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semperintrepida · 4 years

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The Sellout, chapter six

six: the not date

Two hours before Kassandra was supposed to meet Kyra downtown, she paced beside the wall of windows in her condo and tried to keep her eyes away from her old nemesis, the clock. This wasn't the unforgiving squeeze of pressure in the final seconds of a basketball game or the relentless climb of lap times at the track. This was time moving at a glacial scale.

She paced, and wondered how many steps it would take to wear a groove into the concrete floor. She paced, and tried not to think of the ways Kyra's presence had filled this room so completely, or how Kyra had stood by this window and sat in that chair. She paced, because if she stopped, her footsteps would fade and she'd have to admit how fucking quiet it was in here.

Her tank top stuck to her skin as she moved, and she realized she was sweating. The room was too hot, but the numbers on the climate control were the same as they'd always been. Her heartbeat was up, her breathing fast and shallow. With some effort, she diverted her steps away from the windows to the wet bar, and when she picked up a glass and a bottle of bourbon, her hands were trembling slightly.

She tipped a healthy pour into the glass, along with an ice cube, and as she lifted the drink, it slipped from her hand and shattered on the granite bar top.

Motherfucker. At least it wasn't from the bottle of antique single barrel.

She dug out a bar towel and a trash bin, and swept the shards and liquid into the bin along with the towel for good measure. She dug out another towel for the floor. On her knees mopping up broken glass and now all her muscles were jittery, not just her hands.

Try again. Another pour — this time it was the antique single barrel to make up for how well her evening had been going so far. Careful now. The bourbon hit her like a caramel bomb, and it sat back and fumed vanilla while the taste of fruit and honey danced on her tongue for several seconds. Nearly 130 proof and it went down smooth as cream.

The drink wrapped around her like a cashmere bathrobe as she savored it and watched the sun's rays slant across the river. After a while, her muscles were steady again, but her heart was still a whirring motor forced to idle on the dragstrip, waiting for that green light to go.

She carried her drink with her into her bedroom, threw open the doors to her closet, and surveyed her wardrobe. Time to do battle with Portland's sartorial lawlessness.

Individuality ruled this place, and nothing was ever cool if anyone else did it too. It was the opposite of L.A., which never met a trend it didn't want to chase. Portland was reflexively anti-trend, and even those with money had changed their ways to compensate, trying to downplay their net worths through their choice of clothes.

In this town, the penalty for overdressing wasn't embarrassment — it was distrust.

Kyra had that antiauthoritarian streak too. Kassandra had never met someone so repulsed by her money. Most were the opposite, wanting to get real close to her real fast. She'd learned early on that people were best kept at arm's length.

She was eight years old the first time her mother spoke to her directly about money, old enough to understand that a private boarding school in upstate New York was not how most kids grew up. Most kids saw their parents more often than birthdays and Christmas — even her classmates, most of whom belonged to the Northeastern elites. She'd been a bargaining chip in a divorce between an American father and a Greek mother, and New York was where she'd landed in the settlement. She never saw her father, even though he lived in New York City and was the one paying her tuition. He was too busy becoming a billionaire. Her mother lived in London then, working as a diplomatic attaché in the Greek embassy. Kassandra had quickly learned not to miss either of them. On rare occasions, her mother would fly in for a few days to visit her. They'd spend most of their time together in awkward silence, or muddling through stilted conversations like near-strangers. In one of them, she'd complained about a schoolmate, one of the day-goers who lived in the town nearby, who kept asking her for things, like pens, or notebooks, or erasers; who'd treat her sweetly as long as she handed them over but cruelly whenever she refused. Her mother had looked at her with her opaque diplomat's gaze and said, You are a child of two families of wealth and power, Kassandra. Some recognize the resources you have, and want it only for themselves. They will try to take it from you. And Kassandra had nodded as if she understood.

Pens and notebooks became pocket money became real money soon enough. She didn't truly understand her mother's warning until she arrived at Stanford, but by then she'd learned there were benefits to having all those resources, too.

She could have damn near any woman she wanted, and she did, quite often. And when she was done, she put them back where she'd found them. She had no idea how big her cumulative hotel bill was from all those indulgences around the world, but it was probably enough to buy another home to go with the apartment in New York City, the flats in London and Athens, the house in Seattle, and the condo in San Francisco.

She sipped her bourbon and ran her hand along her collection of bespoke suits. Then she heard her mother's voice again, from some other memory in their distant past. The way we present ourselves to the world is a message, and a single glance will tell a stranger your taste, your means, and your confidence.

Odd, all these thoughts about her mother. She was back in Athens now, the Cabinet Minister of Economy and Development in the new government. Kassandra hadn't seen her in years. But she'd been right about the message a wardrobe could send, and as Kassandra pulled hangers off the rack, she wondered what message Kyra might be composing.

She set her drink aside and pulled on a pair of sand-colored trousers cut from fine English twill, a lightweight denim shirt in a medium wash, and a linen sport jacket the golden brown of a Cuban cigar. Would Kyra wear a flannel shirt to a fundraising gala? She'd probably get away with it if she did. Maybe she'd wear the lumberjack one and lean full tilt into Portland's "Stumptown" persona.

Kassandra frowned as she adjusted her collar in the mirror. A tie would be too formal for this audience, but to go without was unappealing. She browsed her drawers of neckties and accessories until she found a navy blue neckerchief and a matching pocket square. Perfect.

She imagined Kyra the lumberjack smirking into her own mirror at home. Hell, maybe she already had someone there to show off for, someone to ask, How do I look?

Then Kassandra fought back a sigh and lifted her wrist to unbuckle her watch, and in her bedroom's cavernous silence, she could hear the watch's mechanical movement tick-tick-ticking away.

.oOo.

Five minutes past seven o'clock, she was strolling up Alder Street in search of the right address when she heard a "Hey!" from a passing car, and looked over just in time to see Kyra emerge from the back seat of a taxi.

She'd guessed wrong. Kyra had left the flannel at home. Instead, she wore black on black on black: a long-sleeve button-down tucked into tight jeans cuffed at mid-calf over combat boots. She wasn't here to be charming; she was here to kick ass.

Kyra raked her with a glance. "You look... nice," she said, and it was hard to tell what flavor of nice she really meant.

Style lived and died by details, and Kassandra could take in all of Kyra's details now that she was standing up close. Kyra's shirt was fine linen, embroidered with small dots of charcoal grey thread in a pattern reminiscent of Dotted Swiss fabric. It gave the shirt texture and interest. Kassandra had never seen her without mascara and eyeliner on, but now she'd added red lipstick, a dash of color mirrored at the cuffs of her jeans, where the rolled fabric revealed red stitching.

And she'd pulled her hair up into an artfully messy bun, exposing the lines of her neck along with a silver necklace and circular pendant. All together, it was a bold, confident variation of what Kassandra was learning was her signature style. The only thing missing was her tattoos, hidden under long sleeves.

Kassandra swallowed into a suddenly dry mouth. "So do you." She meant it.

The smallest hint of color crept into Kyra's cheeks. "So," she said before the pause grew awkward. "Who am I supposed to be tonight? A friend, or..."

"A friend would be fine." More than that would be dangerous for Kassandra. She'd have to be satisfied seeing Kyra struggle to hide how much she despised her.

Kassandra gestured towards the massive wooden door behind them. "Shall we?" A carved wooden sign was affixed to the wall beside the door that read, Multnomah Whiskey Library, Members Only.

She pulled the door open and let Kyra pass through first.

"So this is the infamous Whiskey Library," Kyra said once inside.

"Ever been here before?"

Kyra snorted. "Fuck no. I'm not paying for the privilege of paying for drinks I could easily make at home." She peered into a glass display case as she passed. "Okay maybe I don't have any twelve hundred dollar bottles of bourbon. But I could make you a damn good cocktail, so good you wouldn't even miss it."

I could make you a damn good cocktail. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Make me a cocktail sometime."

She shrugged. "Maybe. You're a decent tipper. That's earned you some points."

"You'd actually make me pay for it?"

"We're not friends yet," she said breezily. "And I don't work for free."

The doorway to the greatroom beckoned. Kassandra leaned close to Kyra and whispered in her ear. "We're supposed to be. Tonight." Close enough to catch Kyra's scent: a faint hint of coffee, and the spice of some aromatic wood. Cedar maybe, ancient and heady, wafting from the sun-warmed deck of a Kyprian trireme as it cleaved the clear blue waves of the Aegean...

The pleasant image dissipated when Kyra came to an abrupt halt just inside the greatroom. She craned her neck, taking in the sight of heavy oak beams and crystal chandeliers hanging high over brick walls paneled with mahogany. The entire back of the room was dominated by the bar, an imposing structure made of even more mahogany, crowned by shelves packed with bottles. The bartenders wore waistcoats and ties with their shirts, and used an antique library ladder to reach the bottles on the upper tiers.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to hop over that bar to fix you something right now."

Kassandra laughed. "No. However, I am expecting you to have a nice time." And to have a chat with her target. If her hunch proved true, he'd find Kyra very intriguing indeed.

"I'll drink to that," Kyra said drily.

The room was filling up. They moved through the throng, pausing here and there as Kassandra greeted those she knew, until they reached the bar.

Kyra wandered off to order, while Kassandra recognized a man standing nearby as one of the Multnomah County commissioners.

"Chuck Meeran?" She offered her hand. "Kassandra Agiadis. So wonderful to finally meet you."

His handshake was as carefully modulated as any politicians' and he had to tilt his head up to look in her eyes. She could see the wheels turning as he tried to place her name, then the slight widening of recognition. "Ms. Agiadis. It's a pleasure." Only a fractional stumble over the unfamiliar pronunciation of her name. Not bad. He flashed her a friendly smile. "I take it you're not here on coffee business?"

She smiled to match his own. "I'm just a civilian tonight," she said. She glanced at the drink in his hand and pulled on an air of confused helplessness. "I've never been here before, is there a drink you'd recommend?" Men never relaxed around her until they felt themselves superior in some way. Sometimes it paid to speed the process along.

"First time at the Library, really?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but I just moved here from Seattle." A wink and a smile. Maybe a donation to his re-election campaign later. Greasing the wheels, for the day when one of her companies needed a zoning change, or a variance.

"Ahh yes. As a Timbers fan, I'll try not to hold it against you," he said generously. "Now let's see, if you like a lot of rye..."

She half-listened as he incorrected himself, while sneaking glances up the bar at Kyra, who was leaning conspiratorially in conversation with one of the bartenders — a stocky woman, tidy in her wool waistcoat and polka-dot pocket square. Kassandra felt her eyes narrow, and only after some effort did she manage to wrangle her face back to neutral as the Commissioner blathered on.

It took a few minutes, but Kassandra extracted herself from the conversation with a promise to schedule lunch "very soon" and a glass of some unremarkable bourbon in her hand.

Kyra and the bartender were chuckling over some shared joke. "Seriously," she said, rolling her eyes as the bartender chuckled some more and moved away to take another order.

Kyra leaned back against the bar as Kassandra approached. "Jesus, you weren't kidding about all the Patagucci vests."

"It's a thing," Kassandra said. Even trend-hating Portland wasn't immune to the plague of finance and tech bros who'd decided that fleece vests were the pinnacle of style. "I don't understand it myself."

The area around the bar was starting to get crowded. Kyra pushed herself away from it to let a laughing couple move past. She sipped her drink and studied the assembled guests. "Why am I here tonight, Kassandra?"

Kassandra led her to a slightly more quiet corner of the room. "I want you to meet someone."

"Are they here yet?"

Was she that anxious to leave already? Kassandra hoped not, because her target seemed to be missing. She scanned the crowd again just to be sure, using her height to full advantage. No sign of him. "No, not yet."

Kyra's gaze settled upon her. "I bet you go to shit like this all the time."

"More than I'd like to."

After that, silence. Maybe Kyra had run out of things to say, because supposed to be friends wasn't at all like they actually were.

Closed or open. Those were Kassandra's options. Stay closed, and stand in awkward silence or chat about small, safe subjects. Or she could open up, reveal a little of herself and hope that Kyra might follow. "I spend hours and hours a day talking to people. Sometimes I just want to sit with a book and a glass of bourbon."

Kyra nodded. "I get that. Sometimes it's like... if I have to listen to one more story about someone's day, I'm gonna go mad. Maybe I'd like someone to ask me about my day for once."

"People want a side of therapy with their latte."

"All for four bucks," she said. "But don't get me wrong. Customer service is my gig, and I like it well enough, it's just..."

"Too much of anything will kill you," Kassandra said agreeably.

Kyra eyed her over the edge of her glass. "What about you? If you didn't have to be here, what hot book would you be on a date with?"

To Kassandra's surprise, Kyra's voice held none of her usual mocking tone. She thought of the half-finished translation of Sappho she'd been working on. Kyra would probably roll her eyes and think it horrifically pretentious.

Kyra made Kassandra want to edit herself to impress her. "I've... been reading a lot of poetry lately." A bad answer, but it would give her time to wrack her brain for a good one.

"Oh? Like what?"

A commotion at the front of the room saved her. She looked up, saw a man posing dramatically within the frame of the greatroom's doorway, and smiled.

He strolled into the room: blonde and beautiful as a Greek god. He wasn't Aphrodite emerging from the waves, but a man named Alkibiades, known more for his wit and insatiable appetite for hedonism than his generosity. And if Kassandra was going to win this evening, she'd need to convince him to change his ways, if only for a little while.

Kyra's attention followed Kassandra's lead, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of him. "You want me to talk to Alki Henriksen? Climbing Magazine coverboy Alki Henriksen?"

Kassandra grinned. "Yeah."

"What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and chat him up?"

"Of course not. I'll make an introduction." Or she would, if she knew Kyra's last name. God damn it. How had she overlooked that important detail?

"You know him?" Kyra was saying, between incredulous head shakes. "Of course you do."

She'd never seen Kyra this... flustered. It was delightful. "Don't tell me you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," she said a little too quickly. She knocked back the rest of her drink and handed the empty glass to a passing waiter. "Well, what's the plan?"

First, the matter of Kyra's name. "Do you have a business card?"

Kyra shot her a suspicious look, but didn't argue, just reached into her back pocket and pulled out a stack of cards, sliding one off the top and handing it over.

Cliffhanger Coffee Kyra Delianos, Proprietor

No way. Kyra was a fellow Greek. Kassandra's mind flooded with questions. Did she speak Greek? How did she end up in Portland of all places? But now wasn't the time to ask. She shoved her curiosity into her pocket along with the card.

One last thing. She reached for Kyra's wrist, but stopped before making contact. "May I?"

"Okay..." Kyra's brows wrinkled. "Wait, why?" she asked, but she didn't pull away when Kassandra gently lifted her arm and began rolling up her shirtsleeve.

"You have more credibility than anyone else in this room. You own a business here, but you're also a part of this community," Kassandra said as she folded the fabric, her heart jumping every time her fingers brushed Kyra's skin. "And you very clearly don't look like someone who lives in Lake Oswego or West Linn." Stepford, cookie-cutter suburbs, filled with what passed for the wealthy in this part of the country. "It's worth emphasizing that you're a patron and constituent. To this particular audience, that carries weight." She finished the cuff, then moved on to the second sleeve.

Kyra looked skeptical but didn't say anything, just dropped her eyes to watch Kassandra's hands work the fabric of her shirt.

Kassandra smoothed the cuff just above Kyra's elbow, then ran a fingertip down the delicately shaded lines of the tattoo she'd revealed. "Besides, I think they're beautiful." And with that, she turned and stepped into the crowd.

Time to go fishing.

She cast her line easily enough, edging through the crowd that had gathered around Alkibiades and hooking him with a simple, "Walk with me?" They weren't exactly friends, but their history was such that it was enough to get him to join her without question.

Kyra, to her credit, hadn't moved from where Kassandra had left her, and she greeted their arrival with a casual ease. No sign of the nervous fluster of before.

"Now Alki," Kassandra said. "I know you get so bored talking to the same stale people at these things, and you know I can't tell a cam from a carabiner, so I brought you someone who does." She turned her gaze to Kyra. "Kyra, this is Alkibiades Henriksen. Alki, this is Kyra Delianos."

They shook hands. "Alki's short for Alkibiades?" she asked.

He grinned. "My mother had a flair for the dramatic."

"Kyra owns a coffee shop here in town," Kassandra said. "Cliffhanger, off of Belmont."

"Cliffhanger, you say? I like you already."

Kyra's eyes flicked over her and back. "I'm so glad Kassandra introduced us, because I owe you a thank you."

"Oh?"

"One of your ropes saved my life once."

Kassandra had chosen wisely. Kyra knew how to work a conversation, balancing her compliments with questions to get him to talk about himself and his company, and soon enough they were discussing things like the hand feel of synthetic fibers and dynamic versus static elongation and Kassandra took that as her cue to step back and get out of the way.

A tall, trim man in a sport jacket wandered past her elbow. "Merritt!" she said with a smile as she joined him. He owned the top tier men's and women's teams in this soccer-obsessed city. "How nice to see you. And how are your Timbers and Thorns..."

.oOo.

For the next half hour, Kassandra worked the room with a smile, a firm handshake, and a stack of business cards. She spoke with a tipsy neurologist from OHSU; a partner at some law firm with a comically long name she'd already forgotten; and a creative director at Wieden+Kennedy, who was all too happy to tell her how they'd picked the locations to animate in this year's anime-inspired advert for the Oregon tourism board.

Alki caught up to her as she finished her circuit of the room. "Kassandra! I really must thank you."

"For?"

"That introduction." He nodded over the crowd towards Kyra, who was off in a corner chatting with a few other guests. "She's exquisite. Like a wild tigress. Is she yours?"

"No. And she'd better not hear you say that or you'll end up wearing your balls for a necklace."

"So not yet."

"She can barely stand to be in the same room with me." What the fuck was she doing, letting that slip? There was something about him that disarmed her in the most inconvenient times.

His face lit up. "She's fair game, then?"

Careful, Kassandra. She smiled at him while taking a slow and measured breath through her nose. "You'd have to ask her."

He dropped his mouth open and pressed his hand against his chest. "Tamping down your anger on my behalf? Are you trying to turn me on?" Then he laughed. "I never thought I'd see the mighty Kassandra sell herself short. Your tigress only has eyes for you, darling."

Kassandra found herself meeting Kyra's gaze across the room, but before she could nod, or smile, or do anything at all, Kyra looked away abruptly.

"I know carnal interest when I see it," he said sagely.

"It'll never happen."

"Why not? Did you kick her puppy or something? No, don't give me that look. I know you're no puppy kicker. Stealing her puppy for yourself would be more your style."

She ignored him. "Have you forgotten who I work for?"

His eyes widened as he connected the dots. "Oh dear, that is awkward." He paused, considering. "But look at you, still trying anyway. I admire your persistence in the face of adversity."

"You're speaking to me like you know me well."

"Oh, but it's true. Like recognizing like. It's what we do, you and I: float high above it all to keep everyone from coming too close. But sometimes one of those pesky mortals becomes too captivating to resist." He lifted a brow over clear grey eyes and fine, androgynous features. "Is she worth coming down from Olympus for?"

She found herself gritting her teeth. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

"Come now, Kassandra. All this sexual tension's making you mean."

To hell with him and his money. She was this close to writing off the bet she'd made and telling him something she'd regret. But then she'd be wasting all of Kyra's efforts, and setting back the Library's fundraising as well. She took a breath, then laughed a laugh that said Let's change the subject. "We've been talking far too much about me," she said. "So, what magazine cover did you land this quarter?"

He was all too happy to tell her about his latest climbing adventure, to Peru this time, and then the conversation shifted as it always did to his ambitions for Vertus, the climbing gear company he'd founded.

"Then Kyra flat-out told me that Vertus had no reputation other than making 'bombproof' gear."

That did sound Kyra-esque.

"And then she said if I wanted to be Yvon Chouinard, I'd have to start acting like him."

Yvon Chouinard, the founder of Patagonia, Inc., known for his activism and philanthropic efforts. "She's got a point, and she's not shy about stabbing people with it."

"Is she that candid with you?" he asked, smiling as Kassandra nodded. "Oh to have a front row seat in the theatre when that happens." He paused in thought. "Well. Between the two of you, I've had a wonderfully enlightening time this evening. But I'm sure you invited me here for a reason, Kassandra."

Her smile was small and knowing and there was no need for her to say more.

"I'd love to see my name at the top of the generosity leaderboard tonight," he said. "How many digits do you think it would take?"

"Six."

"For you darling, my wallet's wide, wide open."

.oOo.

A short while later, Kassandra was camped near the bar with a well-deserved victory drink in hand. No way she was losing this bet now. She couldn't wait to see the look on—

"So that was Alki Henriksen."

Kassandra turned and found Kyra walking up to join her. "It sure was."

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked. "Scratch that, I can already tell. You're just reeking of smug satisfaction."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome." There was humor in her voice. "He said the two of you met at a Blazers game."

"We did, yeah."

"He also said you used to play, once." She gave Kassandra an appraising look. "Were you any good?"

Kassandra shrugged, her edges still raw from her earlier conversation with him. "I was all right."

A voice spoke from behind her. "'All right'? She was the best player in the country three years in a row."

Kassandra turned with a grin. "Hello, Roxana."

They embraced, briefly, as Kyra watched them with thinly-veiled curiosity. Roxana squeezed Kassandra's hands and stepped back to study her. "'course I'll never fucking forgive you for knocking us out of the Final Four."

Stanford versus Cal, that never-ending Bay Area rivalry. They'd split their regular season games that year and traded spots in the rankings back and forth until tournament time, and then everything came down to one game, win or go home, Stanford down one point and only two seconds left on the clock...

"You were guarding me so close it took a fucking circus shot to win that game," Kassandra said.

"Only you would have taken that shot — and only you could have made it."

They grinned at each other until Kassandra remembered her manners. "Roxana, this is Kyra. Kyra, Roxana." The two of them shook hands like two leopards meeting: an instant sizing up of the other, shoulders pulling back, spines straightening.

"Nice to meet you," Kyra said.

"The pleasure's mine." Roxana shifted her gaze between Kyra and Kassandra and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I interrupted you two, but this was my first chance to say hello all evening."

"It's been what, five years since we've seen each other?"

"Near enough."

"How are the kids?"

"Kiana's on a good travel team and thinks she's going to play for Stanford. I don't know if I'm going to survive wearing your colors for four years."

"She's got plenty of time to change her mind."

Kyra lifted her empty glass. "Excuse me a moment," she said.

She cut through the crowd with a feline grace. Kassandra turned back to Roxana to find her smiling curiously. "A friend of yours?"

"Something like that."

"I'm not sure what I think of this new humble, evasive you."

Damn, it was good to see her. She'd always been beautiful, and over the years, she'd found contentment in a balance of family and career that had only deepened her beauty. Roxana wasn't the one who got away, but a vision of what might have been.

What might have been, if they'd been able to make a long-distance relationship work while Roxana was playing ball in Russia and trying to catch on to a WNBA roster. What might have been, if Kassandra had never gotten into the back of that towncar with her father, not knowing that she was about to be driven straight into a car wreck that would tear her and her life to shreds.

Roxana had tried — she'd tried harder than anyone else — but when Kassandra finally got out of the hospital, she was too far gone, too into her anger, too busy pushing everyone away while she tried to figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life now that basketball had been canceled from her equation.

"It's good to see you," she told Roxana. "And I'm going to win our bet, just so you know."

"Now there's the Kassandra I know and love."

"Nike still running you ragged?"

"I flew in from Boston last night. We're going all in with Eliud — if anyone's going to run a sub-two-hour marathon, it's going to be him."

"I can't think of anyone better to lead that charge," she said, smiling as Roxana wrestled with the compliment. "So what have I missed in five years?" she asked, but as she listened to Roxana tell her of what might have been, her eyes kept drifting to the crowd, looking for Kyra and the possibility of what might be.

.oOo.

It wasn't until the fundraiser was winding down that Kyra found her at the bar.

She'd left Kyra alone to mingle without distraction, and every time she'd caught a glimpse of Kyra in the crowd, she'd been deep in conversation with someone new. Good. Let her build that network.

"They're saying Alki pledged half a million tonight," she said without preamble. "No one else came close."

Kassandra smiled into the last of her drink and finished it off. "Mmmhmm."

"That's a lot of money," she said. Then she gave Kassandra a sideways glance and added, "Not for you, I'm sure, but..."

Any answer from Kassandra's mouth would be wrong. That topic had too many dangerous currents, was too perilous to their friendly façade. "Did you have a nice time tonight, at least?" Safer waters.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Nearly ten o'clock. She'd overstayed her deadline by an hour.

"But not for long."

That confused her, but then she followed Kassandra's eyes to the area behind bar, where the bartenders were moving racks of glassware and wiping down the bartop, cleaning up after the fundraiser and getting ready to reopen for the bar's private clientele.

They got the hint, and headed for the exit.

"This carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin. Or a speakeasy," Kyra said. Then she gave herself a self-deprecating snort. "That was a terrible metaphor. It's not even close to midnight."

On the sidewalk outside, they stopped and looked at each other, both trying to figure out something to say.

Kyra beat her to it. "I did have a really nice time," she said, and there was an ember of warmth to her that hadn't been there before.

Kassandra wanted more of it. "Would you like to grab a—"

"Kassandra! You weren't going to leave without gloating over your victory, were you?"

Fuck. She turned to Roxana in time to be enveloped in a bear hug. "Actually, I was—"

"Alki Henriksen opening his wallet. Unbelievable. I thought I had you beat for sure after I got Tim and Merritt to sign on."

At the edge of her vision, she could see Kyra's features freeze over. Fuckfuckfuck.

Roxana smiled at her fondly. "You should join me on the Library board, you know. We could use you."

It took Kassandra a moment to regain her wits. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long to say yes." She checked her phone. "There's my Uber, I've got to run. Lunch sometime? Soon."

"Yes, for sure."

Then Roxana disappeared into the back of her ride. She'd left Kassandra on the sidewalk and taken all the air on the street with her.

Kassandra turned slowly. "Kyra, I—"

"You used me."

"To raise more money than I could have on my own."

"So you could win a bet. That's all this was to you. Another chance for you to lift some trophy in your own mind," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade. Then she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't stop, didn't turn around. "On a walk."

"At this time of night?"

She ignored the question, putting more and more distance between them.

"Fuck," Kassandra muttered, then hurried in pursuit, falling into step beside Kyra, close enough to be caught in the splash zone of Kyra's seething anger.

Kyra kept her eyes straight ahead. "What are you doing?"

"Walking with you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"I don't care," Kassandra said. "You want to go somewhere? I'll see you there safely. You want to walk around, aimlessly? We'll walk around, aim—"

Kyra took two quick steps and pulled ahead, then whirled around and stopped square in Kassandra's path, somehow filling the entire sidewalk with her immovable presence. "Stop it," she said, raising both hands in front of her. "Just... stop." Her eyes searched Kassandra's face. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

Sudden pain was something Kassandra knew. A lowered shoulder bashing into her chest hard enough to crack ribs. A highside flinging her from her dirtbike onto the rocks. And now she had another entry for the list: a few simple words in the shape of a question. "If that's what you want, say it, and you won't see me again."

Kyra stared at her, and Kassandra felt herself standing up straighter, her spine and ribs tightening as if pulled by a great winch; her body closing the gates and readying the defenses.

Then Kyra laughed, the sound as thin and brittle as the shards from a broken window, and just as dangerously sharp. "I want a fucking drink."

She walked away, and Kassandra followed helplessly after her. One block up, another block over, and then Kyra headed straight for a hole in the wall with the discouraging name of "Scooter McQuades" printed on a boxy sign that flickered fluorescently into the night.

If the Oxford English Dictionary had an entry for "dive bar," it couldn't do any better than a description of this place: a dimly lit snapshot of the early nineties, where the music was abrasive and loud, and decades of grime stained the walls.

The woman behind the bar looked over at them and smiled. "Kyra! I'll be damned."

It was interesting, how quickly Kyra could relax in the right circumstances. Like a light switch flipping.

"Ann! I didn't think you'd be working tonight." She smiled apologetically. "It's been too long, I know."

"You're busy. I'm busy. It's all good." The bartender was older, maybe in her fifties, dark hair streaked with grey and faded tattoos on her forearms. Cotton-candy pinks and blues. But her movements behind the bar were as clean and purposeful as a scalpel and her eyes were lively with humor. She quirked an eyebrow just long enough to give Kassandra an appraising gaze, then turned back to Kyra.

"What are ya hankerin' for, love?"

"PBR and tots."

Then it was Kassandra's turn. "What'll it be for you?"

Kyra interrupted before she could open her mouth. "She'll have a PBR, too."

"How do you like them tots?"

"Cajun."

"Won't take but a minute, I promise." She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Well, don't just stand there, have a seat, both of you. Booth, bar, pick your poison."

Kyra chose a booth near the windows. The cracked vinyl seats had once been emerald green, but time had faded them to a dull moss, and someone had patched the worst of the wear with strips of black tape. At least the top of the table seemed clean.

Kyra leaned back against the vinyl and stared at her.

Kassandra had been grilled by hostile lawyers in the courtroom and shouted at by C-level blowhards in the boardroom, but nothing compared to the withering scrutiny she was getting in this dive bar — and Kyra hadn't even said a fucking word.

The drinks came, along with a steaming basket of tater tots, and in moments the booth smelled of beer and fried potatoes. Kyra tossed a soggy cardboard coaster emblazoned with "Kilkenny" in front of her, then placed a pint of PBR upon it.

"Drink it."

She did. It was better than she thought. Better than she remembered, during those beer-soaked college days when she played hard and partied harder, a different sorority girl in her bed every night.

Kyra sipped her own beer and nodded at the bottles of Jameson lined up at the end of the bar. "I want that bottle of whiskey. But I know I shouldn't have it." She popped a tater tot into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully. Reached across the table for the bottle of ketchup. Shook it forcefully and tapped out a puddle onto a paper-lined corner of the basket.

Kassandra couldn't remember the last time she'd had a tater tot. College, maybe? She picked one out and ate it. Spicy heat. Paprika and cayenne and plenty of MSG, probably, the flavors floating on a raft of grease and fluffy potato. It was good, and as comforting as a warm blanket.

She glanced at the ketchup bottle. Not Heinz, something local. Organic, artisanal ketchup in a dive bar, reminding her that she was still in Portland after all.

Ann bustled by with a tray full of pints destined for another table.

Kyra nodded in her direction. "She's owned this place something like twenty-five years," she said. "That's what I want. I want my shop to last." She pushed the corner of her beer coaster with a fingertip. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

She moved her finger in a slow arc, spinning the coaster. Her glass spun with it, leaving a wet trail behind on the tabletop.

"I don't have a safety net, Kassandra. I don't have any family left, and my money's tied up in my shop. If I fuck up, it's all on me." Her hand stilled. "And I think about that every single time I have to make a decision about the shop or about money. It's always there in the back of my mind. Always."

She pushed the coaster hard enough for the beer in the glass to slosh from side to side.

"I'm not telling you this because I want your pity. I chose this business. It's just... I have a lot to lose, but my everything wouldn't even be a blip on your radar."

"I understand."

Her smile was patient. "No you don't, but that's okay."

She tipped a tater tot into the pool of ketchup. Fished it out. Ate it.

"My lease is up this fall, and judging by that look on your face, you know exactly what that means for me. I'll get to play the negotiation game with my landlord, trying to get to a place where the rent increase won't crush me."

Kassandra thought of the shiny new furniture store next door to the coffee shop. The deck was stacked against Kyra; all that outside money pouring into the neighborhood was there for one purpose: to raise rents.

"So I'm still thinking about your offer, because I'd be a fool not to."

"There's no universe in which I'd ever mistake you for a fool."

Silence, then. Maybe she'd killed the conversation. Maybe Kyra just wanted to sit in peace and drink her beer and eat some tater tots, and forget for a moment that she was the only one holding up the weight of her world.

The world revolved around money. Kassandra saw the windows of the coffee shop going dark, the bar and chairs and tables vanishing, a FOR LEASE sign pasted up against the glass. Outside money. Kyra's problem was the kind of problem she could solve.

One tater tot left. Kyra's brow arched in silent question, and Kassandra shook her head in a take it motion.

Kassandra finished her beer, and watched the remnants of foam slide down the walls of the glass. After a while, she cleared her throat, looked at Kyra, and said, "So, how was your day?"

Kyra blinked, but then a slow smile spread across her lips. "It was interesting," she said. "I had the day off, so I climbed all morning and spent the afternoon figuring out what the hell I was going to wear tonight." Then she laughed, more from disbelief than humor. "And then I go to this fundraiser with no idea what to expect, and end up talking to Alki fucking Henriksen, the god of climbing. He wants to meet about doing a collab with my shop. I never would have dreamed of that being a possibility. Never. Though I'm sure he's just trying to get in my pants."

"He wants both. Business and pleasure." Like recognizing like.

"It's tempting; he is a beautiful man."

They'd make a striking couple. The thought of it was vertiginous. She kept her face blank and her mouth shut as she studied the worn formica next to her glass.

"But I already have enough of a distraction on my plate."

Kassandra nodded. "I know." Everything kept circling back to the same place.

Silence for several seconds, then Kyra spoke again. "I wish our circumstances were different."

That made Kassandra look up. "So do I."

"Do you? Would you even notice me if I was some rando on the street, I wonder." Then she waved one hand dismissively while tipping back her head to drain her beer with the other. The glass hit the table with a bang, and she slid it aside. "No, don't answer that. I've got to open the shop early tomorrow."

Kassandra grabbed the check before Kyra's glass came to a stop. She dropped cash on the table, then picked up the pen and receipt and wrote her number at the bottom.

"What's this?" Kyra said as Kassandra pushed it in front of her.

"My phone number, if you ever need it. Or if your opinion about our circumstances ever changes."

For a moment, she thought Kyra might not take it. But Kyra did, her fingers gracefully folding the paper before slipping it into her front pocket. And then they were standing, and Kyra was saying goodbye to Ann, and they were walking outside to stand face-to-face on the sidewalk. Déjà vu.

They stared at each other.

In the backwash of fluorescent light, Kyra's eyes were sheened with black opal. "I was kinda hoping I'd have a horrible time tonight," she said, and she reached out and tucked a stray lock of Kassandra's hair back behind her ear, and then her fingers drifted down to the lapel of Kassandra's jacket, and over to the knot on Kassandra's neckerchief, and she gave it a gentle tug, and smoothed its tails so they hung neatly. "I really was."

She stepped back, and her eyes said something in a language Kassandra hadn't yet learned how to read.

"Will you text me?" Kassandra asked.

"I don't know." Her gaze moved past Kassandra's shoulder. "Oh, I want that taxi."

Three long strides and Kassandra was in the street, flagging it down, opening the door.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," she said as Kyra settled into the back seat.

"Wait, how are you getting home?"

"Walking. It's not far." Then she closed the door, flashed a smirk and a wave as Kyra rolled her eyes and the taxi pulled away.

Chapter six of The Sellout.

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #okay so this is like the longest thing ever #but it also needed to be #god this fic is such an indulgence lol #i had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this #the sellout

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thevioletjones · 4 years

Note

fic trope 60! 😋 congrats on 100k!! soooo deserved!!

Alright! So this is a ficlet I combined with a request from @yellowcerulean that was also for #60 + #4:

Bookshop AU / Aroused by their voice

Mickey stared down at his phone with deep disdain. Was he really willing to go through with all this bullshit just because he lost a fucking bet? His sister’s sneering face and cutting voice popped into his head spewing the usual hateful, nagging bullshit she always directed at him, and he sighed heavily, knowing he’d have to bite the bullet and abide by the terms he’d agreed to or else never hear the end of it.

He pressed the telephone number link, then send, bringing the phone to his ear as it began ringing.

“Bargain Book Bin, this is Ian, how can I help you?” The voice that greeted him was deep and sexy, which momentarily threw Mickey entirely off his game.

“Uhhhh…” What was he calling about again? Oh right. “Yeah, you got any of those like GED prep book thingies? Like with worksheets and crap like that?”

The guy on the other end of the line audibly snorted, which immediately set Mickey’s teeth on edge. “Yeah, we have those.”

“That funny to you, asswipe?”

“Um, no sir, I just couldn’t help being amused by your phrasing.”

Dammit, the little teasing lilt was not helping Mickey stay angry.

“Well, maybe next time don’t laugh at someone askin’ for help and just answer the damn question,” he said anyway.

“Will do, sir.” Dammit. Why’d he keep calling him ‘sir’ like that? “We have GED prep books.”

“Great. So what’s the fuckin’ bargain like, then? You guys sell secondhand shit for cheap or what?”

“We sell both used and new items. It all depends. You can come down and take a look. But if you don’t mind my saying, I would also recommend the adult continuing education classes at the library. They can be really helpful.”

Mickey’s eyebrows quivered and shot up. “Yeah, I do mind you sayin’. You tryin’ to tell me to go back to school?”

“Um, no. I’m trying to tell you that the library has free classes that help people like you get ready for taking the GED.”

“People like me? Who exactly are people like me, asshole? Retards? Dumbfucks like me who had to drop out?”

“Uh, look, sir—”

“And stop callin’ me fuckin’ ‘sir,’ bitch! I’m gonna come down there and you can say that shit to my face!”

Mickey hung up the phone in a giant huff, wishing it was like the old days when you could slam the receiver down satisfyingly into the cradle. Or at least snap the fucking flip-phone mouthpiece closed. Smartphones were bullshit for ending angry phone calls. He couldn’t exactly afford to throw it at the wall though.

It wasn’t even a half hour later when he marched into the shitty little bookshop hole-in-the-wall a handful of blocks over. There were a total of zero patrons in the store based on his cursory glance around, and only one tall redheaded fuck behind the counter with his back turned.

“‘Ey,” Mickey called out. “You the joker tryin’ to send me back to degenerate school?”

The redhead whipped around stiffly, and Mickey’s forward gait stuttered. If this was the melodious voice, then he was in serious fucking trouble, cuz the guy was hot as hell. Didn’t look like he belonged cooped up in some old musty bookstore at all.

“GED guy?” It was definitely the sexy voice. Dammit.

“Good guess,” he shot back. “So you gonna say it to my face, or what, tough guy?”

The tense shoulders sagged a little, and the dude’s handsome face softened. “Look, you were jumping to a lot of conclusions on the phone, man. I wasn’t trying to put you down or anything, okay?”

“Sounded a lot like you were,” Mickey replied, slowing his roll slightly, but crossing his arms in a small show of defiance. “Came off like an uppity prick, to be honest.”

Red chortled and looked down, and something inside of Mickey fluttered unwittingly.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Rumble Fish… I never graduated high school either, okay? I took the GED myself a few years ago. Hence my advice, cuz I know of which I speak.”

That took Mickey aback. This guy didn’t talk like some dropout. “The hell is a fuckin’ rumble fish?”

The guy snickered. “It’s a book about a young ruffian who fights a lot. They made a movie out of it too. Matt Dillon played you.” Now he was fucking smirking at him. The gall.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asked, unable to stop himself from being charmed by this idiot. “I guess he used to be pretty hot back in the day.”

That titillating smirk blossomed into a full-on wolfish grin. “Yeah, he was.”

Was this fool looking him up and down now? Jesus.

“You checkin’ me out?” Mickey hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Maybe I am.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Ian.”

“Right. Mickey.”

“Right. You wanna go check out the books you need then?”

“I wanna check somethin’ out alright.” Oh god, was this him flirting? He was pathetic.

But Ian just chuckled and motioned for him to follow him through the tall stacks. Mickey obliged, watching his ass the whole way.

#ficlet #trope challenge #ian x mickey #gallavich

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thebookbud · 4 years

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Shelf History Tag

This tag is for those books that came to you in an unusual, interesting, funny, or sweet way. Pick 5 (or more if you want) books from your shelf and tell us the story of how you came to own that book. If you’re a public library user and don’t really own any books, you can still participate. Just tell us the most interesting/funny/sweet ways you came to find a particular library book.

Tag your posts #ShelfHistory so I can see them all!

When you’re finished, tag 5 (or more) readers whose Shelf-History you’d like to know about! This one can easily be done on any blogging/vlogging platform so feel free to tag cross-platform if you really want to.

Thanks for the tag @anassarhenisch this is so so sweet!

1. The Demonata Series by Darren Shan

I got these as a gift from @a-hunch-with-scaffolding. One night after book club I went back to my room and found that he had hidden them next to my book stacks so I couldn’t make him take them back before he left (I’m not good at receiving gifts). He wanted me to read them and went and got them...for me. (Minus the first, I'd already read it on Kindle) It was one of the sweetest ways I have ever received a book, let alone a whole series.

2. The Perfect Tribute by Mary Andrews

My dad is a huge American civil war history buff and he gifted this to me when I was around ten years old. A very endearing look at Lincoln. It’s an original copy and I hold it extremely dear for sentimental reasons and the fact that it’s an antique now.

3. Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson

So this is more of just a story that makes me laugh. I went to Barnes & Noble to find this and was ready to buy the trade paperback (because I didn’t want to spend $35 on hardback when I don’t even have the first two yet) and while browsing the bargain bin just for fun on the way to checkout, I found this hardcover copy tucked in the back for $8...that’s right 8 freaking dollars! I mean it’s beat up and worn, but a book this large is going to be worn immediately anyways from its own weight and I really don't mind a well loved book.

4. Ghost Lake by John Peel

I’ve posted about this book quite a few times, so you may know this is one of my first memorable novels. I loved it so much I must have read it at least four times when I was a kid and I couldn’t find it whenever I went to Borders (yes Borders was still a place then) and well, I “borrowed” this copy from my elementary school classroom and still haven’t brought it back, almost two decades later...whoops.

5. A Divided Mind by M. Billiter

I’ve bought autographed copies of books before, even been to a signing or two. But never before did I reach out to an author directly to request a signing. Well, after reading this through BookSirens I decided I’d ask M. Billiter if she’d be so kind as to sign a copy if I ordered it and sent to her. Not only did she sign it, she was thrilled with the compliment, sent goodies with it and when the second in the series came out, sent me an ARC of that also to review, which can be found here (I highly recommend these novels). Honestly, one of the sweetest interactions I’ve ever had!

Hey, @readingismywholelife @hayleysbookshelf @redheaded-reader @the-girl-who-lived-to-read @books-are-perfection wanna share a bit about your books’ backstories, maybe? (I took pictures with mine but it’s unnecessary if you don’t want to, just fyi) Looking forward to seeing some stories! Hope you all enjoy and anyone else who wants to join in, please do so!

#ShelfHistory #Books #Reading #Stories #Personal #Booklr #Bookish

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deliciouswinnerbouquet · 3 years

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Pymol Mac Download

This page describes how to install PyMOL on Mac OS X.

It will also render artistic visualizations of geometric figures, interactive visualizations, and animated displays. It runs in Windows, Mac OS, Linux, and Unix. Using PyMOL is surprisingly easy, even if you lack knowledge of chemistry. The interface is well laid out and fairly intuitive, considering the program's esoteric function.

1Incentive PyMOL

2Open-Source PyMOL

Installing PyMOL 2.0 and later. Download the installation archive for your platform and license key from the IS&T software grid. Win/Mac: run the installer and follow the installation wizard instructions. On Mac, most installations should be automatically detected, but you may need to set the path explicitly to ensure that the correct version is used. PyMOL We distribute an obsolete binary build of PyMOL (version 0.99) with PHENIX, but this is lacking some significant features and we recommend that you use the newest release. Easily Install PyMOL on Mac OSX 2011-10-21T00:00:00.000Z. PyMOL is a very popular 3-D molecular visualization tool. It also happens to be a great bargain. PyMOL is free, as in open source. Unfortunately, all attempts to install PyMOL on an OS X system (as per the INSTALL file) led to errors.

Incentive PyMOL

Schrödinger provides pre-compiled PyMOL to paying sponsors. The bundle also includes ready-to-use APBS, RigiMOL, an MPEG encoder for movie export, and a small molecule energy minimization engine.

Download: https://pymol.org/

Installation: Drag PyMOL.app on the /Applications shortcut. (In principle, you could drag it into any Finder window and run it from there, it doesn’t have to live in /Applications).

Uninstallation: Move /Applications/PyMOL.app to Trash

Launching from Command Line

The unix executable resides at /Applications/PyMOL.app/Contents/MacOS/PyMOL

X11 Hybrid

Applies to PyMOL 1.x, not to PyMOL 2.x

MacPyMOL can optionally run with the same two-window GUI which PyMOL uses on Windows and Linux. This GUI has some additional features, like the Plugin menu and the Builder.

Requires XQuartz.

There are two ways to launch the X11 interface:

Rename or copy/duplicate /Applications/MacPyMOL.app to /Applications/MacPyMOLX11Hybrid.app or to /Applications/PyMOLX11Hybrid.app

Launch the unix executable with the -m flag: /Applications/MacPyMOL.app/Contents/MacOS/MacPyMOL -m

Stereo on Second Monitor

The trick to getting MacPyMOL to work in stereo on the second monitor is to force it to initially open on that display by providing an appropriate '-X #' (and perhaps -Y #) option on launch. That way the OpenGL context will be created with stereo support.

Source:Warren DeLano; PyMOL Users Archive

Pymol Free Download

Open-Source PyMOL

Package managers

Open-Source PyMOL is available free of charge and may be readily installed via the Homebrew (recommended), MacPorts, or Fink package managers.

You may need to make sure that the dependencies are installed with the required flags, e.g. for MacPorts:

If PyMOL complains that it wasn't able to find X11, try starting xquartz first, then run pymol from the console.

Install from Source

Pymol Mac Download

If you want the latest PyMOL code (warning: might include experimental changes), then follow the Linux installation instructions. You will need an environment like Fink, MacPorts or Homebrew to install the dependencies. Make sure you use the appropriate python interpreter (e.g. /sw/bin/python2.7 when using Fink).

To run PyMOL with a native PyQt library (linked against macOS OpenGL framework, not against XQuartz), it needs to be built with the --osx-frameworks option:

Free Pymol Mac Download

Install APBS with Fink

To use the electrostatics plugin, you will need APBS and its dependencies. These are also available as Fink packages, and include APBS, maloc and pdb2pqr. If you have multiple processors available, you might wish to install the MPI version of APBS.

Issuing the command

will install apbs and its required dependencies for you. The fink pymol package is already preconfigured to do the right thing to use apbs as a plugin.

Stereo issues

Some older Macs seem to crash with stereo graphics. If this happens to you, a workaround is to launch PyMOL explicitly in Mono mode with `pymol -M`. You can also set up an alias in your ~/.profile:

See Also

Bill Scott’sMacOSX-specific .pymolrc file and his crystallographic software wiki and website, including instructions on how to install precompiled binary packages using fink.

Retrieved from 'http://pymolwiki.org/index.php?title=MAC_Install&oldid=12800'

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pynkhues · 5 years

Note

Ok, so. First of all, I freaking love your writig, its *chefs kiss* delicious. Second of all I have this theory. Its that the only way they will say anything seriously nice about the other is if they are not saying it to each other. Could you write something about Beth defending Rio to someone (maybe a PTA mom or Ruby) or Rio defending Beth to someone (maybe Dean) and the other one overhears? Kinda the opposite of 'eavesdroppers never hear nice things' kinda thing. Sorry for the ramble!

Thank you so much! You’re so sweet!

So, I’ve had so many requests for fic in The Center and Circumference / domestic fic universe, I didn’t realise that that wasn’t in your request until I’d already finished this prompt, haha. I hope that’s okay! Anyway, it’s pretty long, so I hope you like it :-)

He’s halfway through a meeting with one of their newer clients – some watery-eyed, broad-faced fuck with a propensity already for overstepping – when Rio’s cell buzzes in the back pocket of his jeans, and shit, he thinks, gaze flicking to his right on the table where his work cell sits uninterrupted. It’s ain’t that.

“I can manage the extra cars,” the client says across from him, unperturbed, shifting forwards slightly in his seat, and Rio arches an eyebrow, feeling his cell quiet down, then the tell-tale buzz of a voicemail left after it. There are only a few people it could be on this line – Elizabeth, probably about dinner tonight or somethin’ (she’s careful about calling his work cell for work-related things after all), his mom, probably about dinner on Sunday night, or - - his jaw already twitching in annoyance - - Glenvale Elementary School.

“That’s a lotta product,” he tells the client, while telling himself it could be Danny’s teacher – Elizabeth had kept him home sick yesterday with what she was sure were the early signs of an ear infection, and she is usually right about those sorts of things; or Emma’s teacher, maybe – giving her another prize for highest raised hand or cleanest desk or some shit, but damn, who’s he kidding?

If it’s the school, he knows who it’s about.

“I can move it,” the client insists. “It’s only three more than my guys are already doing, and I’ve got a few new territories I’m exploring for distribution.”

It’s the way the guy says it more than anything that makes Rio train a lazy eye back on him – the tone just the wrong side of desperate. Rio knows that tone – the tone of somebody who’s promised someone more than he can offer.

Rocking forwards a little in his own seat, Rio knits his fingers together, drops them as one to the table in front of him, his brow furrowing in faux confusion as he does it, and he’s about to ask exactly why this dumbass needs three extra cars worth of pills when his cell starts buzzing again in the back pocket of his jeans.

And just - -

If it is the school - -

If one of them is sick or hurt or something, just - -

Fuck.

He lurches to his feet.

“We’ll start with one,” he tells the guy, already reaching for his cell, and when the client opens his mouth to try and haggle, Rio silences him quickly with a look. Once he’s sure the guy isn’t going to make trouble, he drags his gaze away just long enough to make eye contact with Demon, who’s standing, folded-armed, by the door.

“Demon’ll take you through the, ah –” he rolls his free hand out at the wrist, making a show out of considering this, his other hand still occupied with his buzzing cell. “Paperwork, dot the I’s, cross them t’s. You do okay with the one, we can talk about two next time, yeah?”

And at least even the mention of Demon is enough to shut the guy up for real.

What can he say? Demon’s got a rep, and what sort of boss would Rio be if he didn’t know how to use it? He smirks a little, watches as Demon moves to sit down on the edge of the table, inches away from the client, looking down at him, and when he’s sure Demon’s got it, Rio slips easily out of the room.

He’s still walking down the short hallway of the warehouse to his current office when he finally actually looks at his buzzing cell, feeling equally pissed off and vindicated at the Glenvale Elementary number blearing back up at him. And sure, maybe he’s pinching his nose as he answers the call, elbowing his way into his office – expecting what exactly, he has no fucking clue. He’s given up on guessing when it comes to Marcus and Jane. If they’ve started another fire though, he swears to god - -

“Mr Vela,” the administrator says, a little breathless, her voice cutting through his thoughts. “Thanks for taking our call. We understand you’re a very busy man.”

Rio just hums, folding down into his desk chair.

“The kids aight?”

“Um, yes, yes, the kids are all fine, we were just - - we were wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming in? Now? Or whenever soonest you could get here?”

He checks his watch, rocking his jaw in irritation. He’s not sure he can sit through another meeting with Marcus and Jane’s teacher, watch him make cow eyes at Elizabeth, blush like he’s fourteen when she laughs at some joke so lame it may as well be leavin’ his mouth with scuffed loafers and a sweater vest.

And - -

Wait - -

He purses his lips a little.

“Yeah, ain’t you got some PTA mom bake off on right now?” he asks. “My partner should be there already. In your cafeteria and whatnot.”

Despite his best efforts to get her not to be. There were better uses of her time after all, but she kept insisting it was good for the kids to see her there, for the school to see her there too, and they’d fought enough about it, because yeah, sure – Rio was down for the recitals and the games and even the family mixers (which - - ugh), but it wasn’t like the kids were even around for the PTA shit, and besides, Rio (and Elizabeth, in name at least) had donated half a library to the damn place. Enough that the school would turn a blind eye to any of the shit Rio did if he needed to (namely taking the kids out at no notice if shit went down. Or if it didn’t. Whatever. Sometimes he just wanted to take ‘em to LegoLand).

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling,” the administrator says a little nervously. “There’s been an incident with some of the parents. In fact, with your partner. If you could come in as soon as you could, we’d be grateful.”

***

And really, this shit is just hilarious.

He’d gotten a few of the details over the phone from the administrator, but honestly he doesn’t think anything will really beat walking into a first grade classroom and seeing Elizabeth on one of those tiny little plastic seats, a handful of scratches at her temple like someone’s tried to gauge out her eye and missed, some more at her chest, the neck of her pink blouse torn open and her neck and chest smeared with frosting.

Rio arches an eyebrow at her as he steps in, and Elizabeth puts her nose up and everything, a blush dusting her cheeks, all prim like they ain’t gonna be finding blood and frosting when she pulls her bra off later, but then - - he bites back a grin. That sounds kinda fun.

She’s doing better than the woman beside her anyway – some Bargain Bin Barbie, who has two cotton balls shoved up her bloody nose, the start of a killer black eye (and damn, when had Elizabeth’s right hook gotten that good?) and cake in her peroxide blonde hair. Some Ryan Seacrest-type who’s gotta be her husband sits beside her, arms folded over his chest, looking for all the world like it’s the last place he wants to be.

No imagination, Rio thinks, his jaw rocking in amusement, eyes shifting back to Elizabeth.

He can’t think of a place he’d rather be.

“Ah, wonderful, we’re all here.”

The voice sounds from behind the desk, and Rio jerks his head around to see some guy who must be a part of the faculty – tall and lanky wearing the ugliest fucking tie Rio’s ever seen. The guy gestures him out vaguely towards the back of the classroom. “Would you mind taking a seat.”

Striding forwards, Rio grabs one of the little plastic chairs from where they’re stacked in the corner, dropping it beside Elizabeth and sitting heavily down in it. As soon as he’s seated, the guy looks between them, ringing his hands a little nervously, shuffling in his own seat.

“I’ve called you in today because your wives –”

“They’re not even married,” Bargain Barbie snips, and Elizabeth’s head rotates around so quickly she’s like that little girl in The Exorcist.

“It’s 2019, Tania, marriage hasn’t been a measure of a relationship’s worth in at least twenty years. Something you’d know if you read something other than the back of your box-mix cupcakes.”

And, well, damn, Rio thinks, sucking in his lips to swallow a laugh as he looks back at Ugly Tie. Vaguely he can see Bargain Barbie (or Tania, he supposes, but whatever, he doesn’t care) make a noise of abject outrage – whether at being called out for her apparently dated ideas or the insinuation that her cupcakes aren’t made from scratch, Rio has no idea. Maybe it’s both, with the way she turns about nine different shades of red. Beside her, her husband suddenly grabs her hand, dragging it into his lap to stop her from hitting Elizabeth again.

Or, well, trying to. No matter how funny this whole thing is, Rio’s not exactly inclined to let anyone touch her.

“Your partners,” Ugly Tie corrects nervously. “Were involved in an incident in the school cafeteria ahead of this afternoon’s PTA Bake Off.”

“We weren’t involved in an incident,” the blonde hisses, flailing her free hand out in Beth’s direction. “She attacked me.”

“I did not attack you,” Elizabeth replies, and Bargain Barbie snorts while the colour drains from Ugly Tie’s face, like he thinks fists are about to fly again. He teeters nervously at the edge of his seat.

“Witnesses did say you pushed her face first into the cake display, Ms. Marks.”

Witnesses, Rio thinks with a grin. Like this is an episode of CSI. These people really are a trip.

Elizabeth looks at Ugly Tie at that and then quickly paints on that Stepford look – the one that’s all Bambi Eyes and Molly Manners – the one that, despite himself, still makes his dick twitch.

“Maybe I moved a little suddenly,” Beth allows. “But honestly, it was an accident, Ed - - can I call you Ed?”

Ed pinks a little, stuttering out a yes, and Rio has to resist the urge to snort.

“I guess I was just a little swept up in the moment of it – you really do just run the best PTA fundraising bake off – and I mean, I’d know, because I’ve participated in more than my share, being an active member of the school community - - ”

“You’re so full of shit,” Bargain Barbie snaps, arm flailing out of Seacrest’s grip, and honestly, Rio thinks, amused, she’s kind of got her there. Still, Ugly Tie holds up a hand to both of them, as if finding his train of thought again.

“The reason we’ve called your partners in, is it seems like the fight stemmed from broader tensions between your families.”

And that shuts them both up.

Rio glances curiously over at the other couple, racking his head to think of any time Elizabeth’s so much as mentioned a Tania, but he comes up blank. He knows there’s a Margot who’s trying to get the school on a raw food diet, and a Penny who always fights it when Elizabeth tries to move the school away from celebrating religious holidays (“It should be all or nothing,” Beth insists. “If the school is going to keep celebrating Christmas and Easter, why can’t they celebrate Eid and Diwali too? It’s 2019!” – apparently that’s her buzz phrase at the moment), but - - no Tania.

“Anyone?” Ugly Tie asks them all now, and Elizabeth and Bargain Barbie both sit up a little taller, pointedly maintaining their silence, and damn, they’re more tight-lipped than half Rio’s boys. He eyes them both with a vague interest as Ugly Tie sighs.

“Fine. A two week ban on all PTA activities,” he says, and Rio could almost laugh at the look of abject horror on both Elizabeth and Tania’s faces. “And you need to apologise to each other and to the other members of the PTA.”

“Mr. Hollander, the Spring Fling Dance planning committee nominations are next week,” Bargain Barbie cries, and Elizabeth opens her mouth probably to say something equally embarrassing, and Rio figures that’s probably their cue. He grabs Elizabeth by the elbow, lurching to his feet and dragging her up with him, and before she can dig her heels in in that way she does, he’s nodding at Ugly Tie in acknowledgement, saying a quick “Sounds fair,” and dragging them both out of the room.

***

Turns out her sister’s shitty car had croaked again that morning, so Elizabeth had lent her the mama van on the condition she drop her for the bake off and pick up the brood after school, which is fine, he figures, pulling out of the school carpark, Elizabeth all tightly wound beside him in the passenger seat, her cheeks red and her posture stiff.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asks as he gets onto the main road. He really should go back to work, but fuck it, he thinks. There’s nothing on Demon can’t handle, and if there is, he knows how to reach him anyway.

“No,” she snips, and Rio casts a look at her out of the corner of his eye, and it takes him a minute to realise that the red of her cheeks isn’t embarrassment like he’d figured, but rather that it’s still anger. It’s enough to make him shift in his seat – it ain’t like she doesn’t get mad, just she doesn’t usually get mad about PTA stuff, at least not like this – more just tense and exasperated and sometimes frustrated in a way he can usually diffuse if he looks at her or touches her right. But this - -

He ain’t seen her like this recently.

The car slows at the traffic lights, and he uses the opportunity to reach over, push her hair out of her face, run a thumb over one of the scratches at her temple.

“Want me to call my sister? Get her to bring over a rabies shot?”

It works like he’d wanted it to. Beth exhales a laugh, her gaze drifting over to him, watching as he takes his hand back to the steering wheel of the car. They get another couple of blocks when he feels it, the slow boil of her anger again, simmering beside him in the car, and they’re not even that far from home, but fuck it, he thinks, he doesn’t like the idea of her going straight into one of her furious cleaning or cooking frenzies, so he pulls over.

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t react, not even when he turns in his seat to look at her, taking in the tight lock of her shoulders, the tighter one of her jaw.

“Elizabeth,” he starts, and she looks out the window, away from him. “Come on, ma.”

She rolls her eyes at him, like he’s the one being ridiculous, and he pointedly pulls the keys out of the ignition, watching as she turns enough to scowl at him, folding her arms across her chest. Whatever. No skin off his nose, he thinks, leaning back against the driver’s side door, his eyes not leaving her, he’s got all day, and it’s only another minute, maybe two, before she’s flailing her arms in the air, her cheeks reddening all over again.

“She called you a drug dealer,” Beth whisper-yells at him, like anyone can hear them in his car, and shit, is that all? Rio just laughs.

“And you upset about that?”

He knows she is – can see it in the heave of her (still frosting-covered) chest, in the way her lower lip quivers, her eyelashes clump. Can hear it in the tightness of her voice, and maybe he should’ve gotten her home first, gotten her on her back in their bed, breathless, legs trembling, made her forget about it the best way he knew how, but - -

“She meant it as an insult,” she says hotly, interrupting his train of thought, and Rio pops an eyebrow at her, because no shit. “And it’s not like she knows you are one. She thinks you work flipping cars with me.”

“So what?” he asks, shrugging, and Elizabeth frowns over at him, finally turning around in her seat to face him. She’s still all flushed, flustered, and she seems pissed at him now when she flails her arms out at him, and voice shrill, says:

“So what? So - - so what if she says that sort of thing in front of her sons, who go to school with your son. What if they tell all their friends about what Marcus’ daddy does for a living?”

Shaking his head, Rio can’t quite take her eyes off her, because seriously – sometimes he thinks she figures he popped out of the ground the day he showed up in her kitchen, like Marcus did that day in the park.

“Trust me, it won’t be nothin’ Marcus ain’t heard before.”

And at least that shuts her up, her mouth closing, her posture sagging a little back against the passenger side door. He just watches her, briefly considering putting the keys back in the ignition and driving them home, but then - - he knows her enough to know that that ain’t all it is bothering her. He frowns at her, drums his fingers on his leg, and then looks away, something sharp spiking in his gut.

“You worried about your kids?” he asks, voice a little tighter than he wants it to be, and when Beth shrugs, his frown deepens.

“It’s a part of the deal,” he says. “Shit, you know what I look like, ma.”

And she doesn’t reply to that either, and that sharpness in his gut peaks into something uncomfortable. He rocks forwards a little in his seat, using the momentum of it to sit back harder, to bump his back back against the door.

“This a problem?” he asks her. “You want me to talk to the kids about how their new stepdad’s gonna make ‘em whispered about on the playground?”

“I don’t care about the kids!” she yelps, and he blinks, unable to contain his surprise when she suddenly backpedals. “I mean, of course I do, that’s not - -”

She exhales, the sound harsh in the hollow of his car, and she won’t look at him when she says:

“She can’t talk about you like that. She doesn’t know anything about you.”

And that’s - - not what he was expecting. He blinks at her, that sharpness in him dulling, squinting a little at her as he takes her in.

“She can do whatever she wants, ma."

Because shit, she can. Rio wouldn’t have wasted his time talking to her anyway, but hell, if she ain’t gonna pretend to make nice with other parents, he sure as hell ain’t either.

“Fine,” Beth says finally, sniffing a little. “But actions have consequences, isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

He could almost laugh at that, because she’s right, he is always telling her that, but he means it more in the context of handling a slippin’ employee, or her own tendency to steamroll into situations like she’s - - hell, like she’s one of their seven-year-olds.

“And what? Talkin’ shit gonna get her hit?”

“Yes,” Beth tells him firmly, nodding, sitting up a little straighter in her seat, her chin up, all defiant, and Rio snorts.

“You all about defendin’ my honour now?” he says it patronisingly, expecting her to get embarrassed in that way she does when she thinks he’s making fun of her, but that’s not what happens at all.

“Yes,” she says emphatically instead, and Rio blinks, surprised, and then before he can say anything else, she keeps talking.

“I told you. She can’t talk about you like that, and I’m not going to let her. And just for the record, I like the way you look, so.”

She stops then, looking over at him briefly, then quickly turning around in the seat, facing forwards again, all prim again like there ain’t cake in her hair, and Rio can’t quite stop his grin.

“Yeah, I knew that last one, ma,” he says, and Beth pinks, but she smiles, gaze finding him again. She bites her lip a little, looks up at him through her lashes, and Rio just - - shit. He can feel how goofy his smile is, quickly tapering it into a smirk as best he can.

“You really push her into that display?” he asks her after a minute of quiet, and Beth wrinkles her nose, blushing for real this time, but still. Something in her face, it’s a little proud.

“Punched her too.”

He arches an eyebrow, looking dutifully impressed, and she preens before she can help herself, holding up a hand at that so he can see the start of the bruises on her knuckles. He laughs, shaking his head, grabbing her hand to inspect it, and shit, if he doesn’t find them cute too – all dainty like her, little blooms of purple, like flower buds, and ugh. Even thinkin’ that, he shakes his head at himself, but presses his lips to them all the same, and he doesn’t hear it, or even see it, but some part of him feels her breath hitch, and it’s a relief really – that he can feel just how sprung she is too.

“Okay, bruiser,” he tells her, twisting back in his seat, pushing the keys back into the ignition, and he goes to drop her hand, but she threads their fingers instead, and he holds it there, against his thigh, the whole ride home.

#beth x rio #nbc good girls #the center and circumference #my fic #prompt fills #welcome to my ama

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littlemissnellie · 5 years

Photo

Maude Marsh for Bedelia’s Bachelorette Challenge by @smallcowplant

thank god my laptop’s back up and working so that I could enter this

Maude didn’t talk a lot after her parents disappeared. All it took was one trip in a rickety propeller plane to Selvadorada to explore a temple thought to be lost to the living world and they were never heard from again. Her grandparents welcomed her into their home with open arms and a wealth of love, but grief left her numb. She buried herself in books: old, leather-bound classics that cluttered every inch of the crumbling cottage or yellowed collections of scrawling sheet music. Her fingers would dance over the keys and thumb the pages and Maude was able to escape the cruel world that took people she loved away from her.

Soon her grandparents’ time came as well, as she had come to learn that everyone’s did eventually, and all at once she found herself completely alone. She couldn’t bring herself to leave their cottage, still soaking in what little security she still could from the lingering spirit that swathed their belongings. Some scream in terror, but Maude fell silent, too scared to breathe. Overcome by apprehension she drifted through life, if that’s what you could call it, with crippling caution. Until the staircase gave up on her as well.

Splintering wood. A cloud of dust. A collective gasp from the antiques. And Maude met her quiet demise. No matter how careful she’d been, the underworld had claimed her as its own and her time on earth had been drawn from her trembling hands.

After the disappearance of her parents the thought of an afterlife was somewhat comforting to Maude. But as time pressed on the idea grew as cold and lifeless as she believed them to be. So when her eyes fluttered open and she felt crisp satin beneath her fingers in the darkness that enveloped her, she was paralysed with fear. She held her breath, fearing that what little oxygen she still had left in this box that would allow her to scream for help would be wasted on a gasp. But whilst the air should have been thick and musty, it felt cool and almost refreshing. Was she even underground? Tentative as ever, Maude pushed on the wood above her and felt fresh earth simply slide out of the way. Eventually her fingers broke the surface and clawed at the dirt packed onto her grave. Once her whole body was free she shook the soil from her hair and her hand moved down to brush off her clothes as her eyes adjusted to the moonlight. Blinking life back into her eyes Maude’s breath caught in her throat as she gazed in a terrified stupor at her hand, or at least what had become of it.

Her skin was grey. She told herself that it must be a trick of the moon. The cold night air, ebony sky and shock of waking up in her own coffin were toying with her mind. But as she looked at her fingers again the horror of her reality dawned on her. Decay crept towards her palms, eating away at the flesh that once danced across ivory keys. She had to be dreaming. This was a sick hallucination. She was laid on a hospital bed with a ‘last-attempt’ dose of medication draining through her body and it was warping her thoughts.

But a breeze rustled the leaves of the trees around her and she felt it tickle her cheek. How could that be if this was a dream? How was dead skin capable of feeling? How could a girl who’d never really lived still stand here long after her life had ended?

Stumbling on stiff legs she didn’t feel she should be using, she made her way through the graveyard where her grandparents rested to the fountain she’d become so familiar with. Moonlight glittered on the water’s surface and as she reached out, the water spilled onto her hand. Recoiling in shock, she looked at her hand again. Still dying before her eyes, but dripping water nonetheless, and she could feel all of it. Her reflection snatched her gaze and all thoughts in her head fell away. It wasn’t just her hands that were beginning to decay, her whole body was bruising and faltering beneath the greying exterior. But her eyes were what rooted her to the spot. Where green beads had once hidden behind wire glasses, ghostly white orbs stared back at her. Any sign or irises or pupils had disappeared all together. There looked to be about as much life in her eyes as the rest of her body.

Staggering backwards she grabbed at her face, alarmed by what she’d seen. This was no dream. It was a nightmare. It had to be. But as her chest heaved with effort to take in enough air for her to hyperventilate, moonlight broke through the trees and bathed her creaking bones. Her head turned to the sky without conscious effort and suddenly energy like she’d never felt before coursed through her body. Sure her movements were still a little jerky, but she made her way back to the fountain with co-ordination that even surprised herself. Gazing into the rippling water once more she was almost hypnotised by what she saw. Her eyes glowed with what she could only explain to be the energy that had overcome her. In the few years she had spent on earth she had never felt like this. So vibrant, so awake, so…alive.

Her days had been spent quietly caring for her grandparents, tending to weeds in what should have been neat flower beds and escaping from her dreary reality with literature and music. It had hardly been a life. Her parents had wildly adventurous spirits that drove them to explore every inch of the world, yet she had caged herself away from it, kidding herself that painting pottery and wandering through libraries was enough to fulfil her time. Scared into hiding from anything that strayed from ordinary, Maude now found herself yearning to live. Everything she never experienced had never felt so appealing. There was so much more to life than she ever dared herself to believe but it had been snatched from her grasp before she realised it.

Still, her bones twitched beneath her skin and newfound determination fluttered in her chest where her heart once beat. Bruised lips twisted into a grin as reality dawned on her. This was her chance. She may be dead, but she was finally ready to live her life.

Traits: self-assured, glutton and clumsy

Maude Marsh is a zombie with a twisted sense of adventure. Once scared by the squeaking of a door, she wasted her mortality hiding from the world around her. But with immortality on her side and a desperation to explore the world she left behind, she’s ready to take on everything the afterlife has to offer. Now fascinated by things she would have never given a second thought before, she spends her time scouting out rubbish bins that litter the town to pilfer for trinkets to grow her collection oddities. It’s amazing how much you can find if you rummage hard enough! Her pockets are usually stuffed with rusty badges, paper straws and soda can rings.

Expressing herself in ways she never would have dared to before, she plays around with outfits she bargains from other corpses, putting on fashion shows for herself and any graveyard attendees that she doesn’t send fleeing in terror. Who’d have thought that greying pigtails could be so scary? The screams quickly became melodious to Maude, drawing smiles that grew bigger and bigger every time someone would recoil in horror. Something about making people feel something after a lifetime of feeling numb was incredible.

False life buzzes through empty veins as she giggles and rolls through trampled weeds, letting the grass tickle her skin. Sometimes she weaves dandelions and wild flowers into bouquets to leave for the gravedigger in hopes of making a friend, but they hadn’t been successful yet. Companionship was something Maude never allowed herself to experience in her life, too scared to open her cage and allow anyone to step inside. But with her cage long gone she now longs for a connection. She wants to discover everything life (and the afterlife) has to offer: the good, the bad and the straight up twisted.

Maude sees beauty in everything: sunlight filtering through foliage, old bubble gum stuck to a withering crisp packet or the glint of something wicked in a smile. As she falls in love with the world around her, Maude finds herself wanting nothing more than to find someone to share this adventure with. Can Bedelia get her heart to beat again?

dumpster queen

she/her pronouns

5′ 8′‘ in the cute boots she found in a ditch and re-laced with a lock of her hair

looooooves hugs

still not totally used to moving all her dead weight at once so is a lil’ clumsy most of the time

likes munching on daisies

if the other corpses don’t want to talk to her (which is often) then she’ll just sit and talk to their gravestones instead

loves doing the quizzes in old magazines she digs out of the trash

tried to write a note saying ‘hi I like your shovel’ to the grave digger with a stick

labradoodle puppy trapped in a zombie body

fishes coins out of the fountain to just throw back in

currently looking for more throw pillows for her coffin as well as a cuddle-buddy

sometimes follows people out of the graveyard just because she likes the way that they scream and wants to hear it again

private download if you’re interested!

#maude marsh #bedelia's bc entries #I had so much fun making her #and coming up with her story and everything #I know that I went waaaay overboard but I haven't done much serious writing on this blog recently so I clearly had a build-up of creativity #i'm really happy with how she turned out though #and i'm pretty proud of this post #so all in all this has been great #you really know how to inspire me sam #so thank you internet big sis #you're the best and you bring out the best in me #she’s a zombie btw #I don’t even think I explicitly said that lmao

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actualmichelle · 5 years

Text

I got tagged by @akhuna and have been looking forward to writing this out all day :) thank you!!!

Here are the rules:

❀ This tag is for those books that came to you in an unusual, interesting, funny, or sweet way. Pick 5 (or more if you want) books from your shelf and tell us the story of how you came to own that book. If you’re a public library user and don’t really own any books, you can still participate. Just tell us the most interesting/funny/sweet ways you came to find a particular library book.

Tag your posts #ShelfHistory so I can see them all!

1) Chocolat by Joanne Harris - I read a fic that was loosely based on this book and resolved to find it ASAP. The problem being I lived in the middle of nowhere Ohio and the nearest Actual Bookstore was like an hour away and I didn’t drive. But I happened to go to that bookstore with my mom soon after reading the fic, looked in the bargain bin, and....there it was! One single copy of Chocolat resting atop the pile, like it had been waiting for me.

2) The Terror by Dan Simmons - I was in my late-winter slump and happened to run across a list of mysterious disappearances that made me feel intrigued (rather than depressed). One of the things on the list was the Franklin expedition, so I read up on it and came across the book, then after reading that the wonderful show, and the amazing fandom on here :)

3) Circe by Madeline Miller - My sister @earlgreyhaught told me a ton of times that I would love this book, and I just happened to read it before/during the first trip I went on in....years. And it just really became intertwined with my memories of the trip--which was so much fun--and I feel like added a certain depth to the experience as well. Plus it felt so amazingly familiar while reading it; just an important book to me with a rich personal backstory/buildup.

4) Sherlock Holmes series by Arthur Conan Doyle - I don’t remember why but I picked this up my freshman year of college and just LOVED it so so much. In middle school I distinctly remember reading the Hounds of Baskerville and being bored out of my mind, but when I read it again in college it was just perfect timing somehow and it became a really big part of my college life. I used to sit in and by the hot tub at the rec center and just read these stories for hours. Plus there are so many good television adaptations!!

5) Jedi Apprentice series by Jude Watson - I first read these in middle school and have reread them many, many times. Some of the hardest times in my life (especially anxiety-wise) these books have guided me through, and the wisdom in the stories has been there for me when no one else was. I finally ordered the full set a few years ago. A fun fact-- I happened to email the author without expecting a reply and basically told her all the stuff I just said. She replied within a week with a very kind response, and it really meant a lot<3

I tag anyone who wants to participate!! Off the top of my head.... @thiswaitingheart @watertightvines @goldalarm @theiceandbones @professorerudite @earnestscribblr but no pressure :)

#tag game #long post #books #about me #shelfhistory

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aesthetixallyexo · 5 years

Text

good vibrations ; pcy

word count: 1.6k

genre: smut

warnings: underground rapper!au, sex toys, overstim, edging, masturbation, oral sex

‘in which loey’s got some new songs. you enjoy them differently than others.’

**see end of work for more notes

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

You had a ritual everytime Loey dropped something new. You’d wait for your boyfriend’s text saying his song was live, you’d grab your handy dandy toy, and find a whole new way to appreciate his music.

The idea was all yours, kind of. Another fan of Loey had posted something online about this fantastic new vibrator that pulsed with the beat of your music. Given his deep voice and the heavy bass in the majority of his tracks, it seemed like a match made in heaven.

He seemed a little apprehensive about the whole thing (you suspected that he felt like this toy was gonna replace him), but you managed to convince him how much fun the two of you could have with it together.

Neither of you were strangers to sex toys; you’d played around with cock rings and the occasional cheap local-sex-store-bargain-bin mini hitachi wand (not to mention the secret box you’d stuffed in the back of your closet with a dildo and sample lube packets), but this was different.

Despite his uncertainty, Chanyeol never knew erotic until he walked in on the sight of you coming undone to the sound of his voice and the vibrations it provided.

You’d even convinced him to let you try it on him.

Putting on the softest and slowest songs you had on your phone, you teased him with it over his boxers for well over an hour until he just couldn't take it anymore.

All music from both of your respective libraries were at your disposal, and you found that the most sultry R&B tracks were your favourite to use against him. The slow tempo and soft voices meant steady vibrations until the song reached its climax. The two of you would go at that for hours; you massaging his cock through his boxers with the vibrator while he played with your tits.

You favoured the slow pacing and the way R&B’s tease brought him over any genre you two had experimented with.

All that being said, your boyfriend’s favourite type of music method of torture varied. Of course, there was no shortage of his music and that of other rappers in the scene that he’d produced for. It got to a point where you couldn’t listen to any of his music in public with feeling arousal.

His new favourite was rock n roll; fast guitar, loud drums, and piercing voices meant you came fast and hard every damn time. As good as it was to cum to Kiss or Motley Crue, nothing was hotter to you than Chanyeol’s voice.

You’d been at home all day while Chanyeol was in the studio. He was producing and featuring on a track for an up-and-coming new artist. Sending little snippets of a song wasn't uncommon, he valued what you thought and what you could add to perfect his music.

Today was different.

He’d sent you audio of a few new songs and a message.

from: chan

to: you

you know what to do, baby girl (;

Giddy smile on your face, you put down your laundry and skipped to the bedroom. The vibrator was in the top drawer of your nightstand and the batteries were fresh. You plugged the cord into the base and pulled up the first untitled track while kicking off your panties. About four minutes in length, the song had a different vibe to his normal stuff.

A high note introduced the song and it definitely wasn’t his voice. The toy whirred to life between your thighs unexpectedly and you squealed in surprise. This was definitely the song he was featured on.

i’m starting to draw it out

just like i saw

aren’t you sick

of all of the same shapes?

The beat still hadn’t picked up yet, leaving a very soft pulse on your clit. You yearned for anything stronger. Whoever this new singer was, his voice was amazing. As the chorus began it’s build up, you saw a message from Chanyeol came through but you didn't want to stop and check it.

going on a path someone decided for you is no fun

a special wrong answer shines more

from now on, find the path that you want

go go go go

That was more like it.

no more thoughts that are measured with a ruler

do whatever you want instead of what’s nice

just like how you feel right now

do it, do it, throw yourself

You bucked your hips against the vibrator as you let out a long whine. Your fingers trailed down to your folds to collect your own arousal.

no more of what you don’t wanna do

do what you want instead of what’s typical

be free, yeah, have some lawless ideas

you’re still so young

The vibrations picked up with Loey’s verse. You whined, hips leaving the mattress completely as you rut your hips against it. What you wouldn't do to have your boyfriend there with you, teasing you with the buzzing toy between your legs while his fingers pump in and out of you.

if you did what they told you to do

you wouldn’t be able to hear

if you only used your shoulder to put on your backpack

you wouldn’t be able to dance

thin out all the decisions you made by being cautious

Collecting the juices from your pussy, you spread it across your sensitive folds. Cries of your boyfriend’s name tumbled from your lips as his voice brought you closer and closer to cumming. Your legs were shaking from the stimulation. The snippet of the song was fading out (and so were the vibrations), causing you to let out a sob.

You could practically see the shit-eating grin on your boyfriend’s face. Part of you knew he did this on purpose; bringing you just close enough to the edge to make you cry when it ends. Next song starting abruptly after a brief pause, the vibrations startled you.

i can’t breathe,

it’s like I’ve been split in half

cocaine won't replace

hearing your voice, sounding so sharp

This song was more Loey’s style; heavy bass, slow spoken words, deep voice. Again, your phone went off from somewhere on your bed, but you couldn't be bothered to check. Your orgasm washed over you in long waves and you felt your toes curl.

drunken calls

you’re makin' me high

i can feel it, a mistake

i need you by my side

Even though you came, it wasn't close to enough. Including this one, you had two songs left and you felt like it would be a disservice to your boyfriend if you stopped now. You wanted more. He would've wanted more.

baby girl

i’ve seen you with him

suffering

just can't quite reach it

The vibrations weren't quite enough anymore. You needed Chanyeol to hurry home. He always knew had to make you come undone in record time. Though it couldn't compare to his, you fucked yourself with your fingers in attempt to seek relief. Given your position, your palm pushed the vibrator against your clit and you sobbed.

“Please, Yeol!” You knew he wasn't there, but you desperately wished he was. Maybe crying out his name would make him come home faster. Hips bucking wildly, you just about reached you peak when you heard a familiar sound.

It was the click of a key in the lock.

Chanyeol was home.

And judging by the low chuckle and footsteps leading him to you, he knew exactly what you were doing. He found you fucked out; teary eyed, soaked with sweat, and hips rutting against your fingers.

“My poor little baby,” He cooed, stepping towards the bed and brushed your bangs away from your face. “Do you need to come?” Chanyeol grabbed your phone and paused the music. With the vibrations halted, you let out a whine.

Pure need radiated off you. “You still have a song left, right baby?” You nodded. Chanyeol smirked, selecting the final track. The vibrator was back in your hand and he was kneeling before your pussy. He finally dove in, dragging his tongue through your folds. The vibration kicked in and you squealed.

lovin that real love, something you feel love

turning me back to the old me

ride for my realla, i die for my realla

i give you respect like the OGs

lockin' me down like the police

You could feel the smirk on Chanyeol’s lips. He’d planned this all along and you knew it. You tugged on Chanyeol’s hair with one hand and manned the vibrator with your other. “Oh my god, more! Please!” He more than complied, fucking you with his fingers while lapping at your pussy.

i'm all yours, when you really wanna take me there

don't let me go nowhere

i’d give it all up for you, i swear

only for real love

Everything felt so intense. You were incredibly oversensitive from your last orgasm and you knew you probably weren’t going to last very long (especially if he kept his pace up). The vibrations became more intense with his parts of the song.

love is a high, we feelin’ alive

you lovin’ the size, 이 흐름을 타

i give you more, you feelin’ the flow

you never let none of them bring down the vibe

hustle to win, we be livin’ in sin

makin’ us two of a kind

Without any warning whatsoever, you came. In fact, you squirted a little on the sheets. As you basked in the glow of our orgasm, you could see the strain on your boyfriend’s pants. Perhaps you ought to pick some songs and return the favour?

THE END

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

vibrator in the story is called OhMiBod, liked here

songs in the fic are:

1. young by baekhyun ft loco (chanyeol has loco’s parts)

2. a mix of tempo, love shot, and stuff from a rap lyric generator

3. freal luv by far east movement ft. tinashe and chanyeol (chanyeol has f.e.m.’s parts as well as his own

#exo #exo-l #chanyeol #park chanyeol #exo smut #smut #kpop #loey #chanyeol smut

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korvusandco · 5 years

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Ask for the Librarian

(based on discussions with @ask-magala and also set in their AU as seen in Free Falling )

“Knowledge is power, Power corrupts.”

This city is hell, those in power sit in the uptown i their nice cosy luxurious homes whilst hey hold a strangle hold on trade and where the money flows. The common person is battered and considered expendable. There needs to be change forced, if necessary.

Who would have thought, some rich uptown broad would run the cities only library, sat in between the dengerous outskirts and the soft, cosy and well protected interior.

Kora didn’t care for either the politcal games of the interior, nor the suffering of the denizens that called the outskirts home. A new customer had come calling baring the token required for her “other” services. She ran the library, kept it up to standards, shelves upon shelves of books from history to fiction, to the cities building plans archived away.

But the token, oh the token got you a different library to browse, her private collection. Upon exchanging the token you are taken to her back office, it’s appearance grander than the library. With a press of a button the shelves of books sink away to reveal more weapons, and munitions that would make even the biggest weapon enthusiast faint, and they’re all for sale, for a price, and if you can’t afford it, theres always the bargain bin or the “lucky” dip

“You haven’t got enough for that, the only thing I can offer is the lucky dip. Go ahead try your luck.” Kora cooed playing with the returned token, as her customer braved the lucky dip. Once they found something they bowed and thanked her, scuttling out before the large, four armed woman could do harm to them, like the poor sap swinging by a rope outside.

Another token, another customer, it would seem she was going to make a lot of sales today. Life is more interesting for the librarian than the world knows, just the way she likes it.

There was a reason you were warned not to try the bargain bin or the lucky dip. The weapon was rigged and now you have to go to the only surgeon willing to deal with a wound like this. Good luck.

#Not-canon well atleast not the to main actual story but it kinda is to the AU.

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yoekko-novels · 3 years

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[To Touch The Skies] (#008) - Whispers

"Hey… who are you guys?" Hybrid says, leering into the robe as his eyes are nearly blinded by the light, almost dislocating his neck to do so.

The robe that was illuminated in an orangish-yellow light began to decay slowly as Hubrid continued speaking to them.

"Hey! Hey!" Hubrid shouts as they do their best to ignore him with cold sweat dripping down their miniature foreheads.

"Ignore him and he'll go away, just focus on the mission-." Hybrid reaches into the robe and pulls out the two sprites that'd been talking.

"What the-." The sprite cries out as he sits in the closed palm of Hubrid alongside his friend.

The two sprites look at each other in confusion as they stare into the robe looking at the two faces they'd despised more than anything before being dragged out.

'This kid uses magic, doesn't he? So how is he touching us?' The two sprites thought as they looked at each other with their fear growing and bewilderment showing.

"Who are you!" The sprites say in utter awestruck as they begin trying to struggle free from Hubrid's iron-tight grip to no avail. He eyed them down with wonder as he tried to remember the lessons he'd learned from Druchess.

Hubrid smacks his head in an attempt to remember their names. "You guys are… melons? No, wait you guys are oranges!" Hubrid says with confidence as he stared at them with their faces nearly reaching his eyeballs.

"Rijal! Ignore him and start draining him of his magic!"

"Alright, Bigal!" The two of them stick their needle-like tails in Hubrid as it pierces his skin and they bin to steal his magic energy as their tails begin to bulge from the amount of power being sucked away.

"Rijal, Bigal, did you guys know Druccshess? Yoou wasre inside oaf hies rove." Hubrid says as he begins drooling, nearly assaulting the two sprites with his saliva.

"Looks like we were worried for nothing Rigal, this guy isn't as tough as I thought he'd... be?

Hubrid slobbers as he lifts the black-winged humanoid figures towards his mouth as he began to crunch. The two of them screamed out in pain but it was too late for them. The moment Hubrid had his magic drained, he saw the sprites as cockroaches, which to him was a good meal.

"Foob!" Hubrid cried out in joy as it was the first time he'd eaten in a while. As he swallowed and with a gigantic gulp, he felt his senses returning

"Where did those felons go?" Hubrid wondered as a strange aftertaste lingered in his mouth.

Suddenly, more voices were heard coming from the cloak.

"Help us! Help us!" A tiny hoarse voice of a female could be heard whimpering inside of the robe as the light that encumbered them began to fade slowly.

"Be quiet! With those sprites gone we can finally escape on our own!" The tiny voice of a man says hushedly despite his loud tone as chains began to clank and struggling was heard only for it to end with a large huff and an awkwardly long pause.

"Help us! Help us!" The voice of a man is heard again, this time joining in with the cries of the female.

Hubrid quickly darts his hands into the cloak and reaches around, as he continues digging he feels himself being pulled into it, eventually entering inside of it to see a library that could dwarf even the great library of Eruna. Hubrid looked around in awe, scouring the library, and glancing swiftly over the abundance of books surrounding him from all angles. He dashed around merrily at the large expanse of books, he'd finally begun to feel true warmth, not the facade of warmth that the robe usually gave him as it covered him head to toe.

The oak bookshelves piqued Hubrids interest, he'd always wondered where Druchess had gotten his wide variety of books from. Whenever Hubrid would ask, Druchess would give some petty excuse to him such as "Knowledge dwells inside of all of us," Hubrid touched the books with both hands outspread as he flew across the ground like an eagle with its arms outstretched searching for prey.

The bookshelves appeared to look endless as Hubrid continued running down the isles taking book after book off of the shelf. Lights shined so brightly Hubrid had thought he'd found himself outside of the cave while sleepwalking. Hubrid continued down the isles, knocking book after book off of the shelves as he heard more strange voices calling out to him. The cries of the fairies were nearly ignored as Hubrid began skipping around the library in joy, with this abundance of books he could learn anything he wanted.

Hubrid begins sniffing around the library as the two fairies stood in front of him malnourished and weak. He continued inhaling air through his nose as he walked closer to the fairies, the two fairies looked at the disgruntled appearance of Hubrid and began planning for the worst.

"Damnit! Hey! Get us out of these chains!" The struggling voice of a male is heard once again, this time without the exaggerated high-pitched voice.

Hubrid turned to face the fairies and they met eyes on an equal level, Hubrid was shrunk when he entered the robe making him the same size as the fairies. The fairy on the right was chained to a wall, bound by her feet and hands by a rusted, corroded chain, her hair was a light bluish color, and her eyes the same. Her eyebrows frowned at the sight of Hubrid staring at her on the wall as she sat there in little clothing with bruises and scratches covering her body head to toe. The Red-haired fairy next to her began to bargain. He looked similar to the female fairy but with manlier features and his eyes matched his hair color.

"Hey, kid! Get these chains off of us and we'll give you-."

Before he could finish talking, Hubrid had already broken the chains from their links freeing both of them from their internment. The rust cracked away from the chains as the three of them coughed from the rust-infused dust that littered the air around them.

"Are you guys felons?" Hubrid says in confusion as he scratches his head as his other hand trembled with excitement. He'd heard of the fairies, Druchess told him of the war that took place between fairy and sprite long ago, he was told about how they could go into different worlds and planes of existence, he looked around the library once again as books flooded his eyes and wondered if he was in the world Druchess had told him about.

"No! We were kidnapped by those sprites ages ago! Why'd it take Regil so long to send someone for us and why'd he send a kid-." The fairy looked on, realizing that Hubrid was missing his wings, the trademark symbol for a fairy. He examined Hubrid wearily as he gestured to the blue-haired fairy to attack.

She attempts to attack but hardly manages to summon a small droplet of water from the magic she'd begun summoning, her body faltered as she was too weak to even fight and the single water droplet was gobbled up by Hubrid as he dashed across the room so it would not be wasted. He slid underneath her as the water droplet fell to the ground and slurped it up as it made connection with his mouth.

"Do you have food too?" Hubrid says as he eyes down the fairy standing above him as he lay at her feet while letting out a huff of relief from the water he'd drank.

"By the way, what are your names?" Hubrid says as his mouth drool left his mouth as he stared at the two of them with what appeared to be delusions.

The two fairies looked at Hubrid with fear drawn over their faces. They had no idea what a man like Hubrid would do with them, and neither of them could use their magic or wings to defend themselves or run away due to their prolonged imprisonment.

"... I-I'm Barry… and she's… … Mwopy…" The fairy says while lingering on every word he speaks.

"But the voice inside of my head told me you were Arry and she was Mwop… maybe it was lying to me," Hubrid says with innocence as both Arry and Mwop looked on in shock.

"... I guess so," Arry says as a drop of sweat somehow manifests on his head despite his lack of hydration, Hubrid walks up to him and licks it off of his forehead calmly as Arry stood still.

"Oh! You guys aren't felons, your fairies! Where is this place that we're in?" Hubrid says as he heard a whisper in his head.

"You guys got caught by the oranges…" The voice whispers to Hubrid once again, "I mean the sprites right? Where'd they go?"

Hubrid perks up as he hears the voice speak to him once more.

"I did?" He says in confusion as he coughed up a bone, making the two fairies jump back in shock as a wet slimy substance covering the bones hit the wooden floor with a wet thud as Hubrid continued looking at the fairies.

"Okay," Hubrid says in determination as he stares at the fairies as he heard the voice beckoning him towards the fairies.

"I'll do whatever it takes!"

#Oc #Novel #Author #Fantasy #Magic #Fiction #fairy #sprite #series #dark #comedy #humor

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skimblogs · 3 years

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Green Living: The Complete Guide

Rewind to a few years ago, and most people hadn't heard of green living. The fact is, we didn't understand the impact our actions were having on the earth. This year, the COVID pandemic has caused air pollution rates to drop, but now the lockdown rules are easing, we have to think about how living green helps the earth. In this guide, we'll discuss green living for beginners and highlight some simple but effective ways you can reduce your carbon footprint and contribute to environmentally friendly practices. SIMPLE SUSTAINABLE LIVING IDEAS You don't have to drastically change your lifestyle to contribute to saving the environment. Here are some excellent ways to live green. Eat Less Meat According to a United Nations study, 30% of the earth's surface is used for livestock production. But how many farmers use sustainable practices? The UK alone has almost 800 factory farms, and most people don't know where and how the meat they consume was raised. Eating less meat means less land is used for livestock production, so by reducing your meat consumption, you can contribute to the environment. Try substituting meat with plant based foods such as roasted butternut squash soup and once a week with MSC certified wild seafood. Factory farming can have a devastating impact on the environment, and it isn't a humane practice. If you don't feel you can decrease your meat consumption, then focus on finding organic or free-range livestock. Alternatives to Plastic and Paper A lot of people think it's OK to use paper because it's recyclable, but trees take years to grow before they can be used to make paper. In recent years, the surge in technology means we're less dependent on paper. Laptops and mobile devices are sustainable ways to work because they save on paper. Other sustainable living ideas include always recycling the paper you use because it's more sustainable to use that paper in manufacturing, rather than cutting down trees. We're all too familiar with the impact of plastic, and there are lots of initiatives to reduce plastic pollution and clean up our oceans. Supermarkets introduced the carrier bag charge to encourage people to use alternatives such as canvas. Environmentally Friendly Light Bulbs The traditional incandescent light bulbs aren't the type households should use anymore, because there are more environmentally friendly options. Compact Fluorescent Light Bulbs (CFL) last up to five times longer than incandescent bulbs and are a lot brighter. Using CFL bulbs will save you money, and you'll have less need for lamps around the house. Next time you need to replace your light bulbs, go for a more sustainable brand, and you'll be surprised at how much money you save in the long-term. Make Small Changes in Your Household If you've got kids, then it's likely every light on your house is always on, right? Try to encourage your children to contribute to your efforts by offering them rewards for remembering to switch the light off when they leave a room. You can also make small changes by washing your clothes on a cold cycle, and use a clothes rack instead of the tumble dryer. When you go to bed at night, turn your TV and WiFi off at the mains, and be conscious of the appliances you leave on. These small changes might not seem like much, but they can make a significant difference to your environmentally friendly effort. Reducing Consumption It's so easy, isn't it? Something breaks and you want to replace it immediately. Instead of getting it fixed, you go out and purchase a new item. But here's the thing; if everyone did that, we would have more waste than we could handle. Instead of throwing things away, get them repaired because it will save you money in the long-term. If you no longer want an item, then sell it on, donate it to charity shops or use The Freecycle Network so somebody else can benefit from it. You can find some great bargains in charity shops or online, so don't immediately go to purchase something new. Use the library to borrow books, rent electrical items and think about how you'll be helping to minimise waste. Watch Your Water It's essential to think about how much water you use, especially if you're a large family household. One way to decrease your water usage is to take shorter showers and try to limit the amount of time your family spends in the shower. A lot of people find the taste of tap water too metallic, so they choose to buy bottled water. Yes, bottled water tastes better, but it also wastes a lot of plastic. You can replicate the taste of bottled water by purchasing a water filter. It will reduce the irony taste, and you won't waste any plastic. Go Organic Organic diets have many benefits for your health, but they also decrease the pollutants in the environment. Traditionally farmed produce is full of harmful pesticides and GMOs, but organic farming focuses on using natural and sustainable practices. You can purchase a compost bin and grow your organic vegetables at home. By purchasing your food from organic suppliers, you'll have a positive impact on the environment, and growing your own is even more sustainable. THE BOTTOM LINE Going green doesn't have to be difficult, especially with the abundance of eco-living products available today. It's easy to see why people avoid it because many don't see that small steps can make a positive impact. Remember, the environment is suffering because of our collective way of living. If more people practised environmentally friendly ways of living, the earth could begin to recover. If you're looking for an easy way to eat organic, Skim provides organic meals delivered UK here you can find meals such as roasted butternut squash salad. Our range of meals cater for a range of diets and are packed with goodness. View our menu here. Original Source: https://bit.ly/2KRWxEL

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zerowastecapetown · 7 years

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The 5 R’s

refuse

reduce

reuse (+repair)

recycle

rot

(In this order!)

Zero Waste starts by refusing things. Whatever you still have and use you should reduce to save resources. Substitute disposables for reusable options, and instead of tossing things repair them! Separate what little trash you have left and make sure to recycle. Compost what’s left and let it rot.

1. Refuse

Refusing will eliminate most of your trash.

Learn to say no! Say no to produce wrapped in plastic! Say no to freebies and bargains! Say no to disposables! Say not to participating in unsustainable practices!

The more we accept all those things that will inevitably end up in landfills, the more demand we generate for those unsustainable things.

Easily disposable items of low quality are cheap and we buy them because we didn’t have to spend a lot of money. But cheap things are cheap for a reason. To cut the costs, they were produced using chemicals and materials from questionable sourcing, which means very often they leech toxins! And they couldn’t be sold at such low prices if workers – very often children – weren’t exploited along the production process.

In the long run, those low-quality items will cost you even more than buying a good quality one from the start, since most are made to break easily – so you will buy a new one to replace it!

Tips

Buying in big supermarkets often mean more packaging, even in the produce section. Shop at the farmer’s market or at small local stores. They are usually also very more open to individual solutions

Take out your phone and take pictures of pamphlets or business cards. Accept the information, but not the physical item! This way you have all the crucial information on you at all times. I mean, cross my heart, I’d lose those cards anyway, but I am very careful not to lose my phone!

Freebies like pens or swag bags are tempting. VERY tempting. To be honest, I am actually a cheap person. I was brought up in a bargain hunting crazed family. We would spend a LOT of money on useless cheap things just because they were a steal. What helped me resist the temptation to always grab everything free within my arm’s reach was to remind myself of the horrible carbon footprint, the exploitation of workers, and how in the end, those things will be come clutter and a problem. Too useless to keep, too “good” to throw away.

2. Reduce

I always thought that it was only me. Every time I opened my closet and I saw all the unworn pieces of clothing, I felt bad. Just a while back when I started to get rid of 80% of my wardrobe I asked around, and it turned out that it’s a very normal phenomenon!

We all have a lot of things at home we never use. Some of them we haven’t even ever unpacked! Why? Because we buy on impulse. We see something, in that specific moment we like it, and bam, we bought it. However, the novelty and joy of having it wears out very quickly and then it’s just another item we have at home that doesn’t add any value to our life.

Also, reduce your overall consumption. But if you actually refuse everything that comes packaged in plastic you will have anyway.

Pare down and give your things a second life

All those things you are not using or do not really need had to be produced at one point. It’s a waste of resources to have them collect dust at your home. Donate or sell them. This way, someone else can reuse your things instead of buying new products, using up more resources.

You can donate your things to Good Will, or you can give them away using local Facebook groups. You can also sell clothes and electronics on ebay, Craigslist, at a flea market or host a garage sale. Nowadays, there are more and more swap parties where you can swap your unwanted stuff with one another. Everybody leaves happy and nobody had to spend a dime :).

Simplify your life

Clever marketing campaigns and TV ads have taught us that we have a lot of needs, and that there is at least one uber specialized product for each of our crazy needs. I used to have a face cream for daytime (for super sensitive skin), another one for nighttime (extra rich), another one for winter (daytime), another one for summer (daytime), another aqua-something one called night-repair, then an anti-aging eye cream (with Q10), a daytime eye cream with SPF, a super moisturizing eye cream (nighttime)… I could go on and on and on, but, you get the idea ;).

Now I only use oils we also use for cooking. Usually that’s sunflower seed, olive and coconut oil. I usually break out very easily and some of those uber creams left my skin read and ichty for weeks. I’ve been using mainly oil (I did use up some of my lotions and creams) for a year now and my skin has never been better!

We only use white vinegar and sometimes a bit of baking soda for cleaning, and we use alep soap to wash our entire body (hands, face, body, feet – everything), our clothes and our dishes (we make detergent out of alep soap and baking soda). You can even use alep soap to wash your hair if you use vinegar (1/4 cup vinegar + 1 cup of water) to rinse it afterwards. That’s all you need to keep yourself and your home clean. No more toxins and a lot more cupboard space where our army of cleaning products used to be!

3. Reuse (and repair)

Disposables are, well, disposable. Which means you have to buy them over and over. Which in turn means you keep spending money on things that you will throw away. You might as well throw away your money directly. At least that would have a better carbon footprint…

It’s very easy to replace disposables:

Disposable razors – electric shaver, straight-edge razor, double-blade razor

Cotton rounds – washable cotton rounds

Tissues – handkerchiefs

Paper towels – microfibre or cotton cloths

Paper napkins – cloth napkins (or just use handkerchiefs)

Dish sponge – cotton cloth

Tea bags – loose tea and a tea strainer/ french press

Coffee pads/ filter cones – french press/ reusable coffee filter cones or pads

Baking parchment – grease the cake pan/ silicon mat

Tin foil/ cling film – put it in a food container or jar, or wrap it in a dish towel

Paper bags/ plastic bags – bring your own cloth/ tote bag

Disposable lunch bags – stainless steel food containers, mason jars, dish towels

Bottled water – a good quality glass or stainless steel water bottle (preferably plastic-free or at least BPA-free) and tap water; if you do not trust tap water cook it beforehand (you use it for cooking anyway, right)

Toothpicks – turkey lacers

Muffin paper liners – grease your muffin tray

Trash bags/ bin liners – at some point you might not need those anymore ;), until then go for newspaper origami

Cleaning wipes – microfibre or cotton cloth and your homemade vinegar cleaning solution (1/4 cup distilled vinegar + 1 cup of water)

Toilet paper – a bottle, water, soap and a washcloth

Also, pack your lunches in reusable food containers and shop with reusables.

If things break, repair them or have them repaired. Mend clothes, upcycle items you would otherwise toss. Buy second hand and remember: some things you don’t have to actually own, it’s sufficient to have access (i.e. movies, music, library, tools, or even cars or office space).

4. Recycle

After you have refused, reduced, and reused there shouldn’t be much left to recycle. Still, make sure to separate your trash so that those resources can be reused instead of filling our landfills.

5. Rot

Don’t just throw your kitchen scraps away! Get a worm bin and let those little fellows turn your waste into high-quality fertilizer! It’s the most efficient and local form of recycling where the trash doesn’t even need to be transported wasting fuel and whatnot ;).

I’ve got worms! Red worms to be specific XD

You will find a ton of videos on youtube showing you how you can set up a worm bin (also try searching for “worm composting system” or “vermicomposting system”). Here’s a wiki on it.

We’ve had our wooden worm bin for half a year now. We keep it in the kitchen since that’s the best temperature for the worms. It does not smell and especially children find it very fascinating. It’s very educational too, since it is, in fact, a very own ecosystem! A worm bin does require taking care of it, but it’s definitely less time-consuming than bringing out the trash every couple of days.

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