And isn't really about ANYTHING?

What does that say about ME?

Relentless positivity. That’s what I’m going with these days. The world is a beautiful place even if you often have to work a little hard to see it that way. That’s why you have to be positive. Relentlessly positive. You might start to feel the creeping fingers of despair tip-toeing (can fingers tip-toe? Tip-finger?) up your spine but you just stamp on those fingers and you smile and you laugh and you laugh because the world is great and you just have to remember that.

Or something along those lines. It’s not especially refined yet. It needs time. Not a lot of time has passed yet, so it’s still a bit rough. I’ll sit down and think it out sometime. Have a proper big think about it. Maybe compose some kind of epoch-defining philosophical treatise. Hell, I have more free time now, why not? Time to spare.

Oh yeah, why this new attitude at all. That would be an idea.

All of that other stuff? The stuff with the punching and the hugging and the cake and the holidays to America? Months ago. Two months, if I want to be specific. And rather naturally a fair few things have changed in such a long, long period of time. The first, my embrace of relentless positive (obviously). The second? Uh, I am single again. For whatever difference that makes in practical terms. More spare time, I guess. I did mention that.

Tillie did not have a dalliance with Johnny while stateside. This I know because this she told me and I trust her unquestionably. Rather, she merely came to agree with her dear friend Skaffen’s attitude and position that our whole relationship was one doomed to eventual, spectacular failure and that nixing it sooner rather than later would be better for all involved. If that was her opinion I respected it, even if I didn’t fully understand it. Or like it. Or enjoy hearing about it. Or feel good thinking about it. Or remembering that it was a thing and that I was single again because of it. But whatever. Relentless positivity.

I had spent most of that week she’d been away - ostensibly reading week - not reading, but staring at my phone instead. I stared at it waiting for Tillie to contact me (she didn’t) or waiting to decide whether contacting Michelle would be a good thing to do (I didn’t). So by the time the week was over the phone had not actually been used. Just stared at lots. In retrospect this was probably the worst thing I could have done, short of ringing up and insulting them both.

Could a point be made for my inaction being insulting in and of itself? Possibly, but I’m not clever enough to go into that sort of thing. I just know I had a poor week and probably would have done things differently if given the chance again. What things? Ah, now that’s the tricky bit.

All moot now though, all moot. I cannot time-travel. Yet.

For her part Michelle had apparently had a lovely time back in her home town! Even met a guy, from what I heard. A guy who went to our very uni at that! Small world and no mistake. They were a thing now. Friend of a friend introducing them back home, hitting it off and all that. Small world, small world. And so fast! Not that I’m surprised, Michelle being the lovely girl she is after all. Good on her, I say. And good on him, whoever he is. I guess?

But that had just been that one week (hence my amazement about the speed of it all!). Why the yawning gulf of two months? Why am I even thinking about it as a yawning gulf? Wasn’t I aware of it the whole time? Hmm, strange.

Then again, to be fair, it was incredibly dull after that week was over. It was basically just regular uni life and work again, only with fewer hugs, more awkward passing of myself and Tillie in the house and, uh, that was about it, really. Like life with the volume turned down. But you know, one must be positive, relentlessly. Beer helped, obviously, though Tillie disapproved of me having any before twelve as I found out. And especially before nine. Probably should have guessed about that one, really. My bad!

She’d found some manner of living-machine social club in town - which you’d think she’d know about already, wouldn’t you? I think it was a recent thing, recently organised - so was out a lot more than she used to be, which was a damn fine thing in my book. It made me happy to know that she was enjoying herself and she said she was so that was good enough for me. Did leave me at even more of a loose end than I had already been at of course but I was a big boy and I could deal with that. Beer helped, obviously. Again.

Friends also helped, not that I had an abundance. Actually, I barely had any. I’d kind of invested most of my friend infrastructure in Tillie. All eggs, one basket. But that’s fine. The ones I had were plenty. I ran into Simon one time and we got coffee, it was pretty neat.  I’d have preferred we went into a pub but it was about eleven in the morning and that was apparently ‘not the done thing’. I’m sure I could survive. Until I got the DT’s. Ha. Ha. Ha.

The DT’s aren’t funny.

Given Simon and myself hadn’t seen one another for a little while he was rather demanding in his desire to catch up. Though as I related all that had happened between then and now (‘now’ being another ‘then’ since it has passed - isn’t time odd?) his expression got more and more drawn. He seemed to be taking it all worse than I was. Poor chap.

“So yeah. All that happened,” I said, after summing it up. He just shook his head and sipped his frothy, overly sweetened drink. Simon’s coffee tastes were not mine. Mine tended towards the bitter. Hey-oh! Wait, what? Forget about that, that was silly. I’m not a huge coffee drinker anyway but I’ll be damned if I pay what they’re asking for a cup of tea given that I know what a cup of tea actually involves. Robber barons the lot of them. Once simon finished sipping he set his cup back down and looked set to say something profound.

“Nice guys finish last,” he said, as though this meant something. Profound this was not. Helpful this was not either. He clearly meant it in a supportive way, which I appreciated in principle, but his choice of words rankled.

This was something I’d heard before, and it was something I took some level of issue with.

Firstly and most obviously, what kind of race was this? Was the prize the right to have a relationship with the girl, or the privilege? Or what? Most races I know of don’t have a trophy with agency or self-determination. It just seems a bit weird. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I’m not.

Mostly though, it’s just wrong. I’ve seen nice guys doing fine and dicks also doing fine. The ratio seemed pretty evenly split to me. I just figure that people notice the dicks more because dicks make a point of being noticeable because, well, dicks.

It’s like the same way the news only ever reports horrible things happening - people are not interested in a narrative where no-one is creating conflict, except in passing to just say ‘aww isn’t that sweet’ and then move onto to gawping in horror at what the bastard with the poor, beleaguered partner is doing.

You know?

As an aside, why is the non-dick person - boy, guy, it’s always a boy or a guy - in this situation called the quote-unquote ‘nice guy’? What they tend to do that sets them apart from the dicksh person (also almost always a boy or a guy) is not particularly impressive or remarkable. It’s not very hard at all to not be a dick. Thus they should just be called ‘the guy’. You don’t earn ‘nice’ without doing something a little above and beyond what’s expected of you as a normal, decent human being, you know?

Maybe I do think about this too much.

Fuck! I keep repeating myself! You know? Maybe. Overthinking. Fuck. Fuck! It’s like an echo chamber inside my head, driving me bloody insane. I’d hate to be a passenger in here I tell you what. That’d be pretty awful having to see all of this laid out in black and white.

Ugh. Not nice to think about at all. Ugh.

Not that any of that applies to me anyway, as I’m not nice in the first place. Wouldn’t go so far as saying dick, but not much better. I am in the position of neither coming last nor winning, as I never even entered the race to begin with. Because why would I? I’d only come last and someone would accuse me of being nice, and that just wouldn’t do. It had just happened, sort of, and see how bad it was? Terrible. What a palava.

“I don’t think I agree with that,” I said. I wouldn’t bother going through that whole thing I just thought about. I doubted he’d even ask for an explanation. Most people did not think like I did. I assumed? Maybe they did.

He just shrugged.

“Fair enough,” he said. Called it. A thought then occurred to me.

“Does that mean you’re not a nice guy?” I asked, curious. He furrowed his brow. I continued:

“I mean, you’re still going out with, uh, Daryn, right?”

“Daryl. And yes, I am,” he said, a touch coolly. I grimaced. Great. Good work, me. Names, I tell you - names’ll get you eventually. It’s why I’m not really that concerned with mine. People can call me whatever they like. Most do. One seminar leader up at uni knows my name from the register but calls me the wrong one anytime I raise my hand. It’s why I stopped bothering to say anything. Well, one of the reasons. The others being not having anything worth saying.

“Ugh, well I’m a shitty person. He’s a lovely chap, too, I had to fuck up that one letter. But, uh, point I was making: you guys are still making a go of it so that does mean you two aren’t nice guys? I beg to differ!”

This seemed to stymie Simon, whose mouth opened but produced no words. He stared at his drink. For a moment he appeared to have found an answer there as he rised to meet my gaze again but faltered.

“Well I’d hardly say I was nice…” he grumbled, taking a sip.

“You’re not exactly the bad-boy type though either. So I’d say we’re at an impasse.”

“I was just trying to have your back. It’s a bit shit what they did to you.”

“Ah it’s not so bad. These things happen, life goes on. No-one’s hurt. ” I said. Even I, with my great and repeatedly demonstrated inability to read what a look on someone’s face meant, could tell that Simon did not believe me in the slightest. More fool him, because I was telling the truth. I wasn’t hurt. I was a rock, I was an island. I was a rolling stone and I was gathering no moss. I was relentlessly positive.

“Whatever you say,” he said, sipping again, somewhat more quietly than before.

“At least no-one has told me that they’re hurt,” I said, for clarification. I saw Simon roll his eyes. Mightily roll them, too. No mere sideways tilt for him.

“Yeah well, how else would you be expected to know?” He asked, with what I assumed was dripping sarcasm. “And how about you, anyway?”

“What about me? I’m solid. Solid as a rock,” I said, affronted. I slurped my coffee angrily but it was still far too hot for me (being a pansy) and so the impact of this was lessened. Simon was unaffected anyway, leaning back and looking past me through the window to the world beyond. Apparently I was too easily distracted to be allowed to face the window. Meanie Simon.

“I don’t believe you, but I doubt you’ll tell me otherwise. Still, a lot of guys in your position might, you know, try to fight for the girl,” he said. I frowned. Again with this cliche nonsense.

“Fight indeed. It was an amicably reached, mutual decision. I’m not going to try and grind her into submission because it was a decision I didn’t much like,” I said. Simon grinned in what looked like triumph and sat forward, jabbing a finger at me.

“Ah! So you don’t like it!” He said. I wasn’t sure this constituted a ‘gotcha’ moment. Perhaps I’d blinked and missed an important step somewhere. Pretty sure I hadn’t though.

“This much was obvious. I don’t like lots of things, doesn’t mean I can’t accept them,” I said.

Simon stared me hard in the face a moment or two before sighing and slumping back once more. Clearly he had decided further pressing of the point would get him nowhere. This was a reason why I liked Simon. He knew when to quit and had yet somehow still not got sick of me. Or was too polite to say he had.

“I guess your situation isn’t exactly like a lot of peoples…” he said, ruminating on his now-empty cup. I’d barely touched mine. Coffee was always a mistake, when was I going to remember this? It’s why beer is the obvious and superior alternative. Or tea. Why do not simply have tea and small beer piped directly into every home? Oh yes. Prohibitive infrastructure costs. And scalded, inebriated children. Forget I said anything.

Anyway. What had Simon just said. Oh yes. My situation wasn’t like a lot of peoples. Odd thing to say. Mysterious. Ominious!

“Why’s that?” I asked. Then I twigged it, cutting in before Simon could answer for himself:

“Oh, right. Living-machine thing again, right?” I asked. He nodded. I made my best deep-in-the-throat growling sound of complete consternation. I could not fathom how this was such a persistent issue for people. More to the point, why did they care in the first place?

“I don’t want to, you know, keep coming back to that but it is still pretty unusual,” he said. I sunk into my seat, arms folded, face a mask of grumpiness. I hoped. I had very little control over my expression, I found. I probably just looked constipated.

“It’s not that unusual,” I said, mostly into my chest. I saw Simon shrugging from the corner of my eye.

“Well you’re the first and only person I’ve ever heard of doing it.”

Simon was not the be-all-and-end-all of worldly knowledge nor was he a nexus of gossip but he was certainly more informed than I was and if anyone else had entered into an arrangement like myself and Tillie - here or at anywhere with friends of Simon’s in attendance - he would have heard about it. He was just like that. Many fingers, many pies. He seemed to enjoy it. But yes. If such a man as he had heard nothing that did make me pause.

“That can’t be true…”

“Well maybe. I don’t know everything. I just haven’t heard anything about it anywhere, and you’d think people would talk. People do like to talk.”

“That they do. But it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. It happened, it ended, it’s done. Boom.”

“Yeah, but you’re obvious cut up about it and just in denial, so it’s still relevant.”

“What’s denial? A river in Africa?” I asked, making the ‘finger-guns’. Simon looked at me, mouth agape. He was utterly appalled.

“Who am I talking to, my dad? Jesus Christ.”

“Now that’d be something…”

“No, please, don’t say that. Look, just listen for a second,” he said. Clearly (and correctly) anticipating that I was going to say something smart-arsey in response to the command to ‘look’ when I was meant to be ‘listening’ he wagged a finger at me to preemptively shut me up. I knew when I’d been out-maneuvered.

“Listening?” He asked, I nodded. He took a breath. “You’re allowed to be unhappy about this. You should be, actually. You should be unhappy about this because it’d be healthier for you. Assuming you could find something good to put the negativity towards. Uh, you actually have hobbies, right?”

My conversations with Simon were typically lopsided in favour of him, his life and his interests and I had apparently been so good at keeping this up that he’d only just realised he knew next to nothing about what I enjoyed. It was okay. I didn’t know what I enjoyed either. You’d think it would be obvious, wouldn’t you? You would be wrong. It is a mystery.

I think I used to know, but these days the things I liked back when I was younger didn’t seem as fun anymore. Or were they as fun as they always had been but I was doing them wrong? Or had they never been fun? I don’t know. I can’t remember. Hardly matters anyway.

“Drinking,” I said, for the sake of flippancy. My coffee was now cold. It had somehow bypassed any intermediate temperature between searing hot and icy. Maybe I’d blinked. What a waste.

“That’s a terrible answer and you did that on purpose. No, not that. Ugh, pick something, find something. You need to work through this,” Simon said and I could sort of tell he was starting to lose his temper with me a little bit. I was good at this sometimes. Not something to be proud of.

“But I’m fine,” I said.

“You’re obviously not. You’re saying you are and you’re probably sort of believing you are, but you’re not. You shouldn’t be, at least. If you were totally fine then I’d be worried. Then you’d be some kind of...soulless void of a human being devoid of feeling and without a reason to continue,” he said. I blinked. That had come out of left field. He made a good point though.

“Maybe I am,” I said, tapping a finger on my chin and giving it genuine consideration. Why was I alive again, exactly? Mostly because I was fully aware there were some people in the world who would be unhappy if I wasn’t. For whatever reason. Tillie was probably one of these people. I didn’t need Simon to tell me that this was not a good way of looking at my life.

“No, you’re not. You’re just in a bad place right now. But you have me at least, you know? Anytime you need me. Don’t think you don’t, alright?”

“You’re a pal,” I said and meant it.

“I try. And you’re trying.”

“Everyone’s good at something,” I said, raising my cup to him and risking a taste of the coffee. It was rancid. Had it been any better when it hadn’t been cold? Unlikely. A lost cause now. I did not try again.

From there the conversation went more towards university and was therefore fairly tedious and mostly full of grumbling. As is to be expected. Still, very cathartic it was too - I left the coffee place feeling much refreshed and invigorated, waving goodbye to Simon as he meandered off in the opposite direction to myself.

Did I mention I didn’t have many friends? I think I did. Seeing Simon disappearing off into the distance really did bring it back through. I did not have many friends. Or any, really. One, Simon, walking away. The other, Tillie, who I didn’t want to think about too much for reasons I also did not want to think about too much. Did Michelle count as a friend, or as an acquaintance? I hadn’t spoken to her in a while. Is that normal for friends? If you have to ask, the answer is probably no.

I mean, that would also extend for those friends I carried over from school. Well, the few I had anyway. A handful, you might say. Fine fellows all (and exclusively fellows, now that I think about it) but none of whom I had spoken to in, oh, months. Or had they not spoken to me? Probably a bit of both. Either way the result is the same: deafening silence.

So yes. There I am.

Should probably diversify. If I were to aggravate or drive off Simon somehow - by consistently getting his boyfriend’s name wrong, for example - that would leave me completely and utterly alone. Deservedly, to be fair, but no-less alone. And that would be bad. I think? I’m given the impression it’d be bad because society told me so. And I suppose I go a bit funny on my own, too. All in all, I’d prefer not to.

So yes. Try to make new friends maybe. Can’t be that hard, right? It’s not as if -

Hey, hang on a second.

Who’s that guy?

I spied with my little eye what looked an awful lot like a grown-ass man with a grown-ass camera taking my picture. But that would just be madness. I have nothing about me worth taking a picture about. Or for. Or of. You know?

But it’s obviously a man with camera though and it’s obviously pointing in my direction. Clearly then I must be standing in front of something he wanted to get a clear shot of. Mea culpa. With this reasoning did I quickly dart to the side, thinking it was what he would have wanted.

It was not. My lunge sideways seemed to be interpreted by him as some kind of threatening gesture as he - locking eyes with me for but a moment - scarpered. It was really quite surreal. I look behind me and saw only a shop Maybe it was a shop he liked a lot? I hope me being in the frame didn’t ruin the shot too much for him.

Probably nothing to worry about.

[whatsunderneathme-blog1]

Day 2

It's pretty funny how life works. I feel like I'm good at it some days. Others not so much. It feels like everyday is a game. Like whoever the fuck claims, "you win some and you lose some" was spot on. Sometimes I wish I had some sort of cheat sheet to it, like when I was a kid, I would use one of those for GTA. There was a "ladies' man" cheat one where all the CPU women would always come lurking towards you. I would drive an ambulance and they would just hop in, filling the seats to max capacity. Then I would drive them to an alley where I would beat them with a baseball bat until they died so I could take their money. Yeah, maybe I shouldn't do that in real life, but you get the point. Cheating. Real life shit. Cheating may seem fun. Maybe when it applies to the people who truly seek it out. But not me. Cheating is a lot like fire. It destroys. Literally everything. Which brings me to my next topic.

It's pretty funny how life works. After my "big move" to Maryland this takes place. Well, summer was over pretty quickly for me. I mean, hey, I moved to this lovely place in July... the time when makeup is not an option. And don't attempt to even do up your hair, because it's going to evolve into some sort of fuzz ball. Especially when your hair hits your waist. So yeah, no to straightening. I spent most of my days either in my Aunts office, running, or drinking the Budweiser or Molson Canadian out on the water in my bikini. Which of course revealed my lovely inverted cross. Not really appealing to the church-goers of "southern" Marylanders. Kinda reminds me that I regret doing that.

October. 2018. I was involved in the FD pretty often. I was also heavily involved in my EMT class. But this took place on a lonely evening in my room. No, not that kind of fun. But the kind where you contemplate your social life and join something called Tinder. Great move on my end, because *spoiler alert*. I met the love of my life. No, like really. The kind where you literally want to just cry a bunch of fucking tears because you're so happy you can't sit right with yourself. That came out wrong. Lol. The good kind of hyper. But it didn't really go my way for a while. I ended up super-liking this bitch. Like I wanted to swipe right 1000000 times. He looked just my type. Had his shit together. Even listened to the same music as me. My inner little girl that had a list made up titled "Dream Husband" was screaming on the inside. Tall. Dark hair. Light eyes. Talked a bit and things were awesome as fuck. LOL. He even stood me up the first time we were supposed to hang out. I had invited him over to my house to have some beers and chill. Well, he had another idea... to cancel on me. But I won't make it seem that depressing. I mean, I didn't think at the time he was actually going to keep me in his life since he was leaving the state soon. I would give more information regarding that so y'all could have like a better idea of things, but this shit is public, so my EMT self is saying "errr, HIPPA violation"? Yeah, I'll go with that. HIPPA violation. But the time frame of him leaving was coming up. Sooooo I sent his ass a nude. I know, I know, not very classy of me.. but with most things, fuck it. Why not. And damn right, you guessed it.. Yep, like most men, that caught his eye. He fell hook, line, and sinker into that one. Ladies, throw some VS lingerie on and you're golden. Maybe straighten your hair a lil bit. So, one night, him and his roommate (maybe it was that night), he came to see me at work. I'm a server. Perfect opportunity. He wasn't sat in my section, thank god. But the two of them sat at Booth #2. He ordered the Mac n Cheese. Excellent choice. Our whole menu has amazing food, so he couldn't really make a bad decision. But I'm not judging. Pasta is my thing. Okay maybe I'm judging. Or maybe it's weird that I remembered what he ordered to eat. I'll just blame the OCD. But now that I'm writing all this, I kinda want to fast forward. No disrespect, I love the man.. but I could write about him all day. Probably not stop. Let's skip to what I don't want to write about. Maybe it will make me feel better... getting it off my chest. I'm really thankful that there's someone sitting in the radio room (what we call the room with the two computers) at the station. I live here, don't know if I really mentioned that in the start. The reason why I mention why I'm thankful someone is in here, is because I'm more put together. Not crying... hysterically. I do that. A lot. When I'm alone mostly. So let's get on with it.

Now. March. Almost time for April to hit. It's pretty funny how life works. Well, for me, I fuck up a lot. I mean, probably a lot more than most. I mean, I dislocated my fucking shoulder today just stretching after my run. Who does that shit? Me apparently. FYI typing this shit hurts. But I enjoy it. So you see, I try my best to separate my logical and emotional mind. Sometimes one takes over and confuses the other. My therapist taught me this. The really cool one. Well, not so cool when she made me go through my past. That's another conversation. What I'm trying to get at is, well, my emotional mind is really taking over at this point. Maybe I spoke too soon when I said that my depression was gone. Maybe I didn't say that in 'the start'. But sometimes, certain things just kinda trigger it. So, me and the Tinder guy (sorry, bf, ily, but that's what I'm referring to you as, just out of respect) have been dating for almost 6 months now. Well, he isn't in MD right now, he's out doing his lil career thing. So I made a really, really, really, really, really, really x1000000 stupid mistake. You can probably guess. I got stupid drunk at a formal event and.. *see paragraph 1, line 9, only word italicized. Find it. You get it. Before that night, my biggest regret was stealing from a mentally challenged girl in middle school. Swiped that 20-dollar bill from her small backpack zipper like it was a golden Wonka wrapper. In my middle school brain, I justified it by blaming her- she should've zipped her shit up, right? But what the fuck was I thinking? I knew that night, when I handed the older skater boy I liked a pack of Cowboy Killer's with that 20 that what I had done was wrong. And guess what? I still think about that. I still haven't forgiven myself. She missed her bus because of me. The girl I fucking stole from was stranded because of me. She had no money. God knows how that girl got home. AND she's mentally challenged. I can picture her now, with her big frown that matched her uneven glasses. And my happy ass just walked 0.6 miles to my house. A street over from my middle school. It makes me fucking sick to my core to think I could ever do something like that to someone so innocent. That night, everything changed. That night is, you fucking bet... my biggest regret. And the worst thing is, I can't run from it. Every single day I want to break the mirror I look into, or hope that the mirror would just miraculously shatter because it doesn't like what it sees. You don't want to know what I feel. The man that I love is suffering because of what I did. Even though I'm an atheist, I will admit, within this month I have broken down so many times on my hands and knees, praying that the pain I've caused won't cause us to separate. I have wandered aimlessly in the night so the thoughts won't develop into something darker. Because I'm not afraid to admit that I struggle from time to time wondering what the fuck I'm doing with myself. I have never wanted someone to forgive me so bad. So next time you have the opportunity to count your blessings, fucking do it. Do it every fucking minute you can. Because the choices you make can really hurt others. And you can risk losing the ones you never thought you could if you're not lucky. I may put on this badass face, like I am so strong I could take on anything, but truth is, I still am hoping one day that I can go to bed without having a night terror, sleep without my fucking IKEA teddy bear named Evgeni, or to just close my eyes and try to wipe away the lies I've piled on like a large campfire to hide the ashes- the trauma I've gone through. I'm dying to live that normal life. Deep down underneath me is like a glass bottle, but it's broken. And you know who helped me heal? That Tinder guy. That man would do anything for me. That man treats me with respect. With every I love you he says to me, my heart forgives me. My head feels right at home with him, erases those horrible things my father told me, grabs the loaded shotgun my father forced to the back of my head when I was 11, breaks the hands of those that vandalized me when I was 17, 18, 19, and 22 years old, unplugs the 400 degree flat iron I used to burn my face all those years from the constant sexual torment. I don't know whether the correct term is that I was a damaged child or if I maybe just had the worst luck, but there are things people in general should not have to endure. I was innocent at one point, but that dissipated at such a young age. I only had me. And honestly, I was never able to tell the truth about those things because I was always silenced. But this man, listens to me with open ears. And for the first time in my life, I heard something I've never heard someone say. And he was exactly right. SO fucking right. It sounded something along the lines of, "You can't run from your problems. You can't just keep moving states every time there's a problem thinking it will solve them because it will just catch up to you".

He is someone I DO want for the rest of my life. The touch of his skin on mine hushes and tucks away all those memories to bed. That man has listened to me speak more than any man has. I smile until the small dimples on my left cheek poke out. Since that man has come into my life, I never realized what true love really felt like. I didn't realize how gentle it feels on the heart. It courses through me like the ocean waves fall through the sand trenches I used to build when I was an innocent little girl in her one-piece, kissed with a sunburn. It feels invigorating, even better than the feeling I get when I step on the ice rink with my freshly sharpened blades. It's the moment when he first let me rest my abnormally freezing feet softly against his, tucked in between his legs when we slept. Because even though it wasn't comfortable to him, he only cared about what I needed in that moment. I have only ever wanted acceptance, normalcy. I am okay on my own. But he makes life, life. When flowers are left out in the rain, they don't do well. They need three things: water, sun, oxygen. See, I have two. 1. The rain- the sadness. 2. The air that I breathe, the most key thing to being human, obviously. But in my life, the sun only shines when I'm out on the ice, playing hockey. It's like I was doing okay, but I had been waiting for that one thing I had been missing. 3. The sun. He is that. I feel like that flower that lives graciously, with fresh, new petals that grow each day. I feel important in the world. Even more than I ever have. That's what I feel. It's like all this love consumes me. I smile more. Laugh more. I feel beautiful. Alive. Alive. Alive. Isn't it funny how life works?

*refer to the last ¶, first line, the words that can create a reply - and stand out.

I love you,

All my heart,

L.

[bitcoinhippi-blog]

“Real Users": Bitcoin Donations Helped These Earthquake Survivors Recover

This is the second in a series by Aaron van Wirdum focusing on real people who use cryptocurrencies. Read about his earlier experiences in Italy here: "Real Users": In This Mountain Town, Everyone Knows About Bitcoin.

The straight stone road from the partially crumbled city wall to the scaffolded church in the center of the central Italian town of Norcia is empty. It glimmers a bit from the rain; the weather is unusually wet for this region today. Tourists and day-trippers that would usually be strolling around the historic town center on Saturday afternoons like these are nowhere to be seen.

Bad luck for Ilaria and Lorenzo. The couple — both in their thirties, both wearing thick coats, scarves and beanies to keep themselves warm — set up a small mobile bar near the end of the street, under a white marquee; the inside is decorated with pictures of flowers. It’s all part of a local street market festival.

There, they sell saffron and beer produced with saffron, produced from the thin reddish stalks plucked from the crocus. It’s a delicacy, Lorenzo explains, as he hands out taster-sized plastic cups with beer. “Pound-for-pound among the most expensive products in the world,” he says.

It’s been almost 18 months since the Norcia area was struck with a seismic shock of 6.2 on the Richter scale: an earthquake that many of the old brick homes typical of the Mediterranean countryside could not withstand. Whole street blocks had collapsed, claiming hundreds of casualties.

Ilario and Lorenzo in their market stand bar

Ilaria and Lorenzo got out safely, but their home was destroyed and their town, San Pellegrino di Norcia, is abandoned. They now live in a small, prefabricated house on the edge of Norcia.

Yet, Ilaria and Lorenzo have been able to keep their saffron business running, even after disaster struck their lives. They rebuilt parts of their organic plantation with financial help from Legambiente, a charity-based NGO dedicated to the earthquake recovery efforts.

This financial help did not come in euros. Legambiente had no euros left, Ilaria and Lorenzo were told when they applied for a reimbursement about a year ago; only bitcoin. The two had heard of the digital currency a couple of years ago when they were researching local money systems. But they had never owned any themselves.

“We would have preferred euros if it was available,” Ilaria admits, sitting down on one of the wooden benches they installed in the marquee. There are no potential customers stopping by, so she has time to talk about her experience. “But bitcoin was, of course, better than nothing, so we gladly accepted.”

Helperbit

Guido Baroncini Turricchia, founder of Helperbit

The reason Ilaria and Lorenzo received bitcoin is Guido Baroncini Turricchia. The 39-year old Italian environmental engineer is the founder ofHelperbit, a Rome-based startup that leverages bitcoin for fundraising campaigns.

Bitcoin is particularly well-suited to these types of causes, Baroncini Turricchia thinks, because of the transparency it provides. Through Bitcoin’s public blockchain, donors cantrace the funds they donate and be sure that they really end up at the Bitcoin addresses of the intended recipients of the money — and nowhere else.

“Helperbit was only four months old when disaster struck Norcia,” Baroncini Turricchia recalls, as we are driving in his car from Rome to the disaster-struck town.

“For any natural disaster it takes a couple of days before media attention catches onto the scope of the event and for donation infrastructure to be set up. As the fundraising campaign starts, the amount of incoming donations reaches a peak within one or two weeks. It then fizzles out over the next couple of months or years,” he explains, as he uses his finger to draw a long-tailed, skewed bell-curve through the fogged interior of the windshield in front of him.

The number of incoming donations for Norcia was already past its peak when Baroncini Turricchia was still looking for an NGO that would take bitcoin donations through Helperbit. Most of them were skeptical, even though he offered to set up integration for free. After several rejections, Legambiente was the first and only NGO that took Baroncini Turricchia up on the offer.

“They were initially skeptical too,” Baroncini Turricchia said. “News coverage about Bitcoin had been negative overall. But they ultimately agreed to give it a try.”

Even though Helperbit was late — it was November before it was all set up — the project was still able to collect more than 10 bitcoins over about a year’s time. The coins became part of Legambiente's budget, set up to reimburse local entrepreneurs on some of the costs they had to make to keep their businesses running.

“There are still bitcoins in the fund,” Baroncini Turricchia said. With bitcoin’s price increase over the past year, the euro value of this fund is up quite a bit as well. “But I’m not sure many people in Norcia know about it. For now, Legambiente still controls what’s left.”

An Unexpected Windfall

Ilaria and Lorenzo are two of five earthquake victims who have taken bitcoin reimbursements, so far. A third, Ilaria and Lorenzo’s friend Alessia, is also at the festival.

Wearing a green baseball cap representing the local farmer cooperative, Alessia has set up her booth to the left of the saffron bar. She sells cheese produced at her local sheep farm, as well as different types of nuts, all displayed on top of bales of hay.

Alessia at her cheese and nut stall with Ilaria and Lorenzo’s bar in the background

Alessia took a big hit when the earthquake struck: She lost both her home and the stable for her farm. She says that she too would have accepted euros from Legambiente, if that had been an option: “I didn’t think bitcoin was real.”

Yet, having been introduced to the cryptocurrency by Baroncini Turricchia, who also personally helped her set up a Helperbit wallet, she decided to keep it.

“Guido told me it could go up in price,” she explains. “Maybe to 6,000 euros, if all went well.” She had received about 5,000 euros worth in June of 2018.

She didn’t think about her bitcoin much over the following months — not until her mother saw an item on the news this January: the price had crashed almost 40 percent within days. Concerned by the message from her mom, Alessia contacted Baroncini Turricchia to ask how much of her 5,000 euros worth of bitcoin was left.

It’s only then that Alessia learned to which level the price had actually “crashed”: “My 5,000 euros worth of bitcoin had not decreased in value at all. It had increased to around 20,000 euros.”

Guido grins while he helps Alessia translate her story from Italian into English. He’d known back in June that the price could go up far more than 20 percent. He just hadn’t wanted to raise her expectations too high.

Alessia continues her story. Delighted with the news, she decided she wanted to sell most of her coins. She needed a new cheese machine. She signed up for The Rock Trading, a Malta-based exchange operated by Italians. Here, she encountered her first problem.

“They required a copy of a utility bill to prove my home address,” she explains, with a sarcastic smile. “I don’t have an address anymore.” She still lives in emergency housing, best described as a sea container with a door and windows, next to a gas station just outside of Norcia.

Helped by the town mayor who provided her with a signed letter for the verification process, Alessia managed to get verified in the end. “But I still didn’t sell all of my bitcoin, I’m holding onto what I’ve got left,” she says. “At least until bitcoin reaches 100,000 euro.”

The Case for Bitcoin

Baroncini Turricchia is himself a Bitcoin enthusiast; he spent much of the drive to Norcia philosophizing on the consequences of hyperbitcoinization and speculating on Satoshi Nakamoto’s identity. But like Ilaria, Lorenzo and Alessia, his decision to use bitcoin is also practical.

The transparency provided by Bitcoin is unique compared to existing payment systems. Even funds donated in fiat currency — which is also possible via Helperbit — are converted into the cryptocurrency, which allows donors to track their own funds.

But that’s not all. If they want to, donors can also show to the world that they contributed; HelperBit even includes a provably fair ranking for donors.

Further, Baroncini Turricchia plans to extend that traceability to merchants who serve NGOs in disaster-struck areas, selling tents, sheets, food and more. Donors would know not only which victims received the funds but also where and how the funds were spent. Deals with such merchants could ultimately offer a profit opportunity for Helperbit, which is itself a for-profit company.

Transparency is not the only Bitcoin feature leveraged by Helperbit. Perhaps most obviously, the cryptocurrency is well suited for fast and cheap international payments, allowing donors to support causes anywhere in the world. To prevent anyone meddling with data, Helperbit also timestamps invoices on Bitcoin’s blockchain, like the invoices provided by Ilaria, Lorenzo and Alessia to claim their reimbursement. In the longer term, Baroncini Turricchia wants to establish a reputation system to let donors send bitcoin to victims directly, peer-to-peer.

At the same time, Bitcoin has presented its challenges. “The biggest problem is key management,” Baroncini Turricchia said. “It doesn’t matter how strongly we emphasize that private keys are crucial: It’s hard for people to understand that, without them, the money is literally gone, in a way that not even Helperbit can recover it.”

In part to mitigate this risk, Helperbit sets up a multi-signature solution. Legambiente, in this case, holds three keys assigned to three different people. Helperbit keeps one. Of this total of four keys, three keys are required to unlock the funds on Bitcoin’s blockchain.

“If Legambiente loses one key,” says Baroncini Turricchia, “they should contact us immediately to help send the funds to a new address. This has already happened once.”

Ilaria and Lorenzo, of course, did not choose Bitcoin for such practical reasons at first: It was simply the only option available. But now, as they learn more about the cryptocurrency, the couple is starting to see some benefits as well.

“It is the most transparent currency in the world,” Lorenzo says, when asked what he knows about Bitcoin by now. “And politicians don’t like it,” he jokes. “That’s a good sign.”

The two are now considering opening a webshop to sell saffron for bitcoin, most likely through OpenBazaar. Baroncini Turricchia recommended it because the peer-to-peer marketplace includes a built-in, dispute resolution solution. OpenBazaar will allow them to sell their saffron internationally, opening them up to a new market of bitcoin users, they hope.

Online, at least, the rain shouldn’t affect their sales.

Some of the quotes from this article were loosely translated from Italian.

This article originally appeared on Bitcoin Magazine.

Source

https://bitcoinmagazine.com/articles/real-users-bitcoin-donations-helped-these-earthquake-survivors-recover/

[cryptobully-blog]

Bitcoin Donations Helped These Earthquake Survivors Recover

http://cryptobully.com/bitcoin-donations-helped-these-earthquake-survivors-recover/

Bitcoin Donations Helped These Earthquake Survivors Recover

This is the second in a series by Aaron van Wirdum focusing on real people who use cryptocurrencies. Read about his earlier experiences in Italy here: “Real Users”: In This Mountain Town, Everyone Knows About Bitcoin.

The straight stone road from the partially crumbled city wall to the scaffolded church in the center of the central Italian town of Norcia is empty. It glimmers a bit from the rain; the weather is unusually wet for this region today. Tourists and day-trippers that would usually be strolling around the historic town center on Saturday afternoons like these are nowhere to be seen.

Bad luck for Ilaria and Lorenzo. The couple — both in their thirties, both wearing thick coats, scarves and beanies to keep themselves warm — set up a small mobile bar near the end of the street, under a white marquee; the inside is decorated with pictures of flowers. It’s all part of a local street market festival.

There, they sell saffron and beer produced with saffron, produced from the thin reddish stalks plucked from the crocus. It’s a delicacy, Lorenzo explains, as he hands out taster-sized plastic cups with beer. “Pound-for-pound among the most expensive products in the world,” he says.

It’s been almost 18 months since the Norcia area was struck with a seismic shock of 6.2 on the Richter scale: an earthquake that many of the old brick homes typical of the Mediterranean countryside could not withstand. Whole street blocks had collapsed, claiming hundreds of casualties.

Ilario and Lorenzo in their market stand bar

Ilaria and Lorenzo got out safely, but their home was destroyed and their town, San Pellegrino di Norcia, is abandoned. They now live in a small, prefabricated house on the edge of Norcia.

Yet, Ilaria and Lorenzo have been able to keep their saffron business running, even after disaster struck their lives. They rebuilt parts of their organic plantation with financial help from Legambiente, a charity-based NGO dedicated to the earthquake recovery efforts.

This financial help did not come in euros. Legambiente had no euros left, Ilaria and Lorenzo were told when they applied for a reimbursement about a year ago; only bitcoin. The two had heard of the digital currency a couple of years ago when they were researching local money systems. But they had never owned any themselves.

“We would have preferred euros if it was available,” Ilaria admits, sitting down on one of the wooden benches they installed in the marquee. There are no potential customers stopping by, so she has time to talk about her experience. “But bitcoin was, of course, better than nothing, so we gladly accepted.”

Helperbit

Guido Baroncini Turricchia, founder of Helperbit

The reason Ilaria and Lorenzo received bitcoin is Guido Baroncini Turricchia. The 39-year old Italian environmental engineer is the founder of Helperbit, a Rome-based startup that leverages bitcoin for fundraising campaigns.

Bitcoin is particularly well-suited to these types of causes, Baroncini Turricchia thinks, because of the transparency it provides. Through Bitcoin’s public blockchain, donors can trace the funds they donate and be sure that they really end up at the Bitcoin addresses of the intended recipients of the money — and nowhere else.

“Helperbit was only four months old when disaster struck Norcia,” Baroncini Turricchia recalls, as we are driving in his car from Rome to the disaster-struck town.

“For any natural disaster it takes a couple of days before media attention catches onto the scope of the event and for donation infrastructure to be set up. As the fundraising campaign starts, the amount of incoming donations reaches a peak within one or two weeks. It then fizzles out over the next couple of months or years,” he explains, as he uses his finger to draw a long-tailed, skewed bell-curve through the fogged interior of the windshield in front of him.

The number of incoming donations for Norcia was already past its peak when Baroncini Turricchia was still looking for an NGO that would take bitcoin donations through Helperbit. Most of them were skeptical, even though he offered to set up integration for free. After several rejections, Legambiente was the first and only NGO that took Baroncini Turricchia up on the offer.

“They were initially skeptical too,” Baroncini Turricchia said. “News coverage about Bitcoin had been negative overall. But they ultimately agreed to give it a try.”

Even though Helperbit was late — it was November before it was all set up — the project was still able to collect more than 10 bitcoins over about a year’s time. The coins became part of Legambiente’s budget, set up to reimburse local entrepreneurs on some of the costs they had to make to keep their businesses running.

“There are still bitcoins in the fund,” Baroncini Turricchia said. With bitcoin’s price increase over the past year, the euro value of this fund is up quite a bit as well. “But I’m not sure many people in Norcia know about it. For now, Legambiente still controls what’s left.”

An Unexpected Windfall

Ilaria and Lorenzo are two of five earthquake victims who have taken bitcoin reimbursements, so far. A third, Ilaria and Lorenzo’s friend Alessia, is also at the festival.

Wearing a green baseball cap representing the local farmer cooperative, Alessia has set up her booth to the left of the saffron bar. She sells cheese produced at her local sheep farm, as well as different types of nuts, all displayed on top of bales of hay.

Alessia at her cheese and nut stall with Ilaria and Lorenzo’s bar in the background

Alessia took a big hit when the earthquake struck: She lost both her home and the stable for her farm. She says that she too would have accepted euros from Legambiente, if that had been an option: “I didn’t think bitcoin was real.”

Yet, having been introduced to the cryptocurrency by Baroncini Turricchia, who also personally helped her set up a Helperbit wallet, she decided to keep it.

“Guido told me it could go up in price,” she explains. “Maybe to 6,000 euros, if all went well.” She had received about 5,000 euros worth in June of 2018.

She didn’t think about her bitcoin much over the following months — not until her mother saw an item on the news this January: the price had crashed almost 40 percent within days. Concerned by the message from her mom, Alessia contacted Baroncini Turricchia to ask how much of her 5,000 euros worth of bitcoin was left.

It’s only then that Alessia learned to which level the price had actually “crashed”: “My 5,000 euros worth of bitcoin had not decreased in value at all. It had increased to around 20,000 euros.”

Guido grins while he helps Alessia translate her story from Italian into English. He’d known back in June that the price could go up far more than 20 percent. He just hadn’t wanted to raise her expectations too high.

Alessia continues her story. Delighted with the news, she decided she wanted to sell most of her coins. She needed a new cheese machine. She signed up for The Rock Trading, a Malta-based exchange operated by Italians. Here, she encountered her first problem.

“They required a copy of a utility bill to prove my home address,” she explains, with a sarcastic smile. “I don’t have an address anymore.” She still lives in emergency housing, best described as a sea container with a door and windows, next to a gas station just outside of Norcia.

Helped by the town mayor who provided her with a signed letter for the verification process, Alessia managed to get verified in the end. “But I still didn’t sell all of my bitcoin, I’m holding onto what I’ve got left,” she says. “At least until bitcoin reaches 100,000 euro.”

The Case for Bitcoin

Baroncini Turricchia is himself a Bitcoin enthusiast; he spent much of the drive to Norcia philosophizing on the consequences of hyperbitcoinization and speculating on Satoshi Nakamoto’s identity. But like Ilaria, Lorenzo and Alessia, his decision to use bitcoin is also practical.

The transparency provided by Bitcoin is unique compared to existing payment systems. Even funds donated in fiat currency — which is also possible via Helperbit — are converted into the cryptocurrency, which allows donors to track their own funds.

But that’s not all. If they want to, donors can also show to the world that they contributed; HelperBit even includes a provably fair ranking for donors.

Further, Baroncini Turricchia plans to extend that traceability to merchants who serve NGOs in disaster-struck areas, selling tents, sheets, food and more. Donors would know not only which victims received the funds but also where and how the funds were spent. Deals with such merchants could ultimately offer a profit opportunity for Helperbit, which is itself a for-profit company.

Transparency is not the only Bitcoin feature leveraged by Helperbit. Perhaps most obviously, the cryptocurrency is well suited for fast and cheap international payments, allowing donors to support causes anywhere in the world. To prevent anyone meddling with data, Helperbit also timestamps invoices on Bitcoin’s blockchain, like the invoices provided by Ilaria, Lorenzo and Alessia to claim their reimbursement. In the longer term, Baroncini Turricchia wants to establish a reputation system to let donors send bitcoin to victims directly, peer-to-peer.

At the same time, Bitcoin has presented its challenges. “The biggest problem is key management,” Baroncini Turricchia said. “It doesn’t matter how strongly we emphasize that private keys are crucial: It’s hard for people to understand that, without them, the money is literally gone, in a way that not even Helperbit can recover it.”

In part to mitigate this risk, Helperbit sets up a multi-signature solution. Legambiente, in this case, holds three keys assigned to three different people. Helperbit keeps one. Of this total of four keys, three keys are required to unlock the funds on Bitcoin’s blockchain.

“If Legambiente loses one key,” says Baroncini Turricchia, “they should contact us immediately to help send the funds to a new address. This has already happened once.”

Ilaria and Lorenzo, of course, did not choose Bitcoin for such practical reasons at first: It was simply the only option available. But now, as they learn more about the cryptocurrency, the couple is starting to see some benefits as well.

“It is the most transparent currency in the world,” Lorenzo says, when asked what he knows about Bitcoin by now. “And politicians don’t like it,” he jokes. “That’s a good sign.”

The two are now considering opening a webshop to sell saffron for bitcoin, most likely through OpenBazaar. Baroncini Turricchia recommended it because the peer-to-peer marketplace includes a built-in, dispute resolution solution. OpenBazaar will allow them to sell their saffron internationally, opening them up to a new market of bitcoin users, they hope.

Online, at least, the rain shouldn’t affect their sales.

Some of the quotes from this article were loosely translated from Italian.

Bitcoin

[braindamageforbeginners]

Just Eat Your Stupid Vegetables

Day 59

I’d like to begin today’s festivities with a recounting of recent events in my on-going attempt to get more Temodar. For any new readers, this is the chemo drug that all GBM patients are required to take for a year (possibly more)(as I’ve mentioned, the only thing worse than hearing, “We’re extending your treatment” is, “We’re discontinuing your treatment because it’s not working”), and I have been working feverishly to get more of it (and been thwarted by various forms, claims, claims-adjusters, and, most importantly, CVS)(new rule; just as I go out of my way to protect the anonymity of any of my care providers who do me a good turn, I’ll point out the folks who are likely to kill you if you have a serious illness)(and, based on current events, it seems likely that if you wandered into a CVS with an open, dripping wound, they’d call their supervisor and request the proper form before offering you a band-aid). After the most-recent mishap, in which CVS claimed that there was an insurance issue; I found the proper insurance form, forwarded it to the Warlocks’ administrative team, and heard back from one of the nurses that they’d filled it out and sent it on. I got a call the other day from a creepy, automated voice saying that my insurance company had just approved the release of my drugs. There are small children on Christmas who are less joyous than I was at the thought of putting more toxic substances - in higher doses - in my body. In my enthusiasm, I called CVS to see about delivery. You can imagine my confusion when they told me that the hang-up was because there were two prescriptions (Temodar only comes in a few different dosages, so doctors will prescribe you one or two dosages, and give you instructions on how to mix-n-match them to get your exact dosage)(again, you can’t cut these things in half, because they’re basically gel capsules containing mustard gas)(that’s a slight exaggeration, but not by much). After much tearing of hair and rending of teeth, CVS advised me to get in touch with my insurance company about the hold-up. So I called the insurance folks, whilst thinking of being on a beach in the Caribbean. The insurance folks were helpful, and figured out that the obscure authorization form that the Warlocks filled out could be applied to one Temodar prescription (again, I need two); and, after a call to the in-house insurance pharmacist, okayed the second prescription. No screaming or cajoling required. I gave myself an hour off (I had more coffee, when, in retrospect, I should’ve had a martini or two), then called CVS. They eventually agreed to ship me the drugs, after a $130 payment was made. It’s depressing to think that we could put a dollar value on a human life. It’s suicidally-depressing to realize that, apparently, that value at the moment is $130 and 16-ish hours of paperwork and phone calls (we won’t discuss my insurance premiums, which are astronomical). And it’s Bambi’s-mom-died sad to think how many cancer patients with far better prognoses than mine died for far less money. Anyway, I did finally convince CVS to take my filthy, peasant money in exchange for their goods (one feels that Adam Smith might rethink his thesis if he saw the 21st century), and made a mental note to throw a brick through the front window of the next CVS I see (I’m getting a chunk of those 15 hours and $130 back one way or another - CVS can either have my time or my money, but it seems greedy to claim so much of both)(especially when, as Research Coordinator pointed out, Temodar is such a common chemotherapy drug nowadays that it’s quite common for large pharmacies to have a bag or two stashed away). And the chemo drugs arrived this morning, so that’s a form of victory. But that’s not what I want to talk about at the moment.

I would like to share with all of you an interesting revelation I had whilst on vacation from the abyss (I know my father would probably hate that metaphor; sorry, Dad, but it’s a good one, and I’m sticking to it)(I’m about to heap some well-earned praise on him, so I figure it’ll even out). You surface dwellers are aware that there are food sources that you don’t have club to death or process, right? That’s not just a giant squid thing that’s unique to me, is it?

I have ask that because I only this morning starting putting some of the pieces of the puzzle together. Now, the biggest complaint about Temodar is that it causes motility issues (that’s the polite and scientifically-preferred term, I believe), and I suspect that’s been a complaint about the Captain America serum, because the Warlocks recently asked a few times about that issue, or, more specifically, that I didn’t ever seem to have that issue (not in any obvious or nagging way, just a part of me noted, “It seems odd that they’re double-checking that particular question.”). And I only put that together because I recently had to put in a special request to Mother Dearest for various ready-to-eat plant-based items. And only then did it start to occur to me that I’ve been on an ultra-high fiber, ultra-high protein diet.

Although I might jab my father occasionally, it should be noted that he has done a lot in the day-to-day business of keeping me alive. And, when you’re back at home after life knocks you on your ass, you eat what’s in the fridge at home. And my father is almost-obsessive about fruits, vegetables, and fiber. He even eats that horrible bran cereal that is almost-indistinguishable from those food pellets you feed to pet rodents (I really, really hope that’s not the cure for cancer, because I might choose death before that).

I bring this up because it contrasts a bit from me, in the initial part of my treatment. I’d been a pescovegetarian for eleven years - count ‘em, folks - prior to the diagnosis. Heart disease runs in the family, and I thought I might avoid that disease (once you start to think about all the weird, crazy paradoxes and hypocrisies in your life, you go a little mad). After I was told I had a terrible disease, one of my initial thoughts was, “Clearly, vegetarianism is bullshit.” 

Reader, you may be familiar with the word “relapse” as it pertains to addiction. Well, for those first few weeks, that was pretty much me; the crazed, blood-soaked carnivore who refused to eat anything unless it did move. Dad did point out that it wouldn’t do to survive brain cancer to die of heart disease or malnutrition; and that I wasn’t going to win the “Most Eligible Bachelor” award if I continued eating live chickens where the general public could see me. My memory of this conversation suggests that I responded in a less-than-graceful manner (a note to the family and friends of cancer patients; even the nicest, kindest person on the world won’t be very nice or kind for the first month or two after the diagnosis). Instead of smothering me in my sleep (again, that could make him a candidate for canonization), Dad just kind of kept chipping away and, either due to me seeing light, or the exhaustion wearing down my stubbornness, I eventually started eating more plant-based matter (and, eventually, that turned into a lot of plant-based matter, once I learned that vegetables and fruits are actually pretty tasty)(of course, this was all going on while I was chugging Gatorade, and, stacked up next to that, cough syrup doesn’t taste too bad). And, because I’m into weight training and I’ve been told by my neurofeedback guy that protein is good for neurological injury, I increased my protein intake (mostly from those awful protein shakes, which are only slightly better than Gatorade). And I went to the gym, every day (well, at least 5 days out of the week - that Captain America serum is tough on the body). The point is, I have been living - completely accidentally, as it turns out - an extremely healthy lifestyle, as of late. The fact that this was occurring to me as I was literally being torn apart on a molecular level, poisoned, and used as a guinea pig in a mad science experiment (this is a dramatically reductive but not-inaccurate description of cancer treatment) is one of those little ironies that drives me as a writer.

To get to the larger point, at every stage in the process, everyone - from the radiation techs to the Warlocks - has commented on how exceptionally well I’ve tolerated the treatment. I usually shot them a dirty look, because I felt like hell - and, now that I’ve recovered a little, I now realize that I was utterly physically miserable the whole time (it’s just like when I started taking melatonin and sleeping through the night that I realized how many years I must have spent half-asleep and utterly exhausted). Still, in all fairness, the Warlocks and everyone were, in retrospect, right - I was miserable, but I was never completely bed-ridden, apart from two or three mornings here and there. Which makes me wonder, if a large part of that wasn’t due to lifestyle choices on my part; which I’ve been able to contrast with life outside of the abyss. And you people seem almost fearful of anything that isn’t carved from an animal and deep-fried (to be fair, I love bacon-wrapped, beer-battered veal as much as the next guy - probably moreso, since I’m still making up for lost time).

Now, this is not to say that fruits, vegetables, and stair-steppers (or bench-presses, in my case) are going to cure me. If I survive this thing - and that’s still a big “if” (I realize that seems pessimistic, but I’ve realized that, just as positive outlook is important, it does not do to ignore the dark probabilities of life), it’ll be because my surgeon went orienteering in my skull; Radiation Oncologist nuked me; and the Warlocks dosed me with massive quantities of strange and dangerous substances, and then I begged all of them to do it again and again. But, at the same time, maybe there’s something to be said for healthy lifestyle as a complementary treatment to being scalped, microwaved, and poisoned.

Again, this is absolutely not an endorsement of “alternative” medicine (my go-to quote on that matter is from Tim Minchin, who wrote, “Do you know what they call alternative medicine that’s been proven to work? Medicine.”). There is no secret cure “they” don’t want you to know (I love the medical industry, but it simply isn’t competent enough to suppress that type of immediately-profitable information), and if there is, “they” don’t want you to know about it because it’s unsafe or unreliable (or, in my case, being tested for safety)(Mother Dearest once summarized it best when she said, “They could cure cancer, HIV, and Ebola tomorrow if they didn’t have to worry about the patient surviving.”). But, at the same time, there might be a lot to be said for complementary medicine, which, apparently, includes spending time in the gym and large quantities of tasteless fiber. And even then, it’s not like it’s some major constriction on your day-to-day existence (I’m sure Laura, Dan, and Julie are out there reading this and saying, “He wasn’t on any sort of diet I noticed” - and I wasn’t, either, until I got out, and realized Dad had quietly been slipping more plant life into my diet than I was comfortable with). Again, I wouldn’t even have noticed it all until I remembered the Warlocks’ specific questioning about my lack of GI chemo side-effects, and then realizing that I’d been eating far more than the average amount of veggies (if you’re downing gallons of hateful Gatorade and taking dreaded Temodar on a nightly basis, as well as being microwaved every day, extra helpings of brussel sprouts and an extra half-hour in the gym on a daily basis tend to go unnoticed). So, maybe, perhaps, if you plan on being seriously ill, a healthy lifestyle change at the same time might help you out. Maybe,. Possibly. Again, I’m just one person, statistically, I can’t prove or disprove anything.

[blueskydrinking]

Top Ten Best Craft Beer Bars and Pubs in Edinburgh

'Craft Beer' is a contentious and ill-defined label - put 10 keen beer drinkers in a (bar)room and I'll bet they'd be hard-pressed to come to a firm consensus on what exactly Craft Beer is. This makes writing a list of the "Best Craft Beer Bars in Edinbugh" a little tricky as I'm inviting disagreement over what constitutes 'Craft Beer' as well as what is 'Best'! I'm not going to pretend that this list is entirely objective, but below I've set out my criteria - if you don't agree with the criteria then you probably won't agree with everything on the list:

1. It needs to sell a good range of beers. Seems obvious, but whether we like it or not a lot of the recent trends in beer are thanks to our cousins across the pond. In metropolitan areas of the US it is common for even small neighbourhood bars to have at least a dozen kegs on tap (cask is something of a rarity over there) . A specialist craft beer bar would be expected to have 40+ taps on at any one time. I don't expect a Craft Beer bar in Edinburgh to have that many lines on at any one time, but I do think that there should be 10+ lines of beer made by independent brewers and, perhaps more controversially, I think at least half of the lines should be keg.

2. The beers need to be fresh, well kept and well poured (this last one applies much more to cask). This basic is sadly overlooked all too often. I would much rather drink in a pub with a smaller selection of REALLY FRESH beers that have been handled by someone who knows what they're doing, than a pub with a huge selection of not-that-fresh beers. High turnover of beers certainly helps to keep things fresh and so does having a good supplier who hasn't kept the beer sitting in their warehouse for weeks on end. Good cellermanship is really the key here, which leads on to...

3. Staff and patrons: to me, as much as anything, craft beer is primarily about people, from the start of the ingredient growing process, right through to the people with whom we enjoy drinking the finished article. I like my beer to be served to me by friendly, enthusiastic people who are genuinely interested in (or, even better, passionate and knowledgeable about) the product they sell. I don't want to be served by people on zero-hours contracts from big pubcos who desperately wish they were somewhere else other than behind a bar and neither do I want to be served my beer by some sour-faced hipster who spends far too much time on ratebeer and thinks he's better than the customer because he could write a pHD the lambic beer production process (and has all Arcade Fire's albums on limited edition vinyl. Probably). Good beer deserves to be poured by and enjoyed with, good people!

4. Hops. Let's be honest, many people use the term Craft Beer as a shorthand for high-ABV beers that are very hop-forward, often using interesting hops from faraway places. To be one of the best Craft Beer pubs in Edinburgh you've got to be serving hoppy beer, end of.

5. Character. As the Craft Beer scene in the UK continues it’s meteoric rise, it’s worth bearing in mind that we are not the USA and that we have our own long and illustrious history of inns, pubs and bars, some of which were selling good beer long before the Craft Beer phenomenon. I say this because if you are looking for a US-style craft beer bar in Edinburgh then really only 2 or 3 of the places below would qualify. To me though, this isn’t what I’m looking for - I don’t want to walk into a pub and feel like I’m in Brooklyn (unless, of course, I’m in Brooklyn...). If I’m in Edinburgh, I want the best of both worlds: the tradition and charm of a good Scottish boozer, combined with the awesome selection of interesting beers that is the hallmark of a craft beer orientated bar.

So, after this rather long-winded introduction and setting-out of criteria, I give you, without further ado and in no particular order, the best craft beer pubs in Edinburgh...

1. The Hanging Bat. The original craft beer bar in Edinburgh, this laid back haunt has an ever changing chalkboard featuring 14 lines of cask and keg. The decor is low-key and the food unpretentious, perfect for a daytime tasting session.

2. Andrew Usher and Co. This basement bar has over 20 taps on at any one time and is particularly strong on the international craft beers. They often have Mikeller on draft, which is reason enough to visit, in my opinion.

3. Six Degrees North. If you run a brewery and a bar (in 6DN's case, 4 bars around Scotland) it must be tempting to mainly sell your own beers and thus make more money. Laudably, the folks at Six Degrees north have avoided falling into this trap and they have a great range across 30+ taps, although it is weighted towards their own beers and collabs. There's also (understandably) a bias towards Belgian brewers and styles.

4. The Salt Horse. It's not big, but it is clever; A bar-room with adjoining bottle shop, these guys are always bang on-trend with their carefully curated and frequently rotating draft list. The draught list may be (relatively) short but if you want choice, check out their fridges. There's over 200 beers last time I counted (although admittedly I'm rubbish at maths, especially when I've had a few imperial stouts), with UK and international craft brewers well represented.

5. The Southern. One of three similar pubs dotted around the city centre (Red Squirrel on Lothian Road and Holyrood 9A at the end of Cowgate), this is my personal favourite as it tends to be less touristy and as a result the bar staff have more time for the punters. The beer selection is never going to set the world on fire but its solid enough and fresh. There's a heavy emphasis on brewers from Edinburgh and Scotland, so if you're a visitor to Edinburgh and looking to sample Scottish craft beer from keg then this bar should be high on your list.

6. Cask and Barrel (Southside). A slightly controversial one, as I'm breaking my own rules to put this one in the list (there's far more cask than keg here). But, if you're after cask beer then this is arguably the best cask in town. They also have some interesting and fresh kegs on rotation. Lets be clear,  if you head here expecting 3rds of a single batch DIPA from some Avant Garde brewery in New Jersey that none of your drinking buddies have heard of, expect to leave disappointed. If you consider a finely balanced cask bitter from a small local brewer that is fresh, well kept and well poured to qualify as craft beer, then you could do a lot worse than head here. Oh, and the decor is cool and proper old-school.

7. The Potting Shed. 18 craft beers on tap and you can forgive the ever-so-slightly twee concept of this city centre bar. The prices can be a little eye-watering at times but this place definitely has the largest selection of Scottish craft beer kegs on draft in town.

8. The Bow Bar. This no frills joint on Victoria Street is a nice place for a pint and a pie (if, like me, you're a fan of meat and gravy encased in pastry...). They've almost always got something interesting on both keg and cask and if not, their can and bottle selection in the fridges is well selected. If you like this kind of place, you’ll probably also like the Blue Blazer, at the opposite end of the Grassmarket.

9. The Brewdog Bar. Love ‘em or loathe ‘em, these guys arguably got everyone talking about craft beer in the UK in the first place and this Cowgate outpost of the Aberdonian craft beer empire is a lively place to hang-out. They’ve got around 15 beers on draft at anyone time, although the majority of these are their house beers. If you like Brewdog’s beers then you’re spoilt for choice, if you don’t, well there’s usually 2 or 3 lines of some interesting guest draft on. Rumours abound that a second Brewdog bar will be opening in Edinburgh shortly.

10. The Dreadnought. Where!? Exactly! This place is so good you probably haven't heard of it (and is about the polar opposite of the Brewdog Bar)! Tucked away at the end of a residential street in North Leith, this quality bar was, until recently, so rough that even I wouldn't drink in there. Luckily, at the end of 2016 it was taken over by two guys who know their beer and the selection (5 cask and 5 keg) is always interesting and fresh. You won’t get a better pint of Pilot Blønd anywhere in the city plus they frequently host beer festivals where they double the number of drafts on offer. They're also one of the only places in Scotland that serves beer from interesting independent English brewery Brass Castle.

As always, there will be some who feel that their favourite craft beer pub in Edinburgh should have made this list. Honourable mentions should go to:

- OX184

- The Canon's Gait

- Jeremiah's Taproom

- Woodland Creatures

If you feel I’ve missed somewhere worthy of inclusion on this list just drop me a line and I’ll consider including it next time I update the list.