#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school. #like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it. #was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes. #but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create'' #when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent. #speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice. #''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession. #''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt? #u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky'' #we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

[ihateeverything101]

new girl moving in because it will help us afford bills / an apartment. i cant get approved for a lease. like you need to make 3x the amount of rent to even apply to most apartments. i probably can pay for rent and live in these spaces but i don't have enough to impress the landlord. i don't have any credit, i don't have any assets, i don't have any cash. those statements aren't accurate but they are. i have $700 i can spend on my credit card, $5000 something in debt. $1500 cash in my account, so that's a decent amount but i'm still paying into the house we're living at now and my monthly payments, and i don't have an assets. then Char and Steff have credit card debt together so we have to pay her like $1000+ each month so i'm not. sure how he expects to do much of anything or live in a decent area. i'm glad he's optimistic but. i don't know how we can afford regular rent, then credit card payments to Steff (outside of whatever the credit card company's already expect us to pay monthly), food, utilities, gas for the car, fun? basically. living is expensive and i never thought i would be so fucked.

ADDITION:: aggravated because of Steff and her money. she buys things all the time, which she should be able to. but i am upset i am not in her position. she gets to go and live her own life and have her own apartment and spend her money how she wants, get a car if she wants. she can do anything because she makes over 100,000 and probably has 40,000 in credit lines. which is how they got so far in debt but come on. i want to buy coffee and snacks or small things from amazon. since i moved it's not about me. it's about the house. i buy some small things, i do some fun things. but. not really. i would be spending my time, energy, and money much differently if i wasn't in this relationships

pt3: it will make the money situation better but i don't like that and shouldn't have to like that. most relationships wouldn't say, yeah let's do it! if their partner said, hey we don't have enough money. so let's start dating another person so the bills are easier to cover!! like wtf why. why did he allow himself to be in this situation and why did i allow it as well! why did / do i trust him!! it all makes sense logically but i am upset and tired. the whole time i've been with him i've been rationalizing his choices. it makes sense to sell my car, it makes sense to get a credit card and contribute to the house and the family, it makes sense to do a lot of the domestic house work when i am unemployed. it all makes sense logically but i'm honestly tired of it. when will we be able to make the decision that i want. or that doesn't have to be the perfect solution, only what i want. i don't know how much longer i can go along with these "makes sense" solutions. i want my own car, i don't care if it doesn't make sense. i want to have more time between a serious breakup and then starting to date a new person, that one, my point of view makes sense. i don't want to live with 3 people, 3 incomes - i don't care if it makes sense. i want to go on dates, even if it doesn't make sense. i want to live, actually live life and not work work work work work work work. i feel like the whole time i've moved that's the attitude. work work work work. nothings ever enough work work work. which is a kinda good mindset, we all have room to grow no matter how much weve grown in the past. but. i want to be spoiled. i know life probably doesn't work this way but i thought my 20s would be easy. i thought i would be taken care of, i never thought that i would be in my 30s still fighting for a stable house, professional life, and a good relationship. i hate that. it makes me want to throw a fit. i thought my 20s would be building my life. and my 30s would be relaxing. i know that is unrealistic but i am a cute girl. there are so many cute girls that own property and have millions of dollars by the time they're 18/20. i shouldnt compare myself to those people but wtf. i am prettier and cooler. now im getting petty and dramatic but not really!! wtf!!!! why and how did my life go this way!! the beginning of my life wasn't fun or pleasant. the middle wasn't. my beginning adult life was ok. and now my current adult life is ok. i want to be taken care of. i want free time. i want money i can spend and buy what i want without being stressed about bills. grr. mm.

[dmcoffee]

Journal is packed away but I need brain clarity.

I think I am sitting pretty between panic and disassociation, so here's me whinging about the chaos to get it of my brain because I cannot find my journal atm.

So! RV's got hiccups. Some of this I expected. My range of solutions and subsequent picking of more mechanically minded individuals brains has netted me bumpkis atm. (Pretty sure there's an electrical issue. Alternator is my guess.) My tools are limited. My funds are limited at this precise moment. (And I have to make sure I'm careful about keeping gas money available so I can work.)

And I haven't been able to really get in there and so any work sealing up holes, because current elevation and lack of a ladder prevents me from monkeying all over it. Still missing two massive windows, rendering it unsafe to use for sleeping atm. And I cannot move it to work on it. I did run some primer on the inside and treated some of the wood pieces (I think I can get by on 1-2 small spackle cans here, the damage there is minor.)

Packing is slow and overwhelming. I think its emotional, but I'll bear it in mind next time I have to go see the doctor. Considering how much my other siblings are getting fascinating diagnosis's recently, there's a chance I too may be not as balanced as I could be with medication or some other accommodation.

Right now however, it's like pulling teeth. And I'm physically exhausted. Pretty sure I've managed to remember all the meals I need to eat. Have more going now because I felt hungry, so I'm trusting that. Also good way to get rid of perishables.

Technically I should be out tomorrow. IDK how the hell that's gonna look. There is still so. much. stuff. And only the van to put what I'm keeping into it.

This place needs to be cleaned too. I'm not sure I can let myself be petty enough to leave it as this guy's problem, even if he is a shit landlord.

I also think I might be getting sick. I'm hoping that this fatigue and that feeling in the back of my throat are all just from stress and allergies. I can't afford to get sick. (I'm an American, duh.)

The really crappy part is I might have to ask to stay at someone's for a while. With my cat...

I do not want to do that. Logically I know that even with it being a temporary thing, it's a big ask. And my friends have said that's a better alternative to me sleeping out of my car...I just feel incredibly frustrated and ashamed to have to reach out.

I've reviewed everything I know about what's happened, and aside from some minor tweaks, I don't think I could've avoided this outcome though...

The mental health had to be addressed. The meds were from my doctor. The side effects weren't caused by anything I did. And I physically could not keep up. My job hunt was long and difficult. I interviewed for the same position at the same store 3 times! And they're still "hiring.". (How???? The place was always packed with eager applicants too.) I wasn't being picky, I just picked whatever I could do that would cover my rent. Not enough.

I had 6 months put back for emergencies like this. It wasn't enough.

I partially paid the landlord and kept him in the loop. (Something he didn't do for me, I might add.)

And then when I looked into what to do once he gave me my two weeks, I lucked into the RV deal. Because rent's too high or with unknown roommates. (Bonus points for them being college guys. I'm don't want to room with guys I don't know. Did ask 1 person I knew, but we couldn't make that happen.)

All in all? It all makes sense. It all sucks. And at most I could've...applied more than just 10 apps per day? That's it, I think...

Yet I still feel guilty, like I didn't do enough, because that's how I was taught you're supposed to think of people. If you can't see them burning themselves out first, then they clearly aren't trying, and are probably just mooches and manipulators. (Ironically, I can't hold this opinion of others, but I sure as hell apply it to myself.)

Even though a few steps here and there might've forestalled worse consequences. (I guess I could've asked for help to pay rent until I found a job, but...I hate that. Intensely.)

So I'm starting to fizzle a bit and I'm going to have to ask, and I hate that. So I'm mad with my situation. Frustrated that I'm not an island and the cool self-sufficient adult I've heard about in grown-ups myths. Mostly I just feel like a very sad houseplant. IDK....

#I'm still looking forward to getting the RV into shape #but there's the here and now to think about too #and it's a littttttle grim at the moment #food and sleep will help #right? #right. #delete later

[holcombbruhn09]

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Paygo, false consciousness and the IRS

John Steinbeck diagnosed an important American pathology in 1966 when he called the US a nation of “temporarily embarrassed capitalists” — people who see themselves as the wealthy-in-waiting and therefore fight policies that reduce the power that comes from wealth.

It’s a restatement of Engels’ idea of “false consciousness,” and it’s the result of a deliberate strategy on the part of wealthy people — many of whom believe that they were literally genetically destined to be wealthy — to convince the rest of us that “anyone can succeed.”

Part of the false consciousness program is the money story that goes like this: the US government takes away “taxpayers’ money” from “makers” to fund “programs,” the bulk of which go to the “lazy takers,” who experience the “moral hazard” of subsidized unemployment.

But of course, that’s not how money works. Money originates with the federal government (and its fiscal agents, the banks). In order for the public to have money to pay off its tax liabilities, the government must first spend that money into existence.

The IRS doesn’t take our tax dollars, pile them up, and give them to Congress to spend on programs. When the IRS taxes our money, they annihilate it, removing it from circulation. When Congress spends, new money comes into existence.

The US government can’t run out of money any more than Apple can run out of Itunes gift cards. It can spend too much money — so much that prices go up because too many dollars are chasing too few goods — but it can’t run out of money.

Fed spending is constrained by resources (what’s for sale in dollars) not money (how many dollars there are). If the ratio of dollars to resources gets out of whack, there’s a risk of inflation.

There are many ways to fix this ratio. For example, the government usually issues T-bills (savings bonds) whenever it spends more than it taxes. When you buy a T-bill, you take dollars that might circulate around the economy, chasing goods and labor, and you sequester them.

A T-bill is just a dollar you’re not allowed to spend. In exchange for surrendering the right to spend your dollars for 1, 5, 10 or more years, the government offers you interest, trickling out that money over a long period.

That way the government can buy things today without bidding against your dollars.

But that’s not the only way to fight inflation while spending new money into existence. The other major way is taxation: simply removing money from the economy and annihilating it.

Taxation fights inflation. When the government runs a deficit, that means that it created more money this year via spending than it destroyed via taxes. The “government deficit” is the “public surplus” — the money left in the economy for all of us to spend on stuff.

Likewise, when the government runs a “surplus” that means it taxes more money out of existence than it spends into existence. In a year where the government runs a surplus, it means that the power of the private sector — you and me — to buy stuff has decreased overall.

This is fine if there was too much money to begin with — if inflation was kicking off — but if there’s not enough money in circulation (e.g. if there’s a recession), it just makes things worse…but not for everyone.

When the economy is starved of money, banks go to work creating new money through loans. These loans pay interest (to rich people like bank shareholders and people who securitize and buy debt).

That’s the one-two punch of spending cuts during a downturn:

I. The real economy is starved of the capital it needs to pay workers and make things for workers to buy;

II. The financial economy grows as desperate real-economy firms borrow from banks to keep the lights on.

Despite all their talk of “spending taxpayers’ money,” the wealthy understand how money works. That’s why they were totally indifferent to the running $1t/year deficits created by the Trump tax-cuts (and likewise about the Obama finance bailouts).

Giving money to rich people causes asset-bubbles (driving up the prices of houses), but not inflation (a sustained rise in the price of all goods). That’s because rich people can’t buy enough stuff (fridges, cars, oranges) to drive up prices.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/08/howard-dino/#payfors

After you’ve bought three houses and three SubZero fridges and filled them with the beef of three Kobe cows and three cases of Moet, there’s still a LOT left over (even if you’re Jeff Bezos and buy a superyacht with its own, smaller superyacht).

Those leftovers go to socially useless things, like buying houses to turn into rent-generating slums (Wall Street is fast becoming America’s biggest landlord, and single family homes are sold for cash to investment funds instead of families).

And they go to influence campaigns designed to make regular people defend massive cuts to the IRS and opposition to public spending on infrastructure, education, health, and other necessities.

This isn’t just about Republicans. For years, the Democratic leadership has supported “balanced budgets” (spending so little that no new money is left in the economy after all taxes are paid).

The “paygo” rule (which requires all new spending to be matched with cuts or tax-hikes) is religion for the likes of Pelosi and Schumer. That’s why the Democratic caucus is mired in stupid arguments about “how we will pay for the stimulus.”

As bad as the paygo rule is, though, Republicans have made it worse, by demonizing and starving the IRS. Paygo means that the US government operates under the artificial constraint of only spending if it can make cuts or raise taxes.

Raises taxes is really unpopular, for obvious reasons.

Now, raising taxes on the 1% — who have a lot of excess money that’s fueling political corruption and asset bubbles — is one way around this.

Theoretically, taxing the 1% should have a 99% approval rating.

But canny Republicans have figured out how exorcise temporarily embarrassed capitalists about the “unfairness” of taxing their bosses, in part by just flat-out lying about who new taxes would implicate.

But there’s yet another way to satisfy paygo’s artificial constraint, without changing the a single word in the tax-code: simply fund the IRS so that it can collect the trillions that the ultra-wealthy illegally avoid in tax-payments every year.

But this strategy is also a bust. The GOP campaign to destroy the IRS has been too successful.

It’s a longrunning campaign, but it achieved liftoff in 2013 when the Tea Party baselessly accused the IRS of discriminating against conservative groups seeking nonprofit status.

The work-the-ref strategy paid off, providing political cover for deep cuts to the IRS and putting IRS staffers on notice so they green lit every dark money group that applied for nonprofit status, no matter how obviously corrupt they were.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/investigations/fallout-from-allegations-of-tea-party-targeting-hamper-irs-oversight-of-nonprofits/2017/12/17/6403c1c0-c59e-11e7-a441-3a768c8586f1_story.html

After the cuts, the IRS grew easier to discredit. Understaffed and under siege, the agency’s behavior grew erratic, then indefensible. There were runaway automated processes that sent out erroneous property-seizure notices that no one could rescind:

https://theintercept.com/2019/01/14/irs-shutdown-federal-government-shut-down-irs-asset-seizures/

Then there was the aftermath of the Equifax breach, where the IRS first told Americans that it didn’t matter because they’d already been doxed by other bad companies:

https://thehill.com/policy/cybersecurity/355862-irs-significant-number-of-equifax-victims-already-had-info-accessed-by

Then came news that the IRS couldn’t cancel Equifax’s no-bid, $7.5m anti-fraud contract because it didn’t have the resources to do its own fraud prevention (Equifax eventually lost the contract because it served malware from its anti-fraud site).

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/equifax-irs-data-breach-malware-discovered/

The rich waged a successful all-out war on the IRS. Take the Global High Wealth unit. For every hour an auditor from GHW worked, they brought in $4500 in taxes the super-rich had dodged. Even by the topsy-turvy logic of “government as a business,” this was good business.

After a concerted harassment and political influence campaign, the GHW abandoned the super-rich and switched to the merely wealthy, bringing in less money and pissing off a lot more people.

The other shoe dropped in 2019, when the IRS admitted it had switched to preferentially auditing poor people because it was too politically and legally fraught to audit rich people, even the most flagrant cheaters.

https://www.propublica.org/article/irs-sorry-but-its-just-easier-and-cheaper-to-audit-the-poor

That was the first year that America’s 400 highest earners paid a lower tax rate than the average American worker:

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/10/06/opinion/income-tax-rate-wealthy.html

The IRS’s transformation into a facilitator of illegal wealth retention by the super-rich and petty harassment of the rest of Americans made them very easy to hate.

To that, add the concerted corporate campaigns to use the IRS to rip off workers.

For example, for 20 years, Intuit lobbied the IRS not to make tax-filing automatic, painless and free, ensuring that Americans would continue to pay billions to send data to the IRS that it already had:

https://www.propublica.org/article/inside-turbotax-20-year-fight-to-stop-americans-from-filing-their-taxes-for-free

Reading the IRS’s internal emails from this battle reveals an agency in retreat, where demoralized and ineffectual government employees simply rolled over for one of the greatest ripoffs in American history:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-irs-tried-to-hide-emails-that-show-tax-industry-influence-over-free-file-program

Intuit wanted to rip us off with taxes. Microsoft, by contrast, just wanted to break the law. Working with KPMG, the convicted monopolist created a “transfer” scheme of breathtaking illegality, using its tax-savings to bankroll its war on the IRS:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-irs-decided-to-get-tough-against-microsoft-microsoft-got-tougher

Which brings us to today, where Democrats are held hostage to the “payfor” rule and trying to figure out how to mobilize the trillions Biden has pledged for infrastructure, health, and care.

Republicans — pushing the big lie of “taxpayer money” — are dogwhistling hard. Senator John Thune, responding to Biden’s proposal for $80b for the IRS, says any tax enforcement efforts “must strike an appropriate balance between taxpayer responsibilities and taxpayer rights.”

Meanwhile Senator Chuck Grassley takes the nonsensical position that funding the IRS won’t help it do its job (“simply throwing money at a problem doesn’t necessarily yield a solution”).

https://thehill.com/policy/finance/553704-lawmakers-bicker-over-how-to-go-after-tax-cheats

Then there’s Rep Kevin Brady, warning that a fully funded IRS would “unleash tens of thousands of new IRS agents on families, farms and businesses.”

But the Democrats own the paygo rule, not the Republicans, and their leadership have added their own special touch to make funding the IRS impossible.

https://prospect.org/politics/infrastructure-at-a-crossroads-biden-public-investment/

According to the rules Congress gives to the Congressional Budget Office (which calculates the cost of government programs), the CBO isn’t allowed to factor in the projected additional revenue from funding the IRS, only the cost of doing so (!).

Which means that they must factor in the salaries that IRS Global High Wealth auditors will draw — but they are forbidden from counting the $4500/hour they generate when they puncture the tissue-thin financial lies of the super-rich.

The payfor and “taxpayer money” are lies.

It’s a shuck sold to the rubes, not economics. Because it’s a shuck, it doesn’t have to make any sense — and it doesn’t. We shouldn’t run government like a business, but if we must, let’s at least count revenues as well as costs.

Image: Mike Licht/notionscapital.com https://www.flickr.com/photos/notionscapital/48857033957/

CC BY: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic

[nightshade-minho]

-Free Rent Part 1-

Stray Kids + fem!reader

Warnings: None in this part, except for shirtless Jisung I guess, and very slight suggestiveness. Eventual smut.

You wish you hadn’t agreed to this. What were you thinking? You could feel eight pairs of eyes on you, and you couldn’t help but feel utterly helpless under their gaze. You knew you had no reason to be afraid- everything had been discussed in detail and a safe word had been decided upon. However, you couldn’t stop your heart from thudding loudly, butterflies in your stomach.

It had all started a week ago, when your best friend Mina had told you about how ‘Chan and his gang of misfits’ were looking for a female roommate to live with them at their apartment. You were curious at first, prompting Mina to tell you more about this peculiar requirement.

“I don’t really know much about it y/n. All I know is that there’s a lot of candidates applying for the position already.”

You gasped. “Why? I mean...doesn’t this whole thing sound extremely sketch?”

“I mean, it’s clear what their intentions are, I suppose. But here’s the catch- you wouldn’t have to pay rent.”

You almost spat out your drink at that. No rent!? It sounded too far-fetched. From what you knew of the boys, they were quite well-off and lived in a huge, fancy apartment off campus. You, meanwhile, had been languishing in the dormitory with a despicable roommate- one who liked having her boyfriend over all the time, making the already tiny room feel cramped as fuck. She also had a penchant for leaving her dirty clothes all over the place- laundry was probably a foreign concept to her. You’d been wanting to move out since forever, and had already tried looking up some apartment listings since the dorms were full...however most of them were too expensive for you to afford.

As you bid farewell to Mina, making your way back to your dorm, there was this tiny part of your brain that was considering their weird proposal. It was clear what their intentions were...and you didn’t know how you felt about being a fucktoy for 8 people- it sounded demeaning and kind of scary, to be honest.

You finally reached your dorm, and was about to unlock the door when you heard moans coming from inside the room. Your head was boiling with anger, why did this always have to happen to you? You were extremely drowsy and just wanted to get to sleep already, but that was clearly going to be impossible.

Maybe...maybe you should check this new place situation out? Besides, you kind of knew Chan and Minho. The three of you had mutual friends and you’d been partnered up with Minho for a project once. They were genuinely cool, funny guys...and very attractive too.

You decided to go to their apartment, and if it was a really good one, you might consider it. Ugh...you couldn’t believe that you were even contemplating this right now.

And that’s how you ended up standing outside their apartment door at 8 in the evening, wringing your fingers nervously. You’d spoken with Chan on the phone earlier, and he’d recognized you almost immediately. He’d been very courteous and kind. You would think he was just a regular old landlord...if it weren’t for the end of the phone call.

“And...y/n? I hope you know what the payment consists of?”

“Oh? I thought it was free-“

He cleared his throat. “I mean...it doesn’t cost any money. We would prefer to be paid in another manner.”

“Ah. Um, yes...I’m aware.”

“Good. And remember, you can back out any time you want okay? If you’re completely okay with it, you can come.”

You suddenly regretted your choice of wearing a skirt today. Sighing, you silently gave yourself a pep talk. Breathing in deeply, you rung the doorbell.

“Coming!”

The door swung open, and you were met face to face with a shirtless blond haired dude, who stared at you wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re someone I fucked and never called back, I can’t go on a date with you. I apologize for-“

He was suddenly pushed to the side by Minho, who smiled at you warmly.

“Sorry about Jisung. You’re y/n, right? And you’re here for the apartment?”

“Mmhmm!”

He cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t we work on a project together last year?”

You nodded, trying to smile but ultimately failing. Your nerves were all over the place, and you were focusing on not running away right then and there.

There was an awkward silence as the two men stared at you and you stared back. You could see that they were analyzing you subtly, and your heartbeat grew faster.

Jisung yawned. “So...is she gonna come in or...?”

Minho silenced him with a sharp look, and then softened as his gaze turned back to you. “Would you like to come in, y/n?”

You paused, nodding again.

Suddenly, a slightly dark look flashed in Minho’s eyes.

“Use your words, sweetheart. You’ll find it a necessity if you want to live here.”

You gulped. “Uh. Okay. Is Ch-chan here?”

Minho nodded. “He’s in the shower right now. But I’ll show you around the house for now!” He beckoned you in, and you followed him as he walked into the apartment. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head as you looked around. The hallway was fairly short, but then as you walked further in, you softly gasped as your eyes took in the huge living room. There was the biggest TV you’d ever seen, and right in front of it was a sofa that was so wide it looked more like a bed.

Seated on the sofa were two guys that you recognized from previous classes that you’ve had. Both of them noticed you, however one of them spared you nothing more than a glance, immediately looking back at the television. The other quirked a brow in interest, and made his way over to you and Minho. If you were right, his name was Hyunjin. He was very handsome, you noted.

“Minho, you never told me you went and got yourself a girlfriend!

Minho cleared his throat. “Hyunjin, she’s here for the house.”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows shot up, and a smirk grew on his face.

“Great. Cause I was thinking, it isn’t fair that you get such a pretty girl all to yourself.”

Your face grew red. Hyunjin smiled at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

“So, this place has 5 bedrooms. Two master bedrooms, and the rest are normal. The master bedrooms are occupied by Minho and Chan, because ‘they’re the oldest’ or some shit.”

Minho groaned. “That’s not the reason, y/n, it’s because we started living here first, and the others came here later. Also, I’m willing to move in with Chan so you can have a bedroom all to yourself, so it’s not gonna be a problem.”

You meekly nodded. Minho raised an eyebrow, and you remember his statement from earlier with a blush.

“I’m not completely sure I want to move in yet, though.”

A disappointed look crossed both faces, and you quickly stated “Um, I said yet.”

They quickly regained their smiles, and you wanted to chuckle to yourself. The two of them were kinda cute.

“Alright so three of the rooms are downstairs. The two master bedrooms are upstairs, so if you were to move in, you’d be living there.” Minho resumed.

Hyunjin cut in, “There’s also a bathroom downstairs, and an open kitchen, as you can see.” Minho looked at him with an annoyed expression and you almost giggled.

“Chan!”

You turned around to see Chan himself descending the stairs with a smile on his face.

“Hey guys! And hello, y/n! Sorry I couldn’t be here earlier, I was in the shower.”

His hair was wet, and his white shirt was insistently sticking to his pecs. You felt slightly flustered.

“So, would you like to see the upstairs? I’ll take it from here, thanks Minho.”

He beckoned you to follow him. Chan showed you the second floor of the apartment, which was every bit as amazing as the bottom floor. You were trying to resist it, but you couldn’t. Your brain was rapidly falling in love with this house.”

As you made your way back downstairs, you saw four of the boys from before- Hyunjin, Minho, Jisung and...Seungmin? Yes, that was his name. Along with those four, there were two more who were in the kitchen, whose names you didn’t know very well. You knew one of them was from Australia, just like Chan, but not much else. The other’s name was...Changmin or something.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, Chan spoke up. “So...are you interested in this place?”

You were extremely conflicted. You were no virgin, but you still felt this situation was entirely unorthodox and your mom back home would probably murder you in shame. However none of these boys seemed like bad people, and you were already familiar with a few of them. Your logic was telling you to get out of there and forget you ever came, but then there was this very very tiny part of you that not only wanted the house, but the sex too. Even though you’ve had sex a few times, you were often called a prude, and you weren’t very popular. And...these boys were the kings of the college. Being their friend would be an automatic ticket to ruling campus.

Your brain told you you were being an idiot and not thinking this through, but it was too late.

“Yes.” You blurted, and Chan’s grin grew wider.

Fuck, what had you done?

•••

(There will be smut in Part 2...which will probably be out by tomorrow. Happy SKZ anniversary!)

#bang chan smut #chan smut #chris bang smut #felix angst #felix smut #hyunjin angst #hyunjin smut #minho smut #stray kids smut #skz smut

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop's most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo's pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 2 OF 22

In a small house in the better neighborhood of the university, a young man is beginning to dream. He’s chasing the afterimages of a vision he’d caught, trying to see if he can get it down on paper. It’s scary, but it’s exciting. He’s prepared his materials—the canvas, the pen, the paint—and he’s closed the door, and opened the shutters, letting the morning light flood the studio-cum-library in their small, rented home.

Vincent holds the pen gently, like a prayer, in his hands, before beginning to sketch.

--

The thing with living in such a small university town such as this is that you cannot escape the inevitable.

And by inevitable, that means you know someone who knows someone, and everyone kind of vaguely knows each other in some way or another—through a club, or a shared favorite hang-out spot, or an extracurricular. Everyone is someone’s something by a degree or another.

She’s learned this in her first year at university, but the lesson’s about to be driven a little closer to home today.

She’s seated in the café as usual, annotating a book when Vincent approaches her, a small brownie in hand. It’s not the ones they serve regularly, cut on a smaller bit, and maybe it’s one of the edges or corners in the baking tray. “Can I offer you a little snack?” he asks, offering the plate in front of her.

Looking up at him through round-rimmed glasses, she blinks. “Oh? Thank you, but—what’s this for?” she asks, as Vincent puts the plate down on a free spot on her table. He takes a seat on the free chair next to her.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

Modeling isn’t exactly her forte, but Vincent insists that he doesn’t need a full-blown model for his project—besides, he couldn’t have afforded it, even if he did need one. He’s working on “something”—by the rumors in the art department, she assumes it’s for his thesis, his capstone project, but who knows?—and he needs a little help on the lighting. He’s working with some tricky fabric, draped down bodies, and he isn’t quite sure how it should come out.

“It’ll only take two hours tops,” he promises, “if you wouldn’t mind. It’s not nude or anything risque, I just need to be able to see how the fabric drapes accordingly to the light. I’ll treat you to dinner afterward?”

Here’s the thing—one does not exactly say no to Vincent. The university town is small enough as it is, and everyone knows Vincent because he’s a legend in the art department. You do not turn down the offer to be painted by a master, or at least that’s how the logic goes. But at the same time, Vincent is always sunflowers and soft smiles, and when he looks at her like that… the only thing that comes out of her mouth is “Of course I will!”

“I’m sorry this is all so sudden,” he says sheepishly. “I just had this idea a bit back, and I’ve been wanting to work on it…”

“No, it’s okay,” she replies instantly. “You’re always reserving my favorite seat for me anyway, and you’ve always been so nice to me. We’re basically friends now, and friends do this for each other, yes?”

Vincent’s eyes glow in a way you’ve never seen before, and it makes you flush a little. “Friends? Of course, yes, thank you so much.”

His shift won’t end in another hour and a half, so he treats her to coffee (“you didn’t have to!” “it’s on me, I swear!”) as she’s waiting for him. She picks up her beautiful, hardbound copy of 1800s English literature, now lovingly highlighted and with many flags at certain pages, and begins to read, scribbling notes on a separate notebook.

By 5:15 Vincent is ready to go, dressed out of his uniform and into his casual clothes, a sweater one or two sizes too big for him over a shirt and some pants. He calls out her name gently, hand leaning on her table.

And she stares.

Vincent isn’t her type—he’s a little too angelic for her liking, as she does prefer those on the more rugged side—but she won’t deny that he’s attractive. She had never seen Vincent in casual clothes before—she’d seen him hang up his barista apron at the end of shifts before, but never actually caught him go home—and she pauses for a moment when he arrives at her table.

“Are you okay?”

“Haha,” she says awkwardly, coughing her shock away. “Yeah, I almost didn’t recognize you, is all. Let me just pack up?”

She hadn’t expected it, but she should have—that her friendly local barista, the legend of the art department—is living smack dab in the middle of their small town, at the perfect distance to everything. In a house, too, not a small dormitory. It’s a beautiful one painted white with a small garden and a porch outside, a tree standing tall and providing shade on the house, and a small classic mailbox in front—it looked like a house that belonged in the suburbs instead of in the middle of this very schoolish town. She can’t help the small whistle of appreciation when they get there.

“Our father knew the landlord,” Vincent explains, as he unlocks the door. “So we get it rather cheaply. Careful of the landing.”

We? She catches the plural but doesn’t get to ask, as she enters the apartment and marvels at it. It’s not extravagant, but it’s still rather fancy, considering she stays in a small studio room. There are paintings hanging on the walls—Vincent’s, she assumes—and everything is in attractive, warm colors. What catches her attention, however, is the small framed photo on the side table by the sofa, of two boys on a swing, a blond one (Vincent?) pushing one with brown hair (a cousin?).

“Five and three,” Vincent says, by way of explanation. She’s about to ask him who the other child is, but Vincent interrupts her. “Do you need water? A break?”

They’d walked quite a bit from the café, after all, and while she had her bike with her, Vincent didn’t, and so she just rolled it next to her throughout the whole 30-minute walk. “No, I’m okay. Where’s your studio?”

Vincent beams. “Here, come.”

They walk down the hall and enter a door to the left, and the studio opens up to her. The wall on the right has a row of high bookshelves, all nearly filled to the brim with books on all sorts of different topics. The wall where the door is has a layer of corkboard attached to it, where a multitude of prints and photos and papers with scribbles and notes are pinned and strung together. Most of the room’s floor is covered in some kind of paper—newspaper, craft paper—to protect the wooden slats below. There are easels stacked at the far side of the room, but facing away, so she can’t exactly see what is on them. And then, there is the set-up for Vincent’s current project: an easel in the center of the room with the sketch of a woman’s figure; a white sheet draping from the ceiling to the floor, serving as a backdrop, in the far corner; a steel circle hanging by the ceiling, the kind people sit on; black craft paper laid on the floor below it; and on top of it, a small stool, a fabric in beautiful vermillion, and some fairy lights.

“Welcome to the studio,” Vincent says, guiding her inside. “Sorry for the mess, I was working this morning.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, carefully stepping in. “It’s so interesting to see your studio, where all the magic happens.”

Vincent flinches at that, but doesn’t make any other comment about it. She contemplates if she has to apologize, but doesn’t know exactly what she’ll have to apologize for. “No magic here,” Vincent mumbles.

He asks her to get comfortable on the wooden stool and maybe get a feel for the fabric, as he sets up his camera. The plan was this: she’ll get into the poses he needs for his project, he will take a couple photos for reference in different angles, and then he will take her out to dinner.

The time passes rather uneventfully, and pretty quickly, because the poses aren’t entirely too tricky on her end. A raised arm here, a dangle of hair in this direction, a tiptoe towards this—Vincent is gentle in maneuvering her around and quick in taking his photos, and in an hour they’re ready. Vincent thanks her profusely for her help as he’s packing away, and she laughs as she says “Well, you’re treating me to food, so it’s paid work.”

“Dinner, yes, of course,” Vincent nods, putting the camera back on its place on the bookshelf. “I actually got my brother to save a spot at, erm, my favorite place, if you don’t mind? It’s Greek food.”

“Oh, that’s fine! I didn’t know you had a brother, Vincent.”

“I do, he’s the sweetest thing,” he answers with a beam of a smile, so much so that for a moment she falters about joining them for dinner. One Vincent was bad enough for her heart as it is, but two of them? That’s not good news is it?

Except, yet again, the rule of not saying no to Vincent applies, and so after a bit of tidying they’re already on the way to the restaurant. An actual restaurant, mind you, not some cheapo fast food that Arthur treats her to. (“This isn’t fair, you know? Just because I’m not in your menu of dateables and bangables doesn’t mean you treat me disproportionately to everyone else.” “Stop complaining and eat your McDonald’s.”) It’s a small one, admittedly, but most of the stalls in this town is, anyway. Vincent peers into the building and then pulls her in, inviting her inside.

Vincent pauses for a moment. “I’ve been told he has quite an… aggressive face, but don’t be afraid of him okay?”

“If he’s your brother, there’s no reason to be scared,” she says with a smile. For a moment she is looking for a twin puff of sunflower blond hair, but then, remembering the photos, she begins to look for an equally-fluffy brown mop of hair, and just at the exact moment she comes to the realization—

“Hondje?!”

“Theo?!”

--

The thing with living in such a small university town such as this is that you cannot escape the inevitable.

It’s a silly thought. She even finds it rather ironic that that is the wise saying about making friends and getting to know other people in this university because running away is the one thing she wishes she was good at.

See, the first time she saw Theo, she thought, wow, this guy looks so insufferable. I can’t believe he works here, and I have to see him every week. This is the worst.

Until it isn’t.

She knew, the moment she made eye contact with Theo across the table in that homey Greek restaurant, that that event would change her life in ways she wouldn’t have—and couldn’t have—imagined. She just didn’t know how yet. Vincent was surprised that he didn’t need to introduce the two of them to each other, and with an irritated grumble, Theo had explained that she was a frequenter of the bookstore, taking a jab at her having no other friends and spending so much time around books instead. She quips back and says the reason they don’t have customers is that Theo’s face is enough to sour anyone’s day, and so no one but her comes anyway.

But Vincent is not the kind of person to have this happen, so instead, with a truce, his kind insistence, and irresistible smile—dammit!—she and Theo, instead, become friends. Good friends. Wait, no—they become begrudging friends.

But they don’t talk.

Theo doesn’t even give her his phone number.

No, they’re not friends. Not yet, anyway. Theo makes a show of only putting up with all of this for his brother, as he continues to ignore even the most cordial of texts like “thank you for putting a rush-order on my book!”, throwing insults back and forth with her in the bookshop. But eventually, both of them find a rhythm, a little liminal space of friends by circumstance and not by desire that they’ve agreed on.

That is until they begin the book exchange.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

[rosesisupposes]

If you're craving prompts, might I humbly request DLAMP, "we keep doing everything out of order."

…this took much longer than I planned, and is far longer than I planned. Also, much fluffier. But I hope you like it, dearest @potestessemagishomosexualitatis 💗💗

Last To Know

Pairing: (hurtling towards) DLAMP

Warnings: immigration, marriage of convenience, mild swearing? I think that’s it

Word count: 3,135

Tag list: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice  @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed  @hawthornshadow @mariniacipher 

read on ao3

There was a very reasonable explanation for all of this. It had been purely a logistical decision. Four acquaintances of Logan’s needed a place to live in his city; Logan had four vacancies in the house he owned and rented. He always kept the top floor for himself, making new tenants a risk, but he at least knew of the others through a combination of mutual friends, shared classes back in undergrad, and generally living in the same area.

They’d settled in fairly easily, right up until Roman confessed his visa was running out and he would likely have to leave the country. Patton had immediately started crying and hugging Roman and insisting they’d find a way to keep him there. Logan was unaware of when Patton had started caring so much. But even Virgil looked distressed, and Damien started wondering aloud how well they could hide him in the house so that he didn’t have to leave.

“Why can’t you apply for a new visa?” Logan asked.

“I’m no longer a student, and I’d need a more regular job for them to sponsor me for a full green card…” Roman said, facing Logan with some difficult thanks to Patton still being twined around him.

Dee’s dark eyes alit. “I know! You should marry one of us! Spouse visa! And then you can work on citizenship!”

“Isn’t that a bit extreme-” Logan started, but he was interrupted by Patton and Virgil both raising their hands as volunteers and Dee cackling in delight.

“But how to choose,” Roman said mournfully. “All my best friends in the world, how could I possibly marry only one of you!”

Virgil suddenly smirked, and Logan looked over curiously. “You know…” the dark-clad man said thoughtfully. “If you’re marrying someone for a visa, it really should be someone responsible and trustworthy. Someone who could believably support you.”

Logan had no idea what he was talking about, but suddenly all heads were turned towards him, and there was a more-than-a-little disturbing resemblance in the mischievous grins on each of his housemates’ faces.

Roman gently dropped Patton back onto the couch, and strode over to Logan wearing his “pompous prince” face (as coined by Virgil, of course). Stopping a foot away, he bowed elegantly.

“Dearest Logan, generous landlord, resident nerd, first stop for endearing space trivia and Sherlock obsessions, would you do me the great honor of giving me your hand in transactional matrimony?”

Logan blinked once. Then twice. Then attempted to speak but only achieved opening his mouth like a particularly stunned fish.

“Is that a yes?” Patton whispered to Dee in the background.

“I think it’s just gay panic,” Dee whispered back, looping an arm around the smaller man’s waist.

“…me?” Logan finally got out.

“Yes, my textually-charged academic,” Roman purred, taking Logan’s hand in his. “I need a man to support me in this foreign land of haw-yees and rednecks, you are the only one I trust to protect me.”

“Hey, we’d protect you too!” Virgil objected, sitting down on top of the couch. “But if you were in trouble, Patton would cry, I’d probably end up punching someone by accident, and Dee’s plan would either end in flames or crimes or both.”

“…isn’t this proposal also Dee’s plan?” Logan asked weakly.

“Yes, but this one is wonderful,” Roman said, kissing Logan’s hand in a way that was not distracting at all, thank you. “Plus, this way you don’t need to find a new lodger midway through the year!”

“I suppose that is a perk,” Logan admitted. “And the immigration process is so convoluted, this would likely be easier…”

“That’s the spirit! Almost!” Patton cheered. “Logan, you own a tux, right?!”

“Yes, why?”

“For the wedding, silly!”

~~~~

Logan really should have thought this through more. But the house had dived into preparations before he could properly object. Dee had made a Pinterest board and “ironically” sent Logan post after post of nerdy wedding aesthetics. Patton kept sneaking up on Logan and Roman with cake samples to try. Virgil popped his head into Logan’s room on a regular basis with out of the blue questions like “Black Parade could be a reception song, right?” and “How many volts of fairy lights could we run without fucking over the electric bill?”

And Roman just kept… being Roman. Flirting outrageously in that way that clearly meant so little to him but was starting to mean something to Logan himself. He’d taken to kissing his hand a lot and greeting him as “my darling fiancé,” and sitting next to or practically on top of him whenever the group was in the same room. Logan found himself agitated by how easily he was blushing now, all the time.

Roman had apparently opened the floodgates, because everyone was being far too affectionate now. Yes, Patton had always been a hugger, but now he kept planting kisses on Logan’s cheek, and holding hands with Dee, and sitting on Virgil or Roman’s lap and sometimes both at once. Dee flirted with, Logan was quite sure, every single person he laid his eyes on ever. But now he kept upping the ante and using fantastical phrases and wordplay tailored to the object of his attention. Logan had had no idea that being called ‘starlight’ would be quite so jarring and endearing and infuriating all in a moment. And Virgil had entirely betrayed him. They used to be the two reasonable ones, or so he thought. But no, Virgil was willingly participating with all of this madness, and had an amazing irritating habit of rubbing the nape of his neck when he was stressed so that all his muscles went involuntarily fluid and relaxed.

Logan arrived home one day to see their small backyard decked in lights, all the lawn furniture moved to the side so that the patio was clear. Patton greeted him at the gate with a hug and yet another cheek kiss as he said, “Lolo! Thank goodness you’re home, you need to get changed!”

“Whatever for?”

“Silly, it’s the 15th! The wedding!”

Logan stopped in his tracks. “I thought we weren’t going to the courthouse until next week?”

“Yes, but the semester will be over and all our friends still in undergrad won’t be able to make it. So we’re having the reception part tonight. We had this whole conversation after the movie last week, don’t you remember?”

But Logan did not. He didn’t even remember which movie it had been. Because Virgil had been slowly stroking his hairline, right at the back of his neck, and Patton had been lying across his lap so that he was across all three of Roman, Logan, and Virgil, and Roman had been giggling and leaning into his side in a way that it only made sense for him to lift his arm and drape it around him, and Dee had been telling Virgil how lovely his eyes were and… Logan had absolutely no memory of any other conversation that may or may not have happened.

But apparently that meant they had a party tonight.

Virgil convinced him to wear the tux still, and Patton blocked off the kitchen to finish the cake in secret. Dee kept making cracks about helping him change, but Roman was mysteriously absent all afternoon. Logan definitely didn’t miss him. It had only been a couple of hours! That would be silly and ridiculous and not what a highly logical person would do.

As 5pm arrived, Logan was in his well-tailored midnight-blue tuxedo. Dee, grinning in a tux with a bright yellow tie and matching gloves, arrived at his bedroom door to ‘escort the groom to the festivities.’ Somewhere on the walk down the stairs, Virgil joined them in a plain but nice-looking suit in black with a purple vest.

They walked out into the yard, filled with friends from the city and university they’d all attended. Everyone was in various forms of ‘their best’ from sundresses to cocktail dresses to gowns, from suspenders to jackets to tuxes, and some wonderful mixes of the two. Patton, glorious in a blue dress, had a microphone (where had they found a mic?) and greeted all his housemates happily and loudly.

“And now that the whole gang’s here, we can welcome the star of our hearts and the show! Roman, come on out for your first dance!”

Logan was pushed into the middle of the patio and Virgil held his shoulders facing away from the house. He could hear the door opening behind him and some “awws” and gasps from the crowd. Logan turned to look but Virgil held him, grinning. “Patience,” Virgil said teasingly.

Finally, the arms released him and Logan turned. Roman was only a couple of feet away, and he looked… stunning. He was wearing a gorgeous fluffy gown of red and gold and sequins, and matching makeup. Logan reached out a hand without thinking, and Roman took it with a smile. Music began to pour out of the speakers.

“It’s a beautiful night/We’re looking for something dumb to do/Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you”

Logan snorted. “A little on the nose, perhaps?” he murmured.

“I wanted to be precise,” Roman said back, lacing their fingers together and placing his free hand on Logan’s waist. With Roman taking the lead, they started to dance around the small dance floor of the patio. Virgil had done an amazing job with the fairy lights, rigging them to create a ceiling of sparkles that cast them all into a warm golden glow.

Roman suddenly smiled wide, and spun Logan around, letting his hand go free. Before Logan could catch himself, Dee caught his hands instead. Now Logan and Dee were waltzing around the floor in parallel to Roman, who was now dancing with Virgil. Their height difference made it a little awkward for Virgil to reach Roman’s shoulders, but then he lifted Roman by the waist to spin him through the air. The watching crowd whooped, and Roman laughed out loud, and Logan accidentally stepped on Dee’s foot because he forgot to watch where he was going. He stumbled, but was caught by something soft and blue. He looked down into huge blue eyes and a freckle-dappled smile.

“Thank you, Patton,” he said. “I’ve not quite got the hang of this dancing thing.”

“Maybe I can help!” Patton replied, pulling Logan close and guiding them into a simple waltz. “One-two-three, one-two-three,” he counted softly, and Logan followed the count, watching his feet.

He kept looking up slightly and then down again. Something about how bright Patton’s smile was, and how the lights reflected in his glasses and eyes, he just couldn’t look too long. But he did note that Dee and Roman were dancing now, some complicated dance that Logan felt himself mentally tripping just watching. But the two biggest drama queens of their house were in perfect sync, moving with fluid precision and both grinning hugely.

A tap on his shoulder pulled Logan’s attention to his side. Virgil smiled comfortingly. “Can I cut in, Lo?”

“Of course, Virge!” Pat said, stepping back. Logan was going to object to yet more dancing, he was, but Virgil had dressed up for this, and he was just self-conscious in front of crowds, so it would just be more polite to not turn him down. Virgil guided Logan’s hand to his hip, and Logan most definitely did not blush to be able to feel the shorter man’s muscles even through his formal outfit. And Patton had swirled off to dance with Ro, something much less regimented but with plenty of twirls and giggles. Dee kept the music going with “Can’t Keep My Eyes Off Of You,” and Logan and Virgil danced sedately, just swaying and turning.

“Virgil, why isn’t anyone else dancing?” Logan asked. “I thought after the first dance, the guests joined in?”

“Well, that is how it works for traditional weddings, yeah,” Virgil said in his familiar rumble. “But what about this is traditional?”

Logan chuckled at that, and let himself relax into the dance. Roman parted from Patton to change the music as Dee and Patton started to swing dance. Virgil and Logan both grinned watching them. Clearly all those old movie marathons had paid off.

Finally, Patton broke off and grabbed Virgil away from Logan. As the shortest members of the household, they were matched perfectly, and Virgil was willing to twirl and lift Patton to make the other man wriggle and laugh. Roman took the opportunity to pull Logan into his arms once more, and the crowd finally started to fill out the dance floor.

“Have I told you how good you look tonight, Logan?”

Blushing would absolutely be his cause of death. He hoped there wasn’t an afterlife, otherwise he would never live it down.

“I… thank you. Your dress is very dramatic and a little ridiculous but it’s so you.”

“They told me I couldn’t have a quinceñara,” he replied with a sniff. “So what better way to celebrate now?” They spun in relative quiet for a moment, when Roman smiled softly. “So, are you enjoying our wedding so far, Lolo?”

“You know, I rather am,” Logan admitted. “My feet are starting to get a bit tired, though.”

Roman swept Logan up off his feet and into his arms. “Is that better?”

Logan blushed hotly, muttering, “I meant I needed to sit down.”

“But is it better?” Roman wheedled. “No lying to your almost-husband, dear nerd.”

“…yes,” Logan admitted, and Roman laughed. The world was fairy-lights and glittering gowns, Logan was surrounded by his favorite people in the world, and later there would be five-tier cake and Crofter’s. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected, but he wasn’t such a stick-in-the-mud that he wouldn’t admit that it was magical.

~~~~

The flourescent lights of the courthouse were a far cry from the dreamlike lights of their reception, but today was the day and they were getting legally married. Logan was still a bit unsure about how they had reached this point, but found he cared less and less.

The whole house had come, of course, Patton linking Virgil’s and Dee’s arms around his own as he bounced in excitement. They waited through the decently-sized line until they finally reached the desk.

“Good morning, we would like a marriage license, please,” Logan said.

The clerk grinned just a bit bigger. “Congratulations! And what date would you like it made out for?”

“Today, please,” Roman said happily, linking his arm with Logan’s and squeezing. Patton make a sound of delight behind them.

The clerk nodded, and typed on the computer until they were interrupted by a question. “Do you know if it’s possible to enter a legal partnership with more than one person in this municipality?” The seemingly-idle question was in Dee’s unmistakeable drawl.

“Oh, yes, certainly! Marriage, domestic partnerships, and adoption can all be amended to have any number of partners. I think we need special permission at ten or more, but even that is still possible, just a longer process.”

Roman squeezed Logan’s arm tighter. “Lo? Is that okay?”

Logan looked back in confusion. “This is for you, Roman. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

Patton squealed again, and hugged them both from behind. “Form for five, please!”

Logan supposed that was all right. That would make it more believable, right? If Roman was equally committed to all his housemates, that would be more reason to let him stay in the country. And it made Patton so happy.

He felt slightly divorced from his body as he went through the motions of showing his ID, and signing the forms, but suddenly they were finished, and Roman had his arm looped around him on one side and Dee was on the other. Pat and Virge were on the outside, both snickering as the group tried to walk down the hallway without detaching with varying levels of success.

They were married. All five of them. And Roman would get to stay.

As they got home again, they all ended up sprawling across the couches. They fell into their most comfortable configuration, with Logan the only one sitting normally. Patton was taking full advantage of being the small one to sit across their laps. Dee was lying on the back of the couch up against the wall, fingers intertwined with Roman’s where he lounged diagonally with Pat’s head in his lap. Virgil was upside-down from the back of the couch, curled oddly so his head was on Logan’s thigh but Pat could still hold his hand.

Logan sighed contentedly.

“Whatcha thinkin’, Lolo?” Dee asked, a little sleepily.

“I was just reflecting on how comfortable I feel with you all. Even though we started as mere acquaintances, I do think of you all as very much like my family, now. And it’s rather nice that we’re legally a family now, for however long.”

Logan didn’t see the glances exchanged around and over him, but did hear Roman’s question. “How long would you like us to be, Logan?”

“Well, as long as it takes for your citizenship, of course.”

“What about after that, L?” Virgil asked.

“I… I don’t know. Divorce is rather a process, I suppose we could stay in this arrangement until a large enough inconvenience comes along to justify it.”

“So… you would like to stay married to us all?” Patton asked. Logan couldn’t tell what his tone meant, but there were hints of… curiosity.

Logan answered slowly. “I believe… yes. I would. I am… rather fond of you all, and always appreciate the time we spend together, for whatever reason.”

Roman smiled softly, and reached out to pat his face. “We love you too, Logan.”

Logan blinked. “Love? In which sense of the word?”

“Romantic, you dummy,” Dee muttered, practically falling asleep on the back of the couch.

“…wait, you… all? Romantic? Love?” Logan stuttered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yeah, man. Normally that’s what marriage means. Plus our first dances? Of the people in love?”

“Hey, don’t make fun of Lolo, he’s not that good at his own feelings,” Patton chided. “Yes, cupcake, we all love you. We thought you knew.”

“Oh,” Logan said, blushing. “I… apologize for being the last to know. I suppose it’s a good thing that I’ve fallen in love with you all, too. We keep doing everything out of order, don’t we?”

“Nah, ‘s just you,” Dee said, snuggling into the blanket Roman had just passed him, seconds from sleep.

“But we all got here in the end,” Virgil said, a comfortable rumble on Logan’s left.

Logan ran a hand through Patton’s soft hair, and smiled at Roman, who’d started it all. “Here’s to arriving, then. I look forward to being your collective husband.”

“We love you too, Lolo.”

#Roses Writes Fanfic #hurtling towards DLAMP #DLAMP #polyam sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #marriage of convenience #wedding fic #prompt fill #prompt writing #Fluff #fluffy fluff fluff #logan is oblivious #help that poor dumbass #mexican roman #proposal fic #Luluvely Wife #thank you lulu <3

[possiblyimbiassed]

The Science of Reduction

In my view, John’s blog and Sherlock’s website both represent a more realistic version of what might actually have happened in the BBC Sherlock narrative; a believable kind of ‘reality’ that doesn’t need extraordinary explanations or complicated assumptions to make sense. As opposed to the big Drama we see in the actual show, these online versions - slightly childish as they may be - tell a kind of story that appears to be at least plausible. But maybe they’re also a bit more limited and therefore boring?

It goes to show, I think, that “Poetry or Truth”, which Lestrade claims are the same thing in TAB, indeed are very different concepts. As an enhanced version of reality, enriched by human creativity and emotion, Poetry can give far more interesting results than any attempt at approaching Truth ‘scientifically’. But it can also derail into absurdity, as shown by S4. 

Sherlock’s website is, in a sense, ‘scientific’; very logically constructed and categorized, brief and minimalistic. No superfluous information to be found, no dramatic embroidery of the facts. Occam’s razor. 

On the surface, the only hints of emotion being involved are Sherlock’s whining about people being stupid, predictable and boring, showing us how lonely that makes him feel. The contrast to how he comes across in the show, and its display of his ‘inner life’, is striking. But now the website has - unlike John’s blog - been taken down, which I suspect might reflect the fact that Sherlock has left ‘reality’ and chosen to go deeper into himself.

But after realising from this post that The Science of Deduction is actually still there, saved on the Way Back Machine (thanks for that, @khanhizon1999!), I took to look a little further into it, and noticed several interesting things:

1. Sherlock seems to be a very lazy ‘blogger’, who has reduced the info on his own website to a minimum, since he has only written down one single case for his readers to look at: The Green Ladder. Not even his analyses of tobacco (referred to in ASiB, dismissed by John) or perfume (referred to in THoB, when he encourages Mrs Hudson to look it up) are actually posted. For the rest of the ‘new’ cases - The Blind Banker and ‘The Serial Suicides’ (A Study in Pink) - he simply refers to John’s blog. And for The Aluminium Crutch and The Great Game he doesn’t even bother to do that. 

TBC under the cut. 

2. So, what was so special about The Green Ladder for Sherlock to both do the effort of writing it down, and then not erase it like he did with the tobacco analysis? I mean, since this case is about a guy who actually gets killed for being both superstitious and predictable (a bit like Lord Carmichael’s idiocy in TAB, perhaps), what could possibly raise Sherlock’s interest about it to the point of discussing details on his website? I bet it’s out of nostalgic Sentiment. ;) It definitely seems like this was the case Sherlock was working on when he first met John. Which we can deduce by the text message he left on John’s phone:

I’ll also speculate that he deleted the tobacco study because John didn’t like it, while he kept this one because it just might impress John. 

3. It also strikes me, however, that nowhere on this website can we read about how Sherlock can identify “a software designer by his tie” or "a retired plumber by his left hand” (PILOT) or “an airline pilot by his left thumb” (ASiP). Did Sherlock delete that as well, just because John seemed incredulous? :) Or were these claims parts of the now archived cases, for example ‘The Laughing Pilot’? 

4. The names of the cases. I used to believe that all the fanciful titles of John’s blog posts were due to his own creativity. But here we have a whole bunch of inspiring case names created by Sherlock himself:

Some of these titles definitely seem to be little nods to canon: 

The Man With Four Legs - The Man With the Twisted Lip (TWIS)

The Crooked House - The Crooked Man (CROO)

The Missing Jars - The Missing Three-Quarter (MISS)

The Abernetty Family - The Abbey Grange (ABBE)

The Purple Woman - The Red Circle (CIRC)

The Confusion of Isadora Persano is reduced to a mere title, but it’s actually taken directly from canon’s The Problem of Thor Bridge (THOR), where Watson tells us: “A third case worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the wellknown journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a matchbox in front of him which contained a remarkable worm, said to be unknown to science.”  

Which immediately makes me think of John’s blog post The Inexplicable Matchbox: “The situation with Isaac Persano hit the headlines, obviously. He was found, in a hotel room, surrounded by matchboxes. And he couldn't speak”. A case which Sherlock included in his Best Man speech in TSoT: “A French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes – all empty except this one”. 

We never got to know what this matchbox contained, though. In the show, there’s only one worm I can think of (and no - I don’t count the maggots Sherlock shows Archie in TSoT, or the ones crawling out of Emelia Ricoletti’s dead body in TAB; they’re larvae, not worms, and they’re not new to science :) ). The one I’m thinking of is the ‘earworm’ of Eurus’ suggestions that drives Doctor Taylor mad enough to kill his family, according to the Governor of Sherrinford in TFP. I don’t know if such a thing is ‘unknown to science’, but it’s certainly quite unlikely, isn’t it?

But what about the rest of the cases? What’s with, for example, the Subdivided Crooner? :))) It’s also interesting to know that there’s a ghost at Barts’ hospital. Is that supposed to be a premonition about Sherlock? :)

5. There’s also a (supposedly) ongoing case called The Major's Cat. How many majors do we meet in the show? Well, there’s Major Barrymore in THoB, Major Reed in TSoT and Major Sholto, also in TSoT. But none of them comes across as a cat lover, though, do they? :) And this case happens before we get to know either of these majors. An interesting piece in this puzzle is a client, a poster called T Thompson who wants help with a missing cat.

OK, so this is the major - a famous boxer named T. ‘The Major’ Thompson! Clearly something more than a missing cat is going on in this case. Sherlock deduces brilliantly that his client is secretive because he wants to avoid a scandal; thus, he’s probably famous. Cats are also linked to Greenwich in the title The Killer Cats of Greenwich, which in turn makes me think of “the bloody Greenwich pips” in TGG - the episode in which the naked cat Sekhmet figures. Lots of cats here. ;)

Eventually, Sherlock posts a new comment  - possibly having to do with the case of the Major’s missing cat:

“Ha! Brilliant! Oh, very very clever! I love it when a criminal knows what he's doing. The cat was in the television! Fake screen. Brilliant.” I’d love to know what this case was actually about (apart from cat abuse) - it’s not often we see Sherlock expressing that kind of emotion :) But, anyway: more cats?! I can’t find a single dog on Sherlock’s website, which surprises me, since the show is full of them, and there’s also a few on John’s blog.

It’s also interesting to see Mike Stanford tell Sherlock about John’s blog, shortly after he’s moved in to 221B. Pretty soon Sherlock also starts to get anonymous threats on his website, combined with some ciphers, which Sherlock uses to entertain his readers. 

6. The three encrypted messages sent to Sherlock’s website by an anonymous reader - *cough* Moriarty *cough* - bring rather scarce information. I’ve tried to apply all three of the ciphers to seemingly meaningless words like “UMQRA” or “AGRA”, but of no result this far. Just like Sherlock’s declarations of the case solutions to Moriarty in TGG about Carl Powers, Ian Monkford and Raoul de Santos, I think these ciphers are the least interesting items on the website. But I might be proven very wrong of course! :)

7. Then, finally, we have the Forum, where the most substantial message is from little Kirsty Stapleton who lost her glowing rabbit to science (fully investigated in THoB). One thing that strikes me is that Kirsty asks about John “Is he a real Dr?”. Which very much reminds me of TLD, where Culverton asks John: “Are you really a doctor?”  

Also the rest of the Forum’s old comments do have some interest, even if they’re usually reduced to exchanges of a few words between Sherlock and the people who knows him: John, Lestrade, Molly, Mike Stanford, Sarah Sawyer, the fan Jacob Sowersby and long-term poster Moriarty ‘theimprobableone’. First of all we learn that Sherlock moved out from Montague street due to “disagreement with landlord”. Very strange indeed, seeing as Sherlock must be such a lovely tenant. ;)) 

We also learn that Moriarty ‘theimprobableone’ is flirting with Sherlock via his website from start; he tries to ask him out and even offers Sherlock to move in with him! In this context maybe we should remember that the last time we heard from Moriarty ‘theimprobableone’ was after John’s wedding, when Sherlock had hacked into his blog and tried to find some company online. The answer was: “i am interested but I am going out on a date”.

And - back to Sherlock’s website - there’s also Molly, trying to get Sherlock’s attention by claiming she found a tie at Barts that might be his. We also see Lestrade getting desperate over the serial ‘suicides’ and wanting Sherlock’s help, which the latter deflects. Hard to see how Sherlock is ‘married to his job’ here. :)

Sherlock’s reaction to the ‘Bond night’ is also quite entertaining:

He calls Bond ‘ridiculous’ until ‘theimprobableone’ butts in, then he suddenly begins to appreciate it more. ;)

And we do get a possible explanation as to why Sherlock takes on the dubious Belarus case of Barry Berwick: John needs the money! :)

Finally, I think an interesting little detail is that, once again, an ambassador is mentioned in BBC Sherlock - a recurring theme! ;)

Tagging some people who might be interested:

@ebaeschnbliah @sarahthecoat @raggedyblue @gosherlocked @the-signs-of-two @loveismyrevolution @sagestreet 

#sherlock's website

[kjack89]

Ours

Just a little E/R modern AU established relationship fluff, with a side of light angst because it’s me and, y’know, I can’t not.

Enjolras rolled over in bed, reaching out automatically for Grantaire, only to find the man missing. He huffed a sigh and lifted his head enough to squint at the clock, the neon green numbers ‘6:52’ piercing in the dim early morning light.

Sure, his alarm was set to go off in eight minutes anyway, but as he slowly sat up, Enjolras couldn’t help but feel more than a little peeved that his planned eight minute cuddle session was apparently over before it even began.

He curbed his irritation and got up in search of his wayward boyfriend, finding him in the guest room that doubled as an office for Enjolras and a studio for Grantaire, sorting through the various items that Enjolras had shoved in the closet there with misguided if well-intended plans to go through them later. “Oh, hey,” Grantaire said, glancing up as Enjolras poked his head in. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Enjolras said, leaning against the door jamb. “What are you doing?”

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” Grantaire told him, tossing the board game Risk into one of the many boxes strewn throughout the room. “So I decided to finally watch Marie Kondo, if only to get Courfeyrac to shut up about it—”

Enjolras snorted. “Good luck with that,” he muttered.

“—And what can I say, I got inspired.” He gestured at the boxes. “Those are the keep, those are the donate, those are the toss.”

“Uh-huh.” Enjolras said slowly, picking his way through the room. “Isn’t the whole point of her method that you should keep the things that bring you joy?”

Grantaire looked contemplatively at the waffle iron he had just picked up. “That is right,” he murmured, before decisively setting it into one of the ‘donate’ boxes. “And it’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Enjolras bent and picked a small plastic trophy out of one of the ‘toss’ boxes. “And, uh, should be I offended that my fifth grade soccer trophy doesn’t bring you joy?”

“No, but I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can honestly tell me that it brings you joy,” Grantaire said, grinning. Enjolras didn’t smile and Grantaire’s smile faded, just slightly. “Why do I have a feeling that this is about more than a soccer trophy?”

Enjolras sighed. “I need coffee,” he muttered, turning and heading to the kitchen. He wasn’t entirely surprised that Grantaire trailed after him, though he ignored him as he went about brewing a fresh pot.

“You’re mad.”

Enjolras sighed again. “I’m not mad,” he said. “And I need coffee before we have this conversation.”

Grantaire pulled one of the chairs out from the kitchen table and spun it so he could sit backward on it, resting his elbows on the top rung of the chair back. “While you get suitably caffeinated, can I just point out that it’s not just your stuff that I’ve been going through?”

“No,” Enjolras said dryly, “as long as I’m allowed to point out that the vast majority of your stuff is still at your apartment, since we don’t actually live together.”

All traces of Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “Seriously?” he said. “You really want to do this right now?”

Enjolras grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. “No, frankly I don’t want to do this at all, but then again, I’m not the one who’s been going through my belongings at ass o’clock in the morning as if he’s, I don’t know, entitled to them.”

“I am entitled to them,” Grantaire said with a scowl, taking one of the mugs when Enjolras held it out to him. “Because while my name may not be on the lease, all of my belongings are here. My apartment is empty, save for some duplicate books and random crap I definitely need to get rid of, and I’ve spent easily the last month sleeping over here. We are living together, whether you like it or not.”

Enjolras scowled as well, taking a much-needed sip of coffee. “We’ll circle back to that,” he said stiffly. “For right now, I’d like to focus on the part where you think that you’re entitled to my belongings.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Enj, you don’t believe in material possessions.”

“Well, I believe they exist—”

“But you don’t believe that the rich should hold onto them,” Grantaire said firmly, clearly refusing to fall for Enjolras’s attempt at a diversion. “And as you’ve frequently identified yourself as a recovering member of the 1%, you are clearly comfortable applying your own logic to yourself and by extension, your possessions.” He cocked his head. “Or are you just really that attached to your fifth grade soccer trophy?”

“You know damn well this is not about the trophy,” Enjolras snapped, the caffeine not having its desired effect.

Grantaire met his glare evenly. “Then maybe you can tell me what this is actually about.”

“It’s about the fact that it’s mine!” Enjolras half-shouted.

“The stuff I’ve been going through it both of ours—”

“No, it’s my stuff, and it’s your stuff, and since your stuff is shit, I don’t particularly care what you do with it, but I do care what you do with mine!”

Grantaire recoiled, his expression tightening. “Oh,” he said, setting his untouched cup of coffee on the table. “Ok.”

He stood, pausing onto to grab his hoodie from where it was hanging on the coat rack that they had bought at IKEA, and Enjolras sighed. “Where are you going?” he asked tiredly, all of the fight seeming to leave him in an instant.

“Home,” Grantaire said. “Since you’ve made it very clear that this is not it.”

“Grantaire—”

But it was too late. Grantaire swept out, all but slamming the door after him, and Enjolras sighed once more, draining his coffee and trying to pretend the bitter taste in his mouth was only from the lack of sugar in his coffee.

---

To be clear, it wasn’t about the stuff.

Enjolras admitted that to Combeferre, who listened somewhat sympathetically as Enjolras spilled the entire story via FaceTime. “So then what was it really about?” Combeferre asked, taking a sip of his own cup of coffee, his phone likely propped against some book or another on his desk.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said shortly, irritated less by the question and more by his own inability to answer.

“Do you not want to live with Grantaire?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, he’s right on that account,” he said. “We are basically living together. That ship has sailed.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “Do you not want to be in a relationship with Grantaire anymore?”

“What?” Enjolras croaked, his eyes widening. “God, no, of course I want to be with Grantaire. I love him.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know!” Enjolras snapped, before sighing and running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know it’s stupid, I know it’s just stuff, but when I saw him going through it—” He broke off, shaking his head. “I don’t know why it pissed me off so much.”

Combeferre didn’t look surprised by that, and he took another sip of coffee before saying calmly, “Well there’s one thing we haven’t considered.”

Enjolras blinked. “What’s that?”

“Maybe there isn’t a deeper reason for your outburst,” Combeferre said. “Maybe it’s just that you’re tired and crabby and you overreacted.”

Enjolras stared at him. “You really think that’s it?”

Combeferre half-smiled. “I know you like to think that you’re immune to normal human emotions, but you’re not.” He arched an eyebrow at him. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve pulled a stunt like this.”

“I just—” Enjolras struggled to find words, but deep down, he suspected Combeferre was right. He was tired, and he had picked a fight because that’s what he and Grantaire did when they were crabby, but he had gone too far because that’s what he did when he was crabby. “So just like that, huh?”

Combeferre’s smile widened. “Well, the alternative is that you really are that attached to your fifth grade soccer trophy.”

His words were eerily similar to Grantaire’s, and for the first time, Enjolras realized just how stupid he’d been. “Hilarious,” he said dryly, though he was thankfully saved from saying anything more by the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. “I gotta go.”

“Good lu—”

Enjolras hung up before Combeferre could finish the sentence. “Hey,” he said cautiously as Grantaire let himself into their apartment.

And wasn’t that a revelation?

Their apartment. Now that Enjolras was willing to pull his head out of his ass long enough to admit it.

“I went back to my apartment,” Grantaire started, but Enjolras cut him off.

“I’m sorry.”

Grantaire didn’t look surprised. “I know,” he said, hanging his hoodie back up on the coat rack. “Figured you just needed some time to cool off.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “So you’re not mad?”

“Well, I was pissed,” Grantaire admitted, heading to the fridge and grabbing the Brita pitcher to pour himself a glass of water. “But I figured this whole little meltdown was probably about something else, so I decided to come up with a solution.”

“A solution,” Enjolras repeated, a little blankly. “Ok, but—”

Grantaire held up a finger and took a swig of water. “First and foremost, I contacted my landlord and gave him my thirty days notice. I don’t want a separate apartment — I live here.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, surprised by the emotion that welled in his chest, and he reached out automatically to pull Grantaire to him, surprisingly touched when Grantaired ducked his head automatically to rest his head against Enjolras’s chest. “You do. This is home — our home.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “And that’s the other thing. Ours. That’s what we need: new stuff that’s not yours or mine, but ours.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, rubbing his hand lightly against Grantaire’s back. “Ok, us and what money? My trust fund’s still in escrow, remember?”

“I didn’t say that we’d be the ones buying it,” Grantaire told him.

“Then how—” Enjolras started, breaking off when Grantaire pulled away just long enough to reach into his pocket and pull out a black velvet ring box.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said, breaking into a smile, “you think a wedding registry ought to do it?”

Enjolras didn’t even hesitate, pulling Grantaire back to him and kissing him fiercely, cradling Grantaire’s face with both of his hands. “How long have you been planning this?” he asked finally, when he finally had to reemerge for breath.

Grantaire shrugged, looking up at Enjolras with a small, soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I bought the ring six months ago,” he said. “I was just waiting for the right time.”

“And this was the right time?”

Grantaire shrugged once more. “Yeah,” he said. “Because you finally figured out that I’m not going anywhere.” Enjolras swallowed, hard, and Grantaire drew him in to kiss him once more. “At least, I won’t be, once you answer the question.”

“You have to actually ask it, first,” Enjolras pointed out.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Fine. Enjolras, will you—”

“Yes,” Enjolras said instantly. “Absolutely yes.”

Grantaire’s laugh was cut off by Enjolras kissing him again, both men breathless as Grantaire slid the simple golden band onto Enjolras’s finger. “I want you here,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced up at him. “Forever. This is your home, and I’m so sorry—”

“I know,” Grantaire told him. “I love you.”

Enjolras grinned. “I love you, too.” He glanced down at the band glinting on his finger. “So this new stuff — does that mean we have to actually agree on what we’re registering for, or—”

Grantaire snorted a laugh and shook his head. “We can register for whatever the fuck we want,” he said bluntly. “Under one condition: that whatever it is, it’s ours.”

Enjolras’s grin widened. “Deal,” he said easily. “Ours.”

Grantaire lifted Enjolras’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the ring he had placed on Enjolras’s finger. “Ours,” he repeated. “Forever.”

#Enjolras x Grantaire #ExR #Enjoltaire #Enjolras #Grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern AU #established relationship #fluff #angst #more misunderstandings than angst really #nothing they can't get past

[erikismybitch]

Waiting In Vain : Chapter 10

Safe Again

Marley could breathe again. This new apartment smelled like fresh paint and the Endless Weekend candle she lit on her shiny new kitchen counter. Next to her new Kitchenaid stand mixer that Becky gifted her . She had come over to lend a helping hand . Help her organize things and catch up. The two of them laid down in her living room on her new area rug . It’s where her couch would go as soon as she bought one. The door was wide open and allowed the breeze to come through. The two movers Marley picked up at a local hardware store were moving heavy things in and out of the rented Uhaul. She didn’t have many things to fill the apartment yet, but it was hers . She couldn’t afford to furnish the entire place right away. That would take some time and a few extra shifts at the bar. Marley was in no rush, she would lay in her empty living room for a year . As long as it was her living room .

“Aren’t you glad to be out of that damn hotel?” Becky roller over on her belly to face Marley who did the same.

“It wasn’t that bad , it was kind of nice to have a maid clean up for me” Marley went back down and spread her arms and legs like she was making a snow angel. Becky laughed at her silliness . “But, I’d rather clean up my own shit any day”

“I still can’t believe you got your dream apartment”

Marley got up completely and looked around the room. Their voices were so hollow. “I have no idea how I got in here. When I applied they said they had a long waiting list” she shrugged .

“The other people must have not fallen through” Becky got up too.

“I know , they just called me a few days ago and told me I got the place”

Marley felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest . All the bad that had been happening to her, something had to give . After college she moved into a small studio, shortly after that Trey moved in with her . The studio had gotten too small for the both of them so they found a bigger place. Then they broke up and Marley moved in with Tiana. So this was Marley’s first place on her own. It was perfect , hardwood floors and light grey paint . The landlord gave her full permission to puncture the walls so the opportunity for framed art would be endless . The living room had huge windows that looked out onto the street. She couldn’t wait to put ceiling to floor curtains in them. Crown molding was in each room . Her bathroom was a vintage dream . Black and white oyster tile and a freestanding tub. Marley’s room was what she loved best . It was the last door down the hall . She had bay windows and a nook that she would fill with pillows and books . All that occupied the room now was an air mattress, she had to purchase a bedroom set .

Before the two girls got too restless , they decided to go out and buy groceries for the apartment. Marley wasn’t big on eating out , she enjoyed cooking and it always saved her money. After the two movers finished, Marley paid them and left . At the grocery store Becky pushed the cart as Marley loaded it almost to capacity. Becky was chatting to her about how Pedro wanted her to cook dinner every night since they’ve been married . Not only that but he had turned into a major slob, expecting her to do everything for him. Cleaning up his mess, washing his clothes and even picking up his dry cleaning .

That’s one thing Marley was afraid of when getting married. Giving her all to someone , for them to turn out to be someone else . Just like Becky did , Marley had dreams of living the perfect life with a husband and kids . Though, she would never say those words out of her mouth to anyone. Never seeing a model of a perfect marriage all her life, she thought it didn’t exist . But a girl could dream, right ?

“Have you tried to talk to him about it?” Marley asked , the duo began loading the conveyor belt with the groceries.

“Not really , I’m hoping he will see how unhappy it makes me” she told her .

“You have to tell him, you can’t just expect him to know Becky “ Marley put the last few items on the belt and went to the register to pay . She greeted the employee and brought her attention back to Becky .

“I don’t know how to” she admitted .

“Whenever it comes up for you , just tell him how you feel”

Becky got quiet , maybe she was thinking of a good time to express her feelings to Pedro . Marley paid for all of the groceries and they loaded them back in the cart . They did the same with the trunk of Marley’s car and got inside . “I don’t know when I should tell him” Becky started going on again about her issue . Marley looked out of the drivers window and rolled her eyes . She felt is was a simple fix , it was nothing to keep going on about. She was greatful for Becky being her friend , but she was starting to get on her nerves about this . Becky kept saying the same things about Pedro over and over , it had gotten to a point where Marley felt as if she was talking to herself about it . She just gave Becky a few “yeah’s” and “that’s crazy” when Becky would get to a point . Not really listening anymore.

Marley’s window was facing the Grocery store , so she could see everyone who walked in and walked out . Even Trey , who walked into the store with a blonde woman holding a baby. Marley shifted up into her seat , she squinted her eyes to be sure . It was the back of them, but she knew for a fact that it was Trey.

“What the hell?” She mouthed quietly, Becky didn’t even hear her . It wasn’t some coincidence that they had walked in at the same time , but he pushed onto the small of her back to move her away from a bystander. Marley reached to unbuckle her seat belt , she didn’t know what for . Her first instinct was to coincidentally run into them . But like a saving grace... her cell phone rang . A number she remembered from a week ago, one that she had been too chicken to call on her own . It was connected to the car already when she answered.

“Hi Erik” Marley smiled, as if the person on the other end could see her . Becky was surprised at her friends sudden change in mood , and also surprised at who she was talking to.

“What you up to?” His deep voice came through the car speakers , Becky nudged her friend for not filling her in on the situation .

“I moved into my new apartment today, so I’m out getting a few things”

“You got a place?” He sounded genuinely happy for her.

“Yeah, and it’s the place I was telling you about when we talked last” Marley’s shameless smile never faded.

“Call me later, when you get settled”

“Okay” Marley’s pitch was a little too high , it tickled Becky and she started to laugh at her . As soon as she hung up the phone she let everything out .

“Was that thee Erik!”

“Yes” Marley hid her face behind her hands. Her friend pulled them away

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“About what?” Markey cut on the engine and played coy , Becky gave her a serious look .

“I didn’t want you to know , in case things didn’t work out”

“ There is no denying the chemistry between the both of you . We all seen it at the club that night . Hell, it’s obvious that he likes you” If Becky hadn’t been there to correct them ,Jazzy and Asia would’ve assumed that Marley and Erik were an item. That small moment outside was that intense.

“I mean... have you seen how fine he is, a guy like th-”

“Marley have you seen yourself!” Becky yelled with passion, so much so that it surprised Marley “Do you know how many guys come up to me at the bar asking about you ?”

“Shut up Becky”

“I swear”

Marley pulled off and out of the parking lot , thinking about what Becky said . Maybe she was being too hard on herself . If Erik kept persuing her, obviously it was something he liked. Deep down she couldnt help but feel like second best when it came to him. Erik did not chose her first and that always sat in the back of Marley’s brain.

“So these guys at the bar” Marley began to speak again . “Were they cute?”

The both of them chuckled. “Some were cute, some were hideous, but none of them looked like Erik” Becky answered.

“Do you think this is a good idea?”

“I’m all for anybody that makes you smile the way you just did”

Marley scoffed in embarrassment. He have her those school girl feels, this is what frightened her most . Erik was bittersweet right now. All these feelings and all he did was call ...twice . There was no substance for their relationship... or friendship as Marley thought , because intentions weren’t clear . Of course she knew that they were sexually attracted to eachother , but with these feelings , she hoped for it to be more than that .

And those feelings almost made her forget about seeing Trey at the grocery store . She shook the negative thoughts of him off , Erik somehow had the ability to make her forget logic. There was no more Trey in her life since she left his house . Unless he had a clone walking around , that woman and baby couldn’t possibly be his . Where were they ? Especially during those weeks she lived with him ? Marley chuckled for even thinking something that far out .

#erikismyfic

[mvdipetsch]

Outside of London; A Guide.

Hello, friends! I think there’s a semi-substantial amount of roleplays based around England, but honestly 90% of them are in London and while that’s great, England is made up of a lot of cities and I figured I’d show some #representation. 

In this guide we cover: Housing in England, location and travel! 

Disclaimer: This is based off of my experience and the experience of those around me. Most of my knowledge is concentrated around Birmingham, as that is where I grew up, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time in Stoke-on-Trent, Blackpool and Liverpool so I feel that I have a semi-decent shot at helping out. 

If you found this guide helpful, please reblog this as it helps to show me that there is interest and I’m not just shouting into a void. If you have any suggestions or comments about things I could/should cover in these guides please let me know! Any specific questions? Shoot me an ask and I’ll do my best to help you out. 

Location, Location, Location. 

England is divided into counties. There many of them, and realistically they don’t affect anything. All it really means is that your resources (police, fire, ambulance, charities, etc.) are organised by that one area. For instance - the buses in my city are all organised by Network West Midlands. They deal with every bus service (if it’s an NXBus) in the West Midlands. Ultimately, it doesn’t really affect anything. 

From my city to my university, it’s a 3-ish hour drive. That is a long drive. I know some people regard that as nothing, but when everything is so close together, it’s a lot. It’s not really a drive that people would make a lot - this is why train transport (while not that big) tends to be used to get from city to city. 

Only really in the inner cities are things that expensive. When you move away from the main city, things can get pretty affordable, but the inner city is still often really accessible via bus, driving or even train. When I’m at my boyfriend’s I’ll get the bus into the city centre, but when I’m at my mom’s sometimes it’s quicker to just jump on a train. Train tickets are also pretty inexpensive if you’re moving within the city. It’s when you’re heading to smaller cities that the problems arise. For instance, I can get to London for under £10, and to Liverpool for not much more. However, for me to get from Birmingham (a major city) to my University (a not-so-major city of about 200k) it’s £60+ with a change. On coach, it’s £14 with a change + it takes 5-ish hours (there are direct coaches that cost £30~ which is still significantly cheaper than the train) University students will commonly take a coach to and from their university to their hometown if it’s ridiculously priced. 

The higher north you go, typically the cheaper it is. This is dependent upon where in that city you are, but the general consensus is that north = cheaper. Obviously if you’re in Manchester city centre then it’s going to be a bit more pricey, but the general cost of living / food / etc. is seen to be cheaper the more north you go. A good way to judge how expensive a place is, is by how much the bus fare is. Birmingham bus fare is £4.00 for a daysaver (one ticket, on the bus as much as you like) but when I was in Liverpool I paid something like £1.20 for an U18 ticket. That’s a big difference. (For reference - Birmingham is the smack-bang middle of England. Liverpool is about 2 hours north, near Manchester.) 

Typically, when it comes to travelling; 

Driving

Cars in the UK are predominantly manual (with a gear stick) but we can still get automatic cars. Manual cars are also cheaper than automatic and you can drive an automatic with a manual license but you cannot drive a manual with an automatic license. 

My mom lives seven minutes from her work (she timed it, she’s got no life) but there are people who live up to thirty minutes away and have to take the motorway. This means that if there’s a massive accident, you can sit there for six hours, bored out of your skull

It’s also worth saying that if you live in a/the city centre, you’re not taking your car to work. It’s ridiculously expensive and parking is so few and far between, it’s really not worth it. People can and do drive, but plenty of people will also opt for a train or bus.

Buses

If you don’t drive the bus is often a very viable option. Buses will commonly run from 6:30/7 until 11:30/12 (at least where I am) but you can get night buses or buses that run later, they’re just a bit rare. 

Students (in college or secondary school, typically) are VERY common on buses. As in public buses. Unless someone has an impairment and go to a special school suited to their needs, you make your own way. Which often means that you jump on that bus with every man and his dog. 

Sunday service is real and it’s a pain in the arse. Buses that run every 10-ish minutes during the week drop to 20 between 9 and 5 and then drop to every 30 minutes after that (sometimes even every hour.) This means that if you miss your bus... you can be waiting for a very long time. 

Trains

Train’s are far more common for longer commutes. Also trains aren’t really that common for secondary school students (they either get dropped off in a car, walk or take the bus) but college students can and do take the train. My best friend takes an hour’s train ride to and from her college every day, and a lot of my teachers will get the train to college (my college is in the city centre, so it’s pretty logical.) Regardless, trains aren’t as common. 

Housing

Houses in England are attached. It is rare that you will see detached (stand alone) houses. Most houses will share their walls with their neighbours, unless they’re the end house in which case they’re called “semi-detached” cause... only half of them is attached. That tends to mean that if your neighbours have a baby, you can hear them crying. You can hear when the tv is too loud and all that kind of stuff. 

When you move out, there tends to be a few options in terms of who actually owns where you live. The options normally are:

Council. 

You sign up on the website, the council give you a priority rating and a set amount of points. These points are determined by the people in your household and your needs. A single mother with two kids will get more points than a single person with no dependants.

There is also a ‘bedroom’ tax, which states that you have to pay a tax if you live in a council property and are seen as having more bedrooms than you need. If, for instance you have two children of opposite genders that are aged seven and three, you have to pay extra tax for that third bedroom because it’s deemed as unnecessary. However if you have two children and they’re of different genders and one of them is over the age of ten (10) then you do not have to pay the tax. If they are of the same gender, then it is until one of them is sixteen (16).

Council and Housing Associations are most beneficial to those who are receiving benefits or are not working enough to cover rent by themselves. 

Housing Association

The way a housing association works is effectively the same as a landlord and the council. You apply on the council website for the aforementioned points and begin to bid on properties. When this happens, you may bid on a property that happens to be owned by a HA. The HA then acts as your landlord. HAs are pretty okay, dependent upon the area + such. When you live in a HA, any housing benefit you receive will immediately be paid from the council to the HA. This can cause issues if your money gets fucked up (which is more common than not because the housing system in the UK is BROKEN.) 

Private Rent

Private is when you have a landlord. I mean, that’s pretty self-explanatory really. You have an issue? Call the landlord. I’ve never had a landlord so I can’t really comment much on this. I will say that most landlords likely won’t accept housing benefit as a form of payment.

Private own. 

This is just the whole mortgage, thing. You know how this goes. 

There are a few different types of housing options when it comes to England and I’d imagine that this is pretty true for up and down the city.

Blocks of flats.

Blocks of flats are huge high-rises. They’re not as common anymore but there are still quite a few knocking about. If you remember the tragedy of Grenfell Tower, that was a high-rise. 

Blocks of flats can be owned by the local council or be privately rented. I’ve never lived in a flat, so my knowledge isn’t the best. They all tend to have names and there’s normally at least two together. 

A ‘flat’ is basically an apartment. So it’s a bunch of different flats (which, in high rises, commonly have two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room and a bathroom) High rises have a lot of flats in them. Commonly there’s at least 13 floors, with between around four and six flats per floor. So you can get a lot of people in a high rise. 

Maisonette. 

A maisonette looks like a wide house. It’s normally one to two floors, with flats that have three (or more) bedrooms. Maisonettes are considerably bigger, in terms of the flats inside, and consist of maybe two flats per floor. Maisonettes can also be council, privately rented or housing association. 

Bungalow.

A bungalow is a home without any stairs. They can be council, privately rented or privately owned. Bungalows aren’t that common anymore, but they’re great for people who have difficulty with stairs and such. Also most bungalows are actually pretty decent sizes too. 

Houses.

Houses in the UK are broken down into one of three categories:

Detached

Semi-Detached

Attached

This is literally just based upon how many of your walls are shared with your neighbour. Detached houses are really uncommon in the UK and are usually found in richer areas. Semi-detached is mainly just the house at the end of your street, so semi-detached and attached are the main two. 

Also it’s pretty common that you only have windows of two of the four house walls. Even if you’re in a semi-detached house, you’ll only have front and back windows. 

Houses can be privately owned, privately rented, housing association or council.

Most houses follow a similar layout. Typically three bedrooms, with either one bathroom or a room just for the toilet + then the bathroom (with a bath + sink + such.) It’s also super common for one room to be a ‘box room’ which is normally pretty small. My room at my mom’s house is the ‘box room’ and it fits a 3/4 bed, a chest of draws, and a metal rack that I use as a bookshelf. There is not a lot of room in there. 

And there you have it! I think I covered most things regarding transport and housing in the UK, and I really hope that it was as informative as possible. Stay groovy, my dudes. 

#rpt #rpc #rph #CONTENT. #WH : LOCATIONS. #WRITING HELP.

[lavinajqibolyabs86insurance-blog]

Kia Cadenza Cheap Insurance

Kia Cadenza Cheap Insurance

Kia Cadenza Cheap Insurance

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Kia Cadenza Cheap Insurance

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Kia Cadenza Cheap Insurance

[random2908]

Seen on Twitter, https://twitter.com/alexandraerin/status/1035196520918863873?s=21

a transcript of the tweet thread (tweets quoted within are italicized including links) since I could only otherwise find difficult-to-read screenshots:

A while back, I tweeted that in case anyone isn't clear, we are well past the "first they came for" point.

This is a big story and I'm not sure it's possible for it to get enough attention.

In some cases, passport applicants with official U.S. birth certificates are being jailed in immigration detention centers and entered into deportation proceedings.” Article: http://wapo.st/2PNIf68

I'm sure the "no need to panic" brigade would want us to point out that this affecting "only" hundreds or thousands of Latinx Americans living in a narrow region along the border.

But.

First of all, that's too many people.

Because...

Because here is the thing about due process.

Everybody gets it, or no one really has it.

And from the moment the Trump regime decided it just doesn't apply to "illegal" immigrants, we were always heading here.

Some (white) people replied to suspension of due process for non-citizens by saying "Well, I could prove my citizenship easily." But how do you do that when you're not entitled to any process to prove anything?

If we passed an amendment to the Constitution saying that Constitutional protections don't apply to waterbed repair technicians named Sleven Trusbucket, all the government would have to do is say that's you and you would be out of options for proving them wrong.

And to the sort of person who is sure that life operates on formal logic and strict proof, the sort of person who is sure if they can present the right argument just the right way they can convince anyone of the truth of anything, it feels like there must be some way around that.

But that's part of the horror of a situation like this, part of why Kafka's The Trial is so viscerally uncomfortable to read. The proof does not matter if no one is bound to accept the proof. It feels like it should. It always feels like truth should matter, proof should matter.

Now I said long ago, and again at the head of this thread, that we're past the point of "first they came for". For most of the people reading this, they're still not up to "they came for me", and probably won't be for a while. They're working to expand the ranks of "non-American"

They redefined huge swathes of undocumented immigrants -- including ones working with the system to fix their status -- as "criminals" and "gangmembers" and "animals". They slammed the door in the face of immigrants with papers, finding pretexts to call them "illegal".

They started revoking the citizenship of naturalized citizens for whatever excuse they could find, and the next step is to strip citizenship of natural born citizens who don't fit their profile of a Real American.

Right now their excuse for doing so is restricting them to people born in a border region but the excuse will widen and so will the scope of the action.

And they aren't just moving in one direction here. They've been revoking the passports of trans people while all this is happening.

Now, the flipside of revoking citizenship and "deporting" someone is: the United States cannot bestow citizenship for another country. Just because the man in the low castle thinks someone looks "Mexican" doesn't mean they default to that when they lose US citizenship.

There's been a lot of talk on Twitter about the dangers of statelessness, in regard to Canada and ending birthright citizenship (something the Trumpers would love to do if they can swing it.)

People who lose their citizenship are thrown into a legal limbo, effectively becoming unpersoned for many purposes.”

Tweet/ https://twitter.com/bashirmoham…/status/1033585831544410112… “I am shocked and disturbed that the Conservative Party of Canada voted to end birth right citizenship in Canada.

I say this as someone who was born stateless - legally without a country. I'll tell you my story and why this is move is so reckless and dangerous.”

And while nationalists whip up fear of the foreign, they hate and despise the stateless even more. They're deliberately making the "immigration crisis" worse.

Nazi apologists will be happy to tell you that the great humanitarian Hitler tried so hard to get Jewish Germans settled happily and healthily elsewhere but that no one would take them in, thus leaving him with a problem in need of a final solution.

So what's going to happen when Trump has stripped citizenship from everyone who doesn't "look American", doesn't "look like they should be voting", but there's nowhere to deport all these people, no home country for them to return to?

And maybe you're thinking that we don't have the resources to actually disenfranchise and denaturalize *everybody* who doesn't "look American" buuuut the magic of not giving due process is they don't have to.

If you knew that people whose last names are in the same language as yours are getting rounded up, stripped of rights, and arrested when they go to apply for or renew a passport... how dire would it have to be, before you'd dare try?

And then what if it expands to, say, people showing up at polling places? DMVs? Hospitals?

What if it goes on to the point where "everyone knows" that people with certain names and/or skin tones aren't really citizens and don't have to be afforded any particular rights?

Before the SCOTUS struck down sodomy laws, in a lot of states being seen as gay could be used to justify just about any level of discrimination. Gay couple needs an apartment? "We can't make landlords rent to a criminal if they don't want to." Were the couple ever convicted? No.

But ~*everybody knew*~ what gay people got up into their bedrooms was illegal, doing illegal things made you a criminal, and being a criminal was grounds for termination, eviction, expulsion, exclusion.

Or if you want to see what the future of law enforcement looks like in a fascist state, look at the standards used to arrest and prosecute sex workers.

For years now, in the land of Innocent Until Proven Guilty, you could be arrested for "suspicion" of a victimless crime because of entirely legal materials in your purse and entirely legal conduct within a place you had every legal right to be.

The actual ideal is that the cops could know you're a sex worker, could know for a certain fact that you're engaged in sex work, but if they couldn't prove it then you are an innocent in the eyes of the law. That's how it's supposed to work and how it works for some crimes.

Everyone in town can know that J. Doe up on the hill beats his wife and kids but if the cops can't prove it they will tell you nothing can be done, and proof has to be more than the fear in their eyes or bruises on their arms. Or even him "allegedly" bragging about it.

Meanwhile they'll pick people up off the street for ~*suspicion*~ of sex work and "prove" it through entirely circumstantial means, none of which points to actual lawbreaking.

Now here's the crux of that: being able to claim that any woman carrying condoms (for instance) is a sex worker doesn't mean they detain everyone and make them turn out their pockets.

It just gives them a tool, a weapon, to use when they feel like it.

And that's the future of policing. Increasingly broad rules that could apply to increasingly wide swaths of the population, that can be deployed by the authorities when someone "looks" like they might be trouble, much less starts to actually make any.

They practice these techniques on populations they think they can get away with practicing them on, and when they do get away with it, they start looking to expand.

Cf. stop and frisk in New York City, where white kids were more likely to have marijuana but less likely to be stopped and ordered to turn out their pockets. It was a tool of control.

Obviously I'm talking about practices that go back years before when Trump came to power. He's part of a progression, not the source.

And if you want to know where the progression is heading, just look at how the law has treated people on the margins since the year seventeen seventy forever.

That's where we're heading.

And I don't think enough people are alarmed enough by this.

I saw somebody QTing the Washington Post story at the head of this thread with "And Democrats want to tell us to vote every two years like that's enough."

It's not enough. But we haven't been voting every two years, and that's part of how we got here. Just part. A crucial part.

I think we should add this (specifically: stripping people near the border of citizenship) to the things we call our representatives about, especially but not only if you're in Texas. And if we can vote in a Democratic majority we'll have more tractable reps to yell at about it.

Tweet/ https://twitter.com/herhandsmyh…/status/1035206932938801152… “Plus: we have to start somewhere. Voting every single time is an essential step.”

Essential. Necessary. Not sufficient, but necessary.

A scary thing in all of this: the wave of revocation of trans passports I alluded to upthread doesn't appear to have *originated* anywhere. Select federal employees just decided it's time to start doing it.

I can't tell you from the outside which escalations of "enforcement" (to abuse the term) against immigrants and what I guess are "accused immigrants" among citizens were also spontaneous decisions made at the level at which they occur but I'm sure some of them were.

What I'm saying is, there have always been people within the federal enforcement apparatus and bureaucracy who were waiting for favorable winds to launch their warships.

Tweet/ https://twitter.com/queer_i_am/status/1035207525363200001… “Anti-homeless laws are also a really good example, especially because they target actions _everyone_ does. Pull over after working a night shift to nap and avoid an accident? Illegal.

I stopped to watch a cop once and he got in my space and threatened to take me in on loitering.”

See also: anti-loitering laws. A law against existing in space. Used to run off white kids who aren't driving business, run in anyone the cops feel like making a criminal. Not enforced against anyone ~*respectable*~, who "belongs".

With so much of this enforcement being subjective and self-directed, it is also decentralized. Which makes it harder to block or even attack.

Bank involvement in forfeiture/seizure of assets. (h/t @herhandsmyhands) This should scare you.

Tweet/https://twitter.com/sacbee_news/status/1035172325463736320… “Bank of America freezing accounts of customers suspected of not being US citizens : https://www.sacbee.com/news/business/article217567300.html

I know people are waiting for a point where it feels real, where it really feels like Nazi Germany. That point is going to be too far along to have any practical chance of stopping it.

Instead it's going to keep happening piecmeal and every time it happens, those who sound the alarm will be met with "You're overreacting, this isn't like a law against Jewish business ownership, this is only affecting a specific group of people in specific circumstances."

Relax: The monster's not eating your whole body, it's just eating one bite at a time.

The piecemeal, self-directed, subjective nature of these actions makes them harder to fight. Bank of America, the State Department, and DHS are all saying the same thing when questioned on this: "This is the same policy we've always followed." It's just being applied differently.

"We've always exercised discretion..." but now it's being exercised in different directions, towards different ends.

Someone asked what to do, besides be scared:

Make a lot of noise. If we are silent, we are complicit. If the only voices heard are those who support what's happening, they can claim universal assent.

If you work in a workplace, try telling your coworkers, "You know, they're taking citizenship away from people who live near the borders. If they can do that to anyone, they could do that to us. I don't think it's right." You don't have to make it partisan or anti-Trump.

Yell at your elected representatives. Democratic politicians should be aware that the GOP is reshaping the electorate in their favor. It's cynical, but they have to care about that.

Tweet about it, share it on social media. These things are not sufficient but they are necessary.

Vote in November. Same.

I know it feels like making noise isn't doing anything except complaining and we're taught that talk is the opposite of action but I promise you: talk is an action. When there is enough of an outcry they back down. Not all the way always. But slowing and mitigating damage helps.

#fascism #revoking citizenship #revoking passports

[sleepthemoon]

In today's episode of my mother is a misogynistic, emotionally abusive sexist who thinks it's abusive to let boys like pink and unicorns:

Oh my fucking god, my mother. We genuinely had an argument over whether or not it is abusive to tie a boy's hair in an elastic band a few inches above the base of their skull. (Base of skull: acceptable. Few inches above: abusive.) How many fucking times do I have to hear about how abusive it is to let boys like pink and unicorns and wear bracelets? Ffs, apparently skipping is part of the problem now!

My parents saw our former neighbour with her two boys "look[ing] like girls" and one of them skipped. They insisted they think it's ok for a boy to skip, but honestly why are we even debating if it's feminine or ok for a little boy to skip along the pavement? We have such a problem with male violence and little boys can't even joyfully trot along without it inciting grown adults to discuss it at length with aim of shaming their mothers for their emotional abuse of said child.

My dad brought up the time our old landlord checked in on his son when he once played with me to make sure he wasn't playing with anything pink. Mum said that was different - that was extreme. How is thinking a boy mustn't play with anything pink any fucking different to thinking a boy mustn't have a ponytail higher than the base of his skull?! It is all deluded bullcrap!

I'm just going to throw it out there: a child that voluntarily skips along as they walk is not an unhappy child.

They're probably fine.

If it's so abusive to do a child's hair like that and let them play with 'girly' toys and wear bracelets, why isn't she railing against the abuse poor girls are being subject to? Poor girls: having their hair tied back a few inches above the base of their skulls and being forced to wear pink, sparkly things all the time! If it's wrong to manipulate, socialise, and mould a child to be like that, regardless of whether or not it matches their nature or goes against their will, surely it's wrong to do that to girls? But apparently that's different, because at least they'll be the same as everyone else like them. Are you fucking kidding me?!? It's ok to manipulate and mould children to be a certain way so long as they're the same as everyone else. Are we breeding clones here? That sounds like some straight-up dystopian bullshit! She's describing brainwashing ffs! That's so dangerous!

Dad defended boys skipping once more by saying that footballers skip. I pointed out that things boys do don't have to be justified by associating them with masculine ideals. He defended it once again by saying it's good exercise.

Again: things boys do don't have to be justified by associating them with masculine ideals.

Little boys can do things just because they make them happy.

It's so dangerous to suggest that joy is a female thing that needs to be debated, excused or explained away in males. Huge fucking problem with male violence, anyone?

The more my mum talks about what ought to be expected of men and women, down to her reasons for why same-sex couples shouldn't be parents, through how to raise boys and girls differently, the less I want her around my hypothetical future children. (That's if I have any, since her logic dictates there be a chance I should not have children. But, y'know, I might marry a man and not be a terrible parent after all.) She says she doesn't mind what children do and thinks boys and girls should be allowed to be how they choose... But it seems that only applies if they choose to conform to her expectations of how their gender should present.

She never did answer my query of precisely where on the dead scaly stuff that grows out of our heads is the line between abusive and not abusive in terms of cutting a girl's hair. (Short 'boy' hair is the one 'boy' thing that is abusive for a girl, it seems.)

#rant #feminist rant #let boys be soft #let boys wear makeup #let boys be emotional #let boys be #let boys enjoy things #gender stereotypes #heteronormativity #misogyny #conformity #gender expression #infuriating #sexism

[samuelfields]

Is Renting a Waste of Money? Ramit Sethi Explains

I know, I know. You’ve been told you’re “throwing money away on rent.” Someone in your life made you feel guilty for not buying a house and building equity. And let me guess: They said something like, “Ugh, I just hated paying someone else’s rent!”

Right?

There’s just one problem: It’s not true.

First, let me ask you a simple question: Do you “throw money away” when you eat out at a restaurant? Of course not. You’re paying for value.

Yet somehow this logic totally falls apart when you apply it to real estate.

I decided to run a poll on Twitter to ask what people thought.

Not surprisingly, 95% of people said, “No, you didn’t ‘throw money away’ on a nice meal.”

Then I asked the same question — but for rent.

LOL! Notice the drop from 95% to 81% when I asked if I was ‘throwing money away renting.’” In other words, many more people believe that renting is throwing money away.

You and I know that if we spend $20 eating out, we were happy to spend it to get good food, table service, and someone who cleans up our dishes. 

Paying for rent is exactly the same: You’re paying for a roof over your head (the meal). You’re also paying for a landlord to deal with any paperwork and maintenance issues (the service).

So why do so many of us blindly repeat this phrase that we’re “throwing money away on rent?”

Why do people believe that rent is a waste of money?

Understanding why this myth persists is the first step in understanding the truth about buying vs renting. Check out these reasons why many people believe that rent is a waste — what do you notice?

1. Propaganda

The powerful real estate lobby, the government, and our parents all tell us that “real estate is the best investment of all.” There are even governmental tax incentives to buy! Repeat this for decades and a population starts to blindly believe, rather than running the numbers. 

Here’s a tiny glimpse of how the real estate propaganda machine works. In this article from the New York Times, buying a house subtly portrayed as the ultimate, foolproof way to get rich in America. Fast. Hurry! Prices only go up! Add in HGTV, economic malaise, & phrases like “you’re throwing money away on rent.”

“Minus expenses.” LOL. Given that “expenses” can run over 10% of a house’s selling price, that’s like me saying, “I really enjoyed this trip to the Grand Canyon! All except for the part where my son fell off a cliff and died. Anyway, it was fun!”

Hurry or you’ll forever be “priced out.” This is the message that people receive, causing them to make irrational financial decisions. 

In reality, real estate is not always the best investment. It comes with significant phantom expenses. And there are often better investments, such as a simple low-cost index fund. This is well-understood by sophisticated investors but ordinary Americans have been duped into thinking their primary residence is a great investment. Often, it is not. (I could buy today but I rent by choice because it is a better option for me.)

Bonus: Want to learn a better way to master your finances and build real wealth? Download my FREE Ultimate Guide to Personal Finance.

2. Financialization of real estate

 In America, we believe that our house should also be an investment. Why? It’s not like that in many other countries. In fact, if you sit down at the dinner table with your parents, they want the price of their house to stay high — while younger people want the price of housing to go down!

3. The idea that someone’s “getting one over on you”

Americans HATE the idea that someone is making money off them. A Reddit comment said (paraphrased) “If you buy, it might cost more but at least you won’t be paying your landlord’s rent.” Do you understand how crazy this is? When you eat out, do you say, “I like the food here but I just hate paying this restaurateur’s rent?” Of course not. We only repeat this phrase with real estate. Stop it.

4. Lack of understanding about phantom costs

People believe if you buy a house for $200K and sell it for $450K, you made $250K. This is false. They don’t understand maintenance, taxes, and other phantom costs, and they don’t compare ROI to other investments. Also, did you know real estate prices also go down?

5. Following the same playbook as always

Buying a house was, in general, a good thing for most Boomers. There were also fewer low-cost investment options like index funds in the 70s and 80s. Therefore, stuck in the past, they parrot the same lessons to millennials, who face unaffordable housing, stagnating wages, and better investment options. This is the problem when people (Boomers) recommend something, but don’t actually understand why it works: They just keep repeating it, over and over, even though the situation has changed.

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What you should know about buying vs renting

Renting isn’t necessarily better than buying and buying isn’t necessarily better than renting. It depends on many things:

Your city

If you’re ready to buy a house

Why you want a house: to raise a family? Because you want to renovate it? As an investment? Or for pure desire?

My advice: Run the numbers and get educated. But never, ever say you’re “throwing money away on rent.”

Is Renting a Waste of Money? Ramit Sethi Explains is a post from: I Will Teach You To Be Rich.

from Finance https://www.iwillteachyoutoberich.com/blog/renting-is-not-a-waste/ via http://www.rssmix.com/