#another another (?): i have to get a driving license soon... hah...

[7000f1]

hey, hope you have a good year!!<3 ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Thank you love 💕💕💕

Have a wonderful year too!! I am counting down the days I stop being so busy to return and be silly again :3

[densi-mber]

In the Bleak Midwinter

A/N: Set in season 4.

***

“This sucks,” Deeks said, breathing out a cloud of icy fog along with the two words.

“Because I didn’t hear you the first 20 times,” Kensi grumbled.

“Well, it still sucks.” He rubbed his hands together with hope of bringing some warmth. If anything, it only made him more aware of the cold.

Of all the times for there to be blizzard-like conditions in the Midwest, it would just have to be when the one time they were pursuing an active case in Indiana.

Last week, Gabriel Heeds had stolen several gigabytes of sensitive data from his company, leading the FBI on a wild good chase across California before eventually disappearing. At that point, the FBI had asked other agencies to assist in pursuing Gabriel. Based on solid leads they received, they’d headed to his hometown of Winamac, Indiana.

They arrived three days ago, set up camp at the town’s Comfort Inn, and started searching for Gabriel. You’d think wouldn’t be that would be difficult in a town with a population of less than 2,500, but the locals were pretty close-mouthed. They’d spent the first two days were spent traipsing around the quaint down town area and the spacious farm land.

At first, the snow had seemed seemed kind of charming as it coated the little neighborhoods. Snow didn’t make it’s way to LA all that often, so Deeks might have made a snowman or two and even convinced Kensi to make a Snow Angel before they headed off for another round of interviews.

Now, even Deeks could admit that the weather was beginning to get old, especially as the snow piled higher and the temps dipped lower. Even with a wool hat, coat, and gloves, the cold air still managed to seep through. It didn’t help that he knew Sam and Callen were back at the reasonably warm hotel while they battled the gravel and dirt backroads to follow up on their single lead of the day.

Needing something to pass the time, and off Kensi’s less than careful driving—he winced as the tires lost traction for a few seconds—he opened the glove compartment and started sifting through the contents.

“What are you looking for?”

“Your candy stash,” he told Kensi. There was a half-empty water bottle, a used up chapstick, and several Twix wrappers. Any snack were decidedly absent.

“Hah, I moved it,” Kensi said smugly.

“By which you mean you ate it all.”

“I did not!”

He grinned at Kensi’s instant protest. Even after three years together, she still tried to deny her massive sweet tooth. Like he hadn’t watched her eat an stack of red velvet pancakes this morning.

“Uh-huh, then where’s that box of 100 Grand bars you bought last week?” he teased.

“I plead the 5th counselor,” Kensi said, leaning forward to squint out the windshield. “The the next turn should be coming up soon. Let me know if you see a Forest Drive.”

“I haven’t seen any signs for the last two miles,” Deeks told her, peering through the passenger window. He grabbed his phone and turned on the GPS. “Crap. Still no internet connection. Are you sure you didn’t pass it up?”

“Yes. Mrs. Marsh was very specific about her directions.” She glared at him, pulling her gaze back to the road almost immediately as the tires skidded across a patch of ice.

“Ok, well I’m thinking we should probably turn around if we don’t find it soon. It’s going to get dark in a couple hours and—Kens, look out!”

A deer darted from the brush along the road, freezing in the middle of the street. Kensi turned the steering wheel sharply, pumping the breaks relentlessly as the tires spun and then skidded on the freezing snow, sending them straight towards a snowbank.

***

A/N: Oh dear, whatever shall happen to them? Don’t worry, there will be a part 2.

Note, I live in Indiana so I’m allowed to complain about the weather. For anyone not familiar, there is indeed a town called Winamac, which is quite small and has a lot of farm land. I took a bit of creative license with the other particulars though.

[wthelvetica21]

TLT : Long Time Friends

the Synopsis

Rated : T for some coarse language and mentions of nudity, hazing, and alcohol abuse

The Living Tombstone fanfic loosely based on the song of the same name. It’s a story of a man having a quarter life crisis who has recently been developing a drinking problem after a long string of bad luck. Made worse by his roommate from hell that he’s known since high school whom he considers a “long time friend”.

All he wanted to do was sleep all day to get this hangover over and done with. He’s had enough of the excuses from his boss to get on him for. Recently he was given a warning of firing all because someone at High May’s Jr decided to post a picture of him buck naked after the 5th or 7th drink (or at least he thinks so). What made it worse was the fact that there is a poorly done almost homemade tattoo on his left buttocks of what looks like a tombstone with head phones. While yes, he did have another set of better quality tattoos on his shoulder blades of two haves of a tombstone with headphones but he assumed the only reason he got in trouble was because it was made public. Also the fact he was streaking at a bar and if what a mutual friend says is true, in the parking lot as well before blacking out. As a spokesperson for an energy drink company he was told to hold a certain image in order to keep his job. But that statement is rich coming from his boss who he had spotted multiple times there too. He murmurs “I swear that bad tattoo was because I lost a bet that night… ugh”

Another Little Abuse Another Pointless Excuse

Without warning, he felt someone grab him by the back of his neck. Before he could even react, he could hear “Surprise walking dead man!”. He was then shoved face first into something white with black dots that he couldn’t make out, he felt it violently pull at his eye brows and broke his nose upon impact. He rolled around hollering and grunting trying to get what was glued to his face off but to no avail. He opened his eyes and could see his “friend” whom he had known since high school snickering at him. “Hey now you don’t have to worry about wearing that stupid ass helmet you were bitching about. It ain’t exact but it would work.” Part of him wanted to punch him in the face for pulling something like this. However he just couldn’t because he was still hungover from the night before. And this “friend” was a stout but muscular 6’3” buck in his 30s. While he was just a 6’.11” bean pole in his mid 20s with very little muscle definition along with a developing beer gut who hasn’t really got to where he wanted in life. The strange thing was the room looked darker than usual; almost like wearing sunglasses indoors. The only thing he choked out was “This thing… on my face?”. The “friend” scoffs and shrugs “Don’t know, someone gave me it saying it was ‘the mask of greater understanding’ or some shit like that.” Even as a semi functional alcoholic he could tell that was a load of bullshit and this is just another pointless excuse for this friend to haze him. If this abuse escalates even further he swore to move out but that’s not even an option because of financial reasons and he’s not sure he can live alone to save his life; not for now at least he thought.

Later he looked in the mirror after his “friend” went off to work: he had a day off. He then noticed what was quite literally glued to his face: it was a matte white skull mask with wide black lenses that reflected light in such a way it made them almost looked like empty sockets. Also their were three semi circular teeth on the mask with the center one completely obscuring his already broken nose.  Then as soon as he blinked, the mask did so as well like it was a second face. Seeing this made him reel back and yell “HOLY SHIT! eck AH.!!” His back hit the bathroom door shut as he stumbles back panting trying to catch his breath. “What the hell even is this thing!?”. Being optimistic, he starts to grow fond of his new accessory (if it could be called that) and talks to himself “This thing couldn’t be that bad could it, I mean it kind of looks badass with the fohawk and sideburns right?”. He sighs and backs away from the mirror murmuring “Don’t fool yourself.”. Later that night, his “friend” gets back from work with some new wine that he got with his last pay check and gave him a glass saying “Truse man?”. He hesitated at first but since it was premium wine he relents with a shrug “Perhaps.” A part of him wanted to throw it back in his so called friend’s face and say no but how could he resist any offer of alcohol. 

Another Joke That's Not to Laugh At

The next morning, he wakes up to take a shower so he could head off to work. He murmurs “Why am I so itchy all the sudden? huh.. Maybe have to wash the sheets again… What a pain in the ass”. He doesn’t notice that his hair is slowly falling off as he scratches his head. Showering with that skull mask is a pain to deal with he admitted to himself because it was almost like wearing glasses but worse. He had to hold his hand to his forehead to keep the water out of the eye holes of the mask. All the sudden, he notices the water is at his ankles. He then looks at his feet and sees that the drain is clogged by a clump of dark brown hair; his hair. “Aw shit.. That better not be what I think that is…” The friend hanged out behind the bathroom door chuckling to himself whispering “Oh shit, this is gonna be lit.” He franticly bolts out of the shower stall towards the sink mirror still dripping wet with a towel around his hips. He then rubs the fog off the mirror and is horrified to see his hair was completely gone, it was now just stubble and stray curls barely clinging to his now bare head and shoulders. He lets out a piercing scream that rang out startling the neighboring tenants of the apartments they live in. He then yells “WHAT THE HELL!? WHY AM I BALD!?”. 

The friend busted open the door with his elbow “Hey man do you ever bother to lock the… Oh ho ho ho holy shit man it actually worked? Wow that’s one hell of a look for you Undead Mr. Clean” He just narrowed his eyes (or at least what now approximates them). “Wha… ARE YOU SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW?! uhh… oh no.” But all the sudden remembered; he has work today too. He groaned in frustration, murmuring curses and other unusual higher pitched noises as his “friend” laughed at his new look. “Hey dude look on the bright side, *snort* now your head is as hairless as your ass now.” Outraged he snaps right back at him “This is really not the time to be joking about this! What the hell did you put in that wine glass last night?”. The “friend” impishly pulled a vile of medicine from his pocket whistling a small tune. He snatched it out of the friend’s hands and looked at the label; he saw the word ‘dactinomycin’ in bold letters. His blood ran cold and was left speechless save some high pitched noises. “This shit has got to be illegal… how the hell did you get this?” he said in a dumbstruck tone. His “friend” just shrugs “My girl got it for me, said my grandma needed it.”. He looks at the “friend” with extreme disgust “Your a special kind of asshole you know that.”. He later gets dressed as his “friend” gave him a new name to go by “Undead Mr. Clean”. He just ignored his so called friend that literally just poisoned him for some kind of messed up joke. 

Another day, feeling like I don't belong

While driving he angrily murmurs “First the mask and now this… None of these ‘jokes’ are funny. (under gritted teeth hunching his back slightly) Not at all.” Work’s going to be hell he just knows it. He had to put his hoodie over his face so no one could even recognize him if they could at all. He was always the odd man out when it came to his work even though he was practically the poster boy for the company. He only had handful of friendly acquaintances there as well that made it semi bearable. He sighed “Make it through the week and meet up with your actual friends this weekend.” Then he mutters under his breath “That’s just great. I know I’ll regret saying it but what could possibly be worse then having a mask glued to my damn face or slipped a cancer drug that made my hair fall out? Seriously what?!” He pauses for a moment and notices that he’s 10 minutes late to work. Then he yells in an indignant tone “Oh GOD, WHAT AM I SAYING?! HAVE I LOST MY FU…ek… hah!?”. He narrowly avoids a curb in his workplace parking lot; he’s lucky he didn’t crash. He already had his driver’s license suspended a year ago because of a DUI after running into a lamp post. This day is going to be a living hell for certain. 

Author’s Note: This sort of takes place within an alternate universe before the events of “Drunk” where Skulldude gets his signature appearance i.e skull mask and bald head. This also based on my crack pot theory that it was just an elaborate cruel joke. He’s not directly named either because it would be awkward.

[eurycleia]

A Healthy Dose of Espionage

This is for @azurefishnets, based on Prompt 1! This takes place in the new timeline. Happy Ghost Swap, and I hope I did this justice!

Sometimes circumstances align a certain way - her dad is on a difficult, late case and her mother has overtime to do and she returns from school to an empty house, if only to pick up her pajamas and a few toiletries before heading out again.

They reckon she’s a little too old to be babysat - so they just don’t use that word, framing it as a fun night in with a family friend while they’re busy catching up to career demands that can’t be missed. She doesn’t mind; Lynne is nice, keeps her apartment well stocked with snacks that mom disapproves of, and she’s got a dog.

Kamila winces at the screech of tires, waiting until the sound settles before she steps out of the house and onto the porch. She turns to lock the door as Lynne backs into their parking space with some visible difficulty. 

“You’ve got your key, right?” Lynne calls out from the rolled-down window. “Do you need to go back in for anything?”

“Nope,” Kamila smiles, raising her hand to jingle her key in the air before zipping it into a small pocket of her backpack. The smile falls as she looks over the car. “I’m okay with walking.”

"Did I not say you don’t have to worry about that? Hop in!”

Hesitantly, she climbs into the backseat, clicking the safety belt into place. Her parents are always careful and meticulous about driving, but Lynne, on her new license, is not so predictable.

“Is Amelie in tonight?”

"No, sorry. I passed them while I was leaving - I think they’re doing piano today.”

A frown. “She doesn’t even like piano.”

Lynne shrugs. “Her mother does. Okay, sit tight…”

By ‘sit tight’, the little lady has taken it as a ‘brace yourself’ from prior experience, and so she does, clinging to her seat as they speed off. 

--

Lynne has interesting neighbours. 

Most of all, there’s Amelie and her mom settled next-door; the only girl her age in the apartment complex, Amelie is a creative soul, if argumentative as Kamila had witnessed the first time she had yelled, heard clearly through the walls, about admittedly antiquated thoughts regarding whether or not she should risk playing with a stranger that happens to stay the night once or twice a month. 

Ms. Emma is a protective woman. She’s never blamed her for it, and having met Kamila, she’s been nothing but kind since, if a little judgemental. 

Having unpacked and raided a cabinet, as well as given Missile the attention he deserves, she decides she might as well go out and say hello. She calls out her intention to Lynne, who asks her to be back soon.

She steps out into the hall -- turns on her heel, and gives the door beside theirs a few knocks. No response.

“Kamila!”

Startled, she whips around, wide-eyed, in search of the source. 

“Down the stairs!”

She knows that voice! Carefully, she descends down, coming face to face with Amelie’s pink-cheeked, vaguely shocked countenance.

“I thought you had your piano lessons today!”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t want to.” She pauses to scan her surroundings and lowers her voice again. “One time Mr. Forte called my mom to tell her I was missing while I was in the bathroom. He’s old and stupid and he probably forgot I was coming over today anyway.”

“Your mom doesn’t walk you to the door?”

“Not today. She was in a rush or something. I’m not even sure she’s home right now.” As if finally regarding the very fact of Kamila’s presence, she grins. “Perfect time for you to come! Do you want to see mom’s office with me?”

“But -- “ Kamila looks up the stairs leading up to their floor. “What if she comes home while we’re here? Won’t we get in trouble?”

“We’re going to be quick! She’s got one of her new weird books and won’t show me even though I’ve asked nicely… she’s hiding something! Don’t you want to find out?”

The worry doesn’t leave her face, but she nods anyway. “Okay. I told Lynne I’ll be next door anyway, so if we’re quick... I don’t like lying, though…”

“We’re not lying to anyone! At least you aren’t. Come on.”

Despite the earlier lack of response, they’re still cautious and quiet as they approach the door - Kamila is sent through, to knock again, press her ear to the door and unlock it before gesturing to Amelie that the coast is clear. Pressed together, they step past the threshold and close behind them as quietly as possible.

It’s the first time Kamila has seen the entirety of the apartment. She’s always had to have Amelie over at Lynne’s or play quietly in the halls; they enter and the red-hued walls expand around her, unfamiliar and a little scary. She holds her breath as her friend guides her through the room and into a small curtained-off space. 

“This is it…!”

A mess of papers strewn out, one a thick, important-looking pile stapled together. Huddling, they open it up, a forbidden treasure for their reading pleasure, and --

Amelie’s brows furrow. Kamila gasps and tears her eyes away.

“I don’t like this book!”

“Ugh. Me neither!” The pile is promptly dropped with a loud thump back down as though it were a bug. “Sorry I showed that to you.”

“That’s okay. Um, what next? You’re not supposed to be here and I’m not either.”

“Do you think Ms. Lynne can keep me at yours until it’s time to come back?”

“I could ask, but… she saw you leaving today, and I don’t want to lie. She can tell when I’m lying.”

“You should probably get back to -- “

Freeze. The click of a lock, faint but unmistakable in the distance. The girls share a look of terror. With her heels clicking off against the floor, the woman sighs in what sounds like frustration and moves further inside.

Beyond the walls -- a bark. It stops, then resumes, louder and more excited. In response, Emma stomps off, barging out of the apartment.

“This is our chance!” Amelie gestures her to follow as they clamber out of the room, pressing against the walls to listen for any movement. Outside, someone else opens the door and almost immediately engages in conversation that doesn’t sound particularly friendly. “We have to be super quiet.”

“What’s going on out there?”

“I’m not sure.”

They tip-toe further in, almost close enough to the entrance. 

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to shut that stupid -- “

Oh no. Kamila winces, leaning against the door to listen better --

“He’s a dog! What do you expect?!”

“Peace and quiet to start with!”

-- only to press it forward, forgetting the weight of her own body. Two figures turn in surprise, confirming her concerns -- Ms. Emma as she knows her, elegant even in her unsightly frustration and having just been cut off from her argument with a confused-looking Lynne.

“What were you doing in my apartment?!”

The redhead raises a brow. “I thought she went to say hello to you?”

“Nonsense! I only just got back!”

“It was my idea!”

If Ms. Emma could look any paler with the sight of her daughter joining them, it might’ve been a medical emergency - she sputters, pointing an accusing finger. “Darling, I dropped you off! What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t go in.” She stands at Kamila’s side, one foot forward and protective. “Please don’t get her in trouble! I told her to come in and play inside with me! She’s really cool and it’s not her fault!”

The two women share a look in silence. Amelie’s mother breaks it. “You didn’t go poking around my work, did you?”

“No!”

“Very well.” She heaves another sigh, this time heavy with resignation. “You are a good friend to my daughter, are you not?”

Kamila flushes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Having been silent for most of the exchange, Lynne pipes up, breaking some of the tension. “Why doesn’t Amelie join us for dinner? It’s been a while since they’ve seen each-other! I’m sure they won’t make any more trouble.“

“If your dog is going to be quiet?” A response earning an indignant glare. “I’ll allow it. Cheers to my darling angel’s friendships… we are going to apologize to your tutor when you get back and schedule another lesson.”

Amelie groans loudly.

--

“You did go poking around, didn’t you?”

She should’ve known the matter wouldn’t have been dropped so easily. Kamila hesitantly meets Lynne’s reproachful gaze, tearing away from the sight of Amelie happily engaging Missile with the various toys around the room.

“Yeah.” She wrinkles her nose. “It was nasty.”

“Hah! Yeah. That’s just what happens when you put your nose where it doesn’t belong, but… we might still make a detective out of you with that.”

“Will you tell mom and dad?”

“I won’t tell your mom. Your dad, however…”

“Lyyyynne!!”

This time, her laugh is hearty and warm. “No, I’m not telling them, silly! I’m not that mean. Just don’t make any more trouble for me!”

After putting her now-empty plate in the sink, Kamila scoots by Amelie on the floor on her knees. Her friend smiles, having just petted the pomeranian’s tummy to her heart’s content, and leans back to straighten up a little in her presence.

“Glad you’re not gonna be in trouble over this.”

“Yeah. But what about you?”

“It’s not a problem. Mom doesn’t really know how to ground me, so…” A shrug. “I know she loves me and wants the best and all, but she’s too much sometimes.”

“I know what you mean. My dad… he doesn’t like me being alone. Sometimes I feel like he’s worried about something that won’t happen.” Kamila shifts uncomfortably. “I’ve seen him write things down he doesn’t want me to read, too.”

“Like my mom’s?”

“Ew, no. At least I don’t think so.”

Amelie nods empathically. “If you ever need me for a super secret mission to find out what he’s hiding, you can count on me.”

“I don’t think so. But thank you.”

They share a smile. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go tomorrow.”

“Well… I can still call you, right?”

“Obviously! Maybe I’ll even get one of those new cellphones and we can text like the cool kids.”

Kamila giggles, leaning gently against her shoulder. “That sounds great.”

And it did.

[jae-canikeepyou]

| drunken | j.jh

pairing: jaehyun x reader genre: fluff+ college au a/n: another scenario for y’all~ enjoy reading!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

he looked at your figure, all tired from the party his best friend had organised tonight. he had to bring you to his place since your apartment was far. actually, minhye convinced him to do that because johnny was too drunk to drive you both home; and minhye was not confident in driving despite receiving her license.

“can you bring her home?” minhye’s voice lingered in jaehyun’s head. “i’ll take a cab home with johnny.” she brought your drunken body over to him.

with you in his arms, he could still smell the perfume you wore. it was just as he remembered when he first laid eyes on you. correction; when you accidentally fell from a ladder and onto him whilst fixing decorations for an event at school. luckily enough you weren’t hurt. he did kind of save you back then. this time, he never thought he’d save you again. 

jaehyun had always been a good drinker. his friends discovered when he had around three bottles of soju, and still sober. they used him for that advantage, and he ended up being their driver club after club. at least they wouldn’t do anything stupid that might lead them to the station.

he placed you onto the seat next to him where he could keep an eye on you. he wouldn’t want someone to puke onto his new car his parents got him for graduation. being a gentleman was an instinct. you wore a dress that he never expected you to wear. he took off his blazer to cover you.

“you could’ve worn something less revealing.” he cleared his throat as his tinted ears slowly reddened. you slightly moved but still knocked out. 

he started the engine and began driving home. the night wasn’t getting younger anyway. 

jaehyun then pulled over onto his front yard, slowly carrying you into his apartment. once he done that, he placed you onto the sofa. his chest beated fast as if his heart wanted to come out. 

crap.. my crush is in my house.. she’s in my house.. y/n’s in my house! 

panicking as if his heart was about to burst out, he took out his phone to dial taeyong. he bit his inner lips as the other line continued to ring. “c’mon pick up dude..” he trailed off. a few rings more until his friend answered. 

“hey man! what’s up?” taeyong’s voice was jolly even at this hour. 

“what do you do when your crush is at your house?” jaehyun yet again bit his lips. 

“y/n’s in your house?” he asked the dimpled boy. 

“y-yeah she is.” jaehyun looked at your unconscious figure. “she got drunk. minhye told me to care for her.” 

“pffft.” taeyong cackled. “c’mon man it’s not the first time you’ve dealt with drunk people. i mean you took care of us idiots, hahaha.”

“ugh fine.” jaehyun rubbed his temples. “i’m hanging up.” 

he saw you moved to a comfortable position; you hugged one of his pillows. it was something he also had as a habit too. he loved looking at the sight of you despite being drunk. the long eyelashes, the curls of your hair and he found your mannerism; you pouted.

“you’re cute y/n.” jaehyun caressed your cheeks as he brought a strand of hair behind your ears.

he was about to fetch you a glass of water and a tiny bottle for hangover, but he felt breaths by his arms. he jolted at your figure next to him. “oh my g- you’re awake.” he didn’t get an answer. instead you cried and gave small whines as you clung onto him. jaehyun didn’t know what to do.

“minhye-ah! i think *hiccup* i’m in love with hyunjaeee.” 

who the heck is hyunjae?..

“hyunjae’s my crushhhh you know the guy with dimpppleeessss, tall and handsomeee!” you pointed at your cheeks.

oh.. she meant me..?

“hah? who’re youuuu? *hiccup* well you look like hyunjae’s frriiiennnd. can you tell him that he’s really cute when he smiless?”

jaehyun cracked up at the sudden misrecognition toward him. if you hadn’t been drunk he would’ve hugged you on the spot. however since you were, he chose not to as you wouldn’t remember anyway. “yes, i’m hyunjae’s friend. i’ll tell him that.”

“i think i’m gonna throw up.” he saw you wobbled as you tried to look for the toilet. jaehyun trailed from behind.

“it’s gonna be a long morning.” he checked his watch. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

jaehyun was in queue at the coffee place when yuta came over to him. he nudged the guy after they had the last hour of the lecture. he drank his americano before sitting down. “something’s on your mind, i can tell.” 

“nah dude, it’s nothing.” jaehyun wiped the wet surface. 

“a person’s mind is always occupied. but yours is about her.” yuta poked the guy’s chest.

jaehyun’s eyes trailed off onto someone who had just walked past them with minhye. you rubbed your temples as your friend laughed, lining at the queue when it slowly moved forward. 

yuta decided to tease the younger lad, whom he’d been observing for the past minutes. “ooh the girl in white blouse sure is a hottie.” he looked at jaehyun, who glared at him for a while before looking back at you. yuta chuckled to himself. “so it is y/n, hm?” 

“y-yeah.” jaehyun cleared his throat. “um, hyung. she said something when she was at my house.” 

“oh? what’d she say?” doyoung soon came over by the two and sat. the older boys anticipated jaehyun’s next words. 

jaehyun has his lips agape, about to say something before he decided not to. “never mind. probably a drunken statement.” 

“really? but that’s when the truth starts to reveal.” doyoung said. “can’t be a mistake, can it? 

“i don’t know man.” 

“my guess? she confessed.” yuta tapped the guy’s shoulders as he left. “later dude.” 

not a little while after, minhye had left you for work and you spotted jaehyun alone at one table of the coffee place. you knew that you stayed at his place two nights ago but never really got the chance to thank him. all courage you have mustered up went away when jaehyun stood up to leave. 

you panicked a little when you had no idea when you would see him last. though he was at the same minor subject as you, the odds to meet him was not really.. in your favour. “jaehyun!” you called out. 

he looked back to the voice who called him, his eyes squinting at far distances and then he looked at you. shockingly though, he rushed over. “y/n? what’s up?” 

your hands fiddled endlessly, not a word said. jaehyun chuckled as he noticed your hands. “if you’re gonna thank me for helping your drunken self, it’s okay.” his dimples showed.

“well, yeap.” you popped your lips. “is there anything i can do to return the favour?” you giggled in embarrassment. 

“can i take you out for dinner?” his ears quickly went red as his eyes trailed off.

“that’d be nice.” you smiled, only to be smiling more when his hands held yours.

he was someone you had your eyes on for a while. you took an interest on him as he was pushed to sing at the stage of a little restaurant downtown. at the time you didn’t really know him, not until minhye invited you to a party who somehow was jaehyun’s best friend. and that was a year ago. maybe things could change now. just maybe. 

jaehyun brought you to the same restaurant you had seen him for the first time. the atmosphere brought nostalgia, where minhye pointed to the guy with dimples, shipping you already even if you hadn’t been introduced to each other.

a chair was pulled out for you to sit, with jaehyun opposite from you. “so uh, anything you want?” he flipped through the pages of the menu. 

i kinda want your number..

he brought out his palms, gesturing you to hand your phone. 

“ah shucks, i spoke out my thoughts.” you bit your lips, your hands reached for your bag and gave him the phone. 

he only smiled, which made you worried about how he thought of you. “it’s alright. i like surprises. kinda how someone sends a wrong message and it makes your day.” he took your phone and dialed digits. “here you go.” 

“this is embarrassing.” you mumbled. “anyway, thanks for uh.. you know, helping my drunken self haha.” 

“no worries y/n. you don’t remember anything from that night?” he asked.

“nah, completely blurred out jaehyun.” you rested your chin into your palms. 

“i got a video if you’re curious.” he laughed. 

“nonono. i don’t wanna see it.” you waved your hands. 

“really? you were cute though.” he scrolled to look for the video, only to be stopped when your hands held his. “okay okay. i’m kidding. but you did say something that i won’t forget.” 

“tell me it isn’t something crazy.” you sighed.

“you did confess you were crazy for someone.” he teased. “‘hyunjae’s my crush you know the guy with dimples, tall and handsome.’” 

you felt heat spread across your face, fanning yourself as if it would help you cool down. whether he was telling the truth or not, it was enough proof that your feelings for him was revealed that night. 

jaehyun laughed at your state. his hands held yours, intertwining to get your attention. “but hey, it gets crazier.”

“what?” you asked.

“i’m crazy for you too.”

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 9

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

To see the version with art by Dara, check it out on Ao3.

Tag for all parts up so far.

A/N: Do you know what the sub drop is? No? Neither does Ernesto.

***

“I still have no idea why you insist on going by train.”

I still have no idea why you insist on going at all, is what Ernesto is really thinking. Héctor can tell. There is something gutting about the chasm between them, how the town they grew up in can hold so many fond memories for one of them and only bitterness for the other.

It is true that Héctor doesn’t need to go - he can honor his parents’ memory from here, too - but being there, and visiting their grave… it is different. Plus, there are faces he likes seeing again, from time to time. Unlike Ernesto, he did not cut all ties.

“It’s quicker,” he finally says, answering to the question Ernesto actually voiced. He puts another pair of trousers in the suitcase, and closes it before one of the chihuahuas can jump in. The little dog looks very displeased, and Héctor gives it an apologetic grin before turning back to Ernesto. “Besides, Imelda’s brothers will pick us up at the station.”

“The Bobos?”

“The Bobos.”

“In a car.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound safe.”

“It probably isn’t,” Héctor concedes. “I think they have one license between the two of them.”

“And not an ounce of common sense. If you die in that hole, I won’t come to your funeral,” Ernesto mutters, but then he hesitates, and looks away. “... Tell your parents I said hi,” he adds, causing Héctor to smile a little. Ernesto was fond on them; their door had always been open to their son’s best friend, a home away from home when his own place got rowdy.

He remembers, distantly, a few times Ernesto actually referred to his mother as Tía Emilia. The memory causes something to grip his throat, tightly.

“I’ll make sure to tell them you’d come, too, if being anywhere near Santa Cecilia didn’t make you break out in hives,” he says in the end, and raises an eyebrow. Ernesto is standing by the door, leaning against the wall and right by an empty chair. “... Not sitting down?” he asks. Ernesto rolls his eyes, and throws him the closest thing he can grab - namely, a shirt he’d left on the chair. Héctor laughs, the lump in his throat gone. “Hah! But it was worth it. Admit it.”

“Never,” Ernesto says, but his lips are curled in a smile as well. With his clothes on, there is no telling what happened the previous night - and the marks it left on him. But they are there, and the fact Ernesto bears them gladly is… a nice thought, he has to admit.

“Of course it was worth it,” Imelda’s voice comes from the next room over, sounding just a touch smug. She pops her head through the door, her purse in one hand and the train tickets in the other. Her suitcase is already at the entrance. “I’m calling the cab,” she tells Héctor before turning to Ernesto. “I think one of your dogs got stuck in the bathtub. No clue how it got in,” she adds, and reaches up to brush back his hair, which isn’t quite as tidy as usual.

It is a casual gesture, and Ernesto doesn’t seem to think anything of it - no whining about his hair, no surprise. Héctor allows himself a secret grin before smoothing his expression.

“I’m almost done here. Go rescue your dog, we’ll be off soon.”

As Ernesto leaves quickly - they can hear a dog yapping from the bathroom, like it’s actually in some sort of danger - Héctor and Imelda exchange a glance. “He looks fine,” he says.

“I do like him better without his hair all gelled up,” she concedes, and Héctor snorts a laugh.

“Hah! No, I mean-- he seems all right,” he says. To his amusement Imelda rears back, clearly embarrassed by the lapse, before regaining composure.

“Of course he’s all right. We made sure of that,” she says tightly, closing her purse. “We’re good to go,” she adds.

Neither of them can imagine how wrong they are.

***

“... And so he said, ‘please never return’, signed, and we got our driving licence!”

“Well, one of us got a licence.”

“Not telling who.”

“We’re not even sure.”

“Works for both, though.”

“Hey, Imelda, why is Héctor green?”

To be absolutely fair, Imelda thinks, Héctor is not quite green. Green-ish, maybe, by the time Óscar slams the brakes and brings the call to a stop - well, a stall, since he didn’t bother to put down the clutch - in front of their house. They jerk forward before being brought back on their seats by the belts. Clutching his suitcase to his chest for dear life, Héctor lets out a long sigh of relief before he smiles.

“That was-- fun,” he croaks, fake as a three pesos coin.

“You are not driving us back,” Imelda says, throwing the door open, and for a moment before she regains her balance she almost stumbles back. God, it feels like she went through a round or two in a washing machine. Héctor needs to lean on the car a little, but it looks like he won’t, after all, hurl his guts. Which is good, really: last thing she needs now is having to deal with her parents after her husband greets them by throwing up on their doorstep.

“Imelda!” As though summoned at the door by the screech of slamming brakes - Imelda thinks she can smell something burning - her mother is suddenly there, throwing her arms around her. “It’s good to see you, mija. How was the journey?”

“It was fine,” she says, deciding to bring up her concerns over her brothers driving anything at all, be it a car or a bike, later. “Where’s papá?”

“He went to the parish to make sure everything is ready for Emila and Ricardo’s function,” she says. “It will be tomorrow at ten.”

Of course, the function in their memory is what they’re there for; tomorrow will be the tenth anniversary of their death. Imelda glances back - Héctor has recovered enough to open the booth and pull out her luggage, too - before speaking quietly.

“Thanks for organising it. I brought some money, as an offering,” she says. It is not mandatory to give the parish money for the memorial service, but of course it’s expected.

As a response, her mother shakes her head. “No need. Your father will take care of it.”

Imelda frowns, and lifts her chin. “We can afford--” she begins, a defensive note to her voice, but her mother holds up a hand.

“We know you can. It’s just… a gift from our part. Emilia and Ricardo were our friends, too.”

Oh, Imelda thinks. Right. She is so used to expect seeing her choices and achievements dismissed or played down, maybe she gets defensive too quickly. To be fair, her parents did get better. Maybe it is time she starts to accept something from them without feeling like it means having to swallow her pride.  “... Of course,” she says, and smiles. “Gracias.”

“De nada. Oh, Héctor! Here you are! You’re looking good, considering that Felipe drove.”

“I think it was Óscar,” Héctor laugs, and gives her a hug. “You look good, Milagros.”

“Oh, flatterer,” she mutters, giving his cheek a light smack before pulling back. She looks at them both. “You two are much too thin. Come in, I have only three days to get you to eat…”

Imelda bites back a retort - I cook plenty, too - and just follows her inside. Annoyance fades quickly at the familiar sights and smells; at Héctor’s obvious joy to be there and her mother’s pride when he samples her cooking and declares it to be ‘delicious as always, mamá Milagros’. It doesn’t take long for her to smile along, too.

It’s good to be home.

***

Ernesto is fine.

All right, so he can’t sit down. He can definitely feel the welts on his ass and lower back and the back of his thighs, he can feel the bruises and the soreness in his back, but… he is fine. Better than fine.

Before falling asleep the previous night - so sore and sated, so exhausted and satisfied, wrapped in a towel and resting between two warm bodies - Ernesto thought briefly that morning would bring a price to pay. Embarrassment, for sure, maybe some sort of mockery.

He was wrong. Embarrassment failed to make an appearance, and so did mockery. He awakened to the smell of coffee, alone on the bed, to be treated to breakfast on a tray less than a minute later. His stomach grumbling, he ate quickly and even enjoyed the small talk about the weather and the trip ahead; even the thought of Santa Cecilia failed to sour his mood.

All right, so there was a tug of something in his chest as Héctor and Imelda prepared to leave-- without me --for their hometown, but it was easily dismissed.

They will be back soon, and he is fine.

***

“Hola, mamá. Papá. I, uh, brought flowers. I sat on them, sorry about that, but they’re still good - just need some water. We’re holding the function tomorrow, but I figured I’d… come say hi first.”

There is no answer, of course, but… well, it would be pretty worrying if there were any. As he fills up the vase, Héctor glances around. There are a few other visitors to the Santa Cecilia cemetery, but most are well away, and no one can hear him talking to the grave. Even if they could, he he doubts anyone would mind. A lot of people do that.

“Bet this place isn’t going to be so empty next time I visit,” Héctor says, placing down the vase and putting the flowers in. Every year, on Día de los Muertos, the whole place is brimming with people, flowers, candles and offerings. “I’ll get you the usual - oh, and I learned how to make Pan Dulce! Without help. Well, minimal help. It’s good, honest. I’ll get you some so you can try it out.”

The flowers sorted, he sits cross-legged in front of the grave and picks at some weeds that had the audacity to try growing right below the marble headstone. He glances at the single picture on it - his parents, in each other’s arms and smiling at the camera.

It was taken only a few weeks after his mother had found out she was pregnant, or so he recalls being told. They always wanted a big family, but that hadn’t happened: it had taken years of trying for Héctor to be born, and then there had were no others.

“It’s all right, mamá,” Héctor remembers saying once, when he’d realized his excited talk about a classmate’s baby sister saddened her. “I don’t need want one, anyway.”

“He’s already got me, Señora,” Ernesto, then ten years old, had declared. I made her mother laugh, and ruffle both of their hair. Héctor often huffed when she did, but he never really minded. He would give anything now for her to be able to do that again.

He runs his hand through his hair, trying to pretend it’s her touch, and glances at his papá's smiling face. “Looking good, both of you,” he finally tells the photo. It is one of the very few ones that escaped the complete destruction of their home, when a leaking gas pipe and a spark destroyed everything within seconds.

“It must have been quick,” someone - old Prospero, maybe? - told him, in a clumsy but well-meaning attempt to make him feel better. “They were gone before they knew it.”

It is a vague memory; looking back that entire week was shrouded in fog. He recalls being in the next town over with Ernesto for a gig when his phone had rung, only minutes before stepping on stage.

“You need to come back now. There has been an… an accident.”

From that moment on, there are only flashes. His phone hitting the ground, the way the room spun around him, Ernesto grasping his shoulders and asking what was wrong; the drive back to Santa Cecilia, with Ernesto pushing his father’s old car to the limit; the smoke in the distance where his house used to stand; the crowd of people in the street when the car came to a screeching halt, several hands reaching out for him, to hold him back, keep him away.

He doesn’t remember screaming but he must have, because his throat was sore for days; he could still hardly speak on the day of the funeral, as he stood before the black caskets, Ernesto’s arm around his shoulders. He remebers, vaguely, Imelda's hand squeezing his own - but they weren't that close, then. It was Ernesto to organize everything; Héctor had been so lost, so numb, entirely useless. If not for him… who knows where he’d even be now, a decade on.

Still wandering in that thick fog, maybe, hardly remembering how to breathe.

“Ernesto says hi,” Héctor says, and smiles. “He couldn’t come - you know how things are with his family - but I know he still misses you. He still has that moño charro you gifted him, papá, he wears it on the great occasions. Speaking of which, we’re probably going to get a record deal, you know? We’ve come so far, I bet you’d be--” proud “--Amazed. A lot of things happened since my last visit, and...er…”

All right. Maybe let’s… not tell them all of it.

“... Well, things are going well,” he finishes with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, and Imelda’s business has really picked up! I wish you had time to know her. I mean, you knew her, but-- really know her. She’s amazing and I am so lucky-- I wish you were there when--” his voice breaks and ay, maybe it wasn’t a good idea, insisting to visit them alone. With a sniffle, goes to wipe his eyes… only that he can’t. Something is holding his arm back, like he got his sleeve caught in something. “Wha--”

“Ruff!”

“... Huh. And how long have you been here?”

The hairless dog - a Xolo, not just a mangy stray - seems to grin at him through the mouthful of his sleeve, furiously wagging its tail. It makes Héctor laugh.

“Sorry, but I’ve got no snacks to share,” he says, pulling back his arm. The dog lets go of his sleeve and looks at him, tongue hanging almost to the ground, before shaking itself - causing droplets of drool to fly through the air, and that impossibly long tongue to wrap itself halfway around its muzzle.

“Hah! Come on, boy - go back home,” Héctor chuckles, knowing he’s probably looking at a stray, and picks up a stick from the ground. He throws it and the dog nearly flies after it, catching it in mid-air and starting to enthusiastically chew it up before even hitting the ground.

Héctor laughs again, feeling a little lighter, the urge to weep gone. He turns back to the grave to fill in his parents on what he’s been up to in the past few months - well, most of it - with a smile back on his face. When he finishes and stands, turning to leave the cemetery and head back, he doesn’t realize the dog is still there, staring at him from among the graves.

***

Maybe he’s… not as fine as he thought he was.

It is a thought Ernesto has been trying to chase away for a good few hours - trying to ignore the tightness in his chest, the shortness of breath despite just being out to walk his dogs at a leisure pace, a knot in his stomach that seems to be getting tighter and tighter... and, most of all, a growing sense of dread that is all the more frightening as it is senseless.

This is stupid. He’s fine. There is no reason to feel like this, none whatsoever.

“I must be coming down with something,” he mutters to no one in particular, reaching up to rub his forehead as he walks through the entrance and towards his apartment, the dogs yapping and pulling. Yes, that must be it. He’ll get in bed and sleep it off, and then--

“Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, did you know that?”

Oh, no. Not the old guy. With a snarl, Ernesto tears his hand off his forehead to glare. Old Chicharrón, who seems to like Héctor for some reason and dislike him intensely for some other reason Ernesto cannot begin to imagine, is standing on the stairs, glaring at him and at his dogs. He’s always been a grumpy pain in the ass, but he’s become even worse since Ernesto has taken in the chihuahuas, complaining endlessly about their yapping and clearly not realizing his grumbling is a lot more annoying than any noise a dog could make.

“Mind your own business,” he says… or at least, he tries to. The moment he tries to speak his voice is suddenly stuck in his throat, his chest is tight and-- why-- why is he glaring at him like that, like he did something wrong?

Because you did. You did everything wrong. Look at you, look what you let them do to you, and where are they now? They’re probably laughing at you, you know that?

“I--” Ernesto croaks, but he cannot force words out and oh, Christ, his eyes are burning.

Maybe he knows. He heard you, or they told him - told everyone. Half of Santa Cecilia is having a laugh at your expenses right now. Just wait until your parents get word of it. They won’t even be surprised, your old man was right about you. You’re a stain. Worthless. Did you really think a passable voice would make any difference? Change anyone’s minds?

“What, cat got your tongue?” the old man scoffs, and he seems about to add something, then he pauses and blinks. “Huh. You’re... not looking good. Drank too much again?”

No, no, no. What’s happening to me?

The dread gripping his throat turns into something close to panic because he can tell he’s about to cry and that is not, under any circumstances, happening in front of this cabrón. So Ernesto does the only thing he can do: he scoffs, lowers his head - he can’t look him in the eye, he will break if he does, like he could read what he let them do to him on his face and he’s never felt so ashamed before - and marches past the old man like an angry bull, almost knocking him over.

There are yells, but he hardly hears a word. He throws his door open, storms in, yanks his dogs’ leads to get them inside as well, slams the door shut… and then he freezes as the chihuahuas yelp. He looks down to see they’re huddled together, whining, cowering. They are so tiny, just how hard did he yank them?

“No,” he chokes out. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t-- didn’t mean--” he babbles, and that’s it. His voice breaks, his knees fail, and he sinks on the ground with his back to the door, crying his eyes out for no reason whatsoever. It’s infuriating and humiliating and confusing, and he cannot stop. He sits back, and the sting of the welts and bruises makes him weep harder, no matter how dulled it is. He hates it. He hates himself for allowing it.

“Lo siento,” he manages, and the dogs are all over him in moment, whining and pawing and trying to lick his face. He holds them close, breath itching, and slowly quiets down - telling himself that he’s fine, once he stops weeping he’ll be all better.

But he isn’t.

***

It takes Héctor a very conscious effort not to bawl before, during, and after the function.

Not so much because of the function itself - although Padre Edmundo said several unexpected heartfelt things, a welcomed break from the usual droning - but because of the sheer amount of people who showed up: old childhood friends, friends of his parents, people they just used to buy their groceries from. They're ten years dead, without relatives other than him, and the church is packed for them.

By the time he’s done shaking hands and giving his thanks to everyone as the church empties, Héctor is feeling a little light-headed; the steadiness of Imelda’s hand on his back is all that keeps him grounded.

“They sure are missed, huh?” he murmurs as they walk down the steps, finally alone.

Imelda smiles, and takes his hand. “Very much,” she says softly. “Do you want to visit--”

“... Héctor?”

The voice is one Héctor hasn’t heard in years, but he immediately recognizes it and can feel the the faint smile freezing on his lips. Barely aware of Imelda’s perplexed gaze, he makes an effort to smooth his expression before turning.

Ernesto’s mother looks… older than last time he’s seen her, and by more a few years; it’s as though a decade or more was dropped on her shoulders. No only because there is more gray in her hair, deeper wrinkles around her eyes: there is something else, too, something hollow and desperate on her face as she stares at him.

“Señora de la Cruz,” he finds himself saying, his mouth dry. He hadn't seen her during the function. “This is a, er… you look good.”

What crosses her features is not a smile, but a rather brave attempt at one. “It’s good to see you. You too, Imelda,” she adds. Imelda, who doesn’t know Adela as well as Héctor does - who knows next to nothing of her past the fact Ernesto has cut her out of his life - makes an effort to smile back, but pity is painfully obvious in her gaze… even more so when Adela speaks again.

“How… How’s Ernesto?” Her voice shakes a little, and there is so much desperate love in the way she speaks his name alone that it makes Héctor’s heart ache.

“He-- he’s fine,” he finds himself saying, hoping for the ground to swallow him up, praying that she won’t ask him to tell her where he is, how to reach him. He promised Ernesto he would never tell either of his parents, if he met them, and he will keep that promise but ay, it would hurt. “We’ve had a few concerts, and… more are planned. Possibly a contract with a record company. It’s going well.”

For just a moment, her smile seems real; it makes the desperation when she speaks again all the more painful. “That’s… that’s good. It’s what he always wanted,” she manages. “Can you tell him that we’re-- if, if he’d listen...”

“Señora de la Cruz--” Héctor begins, only to trail off when she pauses and reaches up to press a hand on her mouth, struggling to maintain composure. He is vaguely aware of Imelda’s fixed gaze, of the thin line of her mouth; he knows this has to look really, really bad in her eyes. She doesn’t know why Ernesto has cut his parents off, and he… he cannot tell her. He promised his best friend he wouldn’t tell.

“My apologies,” Adela finally says, and draws in a deep breath before reaching into her purse and pulling something out - a sealed envelope. “I know he doesn’t want to speak to us. But if you could give him this, I-- we’d be so grateful.”

We. Her husband, too? It’s hard, to imagine that man anywhere near grateful, but it is not the moment to argue. Héctor swallows a lump in his throat. “Of course,” he says, and he really wants to add something reassuring, but he doesn’t know what to say. So in the end he just nods awkwardly, and takes the letter. “I’ll give it to him as soon as we go back.”

“Thank you,” she chokes out, and nods. “God bless you,” she adds before walking away quickly, before she can cry - so that if she does cry, it will be in private. Héctor watches her leave, his heart like lead in his chest, and glances at Imelda. Her gaze is hard as stone.

“I know this looks bad, but--”

“You don’t need to make excuses for him, and I don’t need to hear them,” she cuts him off, and that is all; she doesn’t bring the encounter up again, doesn’t ask any more questions. It is a relief, because he wouldn’t be able to answer… but at the same time he hates seeing that harshness in her eyes, even though it’s not for him.

For the rest of the stay, the letter stays in his coat’s pocket, and it seems to burn.

***

This is bad. This makes no sense. And, Jesus Christ, it hurts - something’s been hurting for two days and he has no idea why. He hates it. He hates himself.

Burrowed under the blankets, he feels as though he’s drowning in fog. With his TV going in the background and four dogs curled up against him, Ernesto squeezes his eyes shut and refuses, refuses to weep. He’s holding his cell phone in one hand, and part of him really wants to use it to call Héctor and Imelda, tell them something is wrong - something is horribly wrong, he needs them to get back, he needs them there, why have they left him alone?

But he doesn’t. He hurts but he’s also so, so ashamed. The mere idea of mockery-- of course they’ll mock me after what happened, after what I let them do --makes him feel even worse, like he could shatter if he just hears their voices. In the end he throws the phone away, and curls up tighter. He just needs to sleep it off, he tells himself. He feels so empty and drained, surely sleep will come quickly if he just waits long enough.

But it doesn’t. He lays awake for what feels like a very long time, until his dogs are whining so loudly, so hungry, and he forces himself to sit upright on the couch to get up.

And, suddenly, the doorbell rings.

***

It’s fair to say Héctor has seen Ernesto looking a complete mess several times. It usually involves alcohol aside from the one occasion they never talk about, when he showed at his door sullen and bruised to ask if he could stay for the night.

Héctor thought that was the worst he’d ever see him; then he thought his near-breakdown at the vet's was it. Now, as the door opens to reveal a pale wreck of a man where his friend should be, he knows he was wrong.

“E-Ernesto?” he croaks, otherwise speechless. He doesn’t really want to say it out loud because he knows Ernesto would take it the wrong way, but he does look… pretty awful, really. It’s as though he hasn’t slept a minute since Friday, his skin an unhealthy ashen color, cheeks covered in stubble and hair unkempt. But his gaze is the worst thing, glassy and distant and haunted. 

“What do you want?” Ernesto asks, and even the voice sounds wrong, so horribly hollow.

“I, uh… is. Is everything all right?” Héctor dares, gaining himself another sullen look.

“Yes,” he drones, avoiding his gaze. It’s as though he’s staring at something above Héctor’s right shoulder. “What do you want?”

“I… we, uh, were in Santa Cecilia--”

“I know,” Ernesto says coldly, and suddenly his eyes are on him, and he looks… angry is a strong word, but not pleased, either. When he speaks again, there is an accusing note to his voice. “Went off for the weekend and left me here.”

All right, so something is very wrong. Ernesto will occasional pout whenever he feels he’s being ignored, but this? This is too much. “Ernesto, what happened? You look--”

“I’m fine. Tell me what you want.”

Héctor hesitates a moment before he takes the sealed envelope from his pocket and hands it over to him. “We, uhm. We met your mother. She asked me to give you this,” he adds.

For several moments, Ernesto says nothing. He stares at the envelope in Héctor’s hands as though he’s handing him a live snake, and it is then that Héctor notices something else: his friend’s hands are shaking. “Madre de Dios, Ernesto, what--”

“Is this a joke?” His voice is like the crack of a whip, and it causes Héctor to trail off, wincing. Ernesto is staring at him with sudden fury, and his shaky hands clench into fists. “You know I never wanted to have anything to do with either of them!”

“I know, but she pleaded--”

“I don't care what she said! You promised me, Héctor!”

“I didn’t tell her anything! Not where you live, not your number. I only took the letter for you, but if you don’t want to open it, that’s fine - we'll just throw it away and--”

“You don’t give a damn, do you? You never gave a damn,” Ernesto snaps, and he takes an unsteady step forward, causing Héctor to back off. The door slams shut over the dogs’ frantic barking.

Something’s wrong. This isn’t right. He’s not well.

“Ernesto? Amigo, you’re not…” Héctor manages, taking another step back, and suddenly his back is against the wall, and there is nowhere he can go. Confusion begins to give way to fear - for the very first time, he is afraid of his best friend. “You need to--”

“I needed you, all right?” Ernesto cuts him off, and his features twist in a pained expression. “You and that… and her, and… you left me here, you never--”

“Enough.” Imelda’s voice causes him to trail off. She took the elevator to get home with the luggages as he went to Ernesto's door, but she must have heard the commotion and suddenly she’s between them. One shove and Ernesto is stumbling back, her hand is gripping Héctor’s own, and she’s getting him out of the corner Ernesto had driven him to, to the stairs leading up to their apartment.

No, wait. Something’s wrong with Ernesto. We can’t leave him like this, Héctor thinks.

He almost says as much, but Imelda speaks first. “Look at you, you’re a mess,” she snaps, her voice cold. “Sort yourself out, for God’s sake. Pretend you’re an adult.”

For a moment, Ernesto looks hurt before he scowls again. “You left--”

“For three days, yes,” Imelda cuts him off. “We had a lovely time and we’re not going to let your stupid drama sour it. Whatever your problem is, and whatever reason you think you have not to speak to that poor soul unfortunate enough to be your mother--”

“Imelda…”

“You know nothing, you--”

“-- It’s none of our business,” Imelda snaps, ignoring both of them. Her grip on Héctor’s hand is warm, tight, protective. She turns to leave. “Grow up.”

It’s far from the worst thing Imelda has said to him, but somehow it seems to hit him harder than anything ever has. Under Héctor’s stunned gaze Ernesto takes a staggering step back, his shoulders hunch as though a weight was suddenly dropped on him, features twisting.

“Wait,” he chokes out. Suddenly there are tears in his voice, and Imelda stops in her tracks, letting go of Héctor’s hand in her surprise. With both of their gazes on him, Ernesto seems to crumble: his back hits the wall, his knees give in, and then he’s on the ground. He burrows his face in his hands, lets out a keening noise. “Por favor.”

Héctor doesn’t remember moving, but the next moment he’s kneeling next to him, passing an arm over his shoulders. Ernesto is shaking and cold, he presses his face against his shirt and Héctor’s never seen him like this. It terrifies him, but he tries not to let it show.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. We’re going nowhere,” he says, and looks up at Imelda.

She’s staring at Ernesto, and her expression has gone from stunned to attentive, and then - just as Ernesto mumbles that something hurts, it really hurts, what’s happening to me - Héctor sees realization dawning in. Whatever is wrong with him, she seems to have an idea of what it is. “... Ernesto,” she calls out, crouching down as well, and puts a hand on his arm. Suddenly her voice is gentle, and her touch is light. “Come home with us. It will be fine.”

There is a sharp intake of breath, a shake of his head. “No. It won’t.”

“It isn’t going to last.”

“I’m going loco.”

“Nonsense. You just need to ride it out. It won’t-- Ernesto, look at me,” Imelda says, and grabs his chin to make him do just that. Her voice is firmer. “It won’t last. It’s just the drop.”

That causes Héctor to blink in confusion. Drop? What dro-- oh. Oh. Realization hits him suddenly, and he feels very, very stupid… and very guilty as well. They’ve given Ernesto aftercare on Friday, and he seemed fine, but he should have known this could happen. They hadn’t thought for a moment it would, not to Ernesto of all people… and they left him alone to deal with it.

“You need a bath,” Imelda is speaking again, practical as always. They help Ernesto on his feet and while it’s him he leans on he’s hanging to Imelda’s words, eyes wide. Héctor has never seen him this vulnerable, not even as kids. “And to eat, when was last time you ate?”

He blinks. “I… yesterday. I think.”

“Well, that won’t do at all. Come. Mind the steps, last thing you need is a literal drop…”

In the end, the letter from Ernesto’s mother goes back in Héctor’s pocket, and doesn’t come out for the rest of the evening. They get him into a hot bath and Héctor helps by washing his back and hair before he lends him his bathrobe. They give him a hot meal Imelda somehow put together in less than fifteen minutes, and Héctor manages to get him to have half a bar of dark chocolate too, as well as glass after glass of water.

Ernesto goes through the motions with hardly a word and without looking at them, so meek and quiet it’s more than slightly unsettling, but at least now Héctor knows what’s causing this and he knows that Imelda is right - it won’t last. He just needs a bit of help as he recovers, that is all, until the adrenaline and endorphin go back to normal levels again.

Imelda explains him as much, tells him all about the drop, what causes it, how it’s not going to last. “You’ll be fine. Give it another day or two. You’ll stay with us meanwhile,” she says.

Ernesto listens, nods and says nothing, but he seems calmer and eventually settles down on their couch, a blanket around him, glancing listlessly at the TV. The dogs - Héctor brought them upstairs after a quick toilet break - are curled up on his lap, and it seems to help.

Héctor and Imelda settle down as well, at either side of him. Héctor passes an arm over his shoulders, and Imelda lets Ernesto lean on her - and takes his hand hand when he reaches out. She rubs her thumb over his palm in slow circular motions while Héctor runs his hand through damp hair and talks about a song he’s thinking of writing, about how much he needs a new guitar case, about their next performance in a couple of weeks, about the weather, about anything that crosses his mind. And finally, he can feel Ernesto beginning to relax.

He sighs and leans on him, his hand still in Imelda’s own. “Héctor, what I said--”

“It’s all right, amigo. Just rest.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Sleep,” Imelda chides him, reaching to brush some hair out of his eyes with her free hand. There is another sigh, and Ernesto finally closes his eyes. Héctor and Imelda exchange a glance over him, and Imelda smiles a bit. He’ll be fine, she mouths, and Héctor smiles back.

Yes. He’ll be fine, and they will stay right there to make sure of it.

***

[Back to Part 8]

[On to Part 10]

[greatkingofthewest]

Lesson Learned | Training III

Paimon couldn’t say that he was looking forward to this training. While he had not been given any information on the content, he had been given the same address as his last “special” training session five months ago that had left him feeling dirtier than usual. If he had to guess, it would be another occasion of him being strung and played by some stranger ten years his elder. It was at least not a new beast this time. Whatever his parents ordered him to do. Maybe it would be easier this time. 

... Hah, yeah right.

His head was full of ordering what he was going to do after this. Go home, work on what home work he could until six, change into his judogi, get to the dojo and train until eight, then shower and visit Luzifer to see what he could do to help him with his own schooling. The key slid into the lock and he stepped inside, discarding his shoes properly. Silence. Perhaps they didn’t know to greet him. “I have arrived.” He announced loudly, projecting so that they could hear from anywhere in the house. He was about five minutes early but surely that was no problem.

He made his way into the living room where the last woman had been, intending to at least drop his backpack in there, when something caught his eye. A... A person with their face covered by a dark shemagh? Standing over a partially packed tv? Why would...

His adrenaline spiked but it was already too late when he saw the moment from his periphery. There was a brief stinging in his neck and jaw before his entire body seemed to erupt in pain, his vision and hearing entirely abandoning him as his legs decided to give out as well. He hit the floor hard, unable to feel grateful for his head being saved by what he could only assume was his own backpack. A taser. A distance taser. 

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!!

When he was finally able to regain his senses, he knew he was on the floor right where he had fallen. Not much time should have passed because hands were still on him, binding his arms behind his back. Despite all his training, he felt panic grip his chest. He began to buck and roll, attempting to dislodge whoever was above him, but what he earned was a pair of knees on the back of his neck and the small of his back. Two people then. One possibly heavier than the other. At least one was putting more pressure on him. As it was, he was not going to be able to move just yet.

Alright. Calm down, when one tactic fails, find a new one. There are many ways to get out of a box when the top has been sealed. Just breathe in. Good, relax the body but flex your arms. Flex hard, before the knot is tied. A loose binding is as good as wet tape. Ah, but they were working all the way up to his elbows pretty tightly still. Keep calm, just do what you can. Many small, induced mistakes could spell out a victory for him.

But this wasn’t training, was it? They hadn’t exactly hidden, one of them had been boxing up electronics. That much, he could confirm by straining his eyes forward to the entertainment system. Thieves, then? Professional enough to not get scared off when a teenager came home with a stupidly obvious greeting. Idiot, idiot, idiot! Stupid fucking idiot! His parents and his teacher would deck him for being so off-guard.

As the knot tightened, he gritted his teeth. So, what now? Would they tie him up and leave him here as they continued to work over the house? What was the best course of action for himself? Alright, back up, what are the priorities? Think clearly. First, to get out of here alive. Ideally, that should be simple enough. Second, get out of this without giving any information about his family or the Solarys. Third, get information from these guys that may lead to their arrest or some proper retaliation. 

Boots stepped in front of his face, leading to the knee on his neck to disappear. Okay, so definitely three people. Act innocent, act dumb. Be a fool. Don’t let them think you have anything of worth beyond the bills in your wallet.

“A kid, huh?” Came a woman’s voice above him. “What a nice uniform you have on. Go to a fancy private school, I bet. What school is it?”

Talking, good.

“Please, let me go. I won’t call the cops or anything, please. I don’t want to be involved. Please.”

“I asked you what school you go to and you come at me with this? Kids these days are so disrespectful. We aren’t your maids, rich boy.” She responded before a foot stepped directly on his linked elbows, pressing down until he made a quiet noise that the carpet thankfully muffled. “You live alone?”

Shit, they weren’t messing around. He needed to get some power in this situation. If he said he lived alone here, that would be dangerous. He could go missing and people would not notice fast enough to do any good. If he said he was visiting, then that would raise questions. Then again, they were professionals and should know that no one comes here. You were always supposed to scout a mission location first. At least, that what he had been taught to do.

“I live here with my dad when it’s his week.” He lied, quickly using the first excuse that didn’t sound too dumb.

The boot disappeared before coming back full force against his shoulder, almost causing him to roll to his side. The position of his shoulders didn’t allow for him to get on his back so easily so that he found himself only briefly meeting the covered faces of two out of three criminals. A woman and a man. Likely the man had been the heavier knee. What about the third, the one that suddenly tightened a noose around his ankles? Man or a woman? What build? He needed information, because it sure as hell didn’t look like this was ending soon.

“Put something in his mouth. If the dad comes home, we don’t want him to know what’s up. Start working on the bedroom, Red.” Came the deep man’s voice from far behind. Two men and one woman, going by code names. Great.

Paimon choked for a second when his collar was dragged upwards, putting terrible strain on his wind pipe. As his eyes watered, his tie was removed and shoved unceremoniously into his gasping mouth. His head hit the floor immediately after with a soft thud. Not long after, hands found their way to his arms again, threading whatever thin and strong binding underneath his arms  and pulling it tight to raise his ankles into the air. Shit. What did he do now?!

The panic started to raise again when another few knots were made. Why couldn’t he have met more incompetent thieves.... Dumbass, there’s no choosing. You’re supposed to be ready for the absolute worst. What if Luzifer had been with him today, for whatever reason? He had a license, he was required to drive Luzifer around to whatever was needed. If this had happened to Luzifer...

“Stay put, kid. We have work to do.” The woman said as his ankles were grabbed to drag him-- rather painfully, due to his uniform shirt riding up and exposing his skin to rug burn, and because of the forced angle of his back-- to the couch. An effort was made to toss him up on the couch, requiring two pairs of hands to hoist him and drop him face first on the cushions.

Steps began to retreat away without much else to it, causing him to breathe a difficult sigh of relief. Now, start thinking about how to get out again. Wiggling, he found the possibility of wiggling out of his binding to be doubtful. He was positioned too awkwardly and the rope went too high up his arms. What if he could get to his knife that still clung to the inside of his waistband? If he could dislodge it and roll a little to the side, surely he could maneuver well enough to cut it. The thieves would be distracted by cleaning out the rest of the house, as it seemed they had finished up in here. Shifting, he confirmed with one uncovered eye that no one was in the living room now. Just boxes and neat piles of electronics. 

He listened carefully as he clenched his core, doing his best to lift and bend his hips so that he could push out the folded knife. No reaction yet. Okay, good. Drag your hips against the edge of the cushion. Try to catch it right there. Come on, come on. It was slowly working.

“Holy shit, do you see this?!” Came a call, causing Paimon to start to move a little faster. Please be distracted by whatever that was. Please--

His blood ran cold when a woman’s voice spoke up from his blindspot. “Wow. I was about to ask if these were yours but I guess I don’t have to. Teenagers can get it up for anything, huh?” She said before several items were dumped onto him. “The bedroom was pretty interesting. A toy box and a safe? Now, you say you live alone with your dad. Either you and your dad are sick or there’s a special lady here... Or these are yours?”

Paimon was tense all over, his mind racing to guess at just what they had found that was laying all over him right now. It felt somewhat solid. Some small packets? What the fuck had they found..?

“What, no answer? You want to go back to humping the couch?” She jeered, her soft steps moving around the couch until she stood before him. The longer hair at the front of his head was gripped, forcing him to look up into her brown eyes. “Do you have the code to that safe, to make my job easier? Any information that saves me trouble will save you loads.”

When the tie was pulled out of his mouth, his response was immediate. He couldn’t let them get to whatever was in there. “That’s my dad’s room. I don’t ever go in there, I don’t know the code.” He claimed desperately.

A snort sounded from behind the fabric. “Hey, Blue, I think this kid is lying to us. Come over here and help me.” She called out.

“Now, what to do to punish a lying kid..?” She asked as her hand disappeared behind him to grab something that had been dumped on his back. What came into his field of vision was a comical pink and definitely nothing he had ever seen before. That was in this house? Oh god, was it a sexual something? He had no idea what any of the design was meant to do but it shot a sick fear down his spine. It even kinda looked like a jelly penis, if he thought about it. “Open up.”

Paimon knew nothing about what was in her hand but he was as sure as hell not about to open his mouth. He didn’t want that anywhere nearer to his face. However, he didn’t seem to have an option as a hand wrapped around his throat and another pinched his nose shut. No, no, they were going to choke him until he gave in. Fuck them. No, he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to deal with this. The hand squeezing his throat, the squishy material pressing hard against his lips, the helplessness. This was so much worse. 

When he finally had to gasp, he found the entire length attempting to punch the back of his throat. Instinctively, he began to convulse with gagging that failed to dislodge the thick length. Laughter erupted above him as his vision swam with his watering eyes. 

“Wanna talk yet?” Blue, the man, asked as he removed his hands, allowing Paimon to painfully fall harder onto the thing violating his mouth. He had been choked before but that memory was quickly paling in comparison to this. Worse, this was being shoved further down his throat and wiggled. No, not wiggled. Thrusted.

Clearly Paimon was unable to do what was asked of him but it didn’t really seem to bother his captors. The was the soft shiick of a knife springing open, then a sudden release of the pressure keeping his legs up. His still-bound feet were allowed to hit the cushions but it gave him no consolation in this situation. In fact, it only frightened him more. He found out why when hands grabbed his hips, looking for his zipper when his pants wouldn’t slide down easily enough on the first try. Then, fuck, hands landed on the knife as they came back from their job.

“Isn’t this toy a little adult for you?” The man asked as he tossed it aside. Another second had Paimon struggling to fight off the hands exposing his lower half, earning him a smack hard across the back of his head that choked him harder. “Behave, or this will really hurt you.” Came the threat.

No, no, no. Slowly, he was really understanding what was going to happen to him. He was going to be raped. Him, raped by robbers. This wasn’t supposed to happen but there were hands on his ass and some sex implement shoved down his throat. That was, oh god, it was vibrating now. It was a disgusting sensation, especially coupled with the feeling of his butt cheeks being spread.

“Get on your knees here. Hey, let him up.” The woman commanded as she moved the pink thing to keep Paimon from impaling himself while he was forced up on his knees. He found his face pressed into what was presumably the woman’s clothed crotch, forcing him to inhale the scent of sweat and vaginal discharge. "Are you going to behave like a good private schoolboy?"

He didn't want to behave, didn't want to submit. Yet he couldn't come up with any other plan of action when they were clearly in control. There was no way he could get away from both of them fast enough to do anything. All he could do was helplessly nod his head, rubbing his face against her pants.

Suddenly, without warning, a dry finger was thrust into his rectum, causing him to shamefully cry out in pain. It burned so fucking bad. Goddammit, things weren't meant to go in there. Had it hurt the prostitute from before this bad? No, he had used lube. Please, don't do it but use lube, at least. He was going to end up in the hospital if it tore down there.

"There's lube right there. You're not gonna fit anything in there without it. Here, give it to me, put that on." The woman said, leaning forward to partially smother Paimon while she reached out to take items from the other side. Moments later, very cold liquid hit his back and started to run uncomfortably between his cheeks. This was awful. Terrible. No, no... but what did his protests matter? If he just let it happen, took this punishment for his failure, then he would likely survive relatively unscathed. That wasn’t any consolation in this moment.

The short relief of the finger’s absence was dashed when some sort of item was pressed to his anus, squirting the cold liquid directly inside of him. Well, most of it didn’t seem to make it in. At least, he assumed so from the sensation of wetness traveling further down on a slow path to his genitals. His jaw ached with how tightly he was gritting his teeth. Blankness would be a blessing but he was far too overstimulated in this dangerous situation to block anything out.

Hands went back to spreading him open while a wrapper rustled softly for a few moments. Paimon didn’t have to guess what was coming next, it was a sick certainty in the back of his throat. “It’ll hurt if you keep tightening up. Look at that quivering asshole. Scared? Or maybe excited?” One of them teased while something hot and semi-stiff ground against his exposed flesh. 

The moment the penis began to slowly force itself inside of him, something broke elsewhere, in his mind where they shouldn’t have possibly been able to touch. Yet there he was, his eyes welling with tears as an absolute stranger humiliated him in the worst way. Surely he would vomit if he wasn’t so fixated on keeping himself from opening his mouth. If he did, he knew he would cry out. Even the pain of the forced entry wasn’t as bad as the sickening feeling of the wrongness within.

There was shifting above him, the woman’s hands replaced by larger ones gripping his hips to roll against him. Stop that groaning, don’t act like this feels good. Sex doesn’t feel that good but this? This was torture. Fabric was impatiently yanked out from under him, bringing him face to face with the woman’s core. He didn’t need her hand gripping his head to tell him what to do. His nose and mouth disappeared in her curls, doing exactly what he had been taught in the bedroom behind them. 

A surprised noise was stifled above him. A good sign, hopefully. If she was distracted then-- Paimon interrupted his own thoughts with an outcry of pain that vibrated directly into the wetness he was pressed onto. The man behind him began to thrust in, thoughtless to the receiving party. The burn brought a hiss out of Paimon before an insistent hand demanded he get back to work. Not that she needed his participation when she began to thrust her hips as well.

“Wow, here I am working hard and you’re slacking off.” The previously missing man laughed from somewhere in the room. “Are you not planning on sharing?”

“You’re a dog. Get over here and help him and I’ll consider sharing his mouth. He’s kinda slutty for a private school boy. Eating pussy like his life depends on it.”

It does, you bitch.

A hand appeared beneath his chin, oddly from some strained angle. The fingers entered here from there, stimulating her that way while Paimon was forced to continue his task. Moans met his ears, to his great shame. He was just an object they were using for their own ends, enjoying it all the way. Or else they were mocking his anguish. That seemed likely in his hurricane of a thought process.

It only went worse from there. His mouth and backside were stuffed, he was suffocated, hit, and choked, over and over. He lost track of everything after his shoulders down went completely numb. Everything started to blur together. Not in a forgettable manner but as a long stream of pain and shame. The woman only asked once more for the code during all that, but she seemed to be still on it now that he was left in a mess of bodily fluids and sweat, still bound and face down once more on the couch. Paimon had no energy to even lift his head to response.

“Is he out..? Maybe we should try a few codes. His birthday off something his wallet, the door code, something? To make it out of this a little better?” One of the men said in a quiet whisper from what he probably assumed was a safe distance. 

Paimon’s blood rain cold but he didn’t dare move. The door code? The door code.

“We got fine enough. Clean up and let’s get out.”

The door code. They came in through the front door without setting off the alarm because they had the code. 

The three people seemed to rustle around and pick something up in the room before going back out through the front door but Paimon couldn’t focus on them any longer. Something much worse was slowly clicking into place in his exhausted head. The horrible truth was dawning on him. These people had a passcode to the house, they were in the house when his training was supposed to begin, no one had entered the house during what seemed like eternity, nothing was taken despite them being dressed to commit crime, and they seemed to know too well that he was connected to the safe.

As his heart slowed to a controlled pace, he couldn’t deny the obvious. His parents hired these people for just this. Well, what has he learned? That he is absolutely never safe. No one can be trusted, no place is a safe house. Next, this was his fault, because he hadn’t understood that well enough. Yes, he had let these cheap thugs catch him by surprise. If he had been aware of his surroundings, that taser trick would have never worked. He would have evaded and, and-- he would have had the intent to kill. He would have tried to seriously kill someone for the first time. Not wielding a dull knife in a high-stakes training session. No, he would not have stopped when he was in a winning position.

Blood would have been spilled, his and theirs. 

Third, he was now entirely aware of the merits of the sexual warfare. Even now that his attackers were gone, he felt little will to rise and find his knife to free himself. He was completely crushed in a type of defeat he hadn’t known before. It would have made him laugh, thinking about the others his age that hadn’t yet experienced sex and fantasized about it, if only his ribs didn’t hurt so much. There was nothing good about this experience or his last, nothing there but skilled manipulation and fighting.

Lesson learned, then.

Eventually, he did roll off of the couch and drag himself to the blade that had slid across the room. It took a great amount of effort to get his arms free, resulting in several cuts when the knife slipped through the rope. Gathering his clothes. he took a shower and redressed himself after wrapping up any open wounds. It would be a shame to get blood on his clothes, even if they smelled of sweat and were wrinkled to hell.

Looking at his phone, he found that he had missed all of his homework time. There was just enough to get to the dojo, though changing would make him late. That couldn’t be missed, at least. There were grave consequences to skipping training but, more than that, he did not want another failure in his day. He would just have to make up for it in the dojo.

Unexpectedly, upon entering the large, padded gym that his training took place in, he found both his teacher and his mother waiting for him. His mother, all sharp features and sharply dressed, sat perfectly on the sidelines with her attention on her work tablet. She did not look up, even when the teacher greeted him with great offense at his ten minute delay.

He wanted her to look up but she didn’t. Not until their training began and Paimon was grunting even more than usual, feeling the harshness of his condition fully. He wasn’t about to let the pain of his spine, the agony of his wrists, or the sharp sting of his ribs cause him to fail to perform during this obvious test. Could he take a beating and keep going?

He finally locked eyes with her. Just for a moment, she saw him. Then she quietly got up and walked out without a single word to spare for them. No remorse or emotion had been in her gaze. Paimon was sure his had looked just the same.

Yes, he could. He would never fail like he had failed today. Never again. He would protect Luzifer without fail.

[mynameislenne-blog]

New early morning 13.07.2017

It is nice and quiet rainy morning. The sky is grey and heavy and nature seem to be still asleep though birds were singing while I was on my way to the office. Strangely, there are a lot of people in here already. And it is not 9 a.m. yet. Nothing really special about this morning, except the fact that I’m still can not fight the way to fight the stress I have because of driving lessons – I use food for that. I remembered that I have new class today and learn something new – speed. I never tried this before, but on Saturday my instructor plans to try driving in the city and now I need it. Well, still I believe that means he finds me ready for this. I hope it so much, I really want to be good at it, I want my license and car, I want to drive easy and safe. So, I had not standard breakfast this morning. Nothing stecial about that too, but for me it is kind of celebration: a sandwich with butter and sausage and an apple. And I bought nice and sweet piece of cake on way to the office.

Yesterday we finished with theory classes, next Monday we will have a test. That is a kind of exam everyone should pass before going to police for the exam – internal school exam right after coming over material. I’m a bit nervous, there is so much to learn more! Why we were hurry so much? Really, it seemed he never wanted anything to explain about few themes left, we just quickly passed tests and that’s all, but there were lots of new information for me. And now I have to go though it by myself and till Monday. That is not right, absolutely. But the truth is that no one really cares except us – those who’s about to get driver license. And those people in school cares only about getting more money. As soon as they finishes with us they can start with another group.

Ok, come on, you can do it. I can do it. I’m doing it, I’m passing this test. And yes, it’s done, I pass, I get the highest mark!

 Hah, have a nice day, everyone!

[heliosfinance]

What Does That “New” Car Smell Even Smell Like?

What’s up, budgeters! Got two things to talk about today:

How I’ve never bought a new car or house or almost anything big* brand new before, and why.

A special offer USAA has for its members who go through their car buying service**

That second one won’t matter much if you’re not connected to the military and/or not in the market for a car and/or hate USAA (blasphemy!), but the first one I’m pretty sure most of you can relate to :) And for those who can’t, I want to know what we’re missing? And what that new car smell, smells like??

#1. How I’ve never bought a new car or house or almost anything big brand new before, and why.

Up until recently it never occurred to me that I’ve never owned a new car or house or anything substantial* for that matter, but a recent chat with a USAA colleague changed that. We hopped on the phone so I could learn more about their car buying service they’ve just re-launched (for anyone new here, I’m a hardcore fanboy of USAA and literally have 14 accounts with them!), and somewhere along the conversation I was asked what I thought about used vs new cars.

“Used all the way, baby!” I said out loud. “That’s how I roll!” (Okay, I didn’t really say that ‘cuz I’m not that clever on the spot, but I did say I prefer used all the way ;)) And it was at that exact moment that I realized I’ve never owned a new car EVER in my life before, nor do I even know what that feels like?

I then mentally went down the list of all the cars I’ve owned in the past 20 years since having my license to make sure I was correct

1988 Chevy Corsica – Used! (8 years old when I got it, hand me down from my parents)

1993 Geo Tracker – Used! (4 years old when I got it, the first car I ever bought!)

1988 Honda Prelude – Used! (11 years old when I got it – I “needed” a faster one ;))

2001 Ford Mustang – Used! (3 years old when I got it, and when neon yellow was in fashion (it *was* in fashion, wasn’t it??)

1993 Cadillac DeVille – Used! (13 years old when I got it – no more car payments, woo!)

2005 Toyota Highlander – Used! (2 years old when I got it, car payments again – womp womp)

1993 Cadillac DeVille aka FrankenCaddy – Very used! (15 years old when I got it, looked like 115 years when I donated it)

2008 Lexus RX350 – Used! (8 years old when I got it, lots of surprising effects so far!)

It was a fascinating exercise to go down – I highly recommend it :) I then wondered how much I’ve saved over the past 20 years going this way too? Or if all those total costs would add up to *one* decent brand new car? (Answer: not one, unless it was super luxurious, but probably 2 or 3 average cars. So basically for the price of 2 or 3 new cars I got 8!).

I then started rattling off all the reasons why I’ve only bought used over the years to myself, full well knowing I’d be blogging about it soon ;)

They’re much cheaper, obviously

You’re able to afford MORE of a used car, if you wanted to upgrade or something special

You don’t have to worry about dings and dents and smashes as much (you’ll always worry, but odds are your 5, 10, 20 year old car already has them, so what’s another one (or ten?))

You don’t lose as much when you go to resell them (the used car market is thriving! And you don’t get that wallop of depreciation the second you drive it off the lot either)

All cool bloggers rock used! (And really, isn’t that all that matters? ;))

Of course, there’s a trade off to this too (more miles, more problems? No/less warranty? No knowledge of previous ownership?), but financially speaking used is almost always better than new. Not that there’s anything wrong with going that route if you value it (it’s your money!).

I feel like I’m missing something here, but you get the point. Used is sexy.

#2. A special offer USAA has for its members who go through their car buying service

(For any non-military-connected/non-future-car buyers, avert your eyes now and click this instead!)

As mentioned above, this all started when USAA reached out to tell me they’re offering a special deal for people who find their next car through their car buying service. Specifically, financing rates as low as 1.9% until July 9th. Here’s the portal if you’re interested:

http://ift.tt/2rSTo9g

It’s basically a place on their site where you can sort through an aggregated list of cars for sale, compare prices/costs connected to TRUECar data, check out CarFax reports, and even estimate insurance through USAA (pretty handy if you have all your accounts with them too!).

If you end up finding your car through them, you get the special rate, and if you don’t – but still finance through USAA, you get their normal rate. Which fortunately is still pretty good (my Lexus loan is at 2.75%).

In fact, going back through my list of cars over time, I’ve ALWAYS ended up w/ a loan through USAA. Whether starting out with them (like when I slapped my 1st Cadillac on my credit card – hah!), or when I finance first through dealerships for whatever reason, and then end up refinancing later.

Sadly I’ve never been smooth enough to pick up a car in all cash :(

So yeah, this rate doesn’t apply to everyone, but hopefully it helps those members looking to get a new ride sometime soon. If you’re not sure if you’re eligible to join USAA, you can check here. (They’re great for a ton of other stuff too, particularly car insurance. And always on the cutting edge of technology! Fun fact: USAA was the very first company ever to offer check deposit by smart phone.)

One note of caution: USAA’s car buying portal only connects to *dealerships*, so it won’t help you much if you prefer going through private parties. I’m 50/50 myself with dealerships vs private, and of course there are tons of pros and cons on either side. Something to consider though as you’re poking around.

And that’s all I’ve got for you today!

Used cars/houses/things = more money saved = more money for freedom

It doesn’t work out all the time or for all situations (food, toilet paper, underwear – eww, eww, ewwwwwww!), but more often than not your wallet will be happier going used in the end.

Anyone else never owned a new car before? Has anyone never owned *used*? (Are you rich??)

——- *There is one substantial thing I’ve bought new before – an engagement ring. Though if the diamond is millions of years old, does it still count? ;) (Side note: if I went back in time I totally would have picked one up for $780 instead of $7,800, not only to save massive money (imagine what that $7k difference would have been worth now, 10 years later?), but also because my wife rarely wears hers anymore… Turns out that dang rock gets snagged on all kinds of things like her clothes and my kids’ skin! She was always scratching them as babies, so now it only comes out on special occasions, womp womp.)

**USAA compensated me for blogging about their special interest rate today. Something I would have done anyways for free, but hey – free money! (No take backs!)

What Does That “New” Car Smell Even Smell Like? published first on http://ift.tt/2ljLF4B

[fesahaawit]

What Does That “New” Car Smell Even Smell Like?

What’s up, budgeters! Got two things to talk about today:

How I’ve never bought a new car or house or almost anything big* brand new before, and why.

A special offer USAA has for its members who go through their car buying service**

That second one won’t matter much if you’re not connected to the military and/or not in the market for a car and/or hate USAA (blasphemy!), but the first one I’m pretty sure most of you can relate to :) And for those who can’t, I want to know what we’re missing? And what that new car smell, smells like??

#1. How I’ve never bought a new car or house or almost anything big brand new before, and why.

Up until recently it never occurred to me that I’ve never owned a new car or house or anything substantial* for that matter, but a recent chat with a USAA colleague changed that. We hopped on the phone so I could learn more about their car buying service they’ve just re-launched (for anyone new here, I’m a hardcore fanboy of USAA and literally have 14 accounts with them!), and somewhere along the conversation I was asked what I thought about used vs new cars.

“Used all the way, baby!” I said out loud. “That’s how I roll!” (Okay, I didn’t really say that ‘cuz I’m not that clever on the spot, but I did say I prefer used all the way ;)) And it was at that exact moment that I realized I’ve never owned a new car EVER in my life before, nor do I even know what that feels like?

I then mentally went down the list of all the cars I’ve owned in the past 20 years since having my license to make sure I was correct

1988 Chevy Corsica – Used! (8 years old when I got it, hand me down from my parents)

1993 Geo Tracker – Used! (4 years old when I got it, the first car I ever bought!)

1988 Honda Prelude – Used! (11 years old when I got it – I “needed” a faster one ;))

2001 Ford Mustang – Used! (3 years old when I got it, and when neon yellow was in fashion (it *was* in fashion, wasn’t it??)

1993 Cadillac DeVille – Used! (13 years old when I got it – no more car payments, woo!)

2005 Toyota Highlander – Used! (2 years old when I got it, car payments again – womp womp)

1993 Cadillac DeVille aka FrankenCaddy – Very used! (15 years old when I got it, looked like 115 years when I donated it)

2008 Lexus RX350 – Used! (8 years old when I got it, lots of surprising effects so far!)

It was a fascinating exercise to go down – I highly recommend it :) I then wondered how much I’ve saved over the past 20 years going this way too? Or if all those total costs would add up to *one* decent brand new car? (Answer: not one, unless it was super luxurious, but probably 2 or 3 average cars. So basically for the price of 2 or 3 new cars I got 8!).

I then started rattling off all the reasons why I’ve only bought used over the years to myself, full well knowing I’d be blogging about it soon ;)

They’re much cheaper, obviously

You’re able to afford MORE of a used car, if you wanted to upgrade or something special

You don’t have to worry about dings and dents and smashes as much (you’ll always worry, but odds are your 5, 10, 20 year old car already has them, so what’s another one (or ten?))

You don’t lose as much when you go to resell them (the used car market is thriving! And you don’t get that wallop of depreciation the second you drive it off the lot either)

All cool bloggers rock used! (And really, isn’t that all that matters? ;))

Of course, there’s a trade off to this too (more miles, more problems? No/less warranty? No knowledge of previous ownership?), but financially speaking used is almost always better than new. Not that there’s anything wrong with going that route if you value it (it’s your money!).

I feel like I’m missing something here, but you get the point. Used is sexy.

#2. A special offer USAA has for its members who go through their car buying service

(For any non-military-connected/non-future-car buyers, avert your eyes now and click this instead!)

As mentioned above, this all started when USAA reached out to tell me they’re offering a special deal for people who find their next car through their car buying service. Specifically, financing rates as low as 1.9% until July 9th. Here’s the portal if you’re interested:

http://ift.tt/2rSTo9g

It’s basically a place on their site where you can sort through an aggregated list of cars for sale, compare prices/costs connected to TRUECar data, check out CarFax reports, and even estimate insurance through USAA (pretty handy if you have all your accounts with them too!).

If you end up finding your car through them, you get the special rate, and if you don’t – but still finance through USAA, you get their normal rate. Which fortunately is still pretty good (my Lexus loan is at 2.75%).

In fact, going back through my list of cars over time, I’ve ALWAYS ended up w/ a loan through USAA. Whether starting out with them (like when I slapped my 1st Cadillac on my credit card – hah!), or when I finance first through dealerships for whatever reason, and then end up refinancing later.

Sadly I’ve never been smooth enough to pick up a car in all cash :(

So yeah, this rate doesn’t apply to everyone, but hopefully it helps those members looking to get a new ride sometime soon. If you’re not sure if you’re eligible to join USAA, you can check here. (They’re great for a ton of other stuff too, particularly car insurance. And always on the cutting edge of technology! Fun fact: USAA was the very first company ever to offer check deposit by smart phone.)

One note of caution: USAA’s car buying portal only connects to *dealerships*, so it won’t help you much if you prefer going through private parties. I’m 50/50 myself with dealerships vs private, and of course there are tons of pros and cons on either side. Something to consider though as you’re poking around.

And that’s all I’ve got for you today!

Used cars/houses/things = more money saved = more money for freedom

It doesn’t work out all the time or for all situations (food, toilet paper, underwear – eww, eww, ewwwwwww!), but more often than not your wallet will be happier going used in the end.

Anyone else never owned a new car before? Has anyone never owned *used*? (Are you rich??)

——- *There is one substantial thing I’ve bought new before – an engagement ring. Though if the diamond is millions of years old, does it still count? ;) (Side note: if I went back in time I totally would have picked one up for $780 instead of $7,800, not only to save massive money (imagine what that $7k difference would have been worth now, 10 years later?), but also because my wife rarely wears hers anymore… Turns out that dang rock gets snagged on all kinds of things like her clothes and my kids’ skin! She was always scratching them as babies, so now it only comes out on special occasions, womp womp.)

**USAA compensated me for blogging about their special interest rate today. Something I would have done anyways for free, but hey – free money! (No take backs!)

What Does That “New” Car Smell Even Smell Like? posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ

[xottzot]

2017-3(MAR)-45 onwards-2017-Friday onwards--several days of blog entries-

2017-3(MAR)-45 onwards-2017-Friday onwards--several days of blog entries.

Internet connectivity and speed has been so slow as to be non-existent. Even just getting something simple like radar image weather report literally takes awhile to scroll down the screen.

The official weather departmeht has been once again (as always and constant) over-ambitious in sayin that here's goimg to be rain here. They say thay're there's to be a 70% chance of rain. Hah! - We'll see what happens.....an 99.9% of teh time they're WRONG. There is no rain. And when there is rain, it's so light that it just pushes the dust on the ground around a bit then dries up again.

Friday night was the usual thing......aboriginals (especially ones who do not live there) wandering in and out of the aboriginal household and walking all along the streets as if the streets were footpaths.

Over the back somewhere is a nearby place that is also aboriginal and you can tell by the level of noise made. Think of manic children doped up on petrol (or whatever) and screaming out and yelling nonsensical and you get the idea. That goes on until darkness, and then they move-off onto the streets and other areas and it goes on and on.

It was later the turn of the local shops area to then have all that happen all about it, as they congregated all about there using the roads as footpaths.

But later that night in darkness, all become somewhat calm. I guess unmarked Police patrols are maybe making themselves more known about. But that's purely a guess.

Illgeal unlicensed motobikes again are a curse on the roads. On Saturday, I spotted one that has been tearing along the roads and riding all about. It came through a pedestrian walkway, then rode along roads, then all about the school poperty areas and beyond and about. It came back boldly along the road at the same time just as it was getting too dark since it had no lighting on it whatsoever (as if that would make it legal on the roads - Hah!), and this time it had two shitheads on it. Crazy.

During one of the many times on Saturday (25-March-2017), it made a circuit and tore through the pedestrian walkway, where a family consisting of a moother wheeling a pram with child in it, and together with a group of several small children walking all together as a sensible quiet group with them with ice-creams in their hands (it was HOT, and it was supposed to be 24C but was 6 degrees celcius hotter and was closer to 32 (90F), which was predicted (guessed) for this hellhole area. Forecasted it was supposed to be 26C (78F) but REALITY in this hellhole was closer to 32C (90F).

A hot day........some obviously illegal motorbikes were all about. And no care at all for the innocent family walking about who were just about to go through the pedestrian walkway and use it for what it was intended, a walkway for innocent PEDESTRIANS. They just simply watched the damn thing tear through there and roar past by on the road within spitting distance of them all.

So that's what pedestrian wlkaways are now are they?.....give-way zones to rampant out of control illegal motorbikes at all times, especially for mothers with baby's in prams, get outta the way! -- They innocents looked on at the speeding motorbike with disgust and resignation. The small kids probably then asked with ice crams in hand when could THEY have a motorbike to do the same. (shitheads in ghettos create more shitheads)

Up and down the streets illegal bikes were going. You could hear them day and approaching night, but at night then it was the turn of over-roaring engines of load cars mostly but still motorbikes at times.

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On Friday evening, I never got to sleep until near 1am. And I then was woken up later at 4am.

I fed Sam & Max and let them outside for their dog ablutions and went with them. Max started to bark and then Sam, at someone in the streets walking about in the darkness. -- That's what shitheads do....the moving about of shitheads from one place to another andor back again ad-nauseum was on and had been going on all in the darkness for hours.

As I write this part, it's almost midnight Saturday night. The streets 'seem' calm and quiet. But that's now always misleading. Tomorrow in Sunday I predict based on previous countless instances, that an unlicensed motorbike will come tearing along the roads. Maybe it'll go up to the shops area get some stuff, and fly back along the roads again. And as always it will use the pedestrian walkways as conduits and ways to stop Police from following them.

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On Saturday 25-March-2017, that aboriginal toddler girl child, of the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD was once again free and roaming on the streets.

At one point an adult female walked out of there, crossed the road, got to the street corner and just happened to turn her head back and saw that toddler just walking out by itself and onto the road as it squawked for attention. (so, please judge that for the level of care that they give to a toddler and then magnify that to ALL the many criminal children of that CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD)

And so what does she do? - She justs stands there and is agitated the brat has come out and she has to deal with it so she beckoned the child to come to her, to walk across the road to her. The toddler races along the street verge, goes straight onto the road without looking of course, and then it goes to her.

Does the kid receive admonishment? - No, the exact opposite. It's actions and attitude gets rewarded. The kid gets picked up and carried to the shops area. - And you wonder why all these kids from the CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD have no road sense at all, why they actually play ON the roads, why cars and vehicles almost run them over and then the drivers get accused for supopesdly violating the aboriginals in some way!? -- They kids are taught and allowed to be this way from being toddlers onwards, who play actually ON the road, they do that and just get worse and worse as they grow older, until they run rampant on the roads. And when they get old enough to drive vehicles....they carry that careless atitudes onwards into the lives of all other traffic users. Before the useless get killed and or kill others in road smashes.

Recently within the past few days, there was a news report of a nearby area losing power to thousands of homes because a car driven by (women?) from this area smashed straight into a light pole bringing it down on top of the car they were deliberately careening about in. They dont care. - They'll just get another car, one way or another. (Being women gives them more bargaining power to get what they want.)

It starts out with not caring about anyone or anything. By being so utterly selfish and animalistic and feral and constantly being indulged, by departments and Police (who are obliged and forced to take extremely lenient or no actions at all against any of them), all of which creates the terrible aboriginal crime that is rampant and (the highest?) in all the states of Australia.

Do YOU dear reader have a toddler in diapers who is allowed to just run out in the road, ON THE ROAD, and is rewarded when it does that? - And this is not new. This was going on this time LAST YEAR with the the same toddler and inept 'parents'. Then it was in diapers. Now it's in training pants or whatever, still shirtless and without shoes and running headlong and without a care in the world onto the roads.

But it doesn't matter. Because they are making their own 'laws' (which are not) and influencing and subventing the existing laws so that they are creating a situation whereby normal lawful behaviour just does NOT apply to any of them. If you object, then you are branded as 'racist'. They've been using that tactic more and more lately, with authorities and Police to bend them to their wills and wants.

What would happen to YOU dear reader if you allowed YOUR toddler to run around anywhere it wanted, onto roads and wherever, in danger? - What would happen to YOU dear reader if your toddler was given into the hands of young (useless and criminal) children to take care of and play on the roads that they themselves play on? - I can tell what does happen here. NOTHING HAPPENS. And so they grow up doing whatever the hell they want. And if they they start bawling, suddenly there's a swarm of attention just to shut the damn thing up, stuff it's face full of candys or whatever. And so they very quickly learn to just bawl for no reason in order to get what they want. I've seen that here for myself in the streets truly countless times.

Now, progress that into them getting older..........they NEVER EVER GO TO SCHOOL. - Oh dear, they're now not just dumb, they're STUPID. But they then hold THAT up again as allegations that they've been mistreated and that it's somebody else to blame.

I'm waiting for the inevitable bullshit of them not having to have a drivers license at all for ANYTHING. I'm sure they'll soon enough bring in some sort of bullshit scheme where by they won't need to have a license and no 'skill' or intelligence. -- It's the way things are heading here.

Progress it further into teenage and older......they become criminals doing crimes too severe and many for Police to ignore, and for authorities to cover up. (forget about all the victims...apparently victioms don't matter anymore we're constantly being told even if victims are asaulted or killed let alone robbed or property stolen or smashed)

And so this state of Western Australia has an extremly high rate of recorded crime being performed by aboriginals...and even THAT rate is constantly being under actual real-world values thanks to all the bullshit that goes on to try to keep it under-reported and out of media and public knowledge. ('averaging' is a gtreat bullshit means to make statsitics lie and state whatever anyone wants to their advantage. Polticiians are expert liars and at doing that.)

How embaressing it would be for authorities and Police if the public knew that a toddler child in diapers was allowed to roam around at will and toddle all over the roads. NOT just a single instance......but which was allowed to happen at anytime of any day. - And in addition that the 'care' of the toddler was constantly handed over to children who never go to school and who themselves are lawless.....

All that above is TRUE. - IT's what goes on here all the time. - It's a ghetto that they've made it, and is allowed to continue and prosper.

So.....we've had a car in a nearby area smash into a power pole and bring down the pole and live wires on top of it, losing power for a couple of thousand people. - I'm sure the media maestros covered a lot of that up pretty quick in the NEWS.

This area also has a lot of those from country areas who breeze-in, set up living in other 'relations' housings inflating numbers, and then they bring in even more of their friends in. It's like a goldmine for them all. - And when things get too hot and Police are after them, they get in a car and take off and go back into the far flung country areaa to hide out for awhile.

In this way you necver know who's living at exactly where, and when they are living about here, they constantly move all about in each others houses day or night.

And yet the SAEM ones live in the SAME houses for more than a year and have been the focus of interminable departmental interventions and 'help', and also Police involvements,........and yet it all means nothing. -- Welcome to the ghetto.

1 year on, they're still doing what they were doing last year, but at a reduced rate, and they're doing it over wider areas now so that it simply just 'appears' as if the high incidences of last year has decreased. (averaging can say anything)

And as I have said so many times, all the shit that they do, it emboldens other shitheads. Hence the rapidly rising numbers of illegal motorbikes and going through pedestrian walkways and elsewhere at will at any time of the day or night.

A child-in-a-pram in the way of a motorbike? - Then they could just kick it out of the way. -- Pedestrian walkways are purely for motorbikes it seems.

I'm sure the Police have tried to stop some illegal motorbikes, however literally for 4 MONTHS straight, there has NOT been a single day around here where a motorbike has not gone tearing along around ON the streets and all about school property and elswhere and most of the time it is an unlicensable motorbike. (wait until they start tearing about on the school oval in cars...)

Lately they've been wearing helmets to disguise themselves but they are just as well not likely to either. And there can be two people upon a motorbike, a motorbike even if it's manufactured to only carry one person.....

And just the other day there was 2 shitheads walking done the middle of the road, 1 of them hobbling down the middle street on the road with his foot still in a cast or whatever, . - I guess he might have been going down there with his friend so he could catch a bus around the corner in order to go to the doctors to get it cut off......and maybe that's why he wants to illegally ride about so much on the roads again to make up for lost time........I'm just guessing.

Year ago, I used to be an offroad motorcyle rider. But every motorbike I had and those of my friend, we had licenses, and licensed (for roads use) motorcycles. -- And in those not far-off years, Police policed motorbike riders FAR more stringently than they do now.

I can recall simply one evening going to the Midland library to return some library books I'd borrowed from there, when Police pulled me over to check my drivers license. It was a random check. And though I didn't have my license with me, (I'd accidently left my entire wallet at home), I was able to quote my long numerical license number and details to them, and the other license types I posses for other vehicle types (several), and they were amazed that I could remember them. -- Since computer checking was avaialable in their vehicle, they did so, and it quickly came back with all the detail which were correct. And of course they had me confirm other details, again which they were surprised to learn I could remember. I asked them for the reason for pulling me over and they said that there had been a rising incidence of people illegally riding motorbikes who just (arrogantly) illegally assume that you could just ride a motorbike without having a license. -- Fast forward to the situation now, and now road users (and illegal road users) simply just don't care at all and just do whatever the hell they want.

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But all that about me is now ancient history. It means nothing. I am nothing.

Each day I wake up and wonder why I'm still alive when my life is absolute crap.

Each day I see the shitheads and the criminals ever more rising and rampant, and getting rewarded, and prospering, and multiplying ever more.

And when I'm gone, nobody will care. It will be as if I never existed. They'll make sure of that. What you've read about in my blog will be forgotten. Innocence and truth will not matter. Nor the constant pain. Nor the despair.

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Sunday, 26-March-2017:.....it's supposed to rain today. Like a crazy mad sale, it's been predicted a week ago (as long range forecasting) that it would happen on THIS day Sunday. -- Isn't it strange how they can pin down that one single day and hold it out and yet are hopeless for others?

There's been bush burnoffs happening somewehere. Smoke has been in the air on Saturday. And despite the heat, to try to keep the smoke out, I had to close the windows of this hovel and suffer.

In the mid-morning, a cricket match is beingplayed on the school oval which has a cricket pitch in the centre of it. And in the car parks around the school are parked player and visitors vehicles which have ben a prime source of crime targets for the criminals of this area. They wander and prowl around there as they are always doing (even when there is nothing happening on the unfenced oval). Sometimes an unlicensed motorbike will tear around the place there and the Police have to deal with that to kep it covered up and dealt with but never solved. But criminals have slowly adopted a new tactic of waiting for the vehicles to thin out, then as they are leaving, motorbikes will dash across the oval. Or they wait until they are all gone and do the same. - I want all to know the extent of all these shitheads and criminals.

Last night/early this morning, I fed Sam & Max to beat the forecast rain because its always unprdictable whether it actually does rain or not. The recent thunerstorms (2 of them) were as nothing here for rainfall. And this rain was just supposed to be minor. (it ended up actually produced mroe rain onto the ground here than the two thunderstorms from before.)

The rain started spitting down in the darkness just after I let Sam & Max outside for their abutions after being fed for the day.

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Weird lights in the sky at 3am.

Outside, I happened to see a weird and strange light effect going on in the sky to the north west of here not far away. It wasn't lightning or anything natural. It was man-made. And it was at 3am in the morning.

The clouds of supposed wet weather was steadily and swiftly coming in, and that's why I was keeping an eye out. But I always keep a watch on the sky and have always done since a small boy. Fliss was always suprised at how I could tell when it would rain wherever we went. But that 'skill' has long gone since the wet weather has become so stupid and unreliable.

The strange lighting itself was cyclical and was oblique circular, the light kept catching on clouds in its cycling around not turning off, so it may have originated at a distance and was being shone onto the clouds, hence the elongated 'circles' or ovoids going around and around in a constant never changing figure-8 pattern. Not a circular pattern. -- It was bright, and at first I thought it was yet another dickhead fucking around with spotlights instead of illegal motorbikes. 15 minutes later it was still going on, just as it had been in a cyclical nature going around and around only in one large area of the sky in the north west of here.

Due to the proximity of the Perth airport, it probbly might have been some new equipment they have but why would they be projcting light into the sky clouds and having it go around in a figure-8 pattern? - Whatever was the source, I went inside and tried to get back to sleep. I'll keep an eye out for it for now on simply for curiosity. Nothing whoo-whoo or anything in the sky, just something odd.

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It's 10:13am as I write this and it's been false calm.

7 minutes later a small white car pulls up on the street, has its indictor on and it stops against the kerb next to the newly constructed house across the road from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. Nobody gets out.

And within 5 minutes, aboriginals are out and literally staring at the car. They are quite agitated at the vehicle being there. They think it might be departmentals or whatever.

A male adult aboriginal agitatedly begin pacing up and down the street verges, trying to scare off the car. A female adult woman comes out and begins walking up the road ON the road towards the shops area. (the alchohol store must be open) - The male shouts out to her and she shouts loudly back along the street.

More aborgines come out onto the roads. From one group an aboriginal toddler wearing nothing but a disposable diaper runs along ON the road to the woman walking ON the roads and joins following behind. It's largely ignored. Treated worse than a stray dog. (its how these aboriginal criminals were brought up and perpetuate everything).

As I said, false calm.......a very typical Sunday morning percolating upwards......

What's worse is that innocent normal people have accepted all this as being 'normal' because it's been allowed to go on for so long from the criminal aboriginals. IT's low level shittery in the streets.

But of course where YOU live dear reader, you won't have this going on all the time and you think all this is just fiction. It's not. None of it is.

I've long since forgotten how just not so long ago these streets would have normal people in them, normal vehicles driving along and people NOT taking over the streets, how friendly families would walk about as a group on footpaths not on roads and feel safe, perhaps walk with their friendly dogs on a leash, and all was well in the neighborhoods.....

Now it is a ghetto.

The cricket match on the school oval is a relic of a friendly age where everything WAS friendly and everyone was friendly to everyone else because the entire areas weren't full of criminals and up-and-coming-criminals......

Nowadays there are shitheds like Ben Cousins (a has-been sportsman) a rampant, maniacal drug addict of West Australia who has constantly been in the news for extreme things that are quickly deliberately covered up and forcibly forgotten. - The lives that shithead has destroyed.....and now the newest thing is the umpteenth-time tried public relations spiel that he wants to get off drugs and be a 'good' person again....that he doesn't want himself apparently.

A typical criminal role-model for all the shitheads of this area believe me, and just as much a shithead. Watch the Australian media for another round of public relations bullshit to be manufactured.

Meanwhile, complete innocents are ignored, sidelined, marginalised and suffering......and all get painted by the antics of this shitheads actions and PR......

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Around 3:00pm the innocent people gathered on and about the Koongamia school oval playing cricket, they start leaving and from the car park area. And the aboriginals start their roaming about on the streets from the CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD.

It's like a trigger event for them.

People who do not live at the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD start coming and going, whilst the usual overweight woman wanders the streets and collects stray aboriginals drug addicts and takes them back there again including the ones who live there.

Now at 3:30pm it's becoming more noisy outside on the streets from them roaming about. - This goes on and will intensify as it always does every Sunday like clockwork.

I'm trying to do as the many neighbours do....ignore it all....but it's impossible.

There's nobody parked around the school oval anymore. Things will only go up in scale........they're free to roam across the oval and school area without being observed......

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Ay around 5:42pm a Police vegicle (operational: GE 117) come VERY slowly into the area from te bottom of Kalara Way where it joins Clayton Street. It has come from Midland direction. It goes VERY slowly along the street, and takes a long pause slowly coming up Klara Way as it looks into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD yard.

The big black mastiff dog, that wears no collar and is never ever on a leash, from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD, that dog slinks out from the yard of the vacant house next door to the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD. The Police look at it warily.

But it's the presence of two older white youths on skateboards who they stop and talk to (without getting out of theoir vehicle) at the pedstrian walkway at the end of Kalar Road. Nothing happens. They next pull up at the rented corner household that has been the site of constant aboriginal comings and goings, including today. - Including the VERY odd acting adult male aboriginal of teh CRIMINAL HSOUEHOLD who went in there today for a short time.

Two uniformed police officers get out, a man and a woman officer, and they go and question the mother and of the two boys for about 10 minutes. About what?

Around 5:51pm, the Police vehicle drives away. Then after doing a circuit around the block by going past the Koongamia shops, the Police then heads back to the direction of Midland via Bellevue on Clayton Street.

And within moments, then a a small aboriginal boy is seen walking into that rented corner house property........

Once again.....yet another Police incident of which nobody will know about.....

But at 7:23pm, Sam & Max became distressd hearing the the sounds of slamming car doors. They thought FLiss had arrrived, but she had not. Now they are greatly upset. It was a small white vehicle parked at the rented corner residence that the Police had visited earlier. -- A lot of loud talking, not angry but inflective. Lost count the number of countless times the car doors slammed shut. The noise has also has disturbd neigborhood dogs who are all barking now. -- Around 7:30, the loud inflective talking has become unintelligble angry shoutings.

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At 7:32pm.....once more a motorbike has come roaring up to the pedestrian walkway in the cover of darkness and gone through it, then it loudly tore off into the Bellevue suburb through there.

At 7:34pm...the white sedan drives off and away.

At 7:50pm....in darkness, a VERY loud offroad motorbike (I did not get a chance to see it because it was flagrantly moving at such very high speed, but it sounded like it was one of the several illegal unlicensed offroad motorcyles that tear all about here and all around EVERY DAY. And it has no lights on it at all as far as I know. - THAT motorcycle came tearing though the pedestrian walkway at the end of Kalara Road, tore through the road intersection ON THE ROAD, went past the Koongamia shops area, turned left onto Jinda Road, went along that road, turned left onto Wangalla Road that goes past the Koongamia school, tore along at high speed all along the street, went up Stuart Street hill and was finally unheard of as it went down other roads. Into places other aboriginals and shitheads live and the strets are black with burnouts.

At 8:05pm:----that seperate loud road? motocycle is now tearing about in Bellevue beyond the pedstrian walkway and it sounds like it's using the roads and illegally the other pedestrian walkways.

So.....once again, the shitheads on illegal motrobikes tearing about has NOT been stopped by West Australian Police yet again, which has been going on for well into the 4th month straight daily. The shitheads only 'paused' for awhile today because Police had been seen in the area and the Police had gone to that corner house.

At 9:28pm....aboriginals are out wandering the dark streets and easily heard because they are being so LOUD. They have walked from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD on the roads, around the Koongamia shops area, and into and onto the roads and other areas around past the shops. -- All the dogs in the neighborhood are loudly intruder-barking at them as the aboriginals wander about. It has also upset Sam & Max.

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I'm vainly trying to wind down and get some sleep......it's impossible.

P@21:32 (9:32pm, Sunday, 26-March, 2017) -- I love you Fliss and wish to be with you. Poor dear Sam & Max keep getting greatly disturbed by all the rampant motorcycle noise and so on EVERY DAY close by, no to to mention the aboriginals roaming all about on foot in the darkness and yelling out on the dark streets in the dark of night.

[heliosfinance]

What Does That “New” Car Smell Even Smell Like?

What’s up, budgeters! Got two things to talk about today:

How I’ve never bought a new car or house or almost anything big* brand new before, and why.

A special offer USAA has for its members who go through their car buying service**

That second one won’t matter much if you’re not connected to the military and/or not in the market for a car and/or hate USAA (blasphemy!), but the first one I’m pretty sure most of you can relate to :) And for those who can’t, I want to know what we’re missing? And what that new car smell, smells like??

#1. How I’ve never bought a new car or house or almost anything big brand new before, and why.

Up until recently it never occurred to me that I’ve never owned a new car or house or anything substantial* for that matter, but a recent chat with a USAA colleague changed that. We hopped on the phone so I could learn more about their car buying service they’ve just re-launched (for anyone new here, I’m a hardcore fanboy of USAA and literally have 14 accounts with them!), and somewhere along the conversation I was asked what I thought about used vs new cars.

“Used all the way, baby!” I said out loud. “That’s how I roll!” (Okay, I didn’t really say that ‘cuz I’m not that clever on the spot, but I did say I prefer used all the way ;)) And it was at that exact moment that I realized I’ve never owned a new car EVER in my life before, nor do I even know what that feels like?

I then mentally went down the list of all the cars I’ve owned in the past 20 years since having my license to make sure I was correct

1988 Chevy Corsica – Used! (8 years old when I got it, hand me down from my parents)

1993 Geo Tracker – Used! (4 years old when I got it, the first car I ever bought!)

1988 Honda Prelude – Used! (11 years old when I got it – I “needed” a faster one ;))

2001 Ford Mustang – Used! (3 years old when I got it, and when neon yellow was in fashion (it *was* in fashion, wasn’t it??)

1993 Cadillac DeVille – Used! (13 years old when I got it – no more car payments, woo!)

2005 Toyota Highlander – Used! (2 years old when I got it, car payments again – womp womp)

1993 Cadillac DeVille aka FrankenCaddy – Very used! (15 years old when I got it, looked like 115 years when I donated it)

2008 Lexus RX350 – Used! (8 years old when I got it, lots of surprising effects so far!)

It was a fascinating exercise to go down – I highly recommend it :) I then wondered how much I’ve saved over the past 20 years going this way too? Or if all those total costs would add up to *one* decent brand new car? (Answer: not one, unless it was super luxurious, but probably 2 or 3 average cars. So basically for the price of 2 or 3 new cars I got 8!).

I then started rattling off all the reasons why I’ve only bought used over the years to myself, full well knowing I’d be blogging about it soon ;)

They’re much cheaper, obviously

You’re able to afford MORE of a used car, if you wanted to upgrade or something special

You don’t have to worry about dings and dents and smashes as much (you’ll always worry, but odds are your 5, 10, 20 year old car already has them, so what’s another one (or ten?))

You don’t lose as much when you go to resell them (the used car market is thriving! And you don’t get that wallop of depreciation the second you drive it off the lot either)

All cool bloggers rock used! (And really, isn’t that all that matters? ;))

Of course, there’s a trade off to this too (more miles, more problems? No/less warranty? No knowledge of previous ownership?), but financially speaking used is almost always better than new. Not that there’s anything wrong with going that route if you value it (it’s your money!).

I feel like I’m missing something here, but you get the point. Used is sexy.

#2. A special offer USAA has for its members who go through their car buying service

(For any non-military-connected/non-future-car buyers, avert your eyes now and click this instead!)

As mentioned above, this all started when USAA reached out to tell me they’re offering a special deal for people who find their next car through their car buying service. Specifically, financing rates as low as 1.9% until July 9th. Here’s the portal if you’re interested:

http://ift.tt/2rSTo9g

It’s basically a place on their site where you can sort through an aggregated list of cars for sale, compare prices/costs connected to TRUECar data, check out CarFax reports, and even estimate insurance through USAA (pretty handy if you have all your accounts with them too!).

If you end up finding your car through them, you get the special rate, and if you don’t – but still finance through USAA, you get their normal rate. Which fortunately is still pretty good (my Lexus loan is at 2.75%).

In fact, going back through my list of cars over time, I’ve ALWAYS ended up w/ a loan through USAA. Whether starting out with them (like when I slapped my 1st Cadillac on my credit card – hah!), or when I finance first through dealerships for whatever reason, and then end up refinancing later.

Sadly I’ve never been smooth enough to pick up a car in all cash :(

So yeah, this rate doesn’t apply to everyone, but hopefully it helps those members looking to get a new ride sometime soon. If you’re not sure if you’re eligible to join USAA, you can check here. (They’re great for a ton of other stuff too, particularly car insurance. And always on the cutting edge of technology! Fun fact: USAA was the very first company ever to offer check deposit by smart phone.)

One note of caution: USAA’s car buying portal only connects to *dealerships*, so it won’t help you much if you prefer going through private parties. I’m 50/50 myself with dealerships vs private, and of course there are tons of pros and cons on either side. Something to consider though as you’re poking around.

And that’s all I’ve got for you today!

Used cars/houses/things = more money saved = more money for freedom

It doesn’t work out all the time or for all situations (food, toilet paper, underwear – eww, eww, ewwwwwww!), but more often than not your wallet will be happier going used in the end.

Anyone else never owned a new car before? Has anyone never owned *used*? (Are you rich??)

——- *There is one substantial thing I’ve bought new before – an engagement ring. Though if the diamond is millions of years old, does it still count? ;) (Side note: if I went back in time I totally would have picked one up for $780 instead of $7,800, not only to save massive money (imagine what that $7k difference would have been worth now, 10 years later?), but also because my wife rarely wears hers anymore… Turns out that dang rock gets snagged on all kinds of things like her clothes and my kids’ skin! She was always scratching them as babies, so now it only comes out on special occasions, womp womp.)

**USAA compensated me for blogging about their special interest rate today. Something I would have done anyways for free, but hey – free money! (No take backs!)

What Does That “New” Car Smell Even Smell Like? published first on http://ift.tt/2ljLF4B