#i just signed a lease agreement with a landlord

[lockoutkey]

kids never move into your own apartment you’ll have to sign away your soul to the devil and youll go blind unless you give your first born to a witch

[seeingivy]

befriend your landlord 

roommate eren x f!reader

you and eren reconcile after meeting your eccentric landlord

**find the series masterlist here

content: drinking, certified nut job landlord kenny ackerman, mentions of thanksgiving and fascism, mentions of a little meow meow 

an: I do not subscribe to canon lonely levi he actually just has a very alive mother and a weirdo freak uncle bc I said so. buckle in girlfriends!!! (and boyfriends and all the friends) also this chapter is based on a very real thing that happened to one of my friends in college I just think its funny...also ive evolved from calling this a mini-series cuz I plotted way too much and now cuz we gotta build the trust yk they are VERY MUCH IDIOTS IN LOVE

previous part linked here

- 

“So we can’t drive because…” 

“He likes to drink. Like, an insane amount.” 

“What does that have to do with us?” 

You and Eren were currently swinging your feet on the green bench, the train station bustling in front of you. The two of you were riding into the city to meet with your landlord today. Kenny Ackerman. You were officially being added to the lease. But apparently, it was a bigger ordeal than just signing the papers. 

You’d thought against it originally. Signing a very legal, very binding agreement to live with Eren, to stay with him for the foreseeable future. It didn’t seem like the best idea, given how the two of you were as of late. Awkward, distant, aimless. 

If you had things your way, you would have been moving out, you would have never even been his roommate in the first place. You had even tried apartment hunting again, just to get away from Eren. For good. 

The second you tried, you immediately remembered the reason you had to live with Eren in the first place. The options were hardly to die over. Hole in the wall, bathtub for a bed, your old physics professor.

You were stuck with Eren, whether you liked it or not. And that meant you had to go, convince Kenny Ackerman you were ‘worthy of living in the apartment’ (Eren’s words, not yours), and then sign the lease. 

Eren had been coaching you for a better part of the morning, this conversation being the longest the two of you had talked in the past few weeks. 

Some part of talking to him was becoming easier. The two of you weren’t exactly having the conversations you had before, but it was civil. Nice even. It was the only reason you were able to stomach this entire thing.

“I would never drive you home drunk, Y/N.” 

“I could have driven us home.” 

“Trust me. He can be very convincing.” 

Eren had been coaching you on everything you needed to know about Kenny. Don’t call him Mr. Ackerman, he will hate you. If Kuchel, his sister, is there then make sure that you call her Mrs. Ackerman. Don’t call her Kuchel until she tells you to call her Kuchel. The sooner she says that, the better. Make sure to drink anything he offers you, the pink lemonade smells bad but it’s not too horrible. If his nephew is there, don’t make eye contact unless he makes it with you first. 

He was somehow more nervous introducing you to his landlord (and his landlord’s family??) than introducing you to his own parents. Granted, they kind of put a pin in that entire thing, but he seemed way more at ease then than he did right now. 

You can see the timer on the screen, signaling that the next train would be here in less than a minute. You nudge his shoulder and the two of you jump off the bench, hesitantly linking arms as you push through the crowd in front of you.

The second the doors slide open, everyone pushes forward, very quickly sliding into every available seat on the train. This left you and Eren to share a single pole to hold onto as the train started moving. You secure your knuckles right under his, the two of you standing in silence, less than a foot away from each other. He leans down, his face even closer than it was before and he whispers into your ear. 

“Brace your feet.” 

“I know how to stand on a train, Eren.” 

He doesn’t respond right away and you turn to find him looking down at the ground, avoiding meeting your gaze. You were just kidding. But then again, you did yell at him last week, so how is he supposed to know the difference? 

“Six stops. Then we’ll get off.” 

You nod, bracing your feet against the ground as the train starts moving. The train is stuffy, warm, and way over capacity. You can smell the girl standing directly next to you’s perfume, the prune smell so strong it was making your head spin. But worse than the smell was the heat, the congregation of people making the air congested, your hair sticking to the back of your neck from the sweat. 

The two of you are pressed against each other, standing awkwardly. In silence. You did that a lot lately. This thing between the two of you was…delicate. You’re not sure what it is but the usual comfort, ease that you and Eren had was all but eliminated, left with this quietness. If you made a joke, it was lost to him entirely. If he said something that caught you off guard, you usually avoided responding by leaving the room. You had shouted at him and he made fun of you, so that didn’t leave much room for comfort. 

The train quickly lurches, slowing down all of a sudden. You quickly lose your footing, stumbling in the air as the train stops completely. Before you can fall, Eren secures his hand against your waist, stabilizing you in the air as the train comes to a full stop. You watch a few people get off the train and switch with those getting on, your breath still shaky from losing your balance. 

You feel him lean down, his head directly next to yours as he whispers in your ear, again. His hand is still secured around your waist, holding you steady. Even though the train wasn’t moving. 

“So when I said brace your feet, I basically meant-” 

“Shut up, Eren.” 

“We should get a leash for the ride back. Lock you up real nice so you won’t move.” 

“Perfect! We can use after too, when I have to drag your drunk ass home.” 

The two of you are laughing, readjusting yourself against the pole as the train starts again. His hands are still holding you steady and you can feel your cheeks flushing pink. From the heat. Obviously. 

There’s always moments like this - ones where it feels like nothing’s changed at all. You try not to think too hard about them. They’ve always gotten you in trouble. 

He tightens his grip on your waist every time the train lurches and stops, for all five of the stops. You avoid the pounding in your chest, which only stops when you both hop off the train at the end of the line. 

As you wait for Eren to pay for the return tickets, you spot a tiny black kitten, just at the end of the sidewalk. You immediately run down, nuzzling the tiny little cat as you pet it. As you breathe in the air, you immediately sneeze twice, your eyes watery from the sensation. You immediately hear the sound of a camera clicking, to find Eren standing over you, his phone in hand. 

“What was that for?” 

“Two kitties!”

“Ew.” 

He holds his hand out, pulling you up as the two of you walk down the block to Kenny’s apartment. Your hands are at your side, lightly brushing against Eren’s every time he leans over, making room for the other people on the sidewalk. The sun is setting on top of the buildings, the air slightly chilled. The two of you stop, standing directly on Kenny’s porch. He glances over, giving you one last look. 

“Why are you so nervous, Eren?” 

“He can be really weird. And he’s going to grill you. Just- we have to bear with him to keep the rent the way it is and live together so, just don’t blow it, okay?” 

“I really appreciate your vote of confidence, Eren. Your faith in me is rejuvenating” 

“That’s- shut up, you know that’s not what I meant.” 

The two of you give each other a smile, as Eren turns to the side and knocks on the door. 

“Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?” you whisper. 

“His doorbell is La Cucaracha.” he responds. 

The door swings open and you’re greeted with three faces staring down at you - identical sets of jet black hair and gray eyes glistening in the lamplight of the street. At the sight of you, their faces all visibly droop, as they all welcome you in. 

“He looks too young for you, Levi. And he brought a pretty girl.” 

“Those are the tenants, Mom. Not Erwin.” 

The two of them shuffle down the hall, pushing past into the room. 

“Kenny Ackerman. You must be Eren’s new roommate.” 

“Yes, that’s me. It’s so nice to meet you.” 

You hold your hand out, him nearly jostling your entire body as he shakes your hand. He idles down the hallway to where the other two had gone, leaving you and Eren in the walkway. You whisper to Eren as the two of you hang your coats on the rack. 

“They hate me already.” 

“That’s not true. Kuchel called you pretty.” 

You roll your eyes, the two of you awkwardly shuffling into the living room, where the three of them were sitting across from you. It’s only then that you can get a better look at them and realize that you know one of them. Levi. Your old physics professor. The one who you cried to about not having a roommate that took pity on you and let you sleep in his house. 

“Hi Professor Levi. It’s been a while.” 

“I see you’ve found a roommate. I can’t believe you found a place to live in one week.” 

“I thought you said the two of you had been living together for a few months, Eren.” 

“We have, Kenny.”

“Ah, right. I was just looking around at other apartments for the past week just to see if anything popped up on the market. And they didn’t. So I’m here.” 

Eren ducks his head down, the expression on his face dark. He whispers into your ear as the three of them start chattering, still discussing Erwin. 

“What? You want to move out?” 

“No, no. I was just looking. It must be awkward for you to live with a girl who isn’t your girlfriend, you know?” 

He leans over, his eyes teetering between annoyed and irritated. 

“She’s not my girlfriend. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.” 

The doorbell rings, throwing you and Eren out of the conversation you were having. You watch the three of them jump up and rush to the door, fixing their hair and their clothes as they make it to the door. You and Eren stand up, peeking your heads down the hallway as you watch the three of them greet Erwin. Your old political science professor. 

First Levi now Erwin too? You can feel your cheeks burning from embarrassment, remembering that you had actually cried to the two of them twice - the first time to Levi when you were jumping houses and he agreed to let you stay with them and a second time when Erwin offered you an extra pillow before you went to sleep. 

“Hello. I’m Erwin Smith.” 

“Eren Yeager. This is my roommate, Y/N.” 

“Ah, Y/N. How are you? You figured out your living situation fast!” 

You don’t miss Eren glaring daggers at you out of the corner of your eye as you give Levi and Erwin an awkward smile, shaking your sweaty palms against their hands.

“Okay kid. You and Kuchel should go fix the dinner with Erwin in the kitchen. I have to talk to these two here.”  

Why are you and Eren here the first time Levi’s family is meeting his long term boyfriend? 

You look over to Eren whose irritation has very quickly been replaced with nervousness. Kenny is staring the two of you down, the two of you squished together on his very tiny couch. 

“So. You go to Shiganshina?” 

You feel your voice tangle in your throat, suddenly intimidated by Kenny staring you down. You can hear Eren’s voice echoing in your head, his angry look seared in your mind, your voice not coming out. He’s going to grill you. Don’t blow it. 

“Yes. She’s an Applied Kinesiology major. She’s very smart.” 

You look over, silently thanking the gods that Eren answered for you. 

“Can you pay rent?” 

“She has been, for the past two months.” 

He nods, leaning over the table as he stares you down. 

“I’ll give you a situation. Respond accordingly.” 

You nod, clenching your hands into little fists against the couch. 

“You just got off of work. You’re really tired but you have to stop by the store to get groceries. You’ve purchased them all. What do you do after?” 

You look over at Eren, giving him a weary stare. What the fuck kind of question is that? Is there even a right answer to this? 

“Well, I would leave the store. And take my cart, if I had one, to my car. I’d probably put my stuff away, return the cart, and then just drive home, put everything in the fridge and the cabinets.” 

He nods, taking in your answer as he leans back in his chair. “Do you like Eren?” 

“What?” 

“As a roommate.” 

“Oh. Right. Yeah, he’s great.” 

“Why did you start rooming with him?” 

You can’t lie. It seems wrong to tell him that your old roommates chose not to room with you for the next year - he was sure to not think you were a good fit if you said that. But if he found out you were lying, it would be even worse. 

“Well you see, she-”

“I asked her, Eren.” 

You feel him move his knee, pressing his against yours as his fingers curl around your hand. You feel him squeeze your hand twice, his green eyes warm as he looks at you. Right. You can do this. 

“I used to live with a few of my friends last year. I didn’t really know, but they had picked other arrangements without telling me, so I was left without a roommate for around a week. Eren was nice enough to offer me the empty spot in his room so I didn’t have to jump around from my friends' places every night.” 

He stares the two of you down. You’re rubbing circles into the back of Eren’s hand, the two of you holding your breaths as you wait for his response. 

“Sucks. Kids are bitches.” 

You both squeeze, trying your best not to smile. 

“Yeah.” 

“If you kids start dating, you can't be loud at night. You’ll piss off the neighbors. You can sign the lease after dinner. You passed.” 

He gets up off the couch, his distinct smoke smell leaving the room with him. You turn to Eren, the two of you smiling at each other as you lift your hands to high five. Eren holds your hand in the air, shaking your hand excitedly. 

“You passed, kitty.” 

“Where are we right now? Do you smell that? How does it smell like smoke and laundry at the same time? And what the fuck kind of question was that? I thought I was going to vomit. ” 

“Weird guy. Nice rent rates, though.”

“And Levi. He’s my physics professor. I literally had a crush on him. And his boyfriend, he was my political science professor too. I even stayed over at their house once. This is about to be super weird.” 

“Why did you stay at their house?” 

“I didn’t have a place to stay! This was before you offered, when I was jumping houses.”

“Were they loud at night?” 

“Ew. Don’t put that thought in my head. I’m going to vomit.” 

“Save it for later.” 

“As if. I can hold my drink. Trust me.” 

 - 

You and Eren are seated directly across from Levi and Erwin at the dinner table, Kuchel and Kenny taking the heads of the tables at the ends. A large part of this feels like you and Eren are intruding on a very special moment, but you ignore that and dig into the food. 

Right. For some reason, Kenny picked Thanksgiving food for the menu. In the middle of September. Like full on turkey dinner, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce. 

“So, do you like Thanksgiving, Kenny?” 

“I hate fascism, Y/N. No, I do not like Thanksgiving.” 

You look over at Eren, trying your best to contain your laughter, as Kenny goes on, rambling about something you’re not quite sure about. Everything Eren said was slowly starting to fall into place - you really can’t turn down drinks from the guy. He’d already made you try three different drinks he made and you had only been here for an hour. And the pink lemonade was actually disgusting, Eren’s just a liar. 

Kuchel turns to the two of you, flashing you both a big smile.

“Say Eren. You never told us you got a pretty girlfriend.” 

You and Eren both choke on your food, clearing your throats. 

“Ah. I’m not Eren’s girlfriend. We just live together. Friends.” 

“Uh huh. Right. What a shame. You two are so sweet together. Sharing your sweet little smiles, playing footsie under the table.” 

You immediately drag your foot off of Eren’s under the table, embarrassed that she had caught that. Every time Levi rolled his eyes, Eren tapped your foot to get your attention, the two of you trying not to laugh. It’s not your fault that rolling his eyes is basically like blinking to Levi. 

“Ma. Leave them alone, yeah? They’re just kids, they don’t know what they feel.” 

“I have to agree with Lee’ here, Mrs. Ackerman. Surely, they just haven’t reached that stage yet.” 

“You call Levi Lee’, Erwin? That’s so sweet. Oh you two are just perfect and I-” 

The four of you five of you watch Kuchel burst into tears, taking turns pressing kisses to everyone's cheeks at the table. You and Eren included. When she sits down, Eren leans over, whispering in your ear. 

“She’s like Annie on hour five of being drunk.” 

“More like hour one.” 

You both laugh, silently eating your food as you watch them interact with each other again. Some parts of it feel like a reality tv show. Kenny’s is downright ridiculous - he’s been hurling out whatever comes to his mind. He told Eren that he seemed like the type to commit genocide in another life and then told Erwin that he would be a corrupt military man. 

Kuchel is sweet. Almost two sweet. She spent a large majority of the night crying, telling baby stories about Levi when he was a kid. You don’t miss the way Levi’s ears turn red when she confesses that Levi used to be scared of the toilet when he was younger. 

Best of all are Levi and Erwin. You don’t miss the glances between them - the silent communication they had going on at the table. It’s like the rest of you weren’t even here. That’s where you think Eren got the idea, the tapping on the feet. A signal that you were going to talk laugh about it later. 

- 

Eight drinks in and Kenny is blasting music, doing a solo interpretive dance to Etta James. You and Levi are in one corner with Kuchel, Erwin, and Eren in the other. 

“I can’t believe this guy is your uncle. Did you ever do a DNA test?” 

“Hundreds.”

You turn your neck to find Levi, staring across Erwin on the other side of the room. You follow his gaze, watching Kuchel pinch Eren’s cheeks and Erwin laugh at the two of them. 

“What’s your deal?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“With Eren. You like him right?” 

You look down into your cup, the opaque liquid staring back at you. Erwin had made you a fruity drink, to which Kenny responded “everything about this guy is fruity!” 

“Yeah.” 

“He doesn’t like you back?” 

“No.” 

“I didn’t like Erwin at first. He was too much - pretentious, arrogant, irrational at times.” 

“But?” 

“But, he was my best friend. At some point, all the love and admiration I had for him just became something more. Like, yeah, he was my favorite person to be around but then I wanted to be around him all the time. Tell him the good things, the bad things. Share something with him, anything, everything. I…I didn’t hate myself when I was with him.” 

You smile, squeezing Levi’s shoulder in your hands. 

“That’s sweet, Levi. I’m happy for you.” 

He gives you a small smile, turning his neck back to look at them across the hall. 

“Be his friend. Maybe he’ll come around.” 

 - 

Six drinks in and Eren is feeling buzzed. He was trying his best to pace himself, make sure he was sane enough to take you home at the end of the night. He could tell by the glazed look in your eyes that you were getting there, close to being fully plastered. 

He turns his neck, scanning for you around the room. You kept disappearing. But there you were, directly across from him, leaning against the wall from Levi. He meets your eyes and you give him a soft smile, accompanied with a tiny wave. His heart’s pounding. 

“Do you like her, Eren? Oh please say that you do.” 

Kuchel is squeezing his shoulders, her eyes lighting up in excitement. 

“Yeah. Maybe a little bit.” 

“Oh, oh, oh. You have to tell her. Don’t let her get away now!” 

“Ah, I tried. She doesn’t like me.” 

He watches her face droop, Erwin shaking his head in the air. Both of their cheeks are flushed pink, the cups they were holding shaking in their hands. Surely the only people who were at least somewhat sober were you and Eren, which was saying a lot. 

“You know, Eren. I knew Levi was the one the moment I saw him.” 

“Really?” 

“I liked him so much, I wanted him around. In whatever sense that means. Even if he only wanted to be my friend.” 

“He didn’t want to be with you?”

“Oh no, he loathed me. Like full of hatred.” 

“And that didn’t…bother you?” 

“Maybe a little bit, but we became friends after that. And I just wanted him around. Whatever way he would have me. Even just being his friend, getting to see him everyday, that was enough for me.” 

Eren cranes his neck back over, where Kenny has his arms slung around you and Levi. He’s forcing the two of you to sign with him - Levi looking downright murderous while you flash Kenny a polite smile. 

“Just be her friend, Eren. Maybe she’ll come around like Levi did.” 

 - 

You can’t hold your drink. Obviously. But Eren knew that already. He had been watching you for a better part of the last hour, your inhibitions absent. Erwin had made you yet another fruit themed drink, which you were all too happy to down. The second he saw the glass hit your hand, he’d focused all of his best efforts in trying to sober up, calm the thrill running through his blood. 

You had made your way back over to him after some time, the two of you on the couch. You were leaning your head against his shoulder, your breaths heavy and uneven. At the sight of Kenny - who was now singing with Kuchel on the table - you suddenly perk up, your hands pressed against his shoulders as you lean over him. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm, peaches?” 

“I have a plan.” you whisper, your eyes somewhere between delirious and devious. 

“Uh huh. What’s that?” 

“You and I should sign the lease now. Then mail the letters. That way, we can leave and Kenny can’t get mad because we basically did him a favor. We’ll just tell Levi in case he asks.” you whisper, a smile spreading across your face. 

You’re drunk out of your mind. Not that Eren himself isn’t drunk either, he can certainly feel the buzz he was trying to will away living, but he’s not as gone as you. 

“Genius idea.” 

“I know right!” 

He was being sarcastic, but you had already jumped off the couch, to where Levi and Erwin were standing in the corner. He quickly follows, catching up to balance you as you stumble over to where the two of them were standing. 

“So. Levi. Right, hi Levi.” 

He’s mentally debating if he should stop you. You are very plastered and could potentially say something embarrassing. But there’s something so funny, so endearing about the determined little look on your face that he decides against it, letting you go on. 

“You’re a man.” 

He watches the confusion spread across Levi’s already strained face, his eyes flitting between you and Eren. 

“And you, Erwin, are a man too. You two are men.” 

“That’s correct, Y/N. You’re very perceptive.” 

Eren tries his best to conceal his laughter, as you go on, talking to the two of them. You’re definitely worse than Annie. 

“Marriage. It’s a thing, you know? And a man can do it. And a woman can too. And you are a man and he is a man and you can both do that. And we want to come to that. Like go to there.” 

How did you get from talking about the lease to marriage?

“Eren. What is she going on about?” 

“We’re going to sign the lease papers and mail them on our way out so we can leave. We have to be up early tomorrow and she literally cannot drink more. We were going to ask if you could let Kenny know tomorrow and tell him to be easy on us.” 

“You drive here?” 

“No. Train. We’ll be fine to get back, Levi. I got her.” 

He nods. Eren doesn’t miss the look Erwin and Levi give each other as the two of you lock hands, tip-toeing into Kenny’s office. Of course Erwin told him. 

The two of you quickly rush out, laughing as you run down the block before any of them notice. You slow down as you pass the corner, the two of you strolling the rest of the way down the block back to the train station. He can tell you’re winding down by the way you’re leaning against him, skipping steps. 

The train car is empty, this being the last train leaving the station. He settles the two of you into the seats at the front, getting in first. 

“Ren. Can I have the window?” 

He nods, wordlessly changing seats with you. This seat’s better anyways. You look out the window. And he can look at you. 

You lean over, your eyes drooping as you lean over. He’s not sure what it is, maybe Kenny’s rancid tequila is still running through his bloodstream, but he locks his hand with yours, pressing his fingers against the scar in between your knuckles. 

“I…miss you, Y/N. Being your friend.” 

He watches your expression drop, your eyes fluttering fully open. 

“You don’t think we’re friends?” 

“No! I mean, yes. I just didn’t realize you thought we were still friends. After everything that happened, the fight we had I just kind of- I don’t know.” 

You’re quiet for some time and he can see the gears moving in your head. Your eyes are now pinched shut, your forehead scrunched in concentration. Maybe this was the right time to say this. Hopefully, you don’t even remember tomorrow. 

“Are we in second grade, Ren? Do you really not think we’re friends?” 

Of course. The words he said to you, the day you were sick. 

“We are still friends. I just meant, it was different for the past few days. But today, this was…nice. I enjoyed it.” 

You smile in response, the two of you leaning your heads against the back of the seats, the only sound being the whirring of the train behind you. 

“Y/N. You wouldn’t really move out, would you?” 

“I was hoping you forgot about that. It’s my fault. I kind of…get in my head sometimes, I don’t know.”

“About?”  

“I thought you didn’t want me around. So I didn’t want to be around you. I thought you hated me or something.” 

“Y/N. Look at me.” 

His eyes are dark, the same way as when Levi mentioned you were looking for another roommate. 

“I could never hate you.” 

“I know, I just meant-” 

“No. You clearly don’t know.” 

You turn over to find an irritated look plastered on his face, his jaw clenched shut. You press your fingers against his shoulder, squeezing twice to get his attention. He flutters his eyes open, leaning down to look at you. 

“You’re special to me. I don’t understand what I did that made you think I would ever make fun of you or hate you. You...piss me off when you say stuff like-” 

He’s cut off by you placing your hand on his cheek, your eyes peering into his. 

“Sorry, Ren.’ 

“S’okay. I know why you do it. But just remember, I’m not your stupid old roommates or your lame ex-boyfriend or anyone who ever made you feel that way. You and I are-” 

“Friends.” 

Not what he quite had in mind, but he’ll take it.

“Yeah. You can tell me anything.” 

“Okay. You too.” 

He sees you smile, your eyes wafting shut against his shoulders. He can feel the pit in his stomach burning, the exact same way it did every time you did something. When you smiled at him, fixed his hair, got him coffee. God, he still loves you. 

“So Ren. Do you want to hang out after recess?” 

“Shut up. You’re so corny, kitty.” 

“Ew.” 

- 

The next morning, Eren makes you breakfast and you sing in the shower. Progress. 

- 

next part linked here

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[genericname69420]

The F.B.I's Café

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

Pairing: Spencer x oc (Sasha Petrov)

Warnings: None! At least that I can think of...

She was a baker, he was an F.B.I agent. Can I make it anymore obvious?

Considering nearly every prediction of how that day could've gone, I truly should've been more excited. However, the only thing I felt as I woke up that morning, was dread. It was the day of the grand opening of my café, the one I'd been working towards my entire life. Well, maybe not my entire life. My first choice was to become a spy, but that's not quite realistic, is it? Damn you James Bond.

Despite the monumental gravity the day was supposed to hold, the dread I felt was supported by the equally monumental amount of work that needed to be completed. While opening a café theoretically seems like a tranquil practice, my life in recent years has been nothing of the sort. Lease agreements, contractors, licences, insurance, what am I going to do if the place burns down, my landlord's a dick. There were a million things going through my mind as I navigated the dingy metro system.

When I finally arrived at my café and started the gruelling process of getting the place ready to open, I couldn't help but notice something. Lia wasn't there.

Lia, my sweet, sweet, foolish assistant. She said she'd be there by 7.00 A.M, but as I looked down at my watch on the hand that wasn't putting cookies in the oven, I read 7.30 A.M. That girl is dead.

I baked what I had left in the refrigerator the night before. Cookies, pies, brownies, pastries. I then unloaded the sourdough bread and freshly baked desserts into the display case and shelves strewn across my bakery. All. On. My. Own. Once all the machinery and lights were on, the desserts and my precious bread delicately placed in their designated spots, I finally flipped the sign hung on the front door from closed, to open.

5 minutes passed, then 10, then 15. No Lia, no customers. I sighed, disappointed that Lia still wasn't there, but took the opportunity to relax a little before having to socialise. I grabbed a book from my bag, the one I decided would be most suitable this morning. Empty Planet, I loved it as a kid and wanted that kind of nostalgic comfort after such a stressful few months.

Not even a few lines into the book, I heard the bell I attached to the door ring, signalling someone had entered my cafe. I was anticipating Lia, I wanted to see her sweet face for me to scold. But I was met with a tall, bedheaded, tired looking man. He wore a brown blazer over a light coloured patterned button up and a crooked tie under a light grey sweater vest. As I said, his hair was messy, very messy. It was light brown, curly, and much longer than a guy would usually like it. As he approached the counter, I noticed the smaller details of his face. His scruffy stubble, his button nose, his dark purple eyebags that accompanied his brown honey-like eyes that seemed to shimmer in the sun.

"Um, hello?" his voice pulled me from my trance. Even his voice was sweet, like honey. "Oh, sorry. Hello, see anything that catches your eye?" I asked with a smile, trying to seem friendly despite the frustrating start to my morning. Y'know, as friendly as you can be while running on 3 hours of sleep and a missing assistant.

"Are those... Cookies?" he asked, his eyes fixated on the chocolate chip cookies in the display case. He was almost drooling. "Yeah, just baked them like less than an hour ago. I suggest you get them while they're warm." I chuckled, amused that my cookies had him so mesmerised. "Can I get six?" he asked, his eyes finally meeting mine. Six? Do they look that good? "Um, sure... They look good, huh?" I giggled as I grabbed a paper bag for his cookies. "Oh, no! They're not all for me! I'm buying some for my team." he blurted out, looking somewhat embarrassed. 'Team'?

"Team?" I vocalised my thought. "Oh, um- Coworkers." he stammered, like he said something he shouldn't have. "Right." I chuckled as I handed him his cookies. "Anything else?"

"Can I just get, um... Black coffee with as much sugar as physically possible?" the man hesitantly requested as he reached for the bag. I let out a soft giggle at his peculiar order.

"So... Coffee whithout the ghastly bitter taste?" I joked as I made my way to the little moka pot station I had set up. He returned my laughter. "You could say that."

I'm aware that such a method of coffee making seems rather lacklustre for a self-proclaimed café. However, I find that those irritatingly tricky espresso machines make the process of brewing coffee far too complicated. But, I also just find moka pots rather charming.

I finished up his drink and walked over to him. "A diabetes inducing black coffee for..." I trailed off with my hand outstretched to him for him to receive his affectionately named drink. "Spencer." he snickered as he took the it from me. "Spencer." I repeated. His name rolled smoothly off my tongue and rung comfortably in our ears, as if it was ment to be said in my voice. That's how it felt to me at least. He seemed to feel the same, as a slight tilt of his head accompanied the smile he already wore. "...This is usually the part where you'd say your name."

Oh.

"Oh- Sasha. It's Sasha."

(A.N. EEEEEEE FIRST CHAPTER'S DONE!!!! Not a lot of interaction between Spencer and Sasha, ik BUT TRUST ME! We will get our sweet sweet fluff eventually... But not without some angst.)

[freefolkfightorflight]

Things I’m doing instead of cleaning

Why does it take me months to clean and put away laundry why am I like this why 🥺I’m not even talking deep clean. I’m talking the basics of straightening. Living in such a small space with kids is fucking hard yall. It’s so hard. Part of it is I’m fucking tired and therefore lazy. Part is I feel stressed and angry at how messy my kids are and I just avoid addressing it while they’re here so I don’t lose my cool and yell. (And almost everyday I don’t have them I’m working or recovering from working 14 hour shifts). And then there’s the fact that this place is infested so there’s no “if I clean there won’t be bugs” bc I spent a year of spotless house with all the bugs and it’s fucking depressing. Im deadly afraid of roaches but I’ve desensitized my self enough to where I can kill one behind my kids back with my bare hands just to avoid scaring them. 😳🤮(bc they don’t love them either)

I silently and calmly killed a wolf spider the size of my palm with my bare hand in the bathtub yesterday while Molly was about to shower bc I didn’t want her to freak the fuck out too. Living in the country has its downsides I guess.

Re court. I need to win. I need to get the fuck out of this or gut it and start over (which I’m renting so lol I can’t but I could do something better with like a little spending money as far as organizing tools/dressers shelves etc🤦🏻‍♀️)

Part of my lease agreement is/was? mowing like 10 acres. Well the landlord recently said I need to look at buying my own mower this coming year. LOL. I currently use one of his 2 zero turn commercial ($20k) mowers…bc that’s what he said originally. Because one time in 2 fucking years I accidentally ran over a hose and he had to remove it…everything was fine…... I’m just gonna not. It’s not in said lease. Said lease is also not valid since like a year ago…bc he never made a new one for me to sign. I figure if and when he asks me to leave (if it’s before I can feasibly leave on my own) I’m just gonna middle finger and let him go to the courts to get me out bc fuck him and his judgmental racist self. That should give me like 8/9 months right?

My kids still take turns sleeping with me. Because they want to. My girl is super cuddly. My boy has stopped w cuddling but still likes being near. It was his turn last night. When he got up this morning Molly immediately jumped into bed curled around me and said “my mama” like she did as a baby and my heart melted. This is why I don’t clean while they’re here rn. I don’t have the patience to do it calmly(lately) and top tier requirement for me is to make my home a safe space emotionally (and physically) for my kids.

I’m rambling bc hey I’m still avoiding cleaning. I need a friend. Someone to come over and just chat w me while I do this. But I have one friend and she only comes over like 1-3 times a year. I usually go see her bc she lives in a “mansion” with a craft room and I’m already out driving kids to school anyways.

Anyone wanna call and chat? Or text? Pm me if so. I’m US based. No it won’t be sexual. Just friendly chit chat

[sunsafewriting]

Do A Flip - chapter 4 excerpt (full chapter will be finished and uploaded soon).

Lilith.

“— so Bea and I are gonna get a place together,” Ava concludes happily, moving her little figurine four places and handing Camila literally all of her money, because Camila now owns both blue hotels. “Which is cool, right?” 

It’s actually fucking ridiculous, but no one at the table will say so. Even Lilith, because Shannon, Mary, and Camila are all glaring at her, like she can’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut. Which she can, thank you very much. 

If Ava and Beatrice want to escalate their bullshit, that’s their business. As long as Lilith is never expected to set foot inside their apartment, then Lilith will continue her reluctant detente with Ava. No matter what Shannon says, it is a detente unless Lilith actually hits Ava. Threatening her doesn’t count. 

And — fine. Lilith can admit that Ava’s not the worst person out there, She’s too energetic and too annoying and has such a bad sense of humour that Lilith has taken to just walking away if she so much as starts to look vaguely amused, but Ava’s not as irresponsible as Lilith first took her for. She shows up for the kid, and she shows up for Beatrice. And so Lilith has begrudgingly afforded Ava a spot on the list of people she’ll actually spend time around. Only if her company is diluted by the presence of others, of course; Lilith’s not going to do anything crazy, like hang out with her one-on-one. 

“That is very cool,” Camila replies, adding Ava’s cash to the small mountain already piled up in front of her. 

Ava takes two fifties from Beatrice’s stash — utterly blatant in her cheating, utterly unbothered by it. “It’s a loan, Bea. I’ll pay you back.” 

“I’m sure.”

“Anyway, it’ll suck that we won’t be neighbours anymore,” Ava says to Camila, “but I can come visit. And you can come over to our place whenever.” 

Somehow, Shannon must actually see the words just make sure you knock form in Lilith’s mind, because she nudges Mary, who kicks Lilith under the table. 

“Are you staying in the area?” Shannon asks smoothly. 

“Everything’s here, like Bea’s uni and St Michael’s, so we’re gonna try.” 

“I talked to the landlord about keeping our apartment, but he wants to turn it into an AirBnB,” Beatrice adds, with no small amount of judgement in her voice. 

Lilith has already heard Beatrice’s lecture about rental policies and tenant protection. Ava has, too. At least they were all in the car together at the time, which meant that Lilith wasn’t subjected to that look Ava gets on her face when Beatrice really starts in on a tangent about something. 

“It’s a shit market,” Mary agrees. “You’ve got to know someone.”

There’s a general grumbling of agreement. 

Lilith sighs. “I know someone,” she admits. If her mother could see Lilith now, offering something without getting anything in return — not even a signed agreement preventing Ava from practically sitting in Beatrice’s lap when they do movie nights — she’d disown her. “Neil from my Thursday class is going back to the States, so he needs someone to take over his lease. His street is close to the kid. And your stupid bar.” 

All of them turn to her. 

She shrugs, uncomfortable, then bails, going back to the kitchen to pour herself another drink. At least Mary keeps good gin here. 

Because no good deed goes unpunished, Ava follows after her, smiling entirely too much like someone who thinks Lilith is being nice to her, and not enough like someone who appreciates that Lilith was only trying to avoid having to listen to Ava complain. 

“You could really set that up?” Ava asks. 

“Yes.” 

Neil has never said no to Lilith. But then, that’s a power she has over most people. It’s probably something to do with being tall and hot and smart and accomplished. 

“That would be very, very awesome of you.” 

“Mm.” 

Ava, with unprecedented audacity, takes the bottle of gin right out of Lilith’s hands. 

“What are you —”

“Hush. You’ll like it,” she says, grabbing a few other things from the cupboard and carefully pouring it all into the cup. 

Lilith allows this, even if only because Ava’s confidence in her bartending could stand to be taken down a peg — Beatrice has been brainwashed by Ava’s outfits; there’s no way her drinks are that good, if you’re not distracted by the low-cut tops — and Lilith is giving herself a freebie to be a bit mean. 

Ava finishes mixing her elaborate nonsense and hands the cup back to Lilith, watching her expectantly. 

Lilith takes a sip. 

It’s really fucking excellent, and she’s not fast enough to stop pleasant surprise from showing on her face. 

“Ha!” Ava crows, smacking her hand against the countertop. “You like it. And you like me.” 

“I don’t like you,” Lilith bites back. “I like Beatrice. And Diego.”

Beatrice is always going to be a sister to her, in the way that Lilith understands sisters: as people whose stupidity you tolerate because a part of you is contingent on their presence in your life; people who understand you, sometimes too much. And Diego — well, one time, he’d let her trick Ava into leaning against wet paint, and she’d returned the favour by letting him tell her about underground turtles, so that’s something. 

But Ava is undeterred. “They’re my favourite people, so you liking them means that I like you. Too bad.” 

Lilith takes another sip of her drink. It doesn’t miraculously drop in quality, and Ava remains regrettably gleeful. “I could squash you.”

“I know.” 

Lilith hates how certain Ava seems that she won’t. 

-

Here's the link to the earlier chapters if you're interested: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43728831

[ugh-yoongi]

Hi! Would it be possible to request for another part or a continuation of ‘(don’t fear the reaper)’? Thank you and congrats on the milestone!

hi, thank you so much for the request — and for wanting a second part of my silly little story. i hope you enjoy this. <3

read the original drabble :)

(redefine happiness)

pairing: reaper!jungkook x f. reader genre: supernatural au; crack/humor, a little fluff warnings: swearing, mentions of death (inc. the death of a loved one) and grief, l*ndlords, bickering, slight emotional hurt/comfort. unedited. rating: mature-ish. just because one part deals heavily with death/grief, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, i would probably skip it. wordcount: 1.4k

They say you start life with two bags: one full of luck, and the other empty with experience. The trick is to fill the one before you empty the other.

If you ask Jungkook, your experience bag is still woefully empty.

“You know that smell isn’t normal, right?”

You huff. Roll your eyes even though he can’t see you from his spot on your couch. Well, maybe he can. You haven’t fully figured out the extent of his abilities. You know you can hear him in your head and that he saves you from an untimely death four to five times per week, but to this day, the only person you know that has eyes in the back of their head is your mother. So, yeah—the jury's still out.

“It’s fine,” you retort. “I think the mayo’s just close to going bad.”

“Expired mayo doesn’t smell like sulfur.”

“Sure it does, it’s got eggs in it.”

Jungkook groans. “Do you act this dense on purpose or are you actually this dim?”

“That’s a little rude.”

“Your apartment is about to blow up from a gas leak and you’re worried about pleasantries?”

“I’m just saying,” you argue, and if you switch off the stove, that’s none of Jungkook’s business. “This is a recurring theme when it comes to you. Would it kill you to be nice to me for once?”

“I’m already dead, so no, it wouldn’t.”

“You’re insufferable.” You grab your phone from the counter, readying the emergency number. “Do I have enough time to call the gas company or am I going to blow up in the next two minutes?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you did?” He heaves a wistful sigh. “Blissful silence.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’ve been praying for blissful silence for months—oh, hello! I’m calling to report a possible gas leak in my apartment. Sure, I’ll hold.”

Your landlord is an asshole.

It goes without saying, because he wouldn’t be a landlord if he wasn’t, but it’s worth repeating.

“Do you think he’ll sue me if I steal his credit card and charge it myself?”

“That’s fraud, so yeah, I’d say so.”

You hum. “Okay, but per my lease agreement, he’s supposed to compensate me for the cost of my hotel stay during repairs. Like, he signed the piece of paper that says that. And he refused, so technically he broke the law first.”

“Not sure that’s how that works,” Jungkook retorts. He’s sitting in the chair by the window, a newspaper folded over his crossed legs. Every now and then he laughs at one of the cartoons and goes quiet when he gets to the obituaries. You wonder if it’s like looking through a yearbook for him. “I wouldn’t worry about him anyway.”

He says it in that very matter-of-fact way that always makes the hair on your arms stand up. “What’s that supposed to mean? Jungkook, what does that mean? Is my landlord going to die?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

You groan, throw yourself backwards onto the mattress. It’d be nice to take a shower, but the hotel towels are stiff and itchy from the industrial-strength detergent, and you’ve been trying to convince yourself to get up and go buy something marginally better for the last fifteen minutes. But it seems like such a waste to spend money on a towel, and the thought of spending money at all when your dickhead landlord is still refusing to cough up your compensation does nothing but make your blood pressure spike. Which makes—

“Can’t you meditate or something? You’re driving me insane.”

The ceiling bears the brunt of your glare. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“I can hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Your blood pressure.”

“You’re full of shit,” you accuse. “Why are you even here, anyway? Don’t you have someone else to annoy into an early grave?”

“That’s not my job, first of all. Second of all, there’s someone nearby that I have to pick up in roughly three and a half minutes.”

“Nearby…? Like, how nearby? Next door? Down the hall? A few floors up?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. Not really. Instead, he says, “I’d suggest you go and buy those towels now.”

So you do.

Is it weird to be lonely when you’ve got a voice in your head?

Feels like it is. Feels like other people would’ve taken advantage of it by now. Made friends or something, as much as one can befriend a Reaper, because Jungkook’s always there and always has something to say, and sure, those things he says usually detail all of your inadequacies, but he’s still someone to talk to. Someone it’s possible to get to know. Someone you can form the kind of bond with that might cure some of this incalculable loneliness.

But it’s not like that between the two of you, so you don’t.

Your new apartment building has a rooftop—the kind you can sit on the ledge and dangle your feet off of as you marvel at the city below. Everything is small and insignificant from your place in the sky, and it helps a little to feel like the most powerful thing in the universe.

“You’re not gonna—”

“No,” you cut Jungkook off. “I just like to sit up here sometimes. It’s calming.”

“It’s nearly freezing. There’s two weeks until winter.”

“I don’t mind the cold,” you say, and it might be the most personal thing you’ve ever said to him. Isn’t that pathetic, you think, and you steel yourself for a quip that never comes.

“Is that why you’re up here, then?”

You shrug. “Been having a hard time of it lately, I think. Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Maybe.”

“When you go to collect people, do they talk to you? Like, I know they can see you the way I can, but…” You trail off, looking at the specks of people on the sidewalk below you. Can’t help but wonder. “Are they usually resigned? Do they try to bargain with you?”

Jungkook appears at your side. Sits beside you and dangles his feet off the ledge, too. “Every collection is different, but it usually depends on how they died.” He sucks in a breath, toys with the hem of his thick sweater. “If they’d been sick for a long time? Sure, those people are usually accepting. They usually get the chance to say their goodbyes. That’s… well. That’s not typically the case when it’s sudden.”

“Right, yeah. That makes sense.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I guess—I lost someone a few years ago. I was just wondering if it was peaceful for her.”

“Your grandmother,” Jungkook says, and it’s a statement, not a question. “You carry your grief around with you like a shadow. It’s impossible not to notice it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I think I figured out why you can see and hear me.” You quirk an eyebrow. “Your grief is overwhelming. It was one of the first things I noticed about you, once the shock wore off, but you also reminded me of someone. Took me a while to place it, but then I remembered.”

“You collected her,” you say, putting the pieces together.

“I did.”

“Were you as much of a pain in the ass to her as you are to me?”

Jungkook scoffs, though the corners of his mouth tug upwards. “No, but the two of you are very similar.”

“Yeah, my mom used to tell me that all the time.” You sigh, dreading the question you know you need to ask, but as soon as you steady your nerves and open your mouth, Jungkook’s holding up a hand to stop you.

“It was peaceful for her.” He answers your unspoken question with all the kindness and comfort it requires. “She was ready, and she knew you’d been there to say goodbye to her.”

“Oh,” you choke out around the lump in your throat. “Thank you.”

Jungkook nods. “She did try to bargain with me, though. She asked if there was someone who could look after you. Said you were smart and capable and… stubborn as an ox, I think were her exact words, but she still worried about you.”

“And you got stuck with that job? Sorry, but you don’t seem like the babysitting type.”

“I’m not, but somehow I did.”

You can’t help but laugh, disbelieving and overwhelmed. “Well, it’s lucky for me, knowing how many times you’ve saved my ass, but I’m sure you’re counting down the days until you’re free from me.”

“No,” he replies, and the conviction in his tone nearly has you tumbling over the ledge. Jungkook seems to exist solely to give you shit and remind you how underprepared you are to survive in the world. He doesn’t say no with that amount of faith and principle. “No, little bluebird, I’m not counting down the days at all.”

[megacosms]

  Hello there, this isn’t something I like to do at all but I don’t know where else to turn or what else to do. The person I’ve been living with has decided to move out of the apartment I’m in on July 1st and I’m choosing to stay and have an agreement with the landlord to sign a new lease. He will be charging me a security deposit just to stay in the same apartment I’ve been living in for almost 20 years now with no problems (which is messed up but I don’t really want to make it into a thing) so I will have to pay $1300 for rent plus $325 extra every month for 4 months for the security deposit. The $1300 rent I could swing (with difficulty) but adding the extra $325 for the first 4 months is too much for me and I don’t think I will be able to afford it, which is why I’m making this post. If anyone can afford to help me with anything at all I will leave my paypal below. I’m trying to raise $325 to cover the security deposit payment for July. I know times are tough for everyone so I appreciate any and all help. I just don’t know what else to do. I’m trying to be happy about this person leaving the apartment because they’ve been putting me through endless mental and emotional abuse for a long time but the stress of not knowing if I will be able to afford to continue renting this apartment is really taking a toll on me. So if anyone can help me with anything at all it would be lifesaving. Thank you so much!

Here is my paypal: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/DanielCoelho

Once again thank you to anyone who can donate to help me.

And please share this so it can reach anyone who might be able to help. Thank you so much! Much love <3

[bigskydreaming]

Bit of a vent post, bit of a housekeeping post, bit of a 'so that's what's been happening in Kalen-land' post:

So I have officially done everything that can be done to prepare for our relocation to a different site while they do construction on this one for the next year, which should be....any day now. Since it was originally supposed to happen on October 2nd, lol. Oh, bureaucracy.

If I wrote a memoir of the last two years specifically, 'Oh, Bureaucracy' would be the title, actually. So obviously its no secret that Moukie & I have been struggling for a long time, even after my surgery back in December 2021. But pretty much all of that has to do with our struggles to hack through bureaucracy to secure some actual stability and longterm living situation, since....oh, January 2022. We've finally secured a five year lease to stay in this place (with the exception of the next year, at a different site during construction, as I mentioned), but like....we only JUST got that agreement officially in writing, signed & notarized & all that...last week.

After being told it was basically a done deal but they couldn't finalize anything or put anything in writing until the building sold and the property changed hands and one city service took over oversight of this particular property from another one....pretty much every month since November of last year. They changed dates and timelines on us so many times it was like every three week we'd have a completely new timeline we were looking at for when we could expect to have everything finalized or for the relocation to happen, etc. Most recently, we were told with complete certainty that everyone HAD to be out October 2nd, that construction would be starting immediately after that, nobody would be allowed to stay in the building.

October 31st, and we're still here, lol.

So that's been a fun non-stop rollercoaster ride of stress, lol. The problem, of course, is that before my surgery (12/2021), I'd quite literally been homeless for at least the five years prior to that. Fortunately I never quite made it to the point of having to sleep outside, though there were plenty of times it got close, and spent most of that time living out of cheap motels & extended stay housing while working towards getting enough money together for my surgery, but as far as any landlord or potential renter is concerned, I was for all intents & purposes homeless during that time, and that's....not great when trying to secure housing in the middle of a pandemic right after basically starting your life over from scratch after the surgery to fix the problem that basically derailed your entire life, lol. Not to mention my credit score was practically nonexistent, all my credit cards were maxed out to pay for the surgery & insurance, my driver's license had been expired for years due to not being even able to drive while I had my issues w/my jaw & everything related to that, and getting it back was easier said than done because I'd had like, two unpaid parking tickets at the time of my medical issues beginning & they kinda completely dropped out of sight, out of mind, only to multiply w/fees that were fucking ridiculous to contemplate & going down to the DMV or traffic court to try and argue them down, while my medical issues were still ongoing, was a nonstarter due to how little travel I was capable of in that state....

LOL. Not a great starting point when rebooting for Kalen 2.0 - and of course I'm not going to get into why we had to use my ID & everything for renting & all that, instead of Moukie's, just trust that there were Reasons.

And of course there are programs to help people out with these kinds of circumstances, which is basically what we've been doing since January 2022....navigating that labyrinth of red tape, because actually ACCESSING those programs, proving eligibility, meeting all requirements, keeping consistent with all requirements throughout the months of waiting on a verdict from higher-ups your file's been passed up the chain to....MUCH easier said than done. The hoops are just. The stuff of legends. Especially when you're still having trouble consistently staying stocked on the meds you need to be productive & functional, or even just keeping your phone active. Oof. All of that was very Not Fun.

Which segues into a bit of that venting I was talking about, because over & over the past couple years we've had well-meaning (and not so well-meaning & largely just obnoxious) people asking us in response to our donation posts like, well why don't we just move to a cheaper city? LOL. I just. I wish people would stop to think that maybe if there's such an obvious solution that someone hasn't availed themselves to yet, there's probably a REASON for that.

We actually had several. For starters, there's the fact that I still have stuff related to my jaw to deal with....I still have no teeth, lol, and haven't really been able to even START getting the bone grafts I need to be able to get implants at some point, so I'm not stuck with dentures for the next fifty years....and it took me literal years to find dentists familiar with my situation, willing to work with me on payment plans & longterm strategizing, etc.....not that easy to just start over with all of that in another, smaller city. Not to mention if I do have any problems with my prosthetic, LA's one of the only places that has ANY surgeons that deal with this specific kind of jaw replacement surgery, so I'd always have to come back here for any further medical related stuff.

But then there's additionally the fact that all those programs meant to help people like us who are literally trying to restart their lives after medical issues, homelessness, etc.....they're pretty much all specific to their own city. They're all contingent on each individual city's resources, services, populations and a million other details.....so moving to a different city basically means having to start all over again with applying to THAT city's housing aid programs & navigating THAT city's bureaucracy from its beginning & forfeiting however much time or progress you've put in already in the city you're currently in. And frankly, most cities don't HAVE as good of aid programs as LA does....its just...it takes fucking forever to actually make full USE of such programs, as evident from the fact that after almost two years, we're only FINALLY to the point where one of those programs has been able to actionably help us secure longterm housing.

(And also there's the fact that when we don't even have enough money for groceries, how cheap do people thinking picking up and moving to another city actually IS? Like. You need starter money to even GET there & get on your feet or you wind up in an even worse situation than we were in).

But honestly, we didn't have it so bad, we have been able to stay housed & working various odd jobs for the past two years....its just been long, and stressful, never actually knowing when or even IF we'd get to the point where we stopped worrying about being kicked out at any given moment, and there were times that looking for housing or trying to deal with bureaucratic red tape was the equivalent of a full time job, in terms of hours required.

All of which is to say....be aware when assuming the worst of various donation posts & their posters, that except in the case of actual scammers, no matter what you may think of how a particular donation request was worded or described their situation, its almost always VASTLY more complicated than can be summed up in a couple of easy to read paragraphs that might actually get people to help. I promise you, if super obvious solutions seem evident to you, they've occurred to the people living with that situation 24/7, and there's a reason that they haven't tried that solution or maybe they even did & for whatever reason it didn't actually work out.

And that said, all of this is also to say just....thank you again for everyone who's helped us out over the years. I know it often seems unending or like we're never getting our acts together, lol, but trust me, it feels that way to us too, times a million, and like....we're working on it. Its just. Much easier said than done. For every hurdle cleared, there's usually another one waiting to pop up like a fucking whack-a-mole game from Hell. Since January 2022 we've been consistently working towards a longterm, stable housing situation and this is it, this is what we were working towards.....we've been fully approved for relocation to the other site for the next year & then returning to this one after construction/renovation, w/a lease agreement for the next five years.....and that's the dream, honestly.

Genuine stability, not having to worry about whether we'll have to move at any given moment, actual housing security....allowing us to FINALLY focus on building our lives back up, instead of constantly grinding just to keep a roof over our head & make sure nobody's about to kick us out....and having the room to breathe & for the first time in literal years (in my case, almost seven at this point) actually prioritize something OTHER than figuring out where we stand on paperwork, filing, tracking down various liaisons to bug them yet again about an accurate timeline for when we'd be notified of whether or not we'd been approved for this program or that one, when we'd actually be relocating, when we had to make x payment by to ensure we didn't lose our qualified status, etc.

And I, for one, definitely can not WAIT to give more of a shit about the absolute stupidest shit imaginable instead of like....warily checking the hall to see if new eviction notices popped up overnight. LMAO.

Anyway. Like I said, we finally have our agreement in writing, we know where we're relocating to, and as soon as that actually happens - which they keep insisting should be any day now, sigh - we'll finally be in a much better place. As part of the relocation program we landed in, our rent at the other site is covered during the year this site is under construction, so already just from that alone we'll be much better off financially.

Moukie's been sending around a donation post this month, and we'll probably keep it circulating up until the day the movers arrive and they finally pull the trigger on us leaving this site, because for the last three months they've been insisting that October 2nd was absolutely going to be our last day here, and we planned around that timetable....meaning that since October 2nd came and went with us still here, our only jobs at the moment are whatever freelance ones we can scrounge up, since the new place is far enough away a commute to & from a workplace around HERE wouldn't be viable, so I can't even go look for a new one to replace the last one until we're actually in the area we'll be spending next year in, lol. So in the meanwhile we've basically been surviving off donations since freelance work is painfully dry at the moment, and as it is, the company Moukie does editing work for still hasn't paid them for their last job yet, which was back in September, I believe? Its ridiculous, but it is what it is.

So yeah, we'll keep that post circulating a bit longer til we're out of here for good, basically just for food money until we're settled in the new place & can grab a new 9-5 and I would say something about that damn patreon I'm always claiming I'll make except I am a Proven Liar Not To Be Trusted On That Subject at this point, but hey, once we're in the new place, maybe that will finally change.

That's basically everything I set out to ramble about, I think, so....I'm done. Wait. Lemme check - yeah, no, that's it, I'm good. I've said it before but it'll never stop being true: we would not have survived if it weren't for the kindness of strangers & the help of mutuals & followers & we really are so much more appreciative of it than I can ever adequately express. I know that can come across as lip service, but genuinely, people here have done more for us and to help us and to see us succeed than our families ever did and we've been reduced to ugly-crying more than once as a result. Its gotten bad, guys. Like. When I go all out, it's not a pretty sight. I've got that pale Irish skin that gets all splotchy when I'm emotional, my nose gets all stopped up, I make scrunchy faces like a baby that KNOWS its not as pretty as its parents keep trying to pretend and is out to prove it....its a whole mess.

And on that note - and imagery - I'm officially done here. Thanks for reading!

[kelyon]

Contract

Before beginning a new BDSM relationship, Belle French and Mr. Gold hammer out their written agreement.

Read on AO3

Belle French sat primly on the edge of one of Mr. Gold’s dining room chairs and read the page in front of her. At the other end of the long table, Mr. Gold also had laid out a collection of papers. Both of them had the same document, but he wasn’t reading his copy. He held the handle of his cane in both hands and looked at her the whole time. 

She felt his eyes on her as she tried to read, which made it impossible to concentrate on the words. Maybe this was a bad idea. Everyone knew not to sign anything without having a lawyer read it first, and that went double for any agreement made with Mr. Gold. All over Storybrooke, he had written contracts that gave him the advantage and left the other person with no options but to do exactly what he wanted. He was a ruthless, heartless son of a bitch, everybody knew that.

But what he had proposed to Belle, what they were now about to negotiate, was an offer too intriguing for her to dismiss. 

The contract wasn’t a legally-binding document, Gold had made that clear. It was just an agreement, an understanding. Before they moved forward with their new relationship, it was important that they both know what to expect. 

Besides, Belle didn’t know any lawyers. Even if she did, she couldn’t imagine asking a legal professional to sign off on the sorts of things she and Gold were talking about doing.

Crossing her ankles under the table, she looked up from the contract. She tapped a clause with the pen Gold had provided. 

“I’m glad this is on the first page,” she said.  “The mutual consent and authority to revoke.”

“Of course,” Gold was quiet. His face didn’t have much expression, but his eyes were fixed on her. “I’m not interested in trapping you, Miss French.”

He really did have lovely eyes. Dark and intense, often cold. What would those eyes be like once Mr. Gold heated up?

“And the renegotiation after a period of thirty days, I like that.”

He shifted in his seat. “I thought it an appropriate interval. Enough time for both of us to get our bearings, then see if anything needs to change. Or if you want the relationship to end after that period, that’s fine too.”

According to the revocation clause, either one of them could walk away at any time. But he had given them a mandatory expiration date. In case she wanted to stop.

“You don’t think you might want to end things after the one-month trial period?”

“No,” he looked into her eyes. “I know what I want, and I know I want it from you. The only question is whether you want the same thing.”

Belle’s face went hot and her pulse jumped up a few beats per minute. “And if we both do want to continue after thirty days?

“We can negotiate for a longer period at that time. Perhaps ninety days, or six months. I also understand if you want to keep it month-to-month.”

“You really are a landlord, aren’t you?”

Gold grinned. “My tenants are bound to a yearly lease. What I’m asking you to undertake is much more serious.”

“Right.” Belle turned over the first page and began to look at the second. “Let’s get into that.”

“Before we do,” he raised one of his long fingers, “I’d like to review the second clause on the first page, about confidentiality.”

Belle flipped back to the first page and looked at it again. “Oh right. What’s a sex contract without a gag order?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but Gold sat up straight and looked away, like he was insulted. 

“I mean, I understand,” she said as an apology. “You have a right to privacy. I know this is just making sure I don’t blab your deep dark secrets to everyone in Storybrooke. I don’t mind at all.”

“It’s not that,” he said quietly. He brushed something off of the polished wood tabletop. Probably a bit of dust that wasn’t really there. “My reputation around town is already so besmirched, nothing you might reveal could possibly lower people’s opinions of me. And don’t forget that I chose you for this position, Miss French. You wouldn’t be at this table if I didn’t already have considerable trust in your discretion.”        

“So…?”

“So the confidentiality clause is for your benefit. Your good name doesn’t need to be damaged by any association with me.” 

“The contract mentions developing a ‘mutually agreed-upon cover story.’”

He nodded. “That way you can answer anyone who asks why you might come to my house, or be seen conversing with me in a public setting. I thought you might pretend to be my housekeeper.”

Belle’s lips quirked. His plan made sense. And if she told people she was working for him, that would also explain why she suddenly had more cash than usual--though it would be a very well-paid housekeeper who had the kind of salary Gold was proposing.

“Are you married to the idea of a housekeeper? Could it maybe be something less menial? I mean, if I told my father I was coming over here to clean, he might ask me why I’m not wearing something practical for work. Unless you want me to come over in jeans and an apron?”

Gold shook his head. “No, no. God forbid anything keep you out of skirts and heels, Miss French.”

Belle snorted, and felt her face flush at the same time. Maybe it was silly, considering what they were here to do, but a part of her was still surprised to hear Gold compliment her fashion choices. It forced her to know that he had noticed her. Without her knowing, he had been looking at her, looking at her clothes as well as her character.  Long before he came to her with this offer, he had considered her. He had decided that he wanted her, but he had never told her about it until now. 

She took a breath, and got her thoughts back on track.

“We could say I’m doing clerical work, maybe. Helping you catalog all the antiques?”

“Whatever you like,” he said. “We can decide what the story is later, just so long as we both say the same thing.”

“Sounds good.” 

In the margins of the contract, Belle wrote a reminder to come up with a cover story. That settled, she smacked both hands against the glossy wood tabletop. She did it without thinking, a sort of ‘back to business’ gesture.

At the sound of the impact, Gold’s eyes fluttered shut. His mouth opened, just a little. The reaction was almost a flinch, but there was no fear in it. All of a sudden, the dark room seemed warm and stuffy. 

Belle took a breath. She listened to her heart beating. Then she allowed the moment to pass.

When she looked at Gold again, his face was as expressionless as before.

“Okay,” she said softly. She flipped through the pages, to the meat of the contract. “Now, you understand that I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of dynamic, right? Like, I’ve played with people, but it’s never been anything this formal or this intense. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Educational materials are listed in Appendix A,” Gold said briskly. “Over the years I’ve amassed considerable research on the topics you’ll need to be knowledgeable about in order to perform your duties. I assume you won’t mind reading a book or two on the subject?”

She grinned at him. “I’ve read a book or two, Mr. Gold. My point is that theory isn’t the same as practical, physical knowledge.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I understand that, and I’m more than willing to guide you through your first ‘hands-on’ experiences. Or there are educators listed in the appendix as well. We can call them for one-on-one sessions.”

Her eyes ran down the list of names and phone numbers. She recognized some of the authors and sex educators. “These are all people you know personally?”

“In some cases, quite personally.”

“Huh.” She set down the papers. “I have to say, you seem pretty established in the world of kink, Mr. Gold. What do you need a novice like me for?”

He straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Well, you’re local, for one thing. Confidentiality is a small concern compared with the hassle of driving to Boston several times a week.”

Wait a second--several times a week? Belle flipped over to the clause about frequency. There it was: Three evenings a week, with the option of staying overnight, and at least four eight-hour sessions per month broken up between Saturdays, Sundays, or bank holidays. It wasn’t quite a full-blown 24/7 power exchange, but it was a commitment. Was Gold really going to need her this much? How much pain was it healthy to inflict on a person in one month?

“I’m, um, looking at the section on ‘expectations per session,’” she began. 

“I tried to keep that area open for now. Lots of room to experiment. We can learn how we want to do things. What’s best for us.”

She tried not to notice the lingering satisfaction Gold put on the word us. For all that he had most of the power in this situation--in every situation--Belle knew that he was actually a very lonely man. More than the money, that knowledge had influenced her choice to hear out his offer.

“Right. I just… it’s a lot of time,” Belle said. “I know BDSM scenes can be lengthy, but--”

“Oh, I don’t expect every moment of our time together to be a scene,” he said. “If that’s what you thought, I--I’m glad you brought up your concerns.”

“Okay,” Belle sat back a little in the plush chair. “So a session isn’t a scene, that makes sense. In that case, what is a session? Like, we have a scene and aftercare and what else?”

“I’d like to eat with you.” For the first time, Gold’s eyes weren’t on Belle. He stared at a nondescript spot in the center of the table. It was like this was the first part of their conversation where he didn’t have absolute confidence.

She leaned forward. “Do you want to go out to dinner with me?”

His eyes flashed toward her for just a second, the whites of them a blaze in this dim room. 

“That won’t be necessary.” Gold cleared his throat. “Confidentiality clause.”

The clause he’d set up for her protection, not his own. How much did he really want this to be a secret?

“We wouldn’t have to eat anywhere in Storybrooke. You could take me out of town. Somewhere nicer than a diner.” 

 “Really?”

  It was a whisper, a breath, a half-spoken hope too small and weak to bear the crushing weight of reality. 

Belle waited until Gold dared to look at her again, then she gave him a slow smile. 

“Really.”

Something loosened in him. His posture relaxed by a hundredth of a percent. He wasn’t smiling, but the grim lines around his mouth had softened. 

All these minuscule reactions stirred something in Belle. It was clear to her now that Mr. Gold was wound up tight. If she signed this contract, she would be able to get him to relax.

“What else would you want to do?” she asked. “Like, not strictly BDSM stuff, though I’m sure we can find ways to incorporate the lifestyle into everyday things. I just--I’m getting the impression that you want some non-kink, non-sexual activities with me. What would that look like?”

Gold shrugged. “It could look like anything.”

“So… monster truck rallies?”

He winced at that. Belle snickered at her own joke. 

“If such events are your desire, Miss French, I would appreciate you indulging in them on your own time.”

She snorted. “Sounds good. But seriously?”

“Seriously?” He looked at her for a long moment. “Seriously, I would like to go on dates with you. I’m not much good at dancing and I detest modern movies, but, well… There’s theater, concerts. We could go to museums together. There are some beautiful parks and gardens in Boston that I’ve always wanted to show someone. I have a cabin out by the lake where we could stargaze. I could take you to every bookshop on the Eastern Seaboard.”

“See, if you had started with bookstores, you’d have me for all the kinky fuckery you wanted, no negotiation necessary.”

He shook his head. “That’s why I didn’t start with bookstores, Miss French. I’m not trying to turn your head with luxuries. I want you with your full faculties. Before we do anything, you need to understand what you’re getting into with me.”

The way he said it made it sound like he was secretly a monster. She didn’t think he was. Biting her lip, Belle looked down at the pages of the contract that outlined expected behaviors for the Dominant and Submissive.  

“The whole contract is opt-in, right? We’re doing this like Subway instead of McDonald’s?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Belle couldn’t help but smile. When was the last time Mr. Gold had gone out to a fast food restaurant? She explained the metaphor:

“Some restaurants make your sandwich to order. They have all the ingredients laid out, but they’ll only put on what you specifically ask for. Other places have a standard sandwich and  you have to ask for things not to be on there. You have to tell them you’re allergic to tomatoes or you don’t like mustard or whatever. Sometimes they put up a stink about making a special order. Me personally? I’m a much bigger fan of getting a custom order that gives me exactly what I like and nothing I don’t want.”

“Well, I‘m a fan of giving you what you like, Miss French.”

She could tell. 

“So only things that are in the contract are on the table, right? We won’t be dabbling with, like, age play, pet play, watersports?”

“No.”

He seemed definite, which was fine for Belle. The contract as it was included more than enough kinks to keep them busy, at least until the thirty-day renewal. 

“I’m going to insist on specific negotiations before every scene,” she said. “And that consent can be revoked at any time for any reason. Not just for the contract as a whole, but any particular act or attitude. Even if we’ve done something before, headspaces can change from day to day. Sometimes from minute to minute. This contract is extensive, but no piece of paper can cover every eventuality.” 

Gold shrugged. “The contract as written says everything I want it to. In my opinion, further negotiations won’t be necessary until the mandatory thirty-day renewal. That being said, your opinion on the subject matters. I’m willing to yield to your point.”

“Good.” Belle made a note in the body of the contract. “Specific acts to be negotiated at specific times before the start of each scene.” She set down her pen. “Cause listen, if one of us is having a bad day or is feeling sick or something, I don’t want to be held to the rules of a best-case scenario. You know?”

He nodded. “I understand your point, Miss French. Though I maintain it won’t be necessary.”

“But you’ll abide by the revision?”

“Of course.”

He had better. Especially while they were still learning each other’s tics and moods and limitations. Until they developed an unspoken dynamic, they were going to have to say things out loud, very plainly, every time. It was a matter of safety.

“I don’t see anything about safe words in all this.” She looked up from her pages. “Don’t tell me you’re the type that doesn’t use them?”

For a long minute, Gold didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at her. He just rolled his pen back and forth between his fingers. 

“I understand why someone like you would think safe words are necessary,” he said evenly. “And of course we can add their use into the terms of our deal. However, my motto has always been caveat emptor, let the buyer beware. If someone isn’t willing to be hurt, then why are they engaging in dangerous activities?”

“Because it’s simulated danger.” This should be obvious, especially to someone with as much experience as Gold. “You go to a haunted house to be scared, not to have your limbs torn off by a machete.”

He kept looking away from her. His voice was distant when he spoke. “For some people, the machete is the goal.”

Belle bit her lip. She was going to have to fight him on this, wasn’t she? Fine.

“Safe words are a must,” she said. “For everything. Especially pain. Because this section on pain play is, respectfully, insane. And sanity is another must in my kink.”

Gold made a dismissive face. “It’s not that bad.”

“There’s a sub-section here on wounds requiring stitches.” She held up the paper and pointed at the words. “Is this medical play? Are we trained nurses? Because I am not comfortable with that level of risk. If you’re not willing to back down on some of this, I’m gonna have to walk away.”

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain his iron-clad composure. His thumb rubbed against his first two fingers. His mouth twitched with unspoken words.

 “You have every right to revoke,” he said stiffly. “But I must state my case: For me, this is the heart of the contract. Of the entire relationship. Even more than the sexual components.”

Belle read over his list of desired activities. “Spanking, flogging, even impact play is fine, but burning?” She knew how horrified she must look. “Are you serious about this?”

He waved his hand. “It’s temperature play.”

“I’ve done temperature play. I’ve done wax play. Those are fine. This is something else.”

Gold began to protest, but Belle found another objection.

“What can you even do with a sledgehammer?”

“That’s mostly for intimidation. A haunted house, as you said. BDSM is about bringing participants to the edge of their mental limits as well as physical.”

“But it’s not about hurting people!” Belle blurted it out without thinking, then waved away the obvious counter. “You know what I mean. The point is, I’m not comfortable with this much pain play. Especially three times a week and especially if you’re noncommittal on safe words. I’m not here for edge play, and I want it out of the contract.”

For a moment, Gold scowled. Then he seemed to give up. He gestured towards her pen and she took that as leave to start scratching out parts of the section.

 “Shall we go through it line by line?” he asked. “Or would you rather remove the entire section? We could replace physical pain with the psychological torture of attending amateur comedy shows.”

Despite herself, Belle snorted. You could tell a lot about a man by how he reacted to the word ‘no.’ If Gold was letting her remove a sizable chunk of his favorite kink and he was still able to have a sense of humor about it, that was a good sign. She wanted to do this with Gold, but she wouldn’t play with someone who didn’t respect her limits. 

“I’m just crossing out the stuff that’s too extreme for me.”

“Can we keep knife play?” Gold asked. “I’ve got this dagger I’m quite taken with.”  

“We can cut clothes but not flesh.” Belle wrote that down. “I’m not a complete wimp.”

His face was soft when he looked at her. “No, of course not,” he murmured. “I believe you’re very strong indeed, Miss French.”

Her cheeks went warm again. His confidence in her was flattering and encouraging. She did want to expand her kink experience. Gold seemed like a promising teacher. But they had to take things step by step. They had to build up to the metaphorical machetes and apparently literal sledgehammers. Eventually, both of them would get what they wanted. Both of them would give what they were comfortable giving. That was the whole point of having this conversation before they started.

“We’re using safe words,” Belle insisted. “Check-ins are absolutely mandatory during a pain scene, and tons of aftercare when it’s done.”

“Fine, fine,” Gold muttered as he wrote. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Since we’re on the subject of things I don’t like.” She pointed at the next section. “We need to talk about humiliation and degradation.”

“Don’t you like dirty talk, Miss French?”

“I don’t like the idea of kink being dirty.” She leaned back. “I mean, I respect the transgressive element, the idea that we’re doing what society thinks is filthy and taboo. But I hate the idea that anything is inherently, fundamentally Bad and that we’re Bad People for wanting it.”

“Interesting, considering your revulsion at pain play.”

“That’s about safety,” Belle had to keep herself from snapping. “And it’s about my preferences. If a consenting adult wants to deepthroat a cactus, that’s their prerogative. I just can’t be a part of it for my own reasons. But there’s nothing wrong about doing it or wanting to do it. You know how the saying goes: Your kink is not my kink and that’s okay.” 

“But humiliation…” Gold said. “That’s not okay?”

“In our specific case, public humiliation might interfere with the confidentiality clause. More broadly? I’m not interested in shame. I think kink should be a joyous thing, something you can take pride in. For a lot of people, BDSM scenes are where they feel like their truest selves.”

“Even if your truest self is a worthless, needy slut?”

As self-righteous as she was being, Belle couldn’t deny the red-hot streak of desire that flashed through her when he said those words. He was good at dirty talk. She put her palms on the table and took a breath.

“There’s a difference between playing something and really believing it,” she said. “Sometimes it’s a fine line. Point is, I don’t think anyone is worthless. I don’t think being a slut is a bad thing. And if someone is needy, it means they’re aware enough to know what they need and ask for it. Being brave enough to ask for what you really want--even when everything in the world tells you you’re not supposed to want it--that should be celebrated.” 

From across the table, Gold’s breathing was deep, and a fraction of a second faster than normal.

“Is that what you want from a scene?” he asked. “A celebration?”

“When I’m in a scene, I don’t want anyone to feel bad about themselves.”

He let out a dry laugh. “You may need to temper your expectations, Miss French.”

“No,” Belle said simply. “No, that’s a limit for me. I’m not going to play with degradation.”

Gold opened his mouth, then closed it. “Fine.” He drew a large X over the entire section. “It’s probably for the best.” 

Belle crossed out the text on her copy and moved on to the next section.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have a problem with the list of sex acts. Though there is some stuff on this list that I have not tried before.”

He looked up from the page. His dark eyes were on her, but there was a wariness in his expression. 

“Feel free to eliminate any acts with which you’re not one-hundred percent comfortable,” he said. “If you need to, we can eliminate this section as well. BDSM doesn’t have to be sexual--”

“Nah.” She cut him off. “I mean, yes, of course. BDSM doesn’t have to be sexual. But this is a detailed list, Mr. Gold. You want a lot of these acts, and I think you want them badly. And I’m not opposed, it’s just my inexperience again. Like, anal fisting? Don’t you need equipment for that?” 

“I have equipment,” Gold rubbed his thumb along the handle of his cane. “Really all one needs is lubricant and a willing spirit.”

“Oh I am willing.” Belle’s eyes glazed as she read over the list of orifices expected to be available for penetration, over the descriptions and dimensions of various toys, over phrases like forced chastity and deepthroat training. Hell, just the opportunity to have sex three times a week plus bank holidays was enough to entice her. “I just might need a little patience.”

“I am nothing if not patient, Miss French.”

After a moment’s further reading, Belle looked up from her paper. “The contract seems a little vague on whether or not this has to be part of a scene. Do you want to have sex in our non-BDSM time?”

The clatter of Gold’s cane falling to the ground rang out through the otherwise quiet dining room. Coughing, Gold bent out of his chair to pick it up. He straightened up to gather himself, but didn’t look Belle in the eye. 

“Miss French, I assure you, we can have sex as often and under as many circumstances as you’d like.” 

She snorted. “It’s been a while since my last round of STD tests. And I’ll have to get back on birth control.”

“Do you need me to compensate you for medical expenses?”

“No, I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

Gold picked up his pen. “We should add that to the contract. If you suffer any injuries during our time together, I’ll cover all the costs.”

“Can’t say no to workman’s comp,” Belle agreed as she wrote down the addition. “And all of the equipment listed in Appendix B, that’s all going to be stuff that you’ll buy or that you already own?”

“Yes. As well as any other expenses. Meals, travel, every book on the Eastern Seaboard--you’re not paying for any of that, Miss French.”

Belle tried not to smile too much at the thought of being showered with hardbacks. It was like he was offering to give her an entire library. 

“What about clothes? Do you want me to have a uniform or something? Dress code?”

“Yes.” His voice was thick. “I would dearly love to buy you a complete wardrobe, Miss French. Clothes, shoes, jewelry.” Gold licked his lips. “Lingerie. I could give you a stipend, or--or pick items out for you.”

Now she couldn’t keep herself from grinning. She leaned onto the table. “What would you pick out for me?”

“Skirts and heels seem to be your affinity,” he said with utter confidence. Clearly, he had put some thought into the subject. “Your style is loose and flowing, and that’s lovely for day wear. But I’d like to see you after dark, Miss French. Something risque, something tight. I want to see you wearing clothes that say fuck me.”

Belle swallowed. “Yeah?”

“You know Louboutin, the heels with the red backs? They have a style with a strap across the ankle. Might be a little taller than you’re used to, but I’m sure you can rise to the challenge. If you went out wearing those shoes with a short black dress, everyone who looked at you would want you.”

“And they’d know that I’m going home with you.”

“Yes.”

The word was a whisper, but it was the surest sound Belle had ever heard. Gold kept going.

“There’s a man I know in Boston who makes custom lingerie. He’s an artist with silk and lace, leather and metal. I would give you to him as a canvas, Miss French. I’d pay just to see how he decorates your body. How much beauty he can add to perfection.”

Belle knew her cheeks must be flaming red. The heat of self-consciousness was sharper, more stinging, than the warm glow that had gone through her at various points of the conversation. Being wanted was different than wanting something for herself.  

“Whatever happened to not turning my head with luxury?”

“Oh, I’m not trying to seduce you by giving you what you want,” he said in a low voice. “I’m telling you what I want, Miss French. I want to see the most beautiful woman in the world wearing clothes that are worthy of her. I want you to feel stunning, and powerful, and absolutely adored.”  

“Adored,” Belle breathed. She let the word sink in for a moment. Let it nestle in some hidden sweet spot between her libido and her heart. She locked eyes with Gold. “You want to adore me.”

“Yes,” he said. His gaze didn’t waver for an instant. “What did you say earlier, that kink was a celebration? I want to celebrate you. I want to worship you. I want to push you to your limits and help you realize your full potential as a sexual being. Miss French, I want to transform you. I want to help you become the best version of yourself--confident, radiant, a goddess.”

She couldn’t breathe. Even from across the table, the force of his desire was overwhelming. What he was offering her--he wanted it so much, wanted her to have it so much that she couldn’t keep herself from wanting it too. Forget turning her head with luxuries, he was turning her head just by wanting her.

Belle shook her head to clear it. Gold was still looking at her. His posture hadn’t changed, but his eyes were soft and dark. They were so full of longing--not pleading or demanding but longing--they reminded her of a hero from one of her books. 

Gold’s expression looked like there was a string somewhere under his left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string inside her own small frame--and if that cord was snapped, he had a curious notion he would take to bleeding inwardly. He looked like he had struggled in vain to repress his feelings, but that one word from her would silence him forever. He looked like he was half-agony, half-hope.

 She let out a long breath.

“Let’s move on to the final section.” Belle’s hands shook a little as she flipped to the next page of the contract. “Obedience and protocol.”

“I put a lot of thought into this section,” Gold said.

“I’m sure you did.” The words were flippant, but Belle meant them sincerely. “You put thought into everything, don’t you?”

“Into everything that matters, yes.”

Belle read out loud. “‘The Submissive is to wear a collar at all times during the duration of the relationship. Eye contact is restricted based on the preference of the Dominant. The Submissive is to begin every session kneeling at the Dominant’s feet.’” She looked up. “Are you sure about that? Did you mean to put scene instead of session?”

“I meant what’s written down. Even the most vanilla of dates should include a moment to remember what this dynamic truly is. Call it a sign of devotion.”

“Okay, but kneeling?” She looked at him. “There are other ways to show humility.”

“I like kneeling.”

“Okay.” Belle tapped her pen against the word, but didn’t make a move to alter it. Gold knew his own mind. It would be her task to give him what he wanted. 

She read on about the service and deference that would be required. 

“Foot worship is something new for me. Does that include foot rubs?”

“Oh absolutely,” Gold murmured. “Nothing but the best.”

There was some housework included on the list. Most of it seemed to be more for show than drudgery. Drawing baths, making the bed, keeping the sex toys cleaned and maintained. 

“This item about cooking, is that just dinners we eat together?”

Gold cocked his head. “As opposed to…?” 

“What about packed lunches?” Belle offered. “Definitely breakfast in bed on nights when I’m over here.”

“Would it violate the confidentiality clause to provide snacks to the workplace?”

“Oh that’s brilliant!” Belle wrote it down. “Maybe confidentiality could be maintained via anonymous or third-party delivery. That would turn a box of cookies into a dirty little secret.”

He grinned at her. A new light had entered his eyes.

“This is why I chose you,” he said. “Of course you’re beautiful and good-hearted and brave enough to seriously consider this opportunity, but this is what matters most to me. That you’re creative and collaborative. Our time together will be a true partnership. We will work together to create extraordinary experiences.”

They were silent together for a beat, then Gold cleared his throat. 

“That is, of course, assuming you agree with all the points we’ve discussed today.”

“Oh, I agree.” Belle turned to the last page of the contract, where there were two blank lines for signatures. “There are still some open points that need refining, but overall, I’m very happy to begin our new relationship.”

The pen danced over the paper as Belle signed her name. She pushed herself out of her chair and crossed the table to meet Gold where he sat. He had already signed his copy and was reaching for hers. They made the exchange and then it was done. 

The contract was signed. 

Belle took a breath. Her heart was fluttering. Gold looked like he had woken from a dream just to find that the dream was still happening.

“Well,” Belle said. “Do we want to count today as our first session? We’d still have plenty of time to do a scene. Or just fuck.”

“Whatever you like,” Gold said, a little breathlessly. He was staring into the middle distance, shell-shocked. “You’re in charge.”

“Now, now.” Gently, Belle reached out and brought her hand to his face. She held his chin and forced him to look at her. “You know that’s not true. Submissives have the real power.”

“I want you to have the power now,” he whispered. 

A wide smile grew across Belle’s face. It was one thing to top strangers at play parties in the dungeon in Boston. It was something altogether different to have Mr. Gold shaking like a leaf under her touch.

“In that case,” she said firmly. “The contract states that you have to start every session on your knees.”

“Yes,” Gold whispered. He slid out of his chair, used his cane to support himself as he got into position to kneel at Belle’s feet. For the first time that evening--possibly for the first time in a long time--Mr. Gold beamed. “Yes, Mistress.”

[carmenpeach]

this is for the carmen lore lovers okay i always think "i should complain less both irl and online since its probably not good to be so negative all the time" but anger really does keep me alive etc but good god this mold shit is driving me insane like thank god i live with all my irl friends cause no way in hell would i invite someone over like "yeah ignore the mildew smell and dont look too closely at anything and dont touch the walls theyre permawet" its humiliating and it's so shameful just having to exist here and who knows where im gonna be living in a month im soooooo sick of this bouncing around where i live the last so many years -_-

like i havent really had a proper home it feels since 2018 like it's just "this is where im gonna be for maybe a year and its just where i keep some of my stuff and sleep at" like cant even put posters up cause theyll die. i have one big painting i made in our room to add some color but we gotta clean off the mold every so often but its abstract so at least it's hard to see and i really dont care about it enough if the paint gets worn away.

still waiting on the landlord to finally get back to us considering the repair guy (who she lives with but idk if theyre a couple but thats not my business im just a nosey nancy) and he was like shocked and mortified at the mold (he used to live here and hadnt seen mold this way) and okay it's a concrete house with stucco exterior but the fact that the middle most wall is wet he said something like uh thats kind of impossible to dry. any professional/ legal ppl weve talked to have said this is basically hazardous living and unsuitable conditions (even with the semi illegal mold agreement we were forced to sign that was snuck small into the lease, if anything its incriminating) and like now what? will we get relocated since this is house needs to get torn down (it has 85% humidify with is like 10% over legal livable limit) but if not then how long do we have to move? if its condemned then what man. we have a backup plan but it's a long as hell drive and far from everything so at least we dont gotta worry about nowhere to live so im trying to not stress too hard and just let da wind take me where it goes. so maybe we will soon live in a real house thats dry and i really cant beleive im back to where i was like 6 years ago of "i just need a bed to sleep in" i want to live a normal life where our cutting boards dont get moldy.

fuck all life.

[findingmypeace]

Can you ask your roommate to leave or is she also on a lease?

We have separate 1 year leases, which I don't think she understands at all. When she first moved in, in the middle of July, she paid me $500. I had already paid for the month of July so I thought the $500 was to pay me her part of the rent that I had already paid for.

Come August 1st, she's asking me all these questions about how much I'm paying and how much she should pay, and on and on. After a whole lot of confusion it turns out that $500 was supposed to be for partial August rent. I don't think she had any clue she would be paying our landlords her part of rent and not me. She also did not communicate that money was for August rent. Well, I spent that $500. Now I owe that $500 to our landlords. I could negotiate with her about it but I can't get a word in because she either cuts me off or spends 5 minutes arguing her point. I've learned to just walk away in those moments.

What convinced me she had no clue what was happening with the lease was on the day of the argument where I lost my temper. I left. After about an hour I texted her and genuinely apologized for my behavior. She said, "I think we should do the 6 month lease". I had to, once again, politely and respectfully, remind her that we signed separate leases and it would be between her and our landlords if she wanted to change the lease agreement. I do not mean this in any insulting way but I often wonder about her level of comprehension as these kinds of misunderstandings happen repeatedly and was the reason for first disagreement. (aka $500)

[lunarsilkscreen]

The Homeless for profit Industry

There's several programs in the US. That attempt to get homeless people off the streets into homes, and they routinely claim they find stable *permanent* Housing. But that "permanent" housing lasts about a year. And those who can't recover in that time to a *more permanent* solution are Shit Outta Luck.

I could go into all the predatory lending behavior and identity theft that happens to people who don't have a secure place to keep their necessary "Three forms of ID" required to register vote in this country. (You need the fourth form of id post registration to vote every year as well.)

But that's just the tip of the iceberg. The visible shit.

Here's the thing; how long do you think it will take you find a permanent job, near a place to live and vehicle to drive if it isn't near public transit?

Don't say Uber; $40 to be driven to and from work is far to costly.

By permanent, I mean indefinite.

How many people keep their first jobs for more than a year? How many rental agreements last for more than a year?

And how many landlords are *so worried* about being taken advantage of by "squatters" and "renters" rights laws that they refuse to lease a property for longer than a year to somebody?

And, finally; How many landlords prey on the homeless because it means a guaranteed paycheck?

The fact that guaranteed payment plans by the government to pay landlords for a limited period of times means that homeless people wind up homeless and without the ability to save anything they've purchased over that year.

And the proposed solution is "Well, you're supposed to lease with another rental property every year until you die."

That's not permanent housing, especially if renters want you to leave at least bi-yearly. And before you say "why don't you save up your money for a down payment on a home?"

It's not just the down payment, is it? You need house inspections, a real estate agent who will take a % because otherwise you're likely to get screwed in the process.

You could wind up in a predatory home owner association. You could wind up signing a sales agreement with somebody who didn't actually own the property.

There's so many ways to wind up back on the street *even* when everything goes right.

And that's the issue facing people today; but if you've never been worried about losing a stable place to live, it's not something you think about.

Obviously; the main problem with renting, isn't renting. There's plenty of situations in which renting would be preferable. But because of the giant chunk of $$ it takes from your paycheck; it makes it hard to save up any money.

And thus the reason for a loan, which, if I remind you about the housing crisis; doesn't guarantee you can't lose your home when shit hits the fan.

This is why there's economic disparity. Because despite its unethical nature; it's not illegal.

And all of *that* doesn't even cover the increase demand, and thus the increased price of rental properties *caused* by homeless programs themselves. Which feeds into itself.

Because if you don't have permanent housing, and you don't have the ability to achieve permanent rent free housing; you're stuck feeding the system or camping in a van in Public Park or Nature Reserve, and paying for a YMCA membership in order to take showers.

And don't get me started on how expensive laundromats are getting. ($20 for a single load!? Gonna have to throw in an entire month's worth of laundry to break even...)

Right now; the most cost effective method is to get every homeless person a van, with a bed and a closet, a place to park that has a fire pit, a place to do laundry, and a bunch of outhouses.

Then they can all have a roof over their heads, transportation, and Covid Safe Distancing and mask free self-isolation.

Plus; instead of paying money to shitty landlords begging for free guaranteed handouts at others expense; you can create an entire class of mechanics that actually get paid to maintain something.

[thyrell]

i really hope you can raise enough money to cover your rent/bills <3 but you should also check your state/countrys law about increase in rent because sometimes it's pretty illegal to do that without notice or some kind of contractual agreement. if your contract says you pay a certain amount, you pay that amount until another contract gets signed.

ive looked into it but its kind of a weird situation, my landlord filed an eviction and moved me to a new property of his without getting me a new lease agreement so im pretty sure legally i have no leg to stand on and he has the grounds to just have me evicted if i try anything like that. hoping to get out of utah soon but until then i think im just kinda fucked

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, I’m housesitting for some lesbians. They’re friends with one of my mother’s friends, and they both just retired so they’re going on a three-month vacation. Earlier in the summer they were looking for someone to look after their house and cats while they’re away. I said yes, because at the time, it looked like I might lose the lease on my own place, and I figured, I’d rather move in here than have to move in with my parents while finding somewhere new to actually live.

Then things worked out with my place, which I was really excited about, because I really love that house, and I love having my room and my space with all my stuff, and I love the location. And at the moment that location has bigger implications for my life, because I’ve been working on having more of a life in general again, seeing friends more and coaching and going out to see comedy and music. Did that this summer. Felt good about it, after isolating myself so much in the last few years (initially isolating myself at the direction of the government, but also remaining isolated for much longer than the government told us to). That place is right downtown, near everything. I knew that if I lost that place, I’d end up living with my parents in the suburbs until I find somewhere else, and even once I did the place would be in some shitty location because nowhere else downtown is affordable, and I knew I’d end up not doing anything again. Not seeing friends or doing sports or going anywhere. Not when I had to bus across the city for it.

But it worked out! That’s a whole other story, it’s been back and forth and up and down all summer, it’s been a fucking nightmare, I’ve been incredibly anxious and stressed about it for months, but finally, finally, it worked out. Just last week I signed a lease that says I can stay there pretty much until I decide to leave. And my best friend is moving into the other bedroom, which was previously occupied by my roommate, whom I found annoying while I lived with him but now fucking hate because he’s the reason I almost got kicked out of the place, it’s a long and complicated story. Anyway, the point is that I get to stay there! And things are even better than before, living with the guy I want to spend lots of time with anyway, instead of someone who annoys me. I’ve lived with this friend off and on since we were 19.

So it was perfect. Except that I’d already agreed to spend September 5-December 1 living in this other house, an agreement I made when I thought I might otherwise might not have anywhere to go during those months. If I’d known I’d get to keep my own place, I wouldn’t have signed on to this. I’d have stayed there and hung out with my friend and enjoyed knowing it’s mine (I mean, I’m still renting, it’s not great when getting upgraded to “proper tenant who can’t just be kicked out at the whim of my roommate – even though the place is still owned by the landlord”) is a massive step up in terms of agency in my life. But it does feel pretty good.

Having said that – this is pretty fucking good. It is way out in the suburbs, it’s a long bus ride downtown to actually do stuff. But it’s a half-hour walk to my work, while my own place is just over an hour on the bus from my work, so that’s convenient. Also, these people are fucking cool and so is their house.

I never met them before this summer, when I came over here so they could show me around the place before having me live in it for three months. But my mother told me they were the first people in our city to get gay married after gay marriage was legalized, so that’s cool.

Before meeting them, I thought, don’t mention the gay marriage thing. That’s the only thing I know about them, and I think it’s cool as fuck, but they’re just two women in their sixties who’ve been married since 2003 and together quite a bit longer than that, they’re going on a retirement trip, the fact that they’re gay wedding pioneers is just their past, it isn’t still some novelty. Don’t make a big deal out of it.

Then I arrived at their house, and was greeted by a rainbow welcome mat. Went inside. There’s a rainbow magnet on the fridge, next to a photo from their wedding, and a clipping from the local newspaper in 2003, about the fact that they’d just become the first gay couple in the city to get married. When showing me around the backyard, she pointed out the gazebo, and said, “We call it the gay-zebo.” So, I think I have permission to view them as inspirational pioneers for gay women everywhere. They seem okay with their status as that being acknowledged.

And for anyone who needs a little inspiration, the first gay couple in our city to get married has done fucking well for themselves. Like… ridiculously well. The house looks quite nice from the outside, nice suburban thing, but it doesn’t scream “incredibly rich”. Until you see the massive backyard, with the pool and hot tub and gazebo with lights and an outdoor fireplace and a huge amount of secluded space. Basement with a treadmill and stationary bike and other gym equipment. I’ve paid quite a bit of money for access to a hot tub and treadmill, shared with other people in a public facility. While living here, I have both those things in a house to myself for no money.

Also, you know, cats. Cats are fucking awesome. There are two of them here, and I love living with cats. This is the perfect situation. I don’t own a cat, because 1) I can’t afford it, and 2) pre-pandemic I was traveling almost every weekend to coach tournaments, last year I resumed some of the traveling, I do plan to be back on the regular traveling schedule as I get back into life. Cats aren’t like dogs, you can leave them alone for a day or so. But I can’t put myself in a position where every time I go away for more than one night, I need to get a catsitter. Because coaching at a competitive level involves going away for more than one night quite regularly.

I used to wonder how other coaches did it. Other people in the province, who are at all the same tournaments I am, and who also had to travel for them, sometimes talk about having pets. But I guess a lot of them are married, so their spouse takes care of the pet when they’re gone. They’re all in failing marriages, of course, since they’re out of town every weekend. Even the ones who aren’t using those travel weekends to cheat on their spouses in hotels with other coaches who are doing the same thing (please note: this is not a thing I know about because I’ve participated, it’s just a thing everyone knows about, but somehow it drags on for years anyway), which isn't all that many of them, are still in failing marriages due to always being away. But still, at least their spouse is there to feed the cat. If you’re going to travel a lot, the downside of being married is that you let someone else base their whole life's happiness and fulfillment on your promise to be there for them and now you're breaking that promise and thereby ruining their life, but the upside is someone to feed your cat. Or kid, for that matter. I definitely don’t understand how literally anyone has a kid, much less someone who travels most weekends for much of the year. But lots of those coaches have kids too.

I’ve never been at a point in life where I am so sure that for the 15-ish years (cat lifespan), I will be fine with being in my house at least once in the morning and once at night when a cat needs feeding, and I’m okay with the fact that if I won’t be, I’ll need to pay someone to do it for me. Even if my life’s at a fairly quiet point, I’ve never been sure enough that it’ll stay that way to think I could commit to 15-ish years of it or else an innocent creature will die. And, you know, that’s a cat. Who the fuck out there is so sure that they’ll be able to be much more present than just home once in the morning and once at night – actually they’ll be present and on-call 24/7 – for at least 18 years but really just forever, and they feel fine making such a strong commitment to that that they can never take back or else an innocent creature dies? Most people, apparently. I’m not that shocked that some people have kids, that the occasional selfless person decides to make that kind of sacrifice. What I don’t understand is why such a large percentage of people do it.

Anyway. What the fuck was I talking about, again? Right, I’m catsitting for lesbians. That was the point of this post. I'm catsitting for some very successful lesbians, and it's the perfect situation, because I get to live with cats for a few months but I don't have to pay for them, and I don't have to commit to caring for them long-term. These women in their sixties who have newspaper clippings on the fridge about their marriage and are off on their retirement trip right now... I have to admit, it's not a bad antidote to a little of my cynicism about marriage. I think these two probably did it right. Their cats are cool.

[flockofdoves]

its the last day of the current lease and my roommate is still here and hasnt started moving out at all despite saying she wasnt renewing and only me and my gf having signed the new lease…

its a little ambiguous because the property manager changed half way through this past lease and when they made their own new lease theyre having the new one start on the 1st even though the last one ends today on the 26th and we’re just technically month to month without having to pay anything else for the next 5 days when me and my gf asked about that.

but like. i dont think our roommate would even know that since she only has access to the old lease anyway. but i guess Technically she couldve had an agreement with the landlord we didnt know about to stay til the 31st and it would be kinda reasonable if she did since im sure me and my gf getting covid and only ending our isolation today and in a couple days respectively complicated any potential move out plans

but also like thats giving a huge benefit of the doubt to her i really have gotten the vibe that regardless this was gonna happen and shed just take her sweet time dragging out moving out for ages continuing to trash the apartment while not paying at all for rent or utilities bc she knows we’re against calling cops… have literally no idea ethically and realistically what to even do if she stays beyond the 31st :(

[asexual-means-no-attraction]

I can't comment on whether your landlord is prejudiced against you or not, but I do want to point out that depending where you live and what kind of rental agreement you have, you should have some recourse and be able to raise issues with the tenancy board if necessary. You shouldn't be threatened with eviction for things that aren't illegal or explicitly banned in your lease, for example, and all of the leases I've ever signed have specified that landlords need to give the tenant at least 24hrs notice before entering the premises. Check your local laws & your lease if you suspect you're being mistreated, and if necessary call your local tenancy board for clarification & advice. Even if you don't need to officially escalate anything, just having that information (and making sure your landlord knows you have it!) should make the renting experience smoother.

Ya my sibling is gonna print us out specific laws that the landlord is violating so next time she does something we can just pull the papers out. Legally, she is required to give notice 24 hrs in advanced unless it's an emergency.

And I already had to talk to her about laws when she tried to tell me a shitty bathroom door lock is the equivalent to a deadbolt for the front door. So 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️.

Not planning on legally escalating anything yet, but definitely collecting information on laws and shit. Thanks for the advice!! <3