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recentlyheardcom · 1 year

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The main hero of the Donald Trump fraud trial that kicked off Monday is, of course, Letitia James. New York's attorney general has worked tirelessly for years on investigating Trump's decades of criminal and corrupt behavior, resulting in a $250 million lawsuit accusing Trump and his two grown sons of running a fraudulent business. Her case is so airtight, in fact, that New York Supreme Court Justice Arthur Engoron ruled Trump liable for fraud from the bench, rather than waste a jury's time figuring out what was indisputable from the evidence. The ensuing trial — which drew Trump himself into the Manhattan courtroom this week — is entirely about how serious the penalities will be.There are weeks, maybe months to go before we learn how much Trump will have to pay for defrauding investors, banks and insurance companies over several decades. So we'll have to wait a bit for James to get her virtual ticker-tape parade for kicking the most hated man in New York real estate out of town. In the meantime, however, there's another well-known New York City politician who is owed a debt of gratitude for bringing some accountability to Trump's gold-painted front door: Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.In our era of 24/7 media onslaught, four years can seem like like four lifetimes, so it's easy to forget that when Ocasio-Cortez arrived in Congress in January 2019, there was a lot of curiosity and outright skepticism about her among the Beltway press. She'd gotten there in improbable fashion, winning a 2018 primary against Rep. Joe Crowley — a power broker in Queens who chaired the House Democratic caucus and was seen as a possible successor to Nancy Pelosi. Before that, Ocasio-Cortez had been working as a bartender in a Manhattan taco joint. So the media was watching eagerly to see whether she'd rise to the occasion or fall flat on her face.Want more Amanda Marcotte on politics? Subscribe to her newsletter Standing Room Only.Ocasio-Cortez's first big test came in February 2019, when Trump's former personal attorney and "fixer," Michael Cohen, testified before the House Oversight Committee. Cohen was about to go to prison for a campaign finance crime committed at Trump's behest, and told a genuinely moving story of crime and betrayal. But most of the Democrats on the committee whiffed this opportunity to ask questions of a guy who had been nestled within the Trump gang for years. Instead, they devoted their time to grandstanding for the cameras, rather than learning any new information about Trump's illegal dealings.Except, of course, for the young congresswoman from a working-class, multiracial district in Queens and the Bronx. Much to the surprise and delight of mainstream journalists, Ocasio-Cortez was all business. She showed up with a long list of questions about how much Cohen knew about Trump's business dealings and whether the man currently in the White House had spent his previous career defrauding creditors and investors. Cohen's answer: Trump was criming all the time. The transcript is worth re-reading and relishing:Ocasio-Cortez: To your knowledge, did the president ever provide inflated assets to an insurance company?Cohen: Yes.Ocasio-Cortez: Who else knows that the president did this?Cohen: Allen Weisselberg, Ron Lieberman and Matthew Calamari.Ocasio-Cortez: And where would the committee find more information on this? Do you think we need to review his financial statements and his tax returns in order to compare them?Cohen: Yes, and you would find it at the Trump Org.That line of questioning, in which Cohen confirmed that Trump routinely manipulated numbers to evade taxes while defrauding banks and insurance companies, was the first step on the long road to Trump making a stink-face in court on Monday morning. New York state regulators started to sniff around Trump's business. James had already been dealing with a smaller case involving Trump's charitable foundation, but Cohen's testimony opened the door to a much bigger investigation.

Three years later, James came out with the stunning — and largely irrefutable — accusations she's presenting in court this week: Trump's wealth is built on a sandcastle of lies. He doubles, triples or quadruples the valuations of his assets in order to get loans from creditors, and drastically undervalues them to evade taxes. With this shell game, the four-times-indicted ex-president lives like a rich man despite his proven inability to make much money from his business ventures. Everything Cohen said before that committee has pretty much proven true, and only AOC even thought to ask him about it.The near-certainty that Trump's allegedly enormous wealth is an illusion has already been documented in reporting on his tax documents showing that he is deep in debt — perhaps as much $1 billion — even though inherited nearly half a billion from his father and earned another $427 million from his reality-TV star turn on "The Apprentice." All available evidence suggests Trump blew through that money and kept digging, creating a money pit so enormous that banks likely had given up hope of seeing any of it repaid. Yet Trump has kept up the illusion of immense wealth with his private jets and entourages, all paid for through dozens of opaque shell companies — and, as James' evidence suggests, through massive fraud.He might have gotten away with it, too, if not for that nosy congresswoman from the outer boroughs. I'm a little surprised that almost no one seems to remember the crucial role Ocasio-Cortez played in this. At the time of the hearing, after all, she got an avalanche of good coverage for her showing, especially from journalists who were sick of listening to politicians bloviate rather than perform their constitutional duties of legislative oversight. Her willingness to do her actual job, however, didn't just make her look good by comparison. It got a very big ball rolling that could eventually demollish Trump's "business" in New York.One reason AOC's role has been forgotten, I suspect, is that the Beltway press tends to think of "progressives" as entirely distinct from the people who really want to see Trump go to jail. Turn on MSNBC or CNN, after all, and the people talking on the Trump crime-and-punishment beat are often centrist Democrats and never-Trump Republicans, your Claire McCaskills and George Conways and the like. Progressive Democrats are usually called upon to talk about policy issues: health care, climate change, jobs programs and so on. So there's this unspoken assumption that progressives don't much care about corruption and accountability.In fact, there's substantial evidence that progressives may put an even higher value on opposing corruption than their more moderate colleagues. For instance, progressives like Ocasio-Cortez and Sen. John Fetterman of Pennsylvania were among the first to call for the resignation of Sen. Bob Menendez, D-N.J., after his recent indictment on bribery and corruption charges. This isn't just about political progressives also being people of conscience. I think they understand how intertwined corruption and authoritarian politics are, and understand you can't fight one without fighting the other.Authoritarians like Trump gain power by exploiting public cynicism. The more that voters believe that all politicians cheat the system, the more decent citizens will give up engaging meaningfully in politics at all. Eventually, the only people left in politics are the ones with no vision of a better world beyond a bitter desire to stick it to racial minorities, LGBTQ people and women. Getting people to believe in equal justice and functional government is a necessary prerequisite if folks like Fetterman and Ocasio-Cortez are to make any progress on the social and economic issues that matter most to them. It makes sense that AOC opened the door for the massive lawsuit that may bring Donald Trump's business empire crashing down. Maybe the main reason she's not taking more credit for that is that in the here and now she's busy trying to expose the corruption of House Republicans.

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jerardeusebio · 2 years

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just your typical anniversary rant

Dylan and I have been married many times. At least this is what I know and what I’ve been thinking about as we enter our ninth year of being in a relationship. He is in the shower when I ask him, “When did you know you wanted to marry me?”

We throw the M word around often enough, even if it doesn’t serve a function in our lives. It’s not a touchy subject. We’ve talked about getting married countless times. I’ve even made us a Pinterest board for it. This board is now at least four years old—our little toddler.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he says, “But it’s always been like that for me. I was always looking for a life partner. So, I can’t answer your question because it was more of my disposition.”

I begin to curl floss on my index finger. “I think you’re talking about my disposition, not yours.”“Nope,” he quips. “I was always like that. I wouldn’t have committed had I felt you weren’t husband material.”

I realize it’s Day 2,921 of quibbling over semantics. Okay. I sigh and then reply, “The whole entire world can tell that I’m the more romantic one.” I joke, but it’s true. I have, on many occasions, confessed to him that he’s the love of my life.

“Wow.” He gets the Mariah song reference in my reply. Of course he does.

“Well, then let me rephrase my question,” I say. “When did you realize that we were going to be a lifelong thing?”

“Uhm,” he responds. His hands appears from behind the shower curtain to grab his towel. “Early days.”

“Within our first year? First few months?”

“The first week.”

I bask in the moment. “Same.”

He walks out of the bathroom as I finish brushing my teeth in silence.

At least in the social sense, we’re as good as married. We’ve built our lives around each other and each others’ family and friends. That was a nonnegotiable for both of us, right from the start. But we also know this is not good enough.We still want to get married (not in the religious sense) because we want to enjoy its legal and economic implications. For one, it would be nice to have our assets from hereon be conjugal. We want to be each other’s heir when the time comes. And when faced with having to make tough decisions in the hospital, we want the other to be our default health care proxy. It would be nice if these concerns were automatically taken care of by being married. But since we can’t, and in spite of our impassioned resistance against scarcity thinking and excessive anxiety over what the future may bring, we’ve made attempts to get around these issues by creating a joint bank account, writing our holographic last will and testament, and telling our family about our wishes.

Sometime after our bathroom talk, we find ourselves in bed, browsing Netflix titles on my iPad. We check out the preview of this reality show where men and women are made to date without having them see each other. A literal wall is placed between would-be couples and that’s how they talk and “date.” In the preview, apparently, some of them will get engaged later on. That’s when the fun part starts, too, because then they’ll have to deal with finally “seeing” who they’re engaged with. Drama!

We don’t finish the preview. It is great misfortune enough to be able to easily imagine how a show like that could end, with the winners tying the knot, only to end up being on some tabloid for calling it quits some months later.

“The straights are at it again,” I blurt out.

Dylan shakes his head. "Ridiculous.”

We finally find something else to watch. A comedy. Somewhere between the laughing and the snickering, I get distracted. My eyes move away from the screen and land on our photo on the wall. Taken on Christmas Eve of 2017 at the Angkor Wat, in the frame we are caught smiling as little flowers from a nearby tree fall around us. I sink a little bit, at the thought that we may never get to really marry, that this was it for people like us. We can accumulate property, grow our joint investments, bring the other to the emergency room, travel around the world in matching luggage, buy each other’s parents the fanciest gifts, rescue all the kittens caught in a ditch, bury dead pets together, appear in each others’ family portraits, care for each others’ relatives, nurse each other in our old age, sleep in one bed for the rest of our lives and still never really get to be recognized by the state as a union.

What a fucking joke.

Happy anniversary to us?

#literature

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philsbrownquiff · 4 years

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the dangers of premarital divorce

guess what I wrote something!!!

words: 1702

summary: A reflection on all the years that Dan's commitment issues have motivated him in various ways, and how realizing he accidentally is planning on spending 20 more years with Phil is maybe a bit scary.

It had started years ago really, back in Manchester. They had always talked about the future, but never too far into it. But, like it is with all young loves, he had the idea of forever in the back of his head. He would sit with Phil watching anime, eating dinner quietly, laughing while playing video games, and he would think, "This could be my life. This could be how it is every day."

And of course he didn't really share these thoughts at first. They were almost too intimate to verbalize. They were intimidating. They were meant for late at night when he was by himself thinking about life at 3 AM. That was the only time he could really entertain them for any amount of time. They were filled with laughter and loving embraces and all of the things he had come to associate with spending the day with Phil. And it was good. He had never met anyone like Phil, and he intended to hold on as long as Phil would let him. And that was how it would inevitably end: Phil wouldn't let him. That's how it always was in his head. He was just holding onto the coattails of life, undeserving, and would therefore eventually be left in the dust as soon as he let up his grip.

The first time he realized that he might not actually need to be clinging on so tightly was when Phil had asked him to move in with him. It was so casual. They were laying together in bed one night with Dan's head perched on Phil's shoulder, his body tucked safely into the crook of his arm.

"Would you want to move in with me next year?" He had said, suddenly in the quiet.

Dan froze. Fucking of course he would want to move in. That was his ideal life, actually. But he was suddenly overcome with emotion that he wasn't able to process, and so he just froze for a few seconds, willing his brain to catch up. After what he is sure was an entire lifetime, he sputtered out a "y-yes, I would actually." He could feel Phil relax, even though he hadn't really been able to tell he was tense in the first place. Dan glanced up and saw the somewhat relieved and very much in love grin on Phil's face. It was a reminder that maybe Phil was clinging on tightly as well.

This was the first real time that Dan had realized maybe Phil wanted forever just as much as him. Which, in turn, would cause another problem for his undeserving and overthinking brain: who gave them the authority to decide. Up until now, it had been Phil that was deciding if they would stay together. It was Phil that would decide if Dan could continue to exist with him, because he so obviously wanted it. So if Phil was deciding that yes, he wanted to be with Dan for at least another year, that meant something else was going to stop them. He just had to figure out what it was.

The thing he decided would stop them was the world at large. Homophobia. Tabloids. Their fans. All of it would eventually combine and become too much. They would fall apart at the seams that Dan had tried so hard to re-enforce. It wouldn't be enough. One day, Phil would get tired of hiding or Dan would get so fed up with all of it that he would lash out in a way they wouldn't be able to recover from. And eventually, he thought it was happening. He had so fully convinced himself that this was inevitable, that he basically welcomed it in. One too many testy comments, one too many shut doors, a walk alone without his phone. Maybe it would be better this way. He could just grit his teeth and it would be over. He'd be on his own, just how the universe had destined him.

But that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Phil. He wanted the security and comfort of being loved, of holding Phil in the night when he was anxious. He loved it, he loved Phil. He loved the home they had built and the career they shared. So he snapped out of it. He forced himself to fight for it, to fight the world and its odds in order to get to be with him and to keep the things he loved. And he did. He built an empire, tours, books, merch, and, while they were at it, started building a house.

And during all of that, he was aware of the pressures and he was aware of what he wanted. He was accomplishing a lot. Honestly, he didn't think about if he would get to keep it that much. He was otherwise occupied with defending this life he had made. So, when he realized that maybe he could stop fighting about it, he was a bit relieved. He could finally relax.

Idle minds do the work of the devil. Suddenly, he had time to think. They were out, they were building a house. He was writing a book. He wasn't impacted as much by his fans these days. All of his worries about what would break them up had turned out to be untrue (if this was because they were baseless or because he worked so hard to keep them from doing so, he could never be sure). But, that old seedling of thought that had haunted him for the last decade was still lying dormant in his mind: he didn't deserve this.

And that now had time to fester. It grew in his mind, this time without any reason. The future, something he could never be certain about, was suddenly his enemy. Dan had changed so much and in so many ways in his life, why couldn't it happen again? Phil could wake up one day and decide that he actually wanted to leave and there would be nothing he could do about it. Dan could wake up one day and realize he was straight, or that he hated Phil, or one of them could do something unforgiveable and nasty and harmful and they would have a bitter end where he would have a bad aftertaste any time he thought of the entirety of his twenties. He couldn't control the future. Any day, there could be another global pandemic (even though this still had not ended them) that throws them completely off kilter. It hadn't happened yet. But any day, it could.

Which is why when his friends started asking him when they were getting married, he told them to calm down. It's only been ten years of steady companionship and love. It's just a mortgage. Oh god, they had a mortgage. He started to get the same feeling he got when Phil had asked him to move in all those years ago. Phil wanted to spend thirty years with him now? Ten plus a 20 year contract. He started to recall the joint bank account conversations, the first time Phil had asked him if he wanted to be the emergency contact, the fact that they went to the same accountant and financial advisor, all of these things that meant forever. Oh god, why weren't they married at this point. They were already almost there except that one piece of paper. He had already signed himself up for something they didn't deserve and he would eventually change his mind about…right?

"I'm confused, Dan," Phil had chuckled out. "Are you saying you want to get married? Is this your way of proposing?"

"No, I mean, no, I just," he stuttered. What did he want? He wanted to keep things the way they were. He wants this life. He just knows he can't have it. His therapist would yell at him about this and he knew it. Deep breath. "I am just scared that I can't control the future. What if you decide to do something wild or what if I decide to do something wild. Then what? There would already be so much paperwork if we broke up, and then adding in a divorce? It seems ridiculous."

"Ah, so you want a premarital divorce instead…?" Phil trailed off, looking at him with those shining, mischievous eyes that Dan loved so dearly.

"God, fuck off, Phil. No! I'm just saying." He didn't need to elaborate. Phil was just taking the piss, he knew what he meant. He always does when it comes to things like this. That's what happens when you're together for this many years.

They were quiet for a moment while Phil got over his own joke. "Dan, we don't have to get married if you don't want to. If the label is freaking you out, then just forget it." They were quiet again. Phil stared at him. "You know, as far as I have been concerned, we could've eloped years ago. I would've done it. There's no guaranteeing the future, but that gives me more reason to make myself happy today. It could be gone. We could both die in a fiery explosion. And if that's the case, I certainly wouldn't mind being married to you until the very end."

Phil was right. Dan knew that. He was basically spitting his own advice back out at him. If life was meaningless and unpredictable, he may as well do whatever he wanted in the present. And he wanted to be with Phil. But he also knew that it was just a piece of paper. And that if he was going to get married, it would be the best damn party anyone's ever been to, so eloping is off the table. He supposed, maybe, he could just trust himself to make the right decision about forever. He had already made a 10+20 year decision on accident, and that was damn close to the marriage certificate.

But he wasn't about to admit defeat to logic. Not in front of Phil and god and everyone. So he didn't. He just sighed a long sigh with about 50 emotions embedded in it. "That's gay, Lester."

#ive never done a fic be nice pls #dan and phil #fic #commitment issues #this is literally just me venting through them lol im sorry guys #dan #phil #mine

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selfhelpskillss · 3 years

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9 Signs He Wants To Marry You – How To Read A Man’s Mind?

Marriage is a happy ending for all couples. It starts with a romantic proposal from the man with candle lights shimmering in the night. Yet, when does it happen? What are the signs he wants to marry you soon?

Self Help Skills has shared with you the nine most apparent signs. All you have to do is to read and observe if your boyfriend has those indicators or not. Let's get started!

Some Signs He Wants To Marry You

How to get a man to marry you?(https://selfhelpskills.net/how-to-get-a-man-to-marry-you/) Just be yourself, and he will be the one who voices his love first. Men aren't good at hiding their desire.

With a bit of observation, you can figure out if he wants to do something or not. Below are nine signs he wants to marry you in the future.

1. He introduces you to his friends and family

How to know if he wants to marry you? A man won't ever introduce a woman to his family and friends if he isn't confident about his relationship.

Since you are important to him, he surely wants other essential people in his life to get to know about you. He is claiming to the world that he loves you.

Although this sign is not a certainty, it must be a big step. More than a love confirmation, your boyfriend also implies that he's serious in the romance with you. He may also want to marry.

If you have a long-term relationship but still have no idea about your boy's friends and family, you should consider some situations.

2. He wants to talk about future

When a man feels free to discuss the future with you, there's a good chance he regards you as part of his plan. He worries about creating long-term goals with you when he reveals his ambitions and how he intends to accomplish them.

Try to pay attention whenever he mentions such topics. Don't avoid him since he could assume you don't want to be with him in the future.

Also, if a guy avoids conversing about the years to come, it might indicate that he doesn't like being around you in the long run.

Speaking about the future does not always imply talking about marriages, children, or other such things. It might be as simple as making a list of future trips you'd like to take together.

3. He asks for your advice

When a man loves a woman, how does he act?(https://selfhelpskills.net/when-a-man-loves-a-woman-how-does-he-act/) Well, he must care about your opinion.

When your boyfriend thinks about you before making a final decision, it says he cares about "we." You are an essential part of his goal in life. As a result, his choices should satisfy both of you.

For example, when he receives a job offer, he needs your advice on whether his decision affects the future of you two.

The entire notion of marriage is "two people becoming one." It's a bonus for you if he's already giving signals that the two of you are a unit.

If he doesn't ask your perspective on critical issues and instead makes decisions without considering you, it implies he still cares about himself. He doesn't tend to include you in his plans.

4. He's always by your side

When you're going through a tough time, nothing beats having the man you love beside you. It's a huge sign that a man is sincere about you if he's always ready to give his love, support, and care when something doesn't go well.

These actions demonstrate that you can rely on him if you two end up together. Furthermore, going through difficult times together cements your bond and strengthens your relationship.

A person who wants to stay in your life should be someone you can lean on when you're feeling down. You can share your anxieties and concerns with him without fear of his leaving you.

5. He wants to move in

Because some communities don't allow couples to live together until they get married, this is an absolute sign. If your partner discusses moving in with you, he wants to settle down.

Living together sometimes sounds like getting married. Both of you can have higher chances to know more about each other.

This action also implies that your boyfriend gets committed to a relationship with you. You're the one he wants to start a family with.

However, it would help if you only pondered the reason why your boyfriend wants to move in. Maybe he just wants to share the bill.

In some cases, you two have already been living together for a while. He is financially able to settle down. Yet, he feels alright living with you. He must want things to be consistent like this. Or, you can say: "He wants to marry me."

6. He wants to be a part of your life

Your boyfriend can be an active part of your life if he genuinely cares about you and envisions a future with you. A marriage is about more than just love. You must be sure that the man you are dating is reliable in his behavior towards you.

Does he keep in touch with you usually? Is his love and care for you consistent?

An actual boyfriend should know how you've been recently and give you caring gestures. You are his priority. If you can feel those signs from him, he wants to accompany you.

7. He loves you like crazy

Of course, your boyfriend should be involved in the romance with you. What makes a woman attractive to a man(https://selfhelpskills.net/what-makes-a-woman-attractive/) may draw his attention to you at first sight. But your true beauty makes him love you more.

Because love starts from one's heart, let your heart perceive the signs. You will know if he loves you or not when you feel affection from him. Even if your boyfriend can convey his thoughts by words, his actions will prove it.

Love is also the origin of marriage. If a man loves you, he wants to marry you and cares for you for the rest of his life.

8. He wants to share financial issues with you

Money is a sensitive topic for many marriages and even for unmarried couples. You may include it as one of the signs he wants to marry if you two have been on a joint financial path.

Your boyfriend may discuss investment and saving goals with you. he appreciates your opinion and sees you as a counselor. It also implies that it's vital to him that you agree with his decisions.

If your partner finds you reliable, he even shares his password on his bank account with you. All the financial issues in a positive way should be signs that he wants to marry you.

9. He gives you hints

Does my boyfriend want to marry me? Notice some hints he's giving to you.

If he's willing to marry and is planning to propose, the topic of marriage will shift from theoretical to more detailed and direct questions about wedding planning. They are all signs he may offer soon.

He could ask about your ideal wedding or honeymoon. Or he shows concerns about your career. Is it stable enough to settle down?

He may even ask you how many children you want to have or like them to be boys or girls.

This sign is quite clear. Your boyfriend is ensuring that you are ready for a long-term commitment too.

The ten signs above can help you determine whether he wants to propose to you or not. If you see more than five hints from him, he indeed looks forward to a marriage with you.

Learn more signs he wants to marry right here.

How Can I Recognize The Signs From Him?

Learning the sign which he wants to marry you soon is not enough for a long-term relationship. How to make a man chase you? How to get him to commit?(https://selfhelpskills.net/how-to-get-him-to-commit/)

There are many things you need to learn to conquer a man's heart completely. "His secret obsession review,"(https://selfhelpskills.net/his-secret-obsession-review/) an online program, could be your perfect teacher.

This program is about entering a man's love life. It also emphasizes obtaining his full attention and everlasting devotion for the rest of his life.

This book contains scientifically validated information on how to understand a man. It illustrates how a woman can attract and dominate a man's mind at the same time.

You're not going to give up on a relationship that ends up pointless. Your boyfriend will be unable to ignore you if you logically adhere to the rules.

With the content above, you already know the signs that he really wants a happy ending with you. Through this information, you also know when a man loves a woman how does he act.

Conclusion

Above are nine clear signs he wants to marry you. Your boyfriend may have some other indicators, though. However, if you pay enough attention, you can feel that he likes you for the rest of his life.

When do guys know they want to marry you? It's when he loves you enough and is ready for a commitment. Don't forget to check out our other helpful articles at selfhelpskills.net for real-life stories.

Hopefully, your love story will have a happy ending!

Credit by: https://selfhelpskills.net/signs-he-wants-to-marry-you/

#selfhelpskills selfhelpmarriage selfhelpbook selfhelpbooks selfhelpdating

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hollypastl · 4 years

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the disappearance of [REDACTED] ch.2

miya atsumu/reader

Summary: "MISSING: MIYA Y/N" It reads. Underneath is a picture of yourself. Age, height, weight. Everything important is listed. How embarrassing.

Genre: angst/mystery

Warnings: missing persons, time skip spoilers

Notes: crossposted on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726002/chapters/70468146#workskin

chapter two: you will live and die for them because that’s your way

Osamu is still as a statue as he processes what his brother’s just told him.

It doesn’t seem real.

“That doesn’t make any— No. I know you’re you and she’s her, but you two are…” He trails off and starts wiping down the bar again. It’s a nervous habit Osamu picked up sometime when he wasn’t watching. “I mean... last week she didn’t act like anything was—”

Atsumu is busy reeling from his brother almost(?) complimenting his relationship that he almost misses it. “Last week?”

He nods. “Yeah, the stall was packed at the Friday game… She jumped in and manned the register so the rest of us could work on finishing orders.”

“Last week, though? You’re positive?”

He nodded.

“You saw her?”

From your usual court side seats, you could hear shoes squeaking and players panting. The thirty second row just wasn’t the same. At the same time, watching the game from a birds eye view gave you a new perspective and appreciation.

You leaned forward and locked on to Sakusa for the serve that would start the set. Your cheek sunk into your hand as his serve shot almost straight into the floor if not for a quick save by Komori that he bounced with only a single arm.

Someone across the way whooped and your eyes darted side to side as the ball hopped in the air and the setter shot a quick toss through the air. Your eyes landed on the spiker it was hurtling towards. From this far away, it was impossible to see, but you knew Suna well enough. Right now he was probably thinking something like, ‘There’s a three man block in front of me, is there really any use in jumping? I’m not gonna land a point anyway, so I might as well conserve my energy.” Still, he leaped for all he was worth and dinked it with his freakishly long fingers at the last second.

“Woohoo!” You screeched. Ignoring the fans who turned around to frown at you. Understandable. Why were you sitting in the MSBY Black Jackals section and dressed in black and gold merch if you were gonna cheer for the other damn team? You glare right back at them and slurp on your empty drink. The action only reminds you that you’re kind of hungry.

Inunaki bumps it back up all the same. Not surprising considering how slow and weak dinks are, but you gasp and groan aloud with the rest of the fans when Atsumu immediately tries to dump the ball back over the net. The play is messy and his hands are easy to read. Suna springs back up and spikes it down before the two even have a chance to tussle over it.

The buzzer rings and the EJP Raijin are awarded the point.

“Now that’s a failure of a setter dump if I ever saw one. Not what you usually expect from a player like Miya.”

“He does seem to be off his game today— oh, and there it is. Coach Foster is subbing in another player.”

“It’s only the second set, and the Jackals did take the first. There’s plenty of time for him to cool off and get back on the court to show us some of his monster serves.”

The commentators switch to talking about the serving skills of the various players at today’s game, which you don’t bother to stick around for. You did come to see Atsumu, after all. No point in staying if he’s not on the court.

You gather your hair in a low ponytail and tie it back, put your jacket back on, and make sure you have your wallet and phone still. All secure.

The stadium isn’t one you’re used to, so you refer to the map in the concrete hallway. The exit closest to the station is the north one and you’re at the southeast. It’s only when you turn to go that you realize you don’t know whether to go left or right.

“Well, it is just a giant circle,” You mutter. “Doesn’t really matter which way.”

From further inside, you can hear the buzzer go off one, two three times, signaling the end of the set. “That was quick.” The halls flood immediately and you’re forced to slow down and trudge through, rather than hyperwalk like you usually would. This whole trip is turning out to be one inconvenience after another. Atsumu is off his game. You’re hungry. People in this crowd keep bumping into you.

“Hey lady, get in line like the rest of us.” One asshole grunts and you reflexively scowl at him and the five brats he’s with. It drops from your face. If you had to deal with five kids under the age of ten all by yourself, you’d be grumpy too.

“Sorry, m’bad.” Curious, (and still hungry) you check what it is they’re in line for. Immediately, you’re in a better mood. Skirting the line, you hop over the gate and swipe some onigiri right out of the display box.

“Oi! What the hell are you— Oh, [y/n].”

“Hey there, stranger! Fancy meeting you here.” In two massive, disgusting, and arguably impressive bites, you swallow the onigiri (which is in no way, bite sized) and pluck the baseball cap off his head.

“Hiii, welcome to Onigiri Miya, what can I get for you today?” You ask, pulling your ponytail through the hat and bumping your hip with Osamu’s. The old man isn’t all that disturbed by the abrupt change in cashier and prattles on a list of items long enough to feed a battalion. You’re quick to click it into the POS and nod your head to the order printer that’s situated further back in their makeshift workstation. “I’ve got this. Go do your thing.” He rubs his hat hair sheepishly. He wasn’t planning on taking it off today. "Here's your receipt, sir. Please pick up your order at the station to your left. Good afternoon, it’s lovely to have ya here at Onigiri Miya, whatcha cravin’?”

“That’s it? What else did she say? Where’d she go after? When did she leave?” Atsumu’s hands buried themselves in his hair, practically pulling it out by the roots.

“I don’t know! Um… The rush came after the second set, I think? N’she left right after. I assumed she just went back in ta watch the game!”

“But she didn’t say anything weird?”

“No! We were so busy I barely said two words to ‘er!” Osamu had never seen his brother look so frantic.

“I’m going back to the police.” He rasped out.

— — —

At the station, Detective Kano looks over your file.

CASE: Missing Persons

FULL NAME: Miya [y/n]

BIRTHPLACE: Sapporo

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Osaka

Looking at it plainly, the answer is clear. As much as his subordinate and your husband don’t want to believe it, you’ve left. Nobody took you or forced you. The reason could be anything. You got bored or felt stifled in your marriage, (it did say you two had gotten married at twenty. That’s awfully young to make a lifelong commitment) you met another man, (always a possibility) or it could be that you were running for your life from an abusive piece of shit. Your case wouldn’t be the first like that and nor would it be the last. He didn’t care how ‘worried’ your husband appeared to be. For all he knew, the bastard could just be worried about people finding out and it ending his career.

"Oi, Tanigashi.” He barked. The rookie’s head shot up. “We find any bodies in the past couple days?”

“Time frame?” She asked, already typing away.

“Last seen on Tuesday, the fourteenth”

“Male? Female? What else, ya gotta help me out here.”

“Twenty two year old female.”

She hummed. “Tourist?”

He shook his head.

“Is she a short emo meets Harajuku model typa person?” She sighed, turned the monitor in his direction.

He sighed. “Nope. Sorry fer wastin’ your time. Get back to work.”

“Detective?” The office secretary popped his head in the door. “The statements you ordered just came in. Should I print them out for you?”

“Yeah, thanks kid.” Kano heaved himself out of his seat and cracked his bones. Years on the force and keeping up with full contact Karate were starting to get to him. Maybe he should take his daughters advice and take up Tai Chi or Yoga.

He crinkles open a wrapper and pops the gum in his mouth, reading the evidence as it’s freshly warm off the machine.

The bank statements aren’t anything out of the ordinary. You’ve withdrawn everything from your personal account. The joint account has been left alone. He jots down a note. ‘Set financial alert for suspicious activity.’

This way he’ll know if one of you tries to remove the other from the account. Again, he noted that you hadn’t withdrawn anything from the joint. As his spouse, you were legally entitled to it. And with Atsumu’s fat check from three seasons of pro sports under his belt, it wasn’t like he would miss a little bit all that much.

If anything, it told the detective that you didn’t hate him. Had you wanted him to suffer, it would be easy to empty the accounts and leave him broke.

“Rule’s out abuse.” He mumbles. Unless you were afraid of retribution should he find you. Though with how thorough you were being, (phone left behind. bank account empty. social media untouched) something told him you didn’t have any plans to be found.

Kano sighs, flipping through more pages and organizing them as he goes.

“This just gets more and more complicated.” He stops. “Hey, kid. Where’s the health report?”

He paled, worried he had missed something. “Ummmmmmmmm.” His fingers click across his email. “Looks like the hospital needs a formal report before releasing any information. Sorry, I’ll get right on that.”

— — —

Tucked away behind more wealthy and more flashy neighborhoods, hidden and huddled by a ring of trees, the only way you could ever know the Miya household was there was if you had been there before.

Which you had.

Ducked below a hill off the main road, it’s a modest split level house which seemed a lot smaller when you were younger. Then again, it had been inhabited by both the boys, their mom, and all the people they attracted. Which happened to be a lot. Despite being more than a little rude, Atsumu and Osamu were always surrounded by people wanting to be their friend.

You park in the driveway and enter through the back door on the porch, which has been unlocked since you first started visiting when you were fifteen.

“Toyo! It’s [y/n]. You here?” You called, walking through the door. No answer.

You walked through the kitchen and down the six steps to the main level.

“Toyo? You in there?” Politely soft, but loud enough to be heard, you knocked on her door. Still nothing.

You swung the door open.

“To—” Surrounded by tissues, old bowls of food, and shivering, was Miya Toyo in all her glory. “Gosh.” You whispered. “I knew you were sick, but this is ridiculous.”

Quietly, you grabbed the heating pad in her nightstand drawer and plugged it in, setting it next to her on the bed. Then, gently pulling the covers up and smoothing them out. Not that it mattered. The woman slept like a rock. You wondered if she had always dealt with being sick like this: alone, with no one to care for her.

Then you were headed back towards the kitchen. The door to Toyo’s room was carefully shut. You didn’t want your noise to wake her up. On the way back, you shuddered. No wonder she was sick, she kept the house colder than an icebox.

You made a pit stop at the boy’s room, sliding open a closet door, grabbing a hoodie, and smelling it.

“Hmm… Yeah, that’s Atsumu.” You recognized and quickly pulled it on. The man threw a fit anytime you wore Osamu’s clothes, so you had learned to differentiate the two. You chuckled. That was one of the ways you had figured out he had a thing for you.

A second pair of socks was also stolen. Yours were much too thin to keep your toes from falling off. “Hmm hmmm. Hmm hm, hmmm hm.” You hummed absentmindedly as you switched on the kettle and searched through the pantry and fridge for ideas on what to make.

#atsumu x reader #Miya Atsumu #haikyuu

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theashofwkm · 5 years

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Dinner of Rats

Summary: In which Mark adds a little spice to his dinner, and finally takes the sleeping pills he keeps forgetting.

Prompt: Goretober, Poisoned

Warnings: poison, self-poisoning, suicide attempt, stabbing mention, the f word, I say shitty once, description of wounds/stabs, self-hate, mention of starving oneself, longing for death, overdose, death description, downward spiral, cheating mention, betrayal, this ones pretty dark guys.

Note: day three!!! this might also be counted as the suicide prompt, but idk yet. We’ll see if my motivation can keep up with this and if I have another idea for it.

———

Walking through the halls, body sore and colored with harsh red and circles of blooming purpled-blue, Mark wanders around lost in the home he’s lived in his entire life.

He’s in his home, walking though it’s halls. It’s impossible, he shouldn’t still be here, with legs and lungs in a body that still breathes. The stabs littering his torso should have killed him, he should be dead dozens of times over, but he’s not.

He’s not.

Still here, walking, breathing, thinking, against his will. He’d made a choice, committed to it nearly forty times and it didn’t stick. Just left him with missing time and a body that was a little more broken.

Foolishly, desperately, he thinks it’s the method that’s the problem.

It’s not and he knows that, but he needs to be wrong. He needs the voices to be wrong. He needs to be dead.

Sorrow lives his bones, a compliment to the grief of his blood and the guilt tanning his skin. There’s no reason anymore.

It’s hard and every breath feels like a punch in the gut, a rope looped around his neck. If he’s not in some agonizing emotional pain turned physical, he’s numb. Devoid of any feeling, of the sense of touch entirely. Living hurts and he doesn’t want to hurt anymore.

Not over her. She didn’t deserve to hold this power over him. Not now. Not after what she did.

He decides to try a new method. There’s bleach on the cupboard in the bathroom, rat poison in the kitchen. He’d taint his own drink, add the spice to his food and pray that that was enough.

It’s funny, before she left, he wasn’t a religious man, but he prays so often now. Daily, at least. Begging for the same thing like a broken record. Hands clasped and knees bruised, he asks and begs and pleads but he doesn’t receive.

Broken heart, bleeding lungs, self-hate littering his torso, he asks for the pain to stop. It gets worse.

It only ever gets worse.

Every time it does, he feels a modicum of relief along with the new wave of pain, believing it to be the last, the new worst. Then the ocean swells and another wave comes and he’s proven wrong. He hit rock bottom a long time ago, weeks ago. That was supposed to be the worst, that is what everyone said was the worst. ‘There’s nowhere to go but up,’ they’d said. Wrong.

He’s falling. Screaming to wind that swallows his voice and whips his flailing limbs. He can’t see the sky anymore, no sun or moon, just endless black.

Endless, pitch, encompassing black. The place he’s come to call The Nothing flashes through his mind. The starving ground of the whispers, the place where their sound echoes as they try to tear him apart. To lead him down a different path.

Whispering words that tug at his heart, that weaken his resolve, momentarily. Whispering justice, whispering revenge, whispering it’s not fair, is it?

No. None of this was fucking fair.

It would never be fair. What she did was vile and repulsive and downright cold. He’d loved her, had given her everything he could, everything that she asked and she took his willingness to please her, his devoted love and used it to stab him where it hurts. Figuratively. He did the actual stabbing himself.

Her betrayal had hurt more. He suspects that it always would.

And William. It boggles Mark’s mind, what he’d done. They’d been so much more then friends, had been brothers, and he’d gone after the one woman Mark had cared for, the one he’d marked as taken. He’d stolen his wife and cleared the joint bank account he shared with her and Mark hopes he suffers.

Because if the situation was reversed, if William had married the girl he loved, he doesn’t think he’d stoop so low as to steal her. It was a cheap, below the belt move and it wasn’t fair.

He scoffs a laugh as he veers into the bathroom. He thinks of the empty bank account. Cleared entirely by the girl he loved and the man he trusted.

In the end, now, he doesn’t much care for the missing money. It’s just another shitty thing, another mountain he doesn’t have the energy to climb. Just another thing that reduces the percentage of oxygen in his air to leave him gasping.

Thankfully, the bleach is labeled as so. He grabs it, tugging it towards him and wondering why the jug needs to be so big. It’s fine, though, he’d prepared for it. Sneaking the empty flask from his pocket, he messily pours the bleach in before capping it and shoving it back in.

Some of it had dropped onto the floor, splashed onto his robe. It stings against his hand. He welcomes the burn, he’s been through much worse lately. This is nothing.

Everything was nothing. He was searching for the thing that would be last. He wonders if death hurts, or just the process. Would he feel peace, once the deed was done? He hopes so, but he also doesn’t much care. If he wasn’t in pain, mentally ripping at his skin and tearing out his hair, then it was better.

Better was a low bar nowadays, but somehow it was still out of reach. Still too high for him to reach up and grasp. There’s an endless amount of betters, but somehow he keeps finding the limited worsts.

The flask doesn’t sit heavy in his pocket. The first few times he’d tried to off himself, the knife had been heavy, his grip slippery. It had been hard, the first few times. It’s become easy now, easier then breathing.

He wonders what that means, that an attempt to end his life is easier then drawing air into his lungs. Probably nothing good. But he’s not surprised. There’s nothing good left about him.

He’s everything but a walking corpse.

At the last moment, he grabs a bottle of pills. To help him sleep, pills he hasn’t been taking. Pills that could actually help him sleep, now that it crosses his mind. He pockets it next to the flask.

Leaving the bathroom, he makes his way downstairs. This is the hard part, the first hiccup he could experience. Chef doesn’t like people in the kitchen. That is where the poison lies.

Summoning Ben, he concocts some nonsense reason for him to disturb Chef and leave the kitchen free for a moment. There’s a moment of hesitation, where Ben eyes Mark with something close to pity, but it only lasts a moment before Ben goes off to do as requested.

Chef steps out of his kitchen in a huff of anger and Mark slips in through the other entrance. He slips in the cupboard, grabbing the bottle, and quickly retreating.

Skull and crossbones are plastered on the label, beside the no rodent sign. He smiles. Finally. It was in his grasp, again. Hopefully for the last time.

In his bedroom, he goes on his knees and prays for this to work until Ben fetches him for dinner. He grinds the sleeping pills into gravely dust. He prays some more.

Ben pulls out his chair in silence. Mark sits and he expects something about this time to feel different, but it doesn’t. It’s the same as any other meal he’s had over the past weeks.

Except this time he’s planning to actually eat it.

Pockets full of things he shouldn’t ingest, he has something of an appetite. This will be his first good meal in a while.

Ben places the plate before him, bowing and muttering an obedient “master.”

“Ben.” Mark stops him. This death will be slow, probably. He didn’t want any interruptions, anything that could get in the way. “Go to your rooms for the night and tell Chef to do the same.”

The butler turns, shocked. “But master—”

“Now.”

Nodding shakily, Ben follows orders. Chef yells in the kitchen, but follows them too. He’s alone now.

He takes out the flask first, uncapping it and dribbling the clear cleaning fluid into his wine. He dumps the entirety of the rat poison — somewhere between half and three quarters — onto his plate. He mixes it into his potatoes while sprinkling the dust of pills over everything like it’s salt and pepper. After a moment of thought, he adds a bit of powder to the wine.

He begins to eat.

Wine doesn’t taste all that different. There’s an unpleasant sting to it, and it burns like fire going down his throat, but he manages to sip at the glass the whole time. The pills are bitter. Harder to ignore and pretend it’s not there, but he tries. Self-made salt is sour, almost, unpleasant in the way medicine is. It’s not horrible, though.

He tells himself that this is the last time. The last attempt. After this, there will be no Mark Fischbach.

Vision blurring, limbs numbing, heart rate slowing, he’s happy. Relieved and happy and so, so close to peaceful. Slumped on the table, spilling out of his chair onto the floor, he no longer hurts.

He opens his eyes and screams.

———

Masterlist

Welp, that happened. Not a huge, huge fan of this one, but there are some bits I really like, so maybe it evens out.

TAGGING: @pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @noisyfreakpersonlover @nightmarejim @schuyleryette @withjust-a-bite @statictay @muraae @harmonyofstars @cosmic-frapuccino @jmweezy (tags are open)

#theashwrites #my writing #theashangst #wkm fic #wkm angst #goretober #goretober 2019 #wkm mark #wkm butler #wkm chef #tw suicide attempt #tw suicide #tw stabbing #tw poison #tw overdose #poison

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sargecasey-blog · 5 years

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My abuse story

when I was born my parents did not want me and I was born blind. So I went to live with my grandparents. Well living with my grandparents I had a lot that made me happy, I had a lot of friends and things to do at home that made me happy but after 1st grade my parents took me to go live with them which highly effected me. Even when they took me to go live with them I remember kicking and screaming as we went down the driveway. The time I lived with my parents I went through physical abuse which I ended up almost failing 2 grades. I remember waking up to belts coming at me by my dad and I remember my dad punching my mom. luckily one day a teacher found bruises all over my body which I got taken from my parents and went to live with my grandparents again. My parents were punished and everything through child support. Though I'm not sure they were punished enough. Even though I was born blind I had a also had a surgery 3 days after I was born to barely open my eyes. The only affect this had was affecting my learning because it was hard to see. As i got older I did have surgeries to open my eyes more. Well when I went back to go live with my grandparents I started doing well again and made a lot of new friends in elementary which took a bit for me to become happy again. Well fast forward to the end of middle school my grandfather got into a lot of drama with my sister and mother that changed him in my opinion not sure if that's what changed him or not. Well he started emotionally abusing me, my sister and my grandmother through high school and after. I graduated high school in 2011 so the emotional abuse mainly happened from 2007 to 2011 but I still get emotionally abused after high school which was much worse. What my grandfather did was he would yell at somebody like every other day for something they did or how they did something. Every time I felt happy I would get yelled at like it was wrong to be happy. My grandfather did not like me having friends and would always tell me they would not be friends with me after high school. When we would eat there was always a problem with how we eat or the way we eat. We would always be going out to eat or getting fattening food kind of feels like there was a reason for that I don't know. Lastly the only time we were allowed to be happy was either when we were doing what my grandfather wanted or when we where going somewhere. What I ended up doing to get through all of this is I would stay in my room and try to avoid the abuse as much as possible. I ate once a day for 2 to 3 years to avoid drama. I was scared to brush my teeth because the bathroom was right where my grandfather was always at and I noticed every time I went in there he would say some negative comment. I would play games and meet new people online which help me avoid the abuse. I was terrified to leave because every time I did I would either get yelled at or treated like crap. My sister has highly been affected by the abuse as well. She tried committing suicide twice and she does a lot of drugs to avoid the pain. Also she made friends with other people that does drugs because she feel like they're the only type of people that understand her and what she is going through. She had kids and now they’re most likely going through what we went. I don’t live there anymore but her kids could be getting emotionally abused as well. The affects of all of the abuse I've realized is going through high school I did not get to think about what I wanted to do in life, my brain did not develop normally, I have bad teeth that give me a lot of pain all the time, I have hypoglycemia, I believe I lost around $7,500 after being forced to go to college which I was not ready at all for and I went through depression for 3 years after moving in with my mom because I was not trying to avoid the abuse anymore or going through it anymore so I got to think about it and understand what I was going through. In 2019 I contacted domestic violence hotline. Which lead me to reporting all this info to end up being told that there is nothing I can do about it because it's not happening to me right now. I also tried going to a homeless shelter to try to get away from my toxic family or toxic environment. The one I ended up getting sent to has a very bad ratting. It has a lot of reviews that there's something shady going on there which I felt while I was there. There was people selling drugs there. It was very hard to sleep because people would be talking on their phones at night I have a huge issue with this because I know sleep is important for remembering and learning new stuff. So it felt like I was getting manipulated. Also the people in charge seem to always be yelling at people so it did not seem like they were trying to help anybody that was there. I ended up contacting my mother and went back to live with her. Well when I went to go back to live with my mother I talked to her about most of this and talked to my uncle about most of it as well. They told me that my grandparents abused them as well. I think they told me that they were made to work really hard on a farm and they would get beaten with a stick on the side of the road. Also they went through some of the same things I went through. I learned/realized that my grandparents did not really have any friends visiting them as if they pushed them all away growing up. I also know my great grandparents on my grandmothers side did not like my grandfather very much. I recently learned that my grandparents own my bank account. I had no idea what a joint owner meant. It's possible they took money from me but I’m not sure. I had $10,000 before I went to college. I paid for some of the college even though I had some financial aid and I had a crash while I was in college that i had to pay for. I also bought a computer and games. Not sure if all that ended up being worth $10,000 or not. It's strange that they've not told me that they basically own my bank account and I don't think my mother knows as well. I don't know why this is such a big secret which is what I want to find out next.

Update 2021: Over the past 2 years my mother got married, went on vacations that did not include me, renovated the house, had pool parties and just doing everything for her benefits. It has made me feel like my life doesn’t matter and I’ve realized I never been supported by my family in what I wanted to do in life it’s all been about what they wanted me to do. My mother just recently said I have to start paying her to live with her or I have to move out. I’ve been trying to make money getting into blockchain games but it’s so hard to make money when I need to recover from everything I’ve been through.

New update 2021: She did not end up kicking me out but she keeps telling me I owe her money. I noticed joey who she got married to got scammed for like 3,000 dollars and she seemed to care that it happened and has seemed happy about it strangely. Also I made money on an app that I could cashout for a giftcard which I wanted to try to order from burger king to see what that was like but when I told my mother she did not seem happy that I made money. Once again I feel like I’m not allowed to make money because my family wants to be in control of my life. Idk what’s gonna happen to me but it’s not gonna be good. I wish I had it in me to kill myself at this point I’m so tired of going through torture/this messed up life.

#abuse #family abuse #domestic abuse #abuse story

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alittledizzy · 6 years

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where the trees we planted grow rating: t word count: 2.3k Summary: Dan and Phil take a trip to Japan after the tour is over. Notes: Written for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives. Special dedication: an early birthday present for Kamillester with lots of love, from D

[read on ao3]

Years ago, so many years ago that Dan was still a teenager and Phil still felt crushed under the weight of an uncertain future and his own inability to commit himself to doing what normal people are supposed to do when they finish uni, they spent the better part of a lazy spring day reading each other articles on Japan out loud and planning a holiday that seemed like a distant dream.

Phil remembers being stretched out on his bed with Dan, the both of them wearing only pants. He recalls how they’d pass the laptop back and forth when the bottom got too hot against their thighs, or when one of them had another flight of fancy they wanted to chase through a search engine. He remembers the lazy breaks for making out and how he’d watched videos on hot springs that showed fully naked people while Dan went to make them something for tea, and how he’d shown the videos to Dan when Dan got back, and how their food had grown cold while they worked each other up with a fantasy of hot rolling water and so much skin and endless possibility.

He stretches his legs out in front of him as far as they’ll go, listening to his knees pop. There’s a phantom ache to it that didn’t used to be there, from shoving his body into a too-small seat for hours and hours and hours.

“Hey,” Dan says, shifting beside him. There’s a divider between Dan’s seat and Phil’s, but only a half-partition. Phil wishes they could have gotten one of the ones that went all the way down, but he figures it’s probably best for sanitary conditions that most planes don’t allow for full body contact between two people on long haul flights. He doesn’t think he fancies imagining that someone fucked right where he sits.

He’ll have to tell that to Dan later, he thinks. For now he just looks over and meets Dan’s smile. “Hey.”

They leave their shoes in the lobby of the ryokan and trail being a polite woman who speaks fantastic English and doesn’t seem to judge Phil any of his stupid British questions.

Phil forgets it all almost immediately, and hopes that Dan remembers enough that they won’t embarrass themselves.

They drift apart once she’s gone, poking into different rooms. Phil’s had a lifetime of hotels in the past year, but everything about this feels less like a mandatory stopover and more like an experience.

“It’s got a control panel just like the last one,” Phil shouts out.

“Television in the mirror, though?” Dan shouts back. Phil taps his finger at the mirror. His reflection taps him back, but nothing else happens. “No,” he calls back.

He’s not that disappointed. The last one was impractical. You couldn’t even see it from the toilet.

“The view makes up for it,” Dan says. “Come look.”

Dan’s already slid the glass door open and he’s standing on their small deck. There’s nothing but greenery all around, a fantastic garden laid out all around them.

Hakone is beautiful. They’d passed it up last time, too eager to plunge into the city and spend time with their friends, but this… this trip is just for them.

Phil looks down. “More sandals?”

Indoor slippers. Outdoor sandals.

“Yeah,” Dan says. His feet are slightly too long for the plastic ones he’s just put on. “There are wooden ones by the private bath, too.”

“Are they going to know if we don’t wear them all?” Phil asks.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Yes, Phil. I’m sure there’s a surcharge on the bill for going barefoot.”

“You don’t know,” Phil says. “There could be hidden cameras in the trees.”

He pauses and tries to imagine what they’d see if there were: him and Dan, standing with an arm’s width of space between them, staring out into the world.

Jetlag, the crispness of the air, the heat of the water, the sound of the birds around them.

Dan drifts off after just a few minutes, head tipped back against the ledge of the pool in an angle that looks uncomfortable. It makes his neck look very long. Everything about him looks long, the span of his arms from the tips of his fingers on one hand to the tips of his fingers on the other, where he’s got them draped along the side of the pool.

Phil stares his fill, because he’s allowed. He looks at Dan’s collarbones and the soft dark hair under his arms and the bruise on his bicep from trying to lift their bag over his head earlier, down and down to Dan’s nipples that are peaked hard in the air and his belly button with the water lapping just over it.

It’s been ten years and he’s not tired of that face. He’s not tired of that body. It doesn’t even occur to him that he might be until he hears someone express their awe.

Relationships last in Phil’s life. His mum and dad. His grandparents, all of them. What you forge together early in your life is built to endure.

They’re built to endure, Phil thinks.

He doesn’t need anyone else’s opinion to know it’s true.

Dinner is laid out on a table low to the ground.

Their chairs have no legs and Dan’s knees poke up knobby where he sits cross-legged. They’re too tall for the robes by a bit, but Phil’s at peace with knowing their attendant might get a cheeky flash of thigh or two.

“I never want to leave,” Dan says, tongue swiping out to catch a stray drop of miso soup.

“We could just stay,” Phil says. “That’d solve the problem.”

“Problem?” Dan asks. “Is it a problem now?”

“No,” Phil says. “Well, sort of. It’s a - thing. A thing we don’t know the answer to.”

Dan looks vaguely unhappy with that response, but he doesn’t argue. “Tomorrow, yeah? After we’ve slept?”

Phil’s not going to push it. Not when his belly is full and his heart is full and his body is so tired and he’s thinking of how soft the bed just one room away is. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.

But tomorrow brings sleep for half the day, and then a breakfast that’s much tastier than the descriptions might have looked on a menu, and then another long session in the private onsen.

“Seriously,” Dan says. He stretches out his legs so his toes poke up out of the water. “I could live here.”

“Bit pricey to live,” Phil says. “You might have to give up a jumper or two.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You can’t just let me dream.”

Their knees knock together. The pool is small for two grown men, but proximity doesn’t particularly bother them.

Or does it?

It doesn’t right now, because nobody’s watching. There are no cameras in the trees. It’s just the two of them.

That’s what this entire trip is about - nobody watching. The videos are scheduled, the tweets are scheduled, the audience knows to level their expectations.

There’s nothing on their plates except each other and this conversation that they aren’t having yet.

On the third day they stand in a long line in the rain to get black sulfur eggs.

“Seven years,” Dan says.

“I’m going to have ten,” Phil says. “And I’ll live to be two hundred.”

“Seven times ten is seventy years,” Dan says. “Do you really think you’ll live to be one hundred and thirty without any help?”

“Yes,” Phil says immediately. “And you have to eat ten, too.”

“So you want me to be actually sick. That’s the memory you want me to take away from Mt. Fuji this time. How I was sick off black eggs.”

“No, I just want you to live as long as me,” Phil says.

They’re standing close together, crowded in by the throng of people all waiting for their eggs.

It’s so easy to slide his fingers into Dan’s.

Dan goes tense, but he looks at Phil with something sweet and surprised. “Really?”

Phil shrugs. No one is looking, he thinks.

But even if they are…

He’ll just call it a test run.

“Really,” Phil says.

He lets go as soon as they’re to the ordering window.

They each get one egg and stand by a long wooden table to eat them.

“Seven more years, yeah?” Dan holds his up,

Phil clinks the shell against his own. “Seven years.”

There’s a bottle of sake waiting to be cracked into.

“We could have sex?” Dan asks, but there’s a reason they haven’t yet. They’re both too distracted, too in their own heads.

But they only have two days left in Hakone. Then Tokyo, for friends and… maybe a celebration.

Maybe.

“Or we could talk,” Phil says.

Sex will come later. Once they’ve made up their minds.

“Fine, fine.” Dan sighs. He stands up, robe falling loosely on his body. Phil takes a moment to look. He’s gorgeous, really. He’s so gorgeous. “Bring the alcohol, though.”

“It won’t change anything,” is Dan’s opening bid.

“What do you mean?” Phil asks.

“We already get all the benefits, right? We live together. We’ve got shared investments. We’ve got a joint bank account. We’re committed.” Dan stares up. The stars are out now. “Why is a ceremony the end goal? Shouldn’t the life be the end goal? We’re going to have that no matter what.”

The pool around them is lit by flickering lanterns.

“It wouldn’t be the ‘end goal’ even if we did get married,” Phil argues. “The ceremony doesn’t mean anything. It’s just an acknowledgement of something we already know.”

“So you do want to?” Dan asks.

“I didn’t say that,” Phil says.

“Okay. Your turn, then,” Dan says.

“I think it would have benefits. We want-” Phil pauses. This is one of those things they know, but don’t say often. “We want kids, one day. It’ll be a easier to get them if we’re married.”

“Not really,” Dan says. “They can’t like, legally deny us. Married or not.”

“No, but. Explaining it people, you know.” Phil finds it hard to explain what he means, but they’ve had this conversation before. The weird tangled cloud of traditional morality Phil can’t quite untangle himself from feels oppressive sometimes and comforting others.

Dan just shrugs. “But does that mean we need to do anything now?” Dan asks. “I’m not ready for kids. I’ve barely scratched the surface figuring my own shit out.”

“I don’t want kids yet either,” Phil says.

“So does that put kids as a pro or a con on the list?” Dan might not agree with Phil but he does at least accept that some things come before others to Phil.

“I don’t know,” Phil admits. “But it feels like something that should factor in.”

“What about the other ‘kids?” Dan asks, doing air quotes. “The ones that we have raised from their youth to their now jaded twenties?”

“Those aren’t our kids. Not with the things they talk about us doing.” Phil shudders. “We could just not tell them?”

“You know how well that works,” Dan says. “People always find out. It would solve a different problem, though. No need to fuck with coming out if we just flash some matching rings.”

“If we were even going to come out,” Phil says.

Dan makes a face at him. It’s another point of contention, another source of indecision. They’re both prone to change their minds each time the wind blows in a different direction.

“My mum wants us to,” Phil says.

“My parents clearly didn’t think it was necessary to rush into,” Dan says, a slight grimace on his face.

“That’s a bad thing?” Phil asks.

Dan shrugs. “I don’t know. But maybe I would want us to be married before we have kids.”

“Fair enough,” Phil says. “We might get tax breaks.”

“We don’t need tax breaks,” Dan says. “But we’ll finally have an answer when people ask if we’re brothers...”

“Yes, and we’re also married?” Phil predicts.

“Exactly,” Dan says.

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“But you know what is fun? We’d get to plan a wedding,” Phil says. “And a reception menu! That’s like, second best to interior design. I watched a program last month where they served sliders made with donuts, and the cake was a big donut.”

“That sounds disgusting, and you watch far too much home and design related television,” Dan says. “But I could get a really swish suit out of it.”

“Designers might even put up for it,” Phil says. “Just no Yeezy down the aisle, please.”

“Only in the honeymoon suite?” Dan grins.

“My future self just lost his boner,” Phil says.

“My future self will help him get it back,” Dan promises.

Phil goes quiet for a long time, and looks at Dan. They’re at the same standstill they always come to. Their eyes lock and the moment goes on and on. Finally, Phil says: “It would be nice to be your husband.”

Dan lets out a noisy breath and smiles. His eyes look a little watery. He cries so easily. Phil loves that about him. “It would be really fucking nice.”

They spend all of day four in bed and in the onsen, building up a sweat between the sheets and washing it off in the warmth of the water. (Figuratively, of course, because they're polite onsen visitors who wash off properly first in the tiny little wooden stalls that barely fit their bodies.)

It shouldn’t make a difference, Phil thinks. They weren’t lacking anything without it. Their commitment was still a commitment. The part that counts has always been there.

“You should tell people I proposed at Mt. Fuji,” Phil says.

Dan punches him in the arm. “I will fucking not. You don’t get proposal credit.”

“Oh, oh, wait, even better - we could tell them we did that thing where we both took rings and surprised each other!” Phil says, excited.

“I hate you,” Dan says. “Don’t know why I’m even marrying you.”

Phil grins so hard that his face hurts.

He thinks of himself, twenty three and barely able to grasp the concept of a life like this. He thinks of Dan, nineteen and convinced he’ll never have the things he wants. He thinks of all those hours they spent dreaming of a moment like this… and how much better the reality is.

#phan #phanfic #thirty minute fics for charity

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namjoonchronicles · 7 years

Text

Cost of Sincerity - [BTS] Yoongi!Husband Au

[I changed the title!]

Love is not being able to bed her, or to get in her panties. Love is to know that she can take care of herself on her own just as well, and still wanting to. Love is, to protect a flame and keep it burning for a long time. To nurture and cherish and see her grow from her own shell.

Love is to think about her when it’s broad daylight, with all these people around and wanting only her. Not when it’s midnight and it’s lonely. Love is to have all these choices and remained to choose her.

The stewardess passed you, asking if you would like to have a drink with a pretty smile on her Russian Red lips, pushing the cart with her freshly manicured fingernails of the same shade of red, looking absolutely stunning, standing 18000 feet from sea level.

“I’ll decide later.” “Alright, I’ll do one round and come back to you, will that be okay?”

That’s nice. You nodded and passed an appreciative smile on your lips. And you felt the edges tremble a bit. It happens when you don’t feel like smiling but you had to, and people could really tell that it wasn’t genuine. Just good enough to let them know that you don’t really want to be disturbed. That is quite difficult, being someone so approachable, to be so closed up like that. It was just one of those days. You could clearly tell that your heart was no longer here where it should be.

The plane right wings sliced through the clouds, towards endless blue skies. Yoongi was considerate enough to book you a window seat and paid a first class ticket home for you when you insisted that you would be fine, sitting back there in the economy where there’s more people and less space. All this extra spaces is making you miss him entirely more.

Fishing out your phone that you put on airplane mode, you scrolled down to his name and tapped on the last message sent. You left him on read for three days straight and you started to wonder if he even remembered that you were coming home today.

“I shouldn’t be expecting much. Expectations bring disappointments,” you breathed in and exhaled sharp. “He’s busy. Please, don’t do this to him. Remember all the good things he’s done...” you added, more to remind yourself to not push him away. This trip away from him was to strengthen, not to create distance.

But what if I come back and he won’t be there? There’s no reason he should be. Not after that last conversation with him.

This time it wasn’t just about commitment. It was about importance. About priorities. About trust.

You dashed into his studio without warning one noon, and he turned around with his headphone still attached around his ear. Upon hearing someone coming in, he spun around, angry at first, even muttering the curse word, “Fuck.” When he looked up and saw your tearful eyes, your phone in one hand, another palm, flat on the door brim, holding it open, his hard expression turns instantly timid. He was forgetting something again, didn’t he?

You looked at him, dead in the eyes, gritting your teeth and grinding your jaws, and grumbled low, “Last chance, Yoongi.”

Yoongi saw your shoulders turned away and sprung up to his feet, the expensive headphone he used to care so much about, falls to the floor as it became clear what was more important to him right now. The cables tangled around his thigh and he kicked them away without much thought, thinking that if he stalled, you would be gone for good. Yoongi went after you, calling your name like it was the only word he knows, arms extending to capture you, physically at least. He knows he can’t do anything about the emotional context of it. You were so far gone.

Utterly absurd. Simply preposterous. You heard him calling your name, felt the touches of his hand around your arms, wrist, whatever he could get his hands on, and yank it off without a problem. “I’ve had it with your ass. I don’t know how much more I could go Yoongi. I can’t do this anymore. I’m... please don’t touch me!” You spun around to face him and gathered your face into your hands, finally stopping in your tracks.

“It’s not about your time anymore. It’s not even about us anymore. How could you do that to me...?” Your voice muffled in your hands while Yoongi stepped back, because you told him to. His feet staggered, arms floating at hip heights on each side, unsure what it should do. His lips pressed together, unsure of what to say. He is unsure about a lot of things. Thoughts scrambling on a million words and none of it sounded good enough to turn the situation around.Desperation doubling in a second.

“I saved money in that joint account to purchase a trip, for us, for our family. I went to a wedding alone today and had to answer a lot of ridiculousl questions from people, asking where my husband is and to be frank--” you lift your tear-stained face at him, and raised your voice, “...--with you, Yoongi? I don’t fucking know anymore! And that’s not even the half of the shit that you put me through.”

Yoongi blinks to the floor, avoiding your eyes. He can never bear your crying face and guilt daunts on him, looming around his entire being right now, that he dare not say a word for fear it would plummet to a new ground-breaking argument with you. He looks up finally, not wanting to lose you from his sight in the process.

“...please don’t.” He sang, whined, plead, begged with everything he has, chanting your name like prayers, apologies in another name. On the verge of his own tears.

“And that’s not half of the shit you put me through, Min Yoongi...” you repeated, a bit more depth in the way you spit them out, looking at him in the eyes, while he approaches you, trying to hug you and you stepped back, with every advances he makes, firm with your stance. “...how could you lend your friend money, knowing fucking well we had a joint account! Why didn’t you talk to me about this? I was at a gathering today and saw this text Yoongi...it came from the bank!” You showed him your phone’s screen.

He threw a meaningless glance at it, and didn’t pay much attention to it because he knows what it says. He got the same message too. Now it’s time for him to lay his arguments. “...he was a good friend. He’s...we’ve been through hell together. I just... he came to ask for help, sweetie, please just. Will you listen to me?” He started blabbering, not caring if it didn’t make proper sense. Sense was out of the context now.

“He’s important.” Yoongi added a final point. And you jutted your chin, hollowed your cheek, looking down at your feet, nodding a little. The tears are finally dry. “...it’s clear to me now, where I lie in your list of priorities...” you sniffed and flashed a forced smile and it finally dawned to Yoongi how you took his words.

You started walking away, digging the heel of your palms into your eyes, and swept what’s left of the tears away roughly. You turned away from him and Yoongi is under an unwanted chase again. “That’s not what I meant...It’s different. That’s a different level. That came out wrong. You’re important to me. You’re important.” He repeated, holding your forearm, gripping firmly on them. You turned to him at the exit, and spit your last words at him, and, “...Well I don’t feel important.” You yanked your arm hard from his grip, grumbling to his face,

“I’m leaving you.”

Yoongi watched your back gets smaller as the automatic door opened at your presence. A soft fist in his right hand held on his hip height. Eyes dry, his heart breaking his cage, thumping considerably slow than before and he felt time slowed down without his consent as the distance between you two increases with each second passing. He reveals his right palm, and there was a ring.

Your wedding ring.

“Miss? Miss...? Can I ask you what you’d like for a drink now?” The stewardess tips her head to one side, adorably. Much to your surprised because she appeared to be rather regal and professional, the sudden gesture made you soften a bit. “...surprise me.” You gushed. Not wanting to think much of a drink. She pours down a sweet mixture of non-alcoholic fruit cocktail she mixed on the spot for you and smiled. “Special. It’s our secret.” She winked, “Please cheer up. I’d like to see a smile.”

You smiled genuinely this time. But moderately. Just to please her. She delivered her promise and tried to make you smile when she probably had a bad day too. You saw a passenger in the front rising her voice at her just a little while ago. Demanding for her to hand her the food she ordered when she clearly says, that it will be served when the captain declares it to be okay.

The tantalizing after-taste was something you were chasing after. The unplanned trip to your hometown was somewhat riveting, liberating. It gave you the escape you were seeking for. The time away. Some distance from what was bothering you that could simply be compiled to one name, Min Yoongi. You didn’t come home to your parents or told anyone you were back briefly. You stayed in the hotel and sighed heavily at the view before you.

Suddenly, this trip felt like a mistake. Not because you missed Yoongi. Not because Yoongi made a mess of the money you saved and use it as he pleases without talking to you first. But because the more you are left alone, the more you think of him. The empty space next to you on the large bed is disheartening. You tasted him in your delivered morning coffee, wondering if he’s having his morning coffee done, just the way he likes it. The bathrobe in the bathroom reminds you of him. Min Yoongi in the morning smells like a warm towel, toothpaste and coffee beans—a beautiful combination that never fails to wake you.

Songs from the 80s that he loves to share with you. “Yoongi would take a walk on the shores, take endless photos of whatever.” You looked down to the sandbed from your hotel’s balcony. The curtain flipping open against the rough windy skies at the open window.

Yoongi didn’t come home immediately after you left, knowing that you won’t be there. But there’s a tiny hint in his heart that he hoped you were there. So he took the time to prepare for that view: a home without you. Yoongi dragged his feet home with a ominous feeling in his heart. He clicks the door open with his keypad and it beeped for entry. Yoongi saw the house empty and flutter his eyes shut. He was hoping that this morning, he would wake up and it would all be a dream.

But you can't wake up if you don't sleep. And he walked in, to a phone call from his mom.

“Take her home. We’ll have a new year dinner together. I miss her.” Yoongi nodded to the phone. “I’ll...see what I can do. I can’t promise you.” Not wanting to let his mother knew what was happening to married life. Let’s keep this as domestic as possible. Yoongi stared at your number for hours. He wanted lay on the bed but thought it would feel different without you.

He went to discard his clothes and showered. Standing underneath the shower head, Yoongi hung his head low and let the water fall where they may. They trickle down his blonde hair, down his jaws and chin, over the middle of his backbone and pooled around his bony ankle. And he began to sniff. He shudders in silent cry, lips quivering without words, just small whimpers and a little shake of his head unable to contain the feeling of being left behind.

It broke him. Severely.

He puts in black long sleeves and black trousers, his hair still damp, coming down with a flu, his body began to heat up and his hands got colder. You were somewhere in the world, away from him and he hoped you were getting what you were looking for. His nose reddens and he lay in the hammock you both had by the window, still not wanting to lay in bed where you weren’t present.

Tissues all over his chest as he earnestly try to type out a good message for you to read.

If you would read it.

He typed and erased, repeating it, numerous time, not quite satisfied with all the sentence he come up with. He knows his embraces on you would have worked better because he’s simply bad at making words sound good when he needs them to be. Yoongi was aching to be with you, and you were miles away now, not wanting him there. He types again. And then erases.

He sends a simple text of a sad emoticon to you and a notification appeared.

“This message cannot be delivered.”

Setting his phone face down on his stomach, he laced his fingers together, and squeezed the heels of his palm on his temples, stressed before he combusts in tears, twice today. “Baby, please come home. I need you.” His hand brought down to his eyes and the tears spill in an endless circle of torture.

Three days away from Yoongi. You had your phone on airplane mode still. You took a walk by the beach alone, burying your feet in the sand, your flip flops in one hand, the wind striking your hair every time, the warm breeze washing your face, as you squinted your eyes to see the horizon of an ending day. The sun is swimming in golden sea, looking like an egg yolk, the mirage, breathtakingly beautiful in your eyes. Yoongi would have liked this.

Upon returning to your hotel room, you bought a small little keychain and set it laying on the coffee table by the balcony. You heard your phone rang. Snatching it faster than lightning, you saw Namjoon’s name on the caller ID. “Hello? Is he okay? Did he eat?” You blabbered before anything else. And it became clear to you that it wasn’t Namjoon. You could tell from the way he breathes. You inhaled shallow and sat on the chair.

“Mom...mother wanted us to be home for new year.” Yoongi stammered. His voice sounded nasally. You casted your eyes down to your lap, pressing the phone firmer to your ears as he spoke because you missed that voice so much. You knew he had been spending the days away from you, crying. “Where are you?” He sniffed, and you imagined him wiping away his snot with the back of his hand. “My hometown.” You shot, dryly.

“I’ll buy you a ticket so come home, okay?” He pleaded, in choked voice. You swallowed a gulp down your throat. “Sure.” You ended the call before he could say anything else. Yoongi pressed his forehead on the concrete wall, sniffing hard. Standing in the hallway alone. Namjoon watched from afar, wanting to get his phone back in his possession. He patted Yoongi’s shoulder twice, squeezed his upper arm and walked away wordlessly, after obtaining his phone from Yoongi.

“...please be seated and fasten your seatbelts. We will land shortly.” The announcement came through the speakers and you braced yourself, accordingly. “Crew members, please be seated for landing.” The captain announced. The stewardess scrunched her face cutely at you before going to the front of the plane where she should be. You looked out the window and saw Incheon International Airport on full display. Beautiful sunny day it is.

The airport runway is cleared, several men working hard on the scorching unforgiving sun and you felt the smooth sail of the moment of impact where the airplane tyres, kisses the ground, gliding effortlessly under the expert hands of a pilot who clearly had a number of experience on his resume to have executed such landing. Almost effortless. Utteredly graceful.

“Please remain seated until the plane comes to a full stop and use your communicating devices when you’re inside the building...we would like to thank you for flying with us,” you shut your eyes, embracing yourself for the fate that is waiting for you. The harness that you are bound to come home to, the promises you made with each other, these vows that made you his and him, yours—there was nothing ordinary about your relationship. You cared enough to point him his mistakes. And he was mature enough to accept. But should he think that it was unacceptable for you to be that way to him, then he should know that you don’t want to stay in a place where you’re not wanted.

It was not just about this friend of his anymore. It was how he prioritize things. How he justify what’s more important than the other. How he adamantly chose his friend, to tackle that problem before he ever consulted you. It was a joint account. Any decisions involving more than 10K should have been discussed. You were insisting that you were right. And it all depends on how he tackle this issue, next.

With the click of your heels, you dragged your bag up the slanted flight and the bridge and walked out like a confident women you are.

“I haven’t finish it,” Yoongi darted, “I know I promised it by today but I simply can’t.” He buried his fingers in his hair, yanking it hard so it could take away a bit of the numbing headache, ramming in his head. His studio is not as tidy as it was. He had unfinished food laying around, empty soda bottles and crumpled papers of his attempt to write lyrics—fruitless attempt. His tracks remained unfinished and he was getting annoyed at little things.

“I can’t write a damn fucking verse Namjoon. I don’t know what you want me to say.” He hung up and put his phone facing down.

Walking out of the arrivals, you tried not to scan around but couldn’t help wanting to. So you did. Maybe he won’t come, at least the others would. Maybe. Something to sooth your heart. You tilted your chin up and inhaled deeply. You felt a pair of eyes on you from the side and gulped. It’s that feeling again. That familiar bubbling in the pit of your stomach, whenever Yoongi is around. You saw one man, standing with his head low, both hands in his pocket, his eyes peeking through his blonde bangs. He lifts his head fully now, his lower lip jutting out, as if he’s trying to stop any impending tears, chewing his lips now at you.

The tip of his nose is red, he looked deathly pale, and his eyes were sunkened, cheeks a little hollow than you remembered. You walked to his direction, dragging your bag and left it behind, skipping to him, and throw your arm around his shoulder before passing a chaste kiss on his cheek and brushing your face against his very own.

He buried his face in your hair and crumbled. He literally crumbled. Crying like a little boy, whimpering and shuddering against you. He was saying something but it was incoherent to you. You proceed to coo him, by rubbing his back, smoothing the back of his head and telling him that it’s okay. “It’s alright sweetie.” You sang. He stepped back when you both broke the hug. He had hiccups from the crying, stuttering the words out, “I m-miss y-you. A l-lot.” His shoulders shakes as he sniffed and you had to pull him into another hug. “I’m home now...” sliding your hands down his back pocket to take the car key. “I’ll drive.”

The car moves out of the parking spot and you put on the blinkers to the left before a left turn. You’re heading straight to Daegu with Yoongi. The dinner is tomorrow night. He sat on his side facing you, laying his face on his palm, watching you drive, still having hiccups from the crying. “Yes mom, we will be home by then... okay, I love you. But if it gets too late, don’t stay up for us okay? Okay, bye, I love you...” you hung up after your mother-in-law did.

You couldn’t help turning your head to Yoongi at a glance and smiling. You ran your fingers on his hair, and then push his hair away from his forehead so you could see his face more. He sniffed cutely. He hasn’t said a word since you left the airport and continued to simply look at you like this. He’s probably still accepting the fact that you’re home here with him.

He can’t believe it. Worst case scenario, she would have ditched me at the airport and go off but she didn’t. She could have not board the plane, because she can if she was still very mad at me, but she didn’t. She could have cursed at me, and she didn’t.

In fact, she gave me a hug and told me that she’s home. She gave me another hug because she knows I need it. And she called her mother in law to inform her that she’s taking me with her—me, the irresponsible husband who thoughtlessly gave away the money she saved in the name of friendship, without asking her first.

“Do you hate me?” His gritty nasally voice broke through the silence as you drive. And you shook your head after a thought. “I know I’ll forgive you, but I just have to be dramatic, first.” You pursed your lips, and turned to him with a cheeky smile. “You should hate me.” Another tears fell steadily down his cheek as he bares his eyes open at you. “I couldn’t, Yoongi. You know that.” You sang, softly.

“Let’s talk about this later. You look like you could need some sleep, your eyes are red, honey...” you cooed him. “What if I wake up and you’re not there?” He asked, his voice breaking. You pressed your lips together, thinking of an answer for him to hold on to as you darted your eyes straight to the view ahead.

“You should probably check the kitchen because I’ll be making coffee.” You grinned and bit your lips. You took your scarf and he wrapped them around his neck. Yoongi could barely keep his eyes open, drifts to sleep, his hand on your thigh as if you would disappear into thin air if he didn’t. Yoongi clearly didn’t deal with the separation well. The punishment is done.

Mother was waiting with her scarves, outside the house, waving as you parked your car behind father’s Kia, despite your protests. “Squishy, wake up, we’re here...” you cooed and brushed your lips against his hair. The car door opened and you ran into mom’s embrace immediately. It was late night when you both reached Daegu. Mom had food on the table warm and toastie.

“He came down with a flu...” you lied and you knew Yoongi appreciated that. You could have told how shitty her son was at being husband but you didn’t. He was grateful. Yoongi went to bed first and you later, because you were helping mom with the dishes. You dashed to the bathroom and brushed your teeth, rinsed your face and changed your cloth when you opened the door to see Yoongi laying on his side, eyes blinking awake. “Why are you not sleeping yet?” You asked, slightly scolding with a smile.

“Can we sleep in one bed tonight?” He meekly asked. The bed dipped as your weight settles in, sliding your hand down the angelic features of his fine face. His eyelid flutters shut as he basked in the touch you have given so generously after two weeks of being deprived of one. “Please don’t leave me.” He slid his hand down your wrist as you were caressing his face and jaws. You motioned closer and plant a lengthy kiss on his forehead. And he began to quiver.

“It hurts when you’re not here. I’m so so sorry for what I did. I wasn’t thinking at all... it just happened. I’m... it’s not an excuse,” he swallowed his spit and continued, “You’re important to me. It was selfish of me to do so. I didn’t think of how it would be for your side. I was thoughtless, and—don’t leave me... I’ll be good. I’ll be good to you from now on. It’s painful. I can’t.” He chokes from his tears again.

“I’ll be good to you. It hurts so much. I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I was just so sorry...” He looks up at you with pleading eyes, “I can’t live without you... I need you.” He hugged your waist, burying his face into your stomach, his hot breath fanning against your skin as he cried uncontrollably. He was very apologetic. He was so sorry, he could die. Yoongi was a mess when you left and it was merely days. You couldn’t imagine what could have happen if mom didn’t call to have this dinner. You would have started this year on the wrong foot.

“No more doing things without talking to me.” You warned and he shook his head, looking down, sniffing. “Don’t leave me hanging. Don’t let me go to weddings alone.” You listed. Yoongi shook his head aggressively cute, pouting. “Kiss me.” You smiled, pinching his cheek and chin. You felt him inching closer to you instantly and close the gap with a purposeful liplock, as told. Like a puppy doing his tricks.

“Again.” You commanded. And he complied without protest. It’s not like he had the rights to. He’ll do whatever you want him to. Whatever.

He watches you sleep in the morning with a fond smile on his face. He slip on your ring back into your ring finger and he witnesses you pull your hand into your chest, humming pleasantly as if you know your ring is back in your possession. Yoongi whispers in your ear softly, “The only thing we’re taking off is your clothes from now on. Not the ring. Happy new year, sweetie.”

Because to love is to want them even when you could leave them. And to have, to need and to understand. Love is to rather shed away your ego so you could have them back because nothing is more important than their presence in your life. That’s love.

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kee-writestrashh · 7 years

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Chapters: 63/? Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Reader, More to be added - Relationship Characters: Ramsay Bolton, Ramsay Bolton’s Dogs, Theon Greyjoy, Robb Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Damon Dance-for-Me, Yellow Dick (ASoIaF), Sour Alyn (ASoIaF), Ben Bones, Joffrey Baratheon, Margaery Tyrell, Jon Snow, Roose Bolton, Fat Walda Frey, Cersei Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Petyr Baelish, Walder Frey, Ned Stark, Loras Tyrell, Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, Robert Baratheon (mentioned), Domeric Bolton (mentioned), Original Characters, Olyvar (Game of Thrones), Tyene Sand, Sand Snakes (ASoIaF), more to be added Additional Tags: Ramsay is his own warning, Kink, Smut, Shameless Smut, Light BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, mafia, Organized Crime, Violence, Torture, Rough Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Anal Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, What Have I Done, This is the bad, Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Drugs, Obsession, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Reader-Insert, This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, maybe I’ll add more tags later Summary:

You are the wife to the Heir of the Red Kings, Ramsay Bolton. living the undercover life of a mob wife has its perks, and you love your husband. But you find out something that seems to unfold a series of unwanted events…

Enjoy. ;)

Ramsay Bolton; 27; alcoholic; ex fighter; accounting degree; mafia boss

No expense is too much

Calls her his baby girl

Delightfully sassy

Dominate but likes when she takes charge

Has a thing for old muscle cars

Takes his dogs out to run every morning

Graduated college with honors

Been diagnosed with every PD in Cluster B

Goes out of his way for her

Works at a bank because he enjoys making people beg for loans

Jack Daniels

Marlboro menthols

Best poker hustler

Clean freak

Owns a garage

Has a thing for Star Wars; mostly Sith Lords

Heir to the largest weapons manufacturing business in the world

Hated his older brother, he thinks?

Obsessed with her

She is his god

Tattoos

‘Bloodbath Psycho’

Used to box in his younger days, went by the name Mad Dog

Has a weak spot for her and only her

Wrap sheet longer than Santa’s nice/naughty list

Picks off victims at bars

Rude as shit

Jokes too much

Has a weakness for gummy candy

Hates fudge, even the word makes him throw up a bit in his mouth

Fucking genius with numbers

Favorite days are heist days

Makes the BEST breakfast foods

Wears a Kylo Ren helmet to commit crimes

Has a very awkward relationship with his father

Excited to be a father; but don’t tell anyone that

Loves when she calls him Daddy

Sex god

Nail biter

Has a bucket list of places to fuck her

Always makes sure she orgasms

Jealous (again, tell no one)

Enjoys watching her struggle

Buys (or steals) presents for her all the time

Metal head

Charming

Not sure if serious or…?

Multimillionaire

Knows everything about her

Needs her, but won’t ever openly admit it

Enjoys singing in the shower

Sometimes comes home without shoes on

will decimate you at beer pong

sometimes ya just need a joint

can’t keep his hands to himself

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3500things · 4 years

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#0010 do you think the guy should always pay? what about on the first date?

06.30.2020

Well, this is a bit of a tricky one considering that in my situation there are two guys going on the date together so in a facetious way, yes the guy should pay because only a guy could pay.

But my theory is this: If I am asked out by someone on a date, then I would think they would pay for the date, especially if it’s the first one. After that we can spilt or take turns or come to some agreement. If I ask someone out, I anticipate paying for the entirety of the date, especially if it's the first date. I find combativeness towards this to be very unattractive, because 1) I like to do nice things for people. It’s how I was raised and for me, 2) it's a way of showing love and respect. Just let me do it.

With that being said, my personal policy makes me think I’m kind-of old fashioned. And maybe I am a little in the way I think about dating and money and how it all comes together.

I know that in a relationship I am somewhat of a traditionalist, I am definitely a monogamist and I am not afraid of commitment. These things are becoming extremely rare in heterosexual relationships and even more rare in homosexual ones. However, if I was in a serious-committed relationship and it was to the point where we were living together and paying bills together and all the other things that go along with that, I don’t know how I would feel about combining all of our financial resources into a joint banking account.

I feel what money I make should be mine, especially if I make more than my partner but I’d be willing to share that excess with them if they needed assistance. As long as we split expenses 50/50 and can meet the needed obligations in life between us then your excess money should be in each person's own custody. I wouldn’t be opposed to opening a joint savings account or something so we could both fund it towards our future, with the agreement that if our relationship ended we would each receive the money back we put into it, less any withdraws or joint decisions we made together to spend money.

Is my way of thinking archaic or is it solid and sound? Or do I need to jump into the 21st century and just roll with a new perspective? I guess I’ll find out when the time comes

#0010 #06302020 #june2020 #dating #relationships #moneygoals #lgbtq

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milominderbindered · 7 years

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thirty days of skam fic: day twenty three aka, isak and even’s bank account has a bit of money left at the end of the month, and isak finds financial stability romantic

beginning. accusation. restless. leaves. rainbow. flame. formal. under. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. cans. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. tent. mad. thousand. paper. winter. luxury. letters. promise. simple. future.

[ READ ON AO3 ]

Finances in Even and Isak’s household are a bit of an imperfect science.

They knew, of course, when they first moved in together, that they weren't gonna be living in the lap of luxury. That didn't bother either of them much -- Isak had literally lived in a basement before, and Even was happy with anything so long as he had Isak, so it worked out. Their flat is tiny and crappy, so it’s cheap; Isak’s dad pays most of the rent, Even’s parents chip in the rest, and Even pays for their bills and food once he gets a job. Isak does a bit of tutoring to make some extra cash too. It all adds up in a slightly different way each month, but they manage to never be completely broke and always have enough money to pay for beer and a Netflix subscription, which is all the luxuries they really need.

But then, Even graduates, and he starts working a few more hours at the cafe, and Isak gets paid to walk their neighbour’s dog a few times, and before they know it, they’ve found themselves in an unprecedented situation. It’s the end of the month, and the joint bank account they set up for their bills and household expenses -- isn’t empty. They’ve bought plenty of beer and paid their Netflix subscription and gone out to restaurants a few times and one day they even took the bus out to TusenFryd amusement park with the rest of the guys to go on rollercoasters and eat way too much food, but despite all that, they reach the end of the month with exactly one thousand kroner left over in their account.

When Isak sees their bank statement, he does the very mature thing, and flings his entire body on top of Even, who is snoozing in their bed, to rub the bit of paper in his face.

“Even!” he calls, as Even jolts back into consciousness with a startled squeak, blinking his eyes open. “Baby, look! We’re responsible adults now -- we have savings.”

The fact that they have a joint account with their combined savings in it should not be such an exciting thought. Isak is sure that to most people, especially most people their age, that’s one of the most boring things you could ever announce. But Isak isn’t most people, and he knows Even isn’t either; ever since their relationship got serious, they’ve both given in to being a little bit too sappy and not entirely managing to not think about their future, and it’s stuff like this that Isak loves. Reminders that they are committed to each other. That they’re a team, forging out their own lives and future together. That they’re honestly more codependent than a lot of couples who’ve been married for twenty years, and both fine with that. Isak can imagine, ten years down the line or something, a time when they share absolutely everything, and when they both have kickass jobs and far more than a thousand kroner in their joint bank account and probably own their own house on the other side of Oslo and probably have a dog and a spare room and a garden.

Honestly, it’s kind of turning him on a little bit. Isak doesn’t think he has many kinks , but if getting hot from thinking about his loving stable future with his boyfriend counts as a kink, he’s definitely got that one.

“Did you jump on me just to tell me that?” Even grumbles, but he’s grinning as he tugs the bank statement out of Isak’s hands and peers at it properly. Isak nods, rolling over a bit so he’s only half sprawled over Even rather than completely crushing him. “Wow. It’s all my tips, for sure. Don’t tell my parents though, they might stop paying all my rent and then we’ll be back to being broke.”

The mere fact of Even saying we while talking about their finances has Isak smiling against his shoulder, as he properly curls around Even to cuddle him.

“So, what are we gonna do with all our extra cash?” Even is teasing, while Isak wraps their bodies together. Even is much less grumpy after being woken up than Isak is, and has slipped right out of his nap and into banter-mode, his voice all light and playful in the way that Isak loves. “Let’s blow it on something crazy. We could make a reservation at a ridiculously fancy restaurant and dress up in our suits and pretend to be two rich young business moguls on a date, who spend a thousand kroner on appetisers every day. Or we could buy a nice coffee maker, or you could get some fancy science kit, or -- oh, those custom glass dildos I pretended I was gonna get you for your birthday!”

Isak rolls his eyes so hard they might pop out of his head, but with fondness, and he shoves his chin a bit closer into the crook of Even’s neck.

“No, none of that. I don’t wanna spend it,” he says, shaking his head so his curls flop into Even’s face a bit. Even reaches over and brushes them back across Isaks’ forehead. “I want to leave it right there, in our savings account, like grownups. Maybe in a year we’ll have like, ten thousand kroner in there. It can be, like -- y’know. Saving up for our future together.”

Shit, Isak likes that idea. He doesn’t say it out loud right then, but he’s thinking of things they might want to save up for one day, and what’s coming to mind is their wedding. Their honeymoon. Years and years of cute trips across the world together. A deposit on a bigger flat, or even a house. All of the happy, domestic stuff a couple might want to do together, Isak wants to do with Even.

Even just laughs.

“Baby, do you have a bit of a boner right now?” he asks, rubbing Isak’s thigh where it’s pressed against Even’s. Isak immediately blushes and groans, shoving Even away from him in protest, twisting their bodies apart, but he can’t really deny it, not can he say that he minds.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but a reluctant smile is tugging at his lips as Even just rolls back on top of him again, laughing and trying to grab Isak’s hands. Even doesn’t have any moral high ground here; he gets turned on when Isak says absolutely anything to suggest they were meant to be together. Last week he gave Isak a blowjob when he found out Isak had a hamster called Juliet when he was a kid. “I just like thinking about our lives together, that’s all.”

Even stills, just a little bit, as he starts peppering kisses across the corner of Isak’s mouth. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

They end up making out for an hour after that, their bank statement lying crumpled underneath them, and only spurring them both on.

#skamFWN #evak #evak fic #skam fic #isak valtersen #even bech naesheim #this is the most ridiculous one i've written yet WHOOPS #1000 kroner is about the same as 100 pounds or 150 dollars btw #even x isak #isak x even #maia writes fic #30 days of skam

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lifesobeautiful · 5 years

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6 Perils of Moving In With A Partner (and How to Avoid Them)

Moving in with a partner is a big step for any couple. And for some couples, it can actually spell the end of the relationship as each party finds out things about the other that they’d rather not.

Before you move in together, it’s easy to maintain a bit of illusion — you’re not thrown together all the time, you can keep your finances separate, and you don’t have to deal with arguments over whose turn it is to do the dishes. But once you’re living together, little things can take on huge significance.

Here we explore some common problems faced by couples moving in together and how you can get around them.

Fighting over Finances

This is probably the single biggest danger to be aware of when you move in with a partner. Ideally, you should probably have a conversation about finances before you move in together.

If one of you has been saving for years, pays all the bills on time and has a clear financial plan, while the other lives from paycheck to paycheck and has thousands in credit card debt, it’s a bit of a recipe for a disaster.

This can lead to arguments and even more pervasive problems such as an overall lack of trust.

So, if you’re about to take the plunge and move in together, it’s time to sit down and have a very serious chat about how you’re going to manage your finances. Whether it’s opening a joint bank account, setting up payment plans and direct debits or simply setting up a household budget, make sure you’re on the same page.

And if you’ve already moved in together and find yourselves fighting over finances, don’t despair. You can still have that conversation and put plans in place to make sure you get things straight. The important thing is to find an arrangement you’re both comfortable with and that is manageable for both of you.

Not Aligning Life Goals

Another big issue that cohabiting couples can face is finding out that they aren’t on the same page when it comes to long-term life plans. One of you wants marriage and kids, the other’s not sure. One of you would like to work abroad, the other can’t bear to be away from family.

The thing is that moving in together is often seen as a step towards marriage and kids. So, even if those things aren’t on the table yet, if you’re thinking about making the commitment, you need to be sure that you both want the same long-term goals.

Losing Your Own Identities

You’ve moved in together because you love each other and want to spend more time together. But let’s face it, even the closest of couples can get frustrated if they’re together all the time. And going from seeing each other maybe a few times a week to seeing each other every single day can be a bit… well, much.

That’s why it’s vital to still have a bit of alone time now and again. If you’ve lived independently for any length of time, you’ll still have your own friends, so keep up with these as much as you can. Make sure you still both do things for yourselves as well as a couple.

You should also recognize when the other needs a bit of space and respect that. You’ll likely find that you naturally end up spending more and more time together.

However, keeping separate lives to a certain extent will allow you to build your own new routine without forcing things. You should also make time together to go on dates and spend time doing things you both love. Don’t lose your identities as individuals or as a couple!

Always Merging Your Interests

Just because one of you loves nothing more than a ten-mile run on a Saturday morning, it doesn’t mean you both need to get those sneakers on. Likewise, if you enjoy a good Peaky Blinders binge session but your partner’s more of a Game of Thrones fan, you don’t have to suddenly know everything there is to know about the politics of Westeros.

If you had a particular set of interests before you moved in, you should try and maintain at least some of these. On the other hand, you may find new hobbies and interests to pursue as a couple through living together! Tuscan cookery class for two, anyone?

See Also: 6 Hobbies For Couples That Can Strengthen Your Relationship

Not Accentuating the Positive

When you’re suddenly thrown together all the time, those little quirks that you once found endearing in your partner can suddenly become infuriating. Maybe they never put their socks in the laundry basket. Maybe they insist on loudly singing show tunes when they’re doing housework. Or maybe they’re just so incredibly stubborn that they’ll happily argue chalk is cheese until the end of time.

Whatever annoys you about your other half, you can guarantee they’ll have a list just as long about you. So, pick your battles. Figure out what you can live with and what really drives you both nuts.

Then, talk about it to find a way that you can manage each other’s little foibles. Also, try and focus more on the things you love about each other. It could be how your partner always leaves little notes for you or how he or she will give you a back rub after a tough day without being asked. You’ll find that this makes the annoyances a little bit easier to cope with.

Arguing Over Chores

If there’s one thing my husband and I argue about more than any other, it’s housework. It’s not the most fun thing in the world, but it needs to be done. And if you’re cohabiting, then you both need to accept your fair share of the burden.

Talk to your partner about what you each expect and what each of you really loathes doing. Maybe you hate doing the dishes but your partner is fine with it. In which case, you can do the cooking or the vacuuming. Alternatively, take turns in doing different chores.

A major cause of arguments can be if one partner is tidier than the other. If that’s the case, you need to come to some sort of arrangement where the tidy partner is not constantly picking up after the untidy one. Try and do a bit of tidying every day to keep things at a manageable level or have a blitz every weekend. Do whatever works for you. Alternatively, if all else fails and you’ve got the budget for it, hire a cleaner!

Final Thoughts

The underlying theme behind all of these issues is communication. It’s vital to communicate with your other half to make sure that you’re both happy with any arrangements, bank accounts, chore rotas or long-term relationship goals.

Remember to keep talking. Make time for each other and always remember why you love each other in the first place. Happy cohabiting!

The post 6 Perils of Moving In With A Partner (and How to Avoid Them) appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

This article was first shared from Dumb Little Man

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christophergill8 · 5 years

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7 tax record keeping FAQ

Tax season is over for another year. Now all that's left cleaning up after the filing crunch.

I know many of y'all are tempted to simply toss everything in the trash. Don't.

You don't have to the tax version of television's Hoarders, but there are some tax-related documents you need to hang onto, at least for a while.

These 7 frequently asked questions and answers can help you get a better handle on your tax record keeping.

1. Why should I keep records? Well-organized records make it easier to prepare your tax return. Documentation, both the amount and in good order, also can help you provide answers if the Internal Revenue Service has any questions about your return.

2. What kinds of records should I keep? The quick answer is everything, but again, we're trying not to be too obsessive-compulsive. So let's break it down into key material in specific categories.

It is an income tax, so to verify your earnings you need to keep copies of W-2 forms, all types of 1099 forms (MISC, DIV, INT, G and R), gambling and prize winnings not reported on a 1099, bank statements, brokerage statements and K-1 forms.

If you're getting retirement money, hang onto the official statements detailing retirement distributions. This will help you and the IRS know how much, if any, of a cut due the federal government. In addition, Form 5498, Roth and traditional IRA contributions, and Form 8606, nondeductible IRA contributions, can help you differentiate taxable and nontaxable retirement money.

When it comes to expenses and deductions, hang onto receipts, sales slips, invoices, canceled checks, credit card statements, gambling losses and written statements from charities.

Your home is likely your biggest investment, so keep all your residential records, not just those related to your taxes. These include closing statements, purchase and sales invoices, proof of payment, insurance records, property tax assessments and payments, receipts and documents related to disaster losses and receipts for improvement costs. These could affect not only your annual filings, but also any potential tax bill when you sell.

The same is true for investment documentation. Hold your transaction data, including individual purchase or sale receipts as well as annual statements.

In some cases, photos also are helpful, such as when you claim property losses after going through a disaster.

And, of course, you'll want to keep a copy of each year's tax return that you file. This includes not just the 1040 itself, but also any associated schedules that sent to the IRS that year. You'll be glad you have them at your fingertips when you apply for a loan or other financial assistance, such as college money.

3. How long should I keep records? This is the question that flummoxes pack rats and well-adjusted taxpayers alike. As is the case with most tax questions, the answer is "it depends."

Generally, you must keep your tax records as long as they may be needed to prove the income or deductions you entered on a tax return. But the length of time you should keep certain tax documents is based on the action, expense or event the documents record.

The IRS also has a statute of limitations framework it follows.

For basic annual return filing, the tax man has three years to review your return.

When IRS examiners believe you've shorted your income entry on a return by 25 percent or more, they can come asking questions up to six years later.

The period of limitations goes to seven years if you file a claim for a loss from worthless securities.

When it comes to real property, keep relevant records until the period of limitations expires for the year in which you dispose of the property. These records help figure your basis for computing gain or loss when you sell or otherwise dispose of the property.

Then there's fraud.

When Uncle Sam suspects you've intentionally tried to escape your rightful tax liability, his tax collecting agents get a lot of leeway. A whole lot. Like forever.

There is no statute of limitations for folks who commit tax fraud. IRS agents can investigate you at any time it suspects you entered illegal information on your return. So if you tend to be a bit aggressive with your Form 1040 entries, keep your records for those claims in perpetuity. Just in case.

There's also no limitation on the time the IRS can ask you questions if you don't file a tax return. That's why you should keep documentation of why you didn't file a return in a particular year or two or more.

Don't freak out. It's not as difficult as trying to prove a negative. Say, for example, you spent a year taking care of sick relative and didn't earn any or enough income to require that you file. Proof of how you spent your non-income-producing time will short-circuit a detailed IRS examination of your missing tax year.

And about those copies of the 1040s you filed, hang onto those forever, too. You never know when an old tax return might be necessary or at least handy. They also can be a fun time capsule. When I'm feeling nostalgic, I go back and peruse the first joint tax return the hubby and I ever sent the IRS.

4. How do I fill in tax record gaps? When you start getting your records in order, either in real paper form or electronically, you might discover you're missing some documentation.

The IRS can help you fill in the gaps. You can order transcripts of your filing history.

You have two options.

Complete Form 4506-T or Form 4506T-EZ to order a tax return transcript. This document shows most line items on your return as it was originally filed, plus information on any accompanying forms and schedules. It will cost you $50 for each tax return transcript you need.

Or request a tax account transcript. This shows your return's basic data, including marital status, type of return filed, adjusted gross income, taxable income, payments and adjustments made on your account. An account transcript is free and it arrives in about 10 days.

You can request either a tax return or tax account transcript online from the IRS.

5. What kind of record keeping system should I use? Except in a few cases, which generally are related to business operation, the law doesn't require you to use any special kind of record keeping system. You may choose any method as long as it clearly shows your income and expenses.

If you're happy still using paper documentation and have the space, fill up as many filing cabinets with tax records as you need.

Or you can maintain your records on a flash drive or in the cloud. The IRS has been accepting digital records for 22 years. Back in 1997, the IRS referenced optical disks as the storage option, but as Uncle Sam has gotten more tech savvy, it recognizes today's wide variety of options.

All the IRS requires is that your electronic record storage meet the same standards as apply to hard copy books and records. That means when you replace the paper versions, you must maintain the electronic storage systems for as long as they might be needed under the tax statutes of limitation.

You also want the records' format to be one that makes it easy for you to produce the material if the IRS asks.

And be sure you back up your electronic tax records and keep a separate copy in a safe place in case something happens to the original.

6. What is the burden of proof during an audit? Let's be real here. The main reason you hang onto your tax records is in case you're ever audited.

And here's the really disconcerting part of such an encounter. Unlike the U.S. legal system, where you're presumed innocent until proved guilty, it's the opposite when you're facing the federal tax collector.

During an audit, you are considered tax guilty until proven otherwise.

The burden of proving your tax innocence, or at least showing that the information on your Form 1040 is correct, falls squarely on you.

Good thorough and well-organized tax records can help you do that.

7. When I do discard tax records, what's the best way? OK, you've sorted through all your documents and have decided which ones you need to keep, at least for now, and which you can toss.

Let me repeat what I said at the start of this post. Don't just toss them into the nearest trash can.

Most tax-related documents are full of personally identifying information. That's exactly what identity thieves want. If someone digs through your garbage and finds your Social Security number or bank account of credit card numbers, they've got what they need to take over your life in the most destructive of ways.

True, literal dumpster diving for financial data isn't that common as it once was. But don't take any chances.

Shredding the documents is still the best route here. It is time-consuming, so consider hanging onto to your tax and personal records until a bulk shredding option arrives. Many office supply stores periodically hold these events, often around the end of tax time, allowing you to bring in your documents to be securely scrapped for free.

If you keep your records digitally, make sure they also are properly destroyed. You can find more on various options for erasing electronic records options in this article from the Records Management Assistance unit of the State and Local Records Management division of the Texas State Library and Archives Commission (there's a mouthful for you!).

The bottom line is that you need to keep some records connected to your taxes. Some you need to keep forever.

Knowing which documents, why they are important and how long you need to keep them can, at the very least, help you establish a manageable record keeping system.

You also might find these items of interest:

Save space and trees: Digitize your tax records

The importance of good, and separate, business records

Reconstructing tax & other records after a natural disaster