#tore into the concept like it owed it money

[pumpkingeorge]

I only play Kingdom Hearts for the Disney shit ngl. I don't know what's going on with the anime characters and I'm far too afraid and disinterested to ask.

[fulltimemoaner]

Zhongli is prosecuted for giving his Gnosis to the Tsaritsa, leaving him and Childe no choice than to flee to Snezhnaya.

Basically, some thieves cut Zhongli’s hair and Childe slaughters them because he really liked his hair.

Childe’s warm hand had felt comforting on his waist, even if he was hidden in a cloak under the warm sun of Liyue, being sneaked out of his homeland like the fugitive that he had become, like the land below him had forgotten the gentle rumbling of his energy and the security of his spears. He had fought back the urge to cry, thousands of years of protecting his safe harbour pointing their treacherous fingers at him. Yet, unlike Azhdaha, there was no bitterness, no disgust towards his beloved humans that had so willingly shunned him after news of his contract with the Tsaritsa had surfaced. In fact, the adoring citizens of Liyue had issued a warrant for him, for the Archon’s head that had wished to sign with the Fatui and sell out their safety.

Zhongli did not wish for the dominion of his beliefs, nor for acceptance, because mortal life was too brief and brittle to understand the gamble of him keeping his Gnosis when he could feel the claws of erosion leeching into his sanity. To their eyes, he had been their loving and protective God, who couldn’t be wrong, who would continue to reign for the millennia to come. The rusty floorboards had creaked underneath his feet, and he had caught the last traces of his homeland’s sun before he had been ushered to the basement of the ship for the first few hours, until they had been a safe distance from Liyue.

The adepti had weeped for this outcome, yet he had begged them not to rain down their vengeance on the mortals, to be gentle and understanding. He had entrusted them with the continuous protection of their harbour.

And the next air he breathed was that of Snezhnaya, the first light he saw was cold and fragile. He had emerged from his murky cabin in the early morning and had approached the railing that separated them from the freezing ocean. The rippling wind whipped back the hood of the heavy coat Ajax had provided him with, and now his hair waved in the wind, his eyes staring emptily into the distance as his skin itched from the cold. The Tsaritsa had accepted him as a fugitive asking for protection, and now, as his hands gripped the railing, he realised he hadn’t been that far away from home since the Archon War.

He looked up, feeling the soft tears that clung to his eyelashes freezing over, the sun obscured by a thick layer of clouds. How he missed the gentle breeze already.

The same went for Snezhnaya itself, it was cold enough to make his breath catch in his throat and his lungs ache. Ajax had taken his scarf off and wrapped it around his neck at the sound of his laboured breathing, then adjusted it to make sure it was covering his mouth and nose. Zhongli’s eyes had been curious as to why the ginger had been so gentle the past couple days, even the snark and edge having left his voice. Perhaps he felt for him. At least the gaze of the locals was gentle and welcoming, for the most part, offering him local delicacies and flowers before he and Childe could even reach his home. The Harbinger had been welcomed back like a hero, with huge bouquets and a massive meal prepared by his family.

Zhongli had been catatonic, at best, but at least, he had found some comfort in talking to the children, who were, as always, excited and easily impressed by his stories of dragons and extinct creatures.

He had stayed indoors for the first couple of days, too reluctant to go exploring on these foreign lands, but eventually, his confidence started building up again, so he picked up the small bag of money that Childe left for him every morning. -Zhongli had given his allowance of the two previous days to the little kids, since he hadn’t gone outside and concepts such as saving were nonexistent in his brain-

The attire, that he was getting used to. He wasn’t a huge fan of wearing boots, but he could say their smooth leather sealed him from the snow pretty well, and that the heavy coat felt strangely comforting around his shoulders. More than once, he had overheard people calling him the golden devil, which he considered to be quite endearing in its own, clueless way.

He stepped by a merchant’s booth with imported stones, including what they described as Liyuen Cor Lapis and Noctilucous Jades. He leaned in a bit closer for observation, and the merchant seemed to shift uncomfortably, which pretty much told Zhongli that these were, in fact, fake. He straightened up again, unable to resist teasing the merchant. “Are these imported straight from the chasm?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes seemed to go wide, and he quickly tried to dodge the question. Thankfully, for him, a whistle tore through their ears and made the young foreigner turn, his eyes narrowed.

“Lovely accessory you have there, good sir.” A young man smiled, accompanied by three others. “Looks like the real thing too.” The Snezhnayan man caressed the piece of jewellery that held Zhongli’s hair into a neat ponytail in a leery way. The ex archon didn’t move, only observed with caution, his piercing gaze saying more than words ever could. “Say, you aren’t, by any chance, the Tsaritsa’s guest from Liyue harbour?”

The other men chuckled and Zhongli glanced at the merchant, who started packing up his items hurriedly, seemingly intimidated by the gang. “Why, yes, I am.” He said neutrally, his voice a notch lower than friendly.

“Huh, you have nerve, saying that so openly.” The Snezhnayan’s fist twisted around the half-golden ponytail and pulled Zhongli’s head back. “You owe us, since we so willingly welcomed you here.” The stranger smirked, reaching behind his back for a folded knife. “I’m sure we could sell Morax’s hair for quite a fortune.” Another yank to the head and Zhongli blinked apathetically. “Aren’t you fighting back?”

“I have no interest in fighting mortals.” Zhongli shrugged. “My hair is my hair. Three years to grow them back is like the blink of an eye to me.”

The man’s eyes flickered with fury at the stranger, and he brought that dagger into his coal hair, severing the strands roughly. Zhongli’s eyes stayed unmoving, hostile, hateful, in a way. The lump of hair fell into the snow unceremoniously, and one of the others scurried to grab it.

“Yo,”

Zhongli’s eyes flickered from the thief to the source of the familiar voice. Relief washed over him at the sight of ginger hair and ocean blue eyes, that slender figure hugged in his winter attire that Zhongli rarely saw him in. A primal sense of grounding gripped him, almost like the essence of his home, which he had eternally bound to Childe’s smiling face. Unorthodox, he knew, but he was like an oasis of familiarity that the weather hadn’t manage to freeze over yet.

“Where is your Snezhnayan upbringing, picking on the Tsaritsa’s guests?” Ajax sighed, walking leisurely towards Zhongli. “I have eyes and ears where my hands can’t reach, and right now, mr. Zhongli is under my supervision.” His hand found its familiar spot on the God’s waist, his eyes scanning for any traces of harm’s way on him. His hand reached the back of his head before his eyes did, and they narrowed dangerously. “Ah, is that what you were going for? It’s a shame.” Zhongli felt uncertainty creep up his spine at the shift in the Harbinger’s tone, still wishing for no harm towards the mortals.

“Ajax,”

“It’s a shame,” Childe continued, cracking his neck to the left, then to the right with a relieved smile. “Because I happened to love his hair, and I don’t take kindly to things being taken away from me.”

“Ajax, let’s go home.” Zhongli grabbed his wrist, the whole group of thieves frozen in fear at the sight of the Fatui.

“No, no. We can’t do that. When someone kisses you, they expect a kiss back, no?” Ajax stepped forward and stretched his arm out, his hydro dagger appearing into his hand. “You might not want to shift the tides here, mr. Zhongli, but these rascals are my own.”

“Run!” The leader of the thieves screamed, but they didn’t stand a chance. Childe threw the dagger first, hitting the middle one between his shoulder blades. Blood gushed out in waves and Ajax laughed joyfully, running to the gurgling body to pull his weapon out, then join it into a larger pole-arm. A jump and a couple of spins and heads went flying, legs were severed, and the snow was painted an abysmal red. Childe leaned his head back, feeling the wind swipe his hair back and freeze his smile in place. The weapons vaporised in his hands, and he slowly lowered his gaze to Zhongli, stood meekly by the scene of the slaughter. Childe wrestled the hair out of the dead man’s grip, for the sake of retreating the luxurious clip that his lover favoured since he first met him. “Measly thieves. Someone has to be the sacrificial lamb, the subject to teach the others a lesson,”

Zhongli’s eyes eased shut when Ajax closed in on his space, leaning close to his face and pushing the small accessory into his gloved hand. “I love you.” Ajax whispered, pressing a gentle kiss into the corner of Zhongli’s brow. “And I intend to keep you safe here.”

“They wouldn’t kill me, Ajax.” Zhongli sighed deeply, leaning into Childe’s neck. “They wouldn’t be able to.”

“No one will dare to try anymore.” The Harbinger’s hand nestled to the small of the ex archon’s back, pulling him close to his body. He started to caress the back of his head with his free hand, trying to feel the roughly cut strands through the fabric of his gloves. “I’m sorry they touched you.”

“You’re more sad about that than I am.” Zhongli smiled gently and pulled the Harbinger’s head down to press their foreheads together. “It will grow back in no time.”

“I’m a mortal like they are.” Ajax whispered sadly, his eyes easing shut. Zhongli pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips in response, trying to ease the pain in his lover’s voice.

“And I’m eroding, so let’s try to outlive each other.” Zhongli chuckled, making Childe squeeze him close, a neediness evident in his touch. “I want to live like mortals do, with you, Ajax. That’s why I’m here.”

“Please, don’t say such things to me.” The Harbinger breathed deeply, trying to choke down a few stray tears. “I promise I will make your stay worthwhile.”

“I know.” Zhongli kissed his jaw quickly. “You can start by taking me somewhere, I’m freezing.”

“Right.” Childe laughed, reaching out to grasp the ex archon’s hand and pull him away from the bloodied grounds. “I’m taking you for lunch. I will tell some underlings to clean up the mess.”

“You could had been more clean about it.”

[douxspider]

— 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐲 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐧.

‘ARVIN RUSSELL x READER INSERT’

( potential spoilers for “the devil all the time” ) —  Reader is new to town, working at a bakery ran by a kind old lady. Getting used to the ropes of the city, a man in blue arrives unsettled, holding a bloody rag against his knuckles and shivering just slightly. (occurs after arvin approaches the three bullies.) 

warnings: blood, mentioned alcohol abuse, bullying. word count: 2,330 published: 9/17/20 ao3 link — part 2, 3

— — • — —

You didn’t ask for much in life. You didn’t want much. Your entire life you let the sea take you where it wanted to take you, and if it brought you to a flourishing island with the most beautiful sunsets and the softest sand, you let it. If it wanted to take you to the dangerous, icy hurricanes where waves clashed and thrown against each other and you drowned in the salty depth, you let it.

You don’t have a will, the town would mock you.

You were new to Ohio, originally coming from New York, and they liked to call you city girl. Your accent was more urban compared to the rural dialect around you. You stuck out like a sore thumb. The community grew together, knew everyone’s names, and when a random strange girl with only a plastic bag of clothes arrived at the nearest motel, it was all the rage.

Luckily, you managed to find a sweet baker lady to take you in. She had a plump figure, rosy cheeks, and graying auburn hair that spoke of pies and sunshine. Her name was Marilyn McCann, she was in her late 50s, and she had lost her two dear sons in the Vietnam war, her husband previously passing from health complications. Marilyn opened the baker, naming it McCann Boys in honor of them.

You were seated behind the counter on a stool, picking at a lemon and poppyseed muffin, placing chunks of the bread in your mouth and eating slowly. It was a quiet day, rain splattering against the window, most people wanted to bake indoors.

While you fidgeted with the book in your lap, idly reading it, you heard the bell ring. You glanced up, and instead of the man moving to the counter, he only took a seat by the window, a rag covering his knuckles as his hat hid his face. He refused to return your eye contact, which was used as a silent method of do you want me to come to you?

You were running the shop alone. You couldn’t ask Marilyn who this strange fellow was. You had to take the initiative.

Getting up from your seat, the stool groaned against the hardwood beneath you, and you made your way towards him. He was bouncing his jean-clad leg excessively, winding the rag around his tightened fist. There were dark stains on it, but you paid it no mind.

“Sir?”

The man twitched his head in your direction, his cap revealing only an inch more of his face before moving back down to the table. “Yeah?” His voice was low, a bit hoarse.

You leaned to the side a bit, crossing your arms, crooking a brow upwards. “You good?”

“Yeah, ah,” he spoke, moving his chin upwards to look at you, and he stopped. You did as well, a silent, complex tension thick between the two of you, before he continued, “Just uh… needed to sit down, s’all. Do I…” he cleared his throat after a voice crack, “do I need to buy somethin’?”

Shaking your head, you gave a quiet, slow, “No.”

Taking a better look at his hands, you noticed it was blood on the rag. So, he was getting that post-fight clarity. You moved to the back and grabbed some pure alcohol you and Marilyn liked to keep, pouring only a bit on a clean washing rag, before heading back to the mysterious man’s location. Taking his hands, he gave a quiet noise of surprise as you tore open his fingers from the old rag and placed it to the side.

“Lady, what are you— ow! Shit...”

Lightly sponging the rag against his knuckles, you then placed the new cloth in his hands, taking a seat in front of him.

The man in front of you seemed somewhat offended, clutching onto the rag and padding it over his knuckles, but also giving you a scowl. “The hell you do that for…? ‘Didn’t need that, I can take care of myself.”

“So, what’d the man do? Pissing contest taken too far?”

He removed the cloth from his hand and wrung his knuckles together, and you stared at the scabs. “Maybe you should keep your nose where it belongs, darlin’.”

You hummed, leaning over the table and resting your bare arms against the surface, looking out the stormy window. “Y’seem like a sweet girl,” the man spoke up, catching your attention, “but that kinda behavior here… askin’ too many questions, it can get ‘ya hurt.”

Eyeing him up and down, you tilted your head so it nearly rested on your shoulder. “Well… y’gonna hurt me, stranger?”

Brown eyes fogging over with clear distant memories, you watched his expression dampen, no longer seeming agitated but only conflicted. “No… no, I wouldn’t hurt ‘ya.” His voice was only a low grumble. “I was taught better than to hurt girls.”

Giving a hum as a response, you tapped your painted fingers against each other. “I’m not trying to be nosy,” you then confessed, “...just curious. Don’t hear much from this town regarding fist fights.”

“You’re the city girl?” With a wince, you nodded. “Ah.”

“That a bad thing, mister?” You asked, trying to analyze his expression. He seemed distant, staring off, before his eyes turned as round as saucers glancing at you.

“No, no, miss, I ain’t imply that. Lotta people know about you ‘round here, it’s rare for a cityfolk to come to this dot on the map,” he explained, “Just curious.”

Clearly that was an insinuation for you to indulge him on his question. Though, feeling smug, and honestly in your right, you told, “You tell me why you’re bleeding from your hands, I’ll tell you my harrowing tale of ending up in Ohio. How about that?”

Surprisingly, the stranger let out a quiet laugh. It was breathy, and for some odd reason you could tell he doesn’t do that often by the way it seemed foreign coming from him, the product from his lips being stopped with his mouth closing. “Fair. You’re good at this game, little lady.” He let his knuckles out into the open air before crossing his arms together, leaning back in the booth.

“My old man,” he started with a distant voice, grimacing at the latter, and you assumed there was a dark history there, “he taught me t’protect myself. To protect others. Now, he was no layabout, he was straight outta the war,” the stranger chuckled, “if anyone tried anythin’, he wouldn’t let ‘em. He taught me that with physical expression.” The jean jacket around his arms got tightened with his whitening grip. “Now, y’see, lotta folk in this town ain’t kind. They ain’t acceptin’, they don’t like new things. They don’t like concepts.”

You listened quietly, feeling your heart slow its pace within your chest, trying to silence itself to take in every word. “I got a sister. Step-sister. She’s sweet, but she ain’t like the others. They don’t like that.”

His jaw tightened as he looked out the window, his blue cap shading his eyes. “...Had t’put an end to it.”

An understanding finally settled in your head. You fiddled with the apron draped around your legs, chin tilted downwards as you took in the information. You looked back at him. “...That’s a good thing.”

“What?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Protecting your sister. That’s a good thing.” You could tell he felt guilty only slightly, perhaps he was scared of himself, scared of what he did. “I never had a sibling growing up,” you told, “having someone there to protect me would’ve done me wonders.” The stranger moved his hand up to his mouth, rubbing the side of his index finger against his chin. You gave a weak smile. “People aren’t too kind here to me, so I don’t need to fantasize your sister’s reality. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be outcasted from your own town like that. Your sister must be a kind soul, being thrown to the wolves like sheep like that.” You shook your head. “It’s not right. I think you did what you had to do. Sometimes that’s the best you can do.”

He was staring at you, and you couldn’t help but to wonder if you said too much. If you were prying too much. You had never met this man before, he could’ve just killed someone for all you know for no rhyme or reason, he could be a sociopath, luring his next victim, but you trusted your gut on saying that this man was right in what he did.

The corner of his lips quirked upwards and he gave a quiet exhale through his nose, nodding his head before glancing at you, head tilted downwards. “Now, your story. Fair trade, little lady.”

With an amused smile, you shrugged. “Came from New York, had no ties. Father ditched when I was still learning my ABCs, mama abused alcohol, that’s what wound her up in the grave. Took that as my sign to go.” You recalled the dirty poor Manhattan streets you grew up on. “Manhattan… it’s a busy city. Too busy. No one knows ‘ya, but they assume they do.” You pointed at him to exaggerate, closing an eye, “If you’re in the wrong neighborhood, that’s what you are now. Wrong. I was a wrong, poor girl with no faith.”

“No faith?” The stranger asked.

“Faith didn’t keep me alive there. Only money.”

He nodded slowly. “Surprised to see someone here not lookin’ to God.”

You clasped your hands together and shrugged. “Well, when he brings me something nice, I’ll go to church.” Glimpsing up at him, you asked, “Do you have faith?”

“Only for my grandmama and sister. I ain’t got no interest listenin’ to a man for hours.”

“You seem like a family man, mister.” You smiled, leaning back. “Are they the only reason you’re here?”

A moment of hesitance resulted from him. “Yeah.”

You decided not to press further.

Taking in the quiet rain, you tapped your hands on the table beneath you three times and stood up, placing your hands on your hips. “Well, mister, do you drink coffee?”

He seemed so small in the booth, huddled up with his arms crossed, brown eyes that were no longer iced over with memories, but instead focused on you with a round childish charm to them. “Ah… yeah, I do.”

Smiling with a nod, you headed and started up the yellow coffee machine. You looked back at him, saw him staring out the window, and you finished up the mug of coffee and gave it to him, hot. Sitting in front of him with your muffin, you both indulged in your delicacies in a peaceful silence.

When his coffee was just about gone, he asked, “Mind if I smoke in ‘ere?” He wondered, and you gave him permission.

“Sure. The only thing I’m concerned about is the gross taste coffee and tobacco must have together,” Wrinkling your nose at the thought, the man laughed, amused as he placed a cigarette in his mouth and used a lighter.

He puffed in the smoke and then removed the cigarette from his mouth, pulling over an ashtray that rested on the table. Blowing through the thin slit between his lips, he murmured, “Arvin.”

“Hm?” You asked, wiping off your hands on your apron from crumbs.

“My name is Arvin Russell.”

Blinking at him, you smiled, testing out his name carefully. “Hi, Arvin. I’m Y/N L/N.”

Arvin seemed a little shy, his cap hiding most of his face before he moved his head up just slightly, catching your eye, pointing out, “‘Like that name. Suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

A little flustered, you pinched your bare lips together before giving out a breathy chuckle. He moved his cigarette to his lips, watching you closely, inhaling the smoke. “You’re sweet.”

Arvin smiled, the paper-wrapped cancer stick between his lips, he pulled it out with a quick huff and said, “You’re the sweet girl talkin’ to bloody strangers sulking in the corner of your shop and givin’ em free coffee, Y/N.” He was staring at the window when he said this, but his head turned towards you, relaxed against the seat behind him, tapping the ashes into the ashtray. “Y’deserve better than this place.”

Feeling overwhelmed with all the positive comments— you didn’t receive many— you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Well, Arvin, I think you deserve good things, too.”

Arvin gazed at you, a soft expression on his face before checking his watch. “Have to head home.” You both stood and you began to clean up. Arvin went up to the counter and gave a few dollars, and you stared at the money, gawking before giving a nervous smile and shaking your head.

“You don’t need to do that, Mr. Russell—”

“Arvin was doin’ just fine, sweet girl,” Arvin said with a smile. “Y’helped me out today. Thank you. Genuinely. I wanna pay back however I can.”

You took the money cautiously, feeling shy.

“Take that money for yourself. Buy yourself another pretty dress,” he said, eyeing the one you wore and tipping his hat. He was about to leave before he turned, hand flat against the glass, the other tucking his old rag into his coat pocket and gazing at you. “...We’ll be seein’ each other again, Y/N.”

Feeling overrun with flustered emotions, you smiled and said, “I would sure hope so, Arvin. I liked having you around.”

Arvin looked to the side, murmuring, “Likewise.”

You were left in the silence of the bakery, the rain turning into a light mist outside. Pressing your lips together, you changed your weight from foot to foot, turning to lean your back against the counter and giving a sigh.

Each encounter with him from then on would slowly grow into something more.

[adhd-disaster-willie]

seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 2/4

So, I don’t really like this chapter as much as the other one but it’s fine. :/ I don’t have the patience to redo it, so this is what you get :)

Warnings: Homophobia, child abuse, non-graphic description of wounds, panic attacks

chapter 1

---

Alex didn’t quite know how long he’d been curled up on the sidewalk when a figure began approaching him; but he was shivering and crying and really not in the mood to be murdered. The person may not have been headed directly towards him, but they sure were biking fast in his direction and once again, being kicked out and killed on the same night didn’t sound like much fun. So, swearing underneath his breath, Alex stood up and began jogging away, still unsure of where he was headed.

The bike came barrelling towards Alex but came to a screeching halt immediately after passing him. 

“Alex?!” The person, who had a guitar strapped to their back, hopped off the bike and stumbled towards Alex.

“Luke?” Alex whispered, baffled. “What are you-” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence before Luke wrapped him in a hug, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. Alex decided not to mention Luke’s damp, red cheeks. 

“Dude, what are you doing?” Luke asked, pulling away.

Alex snorted at that. “I could ask you the same thing.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and began rocking on his heels, counting down the seconds until Luke read him like he always does and Alex had to stop him from marching back up the block and yelling at the Mercers until his voice was hoarse.

“Your parents,” Luke muttered, his voice hardening, bitter. “They kicked you out didn’t they?” Luke didn’t get angry very often. Sure, he got upset and disappointed and frustrated, but he wasn’t one to get genuinely furious. He was now though. Alex grabbed his wrist and shook his head. 

“Yes, but Luke, please don’t.”

Luke narrowed his eyes, but backed off. “I’m gonna kill them,” He hissed beneath his breath.

“Not if you die from the cold. What are you even doing out here?”

Luke grew quiet, his gaze shifting to the ground. “Nothing, nothing I was just… I was headed to Bobby’s. The studio.”

Alex nodded, internally berating himself for not having thought of that. But he didn’t want to bother anyone. Staying in the studio for the night was entirely different from asking to live there. But he didn’t have much of a choice. 

Luke, somehow sensing Alex’s thoughts, sighed. “I’m gonna go grab your bike,”he said, giving Alex a quick hug before turning to walk up the sidewalk.

“Luke, you don’t have to-”

“Nah, I do. I’m not gonna make you go back there, and we sure as hell aren’t walking all the way to Bobby’s.”

“Fine. But you need to tell me what happened!” Alex shouted after him, but he was already far enough to pretend he hadn’t heard anything. 

---

Alex’s hands were practically numb after 10 minutes of biking, and his backpack felt like it had doubled in size. Not to mention the only light was people’s Christmas decorations and the occasional street light, and he’d only ever gone to Bobby’s in the day so he was relying about 80% on muscle memory. All in all, not a great situation. 

“Dude, why the fuck is Bobby’s house so far away?” Alex complained, adjusting his grip on his bike handles in hopes that it’d bring back some sort of feeling in his fingers. 

Luke shrugged. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet the whole ride and was yet to explain why he’d run off in the middle of the night, but Alex knew he’d open up in time… hopefully. If it had to be pried out of him, it would; but Luke was never one to keep secrets. At least Alex leaving in the middle of the night wouldn’t take much explanation, except to Bobby’s parents. No one had dared say it out loud, but for the whole year it’d felt like the seconds Alex had before being kicked out were just slowly running out. And this was the last straw. 

“Can we- can we stop for a minute?” Alex breathed, his legs burning. “I have like, no stamina.”

Luke chuckled weakly, coming to a slow stop. They leaned their bikes on the side of the curb before sitting down, feeling relieved that they recognized the area; it was just a few blocks from Reggie and roughly another 5 minutes to Bobby’s place. 

Alex let out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t even feel real,” he whispered, dropping his head and burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “God, they kicked me out.” It was finally settling in and Alex felt sick. “Dad wasn’t even there. It was- it was just Mom and she… She didn’t even seem sorry. She looked at me like I was nothing.” He choked down a sob. “Like I was never her son. I didn’t think she’d ever hate me, but look at where we are now.” Alex didn’t bother fighting the tears this time. His shoulders shook and he brought his knees up to his chest, breathing in slowly in hopes to prevent a panic attack. 

Luke moved in closer, wrapping an arm around Alex’s shoulder and squeezing. “Hey, it’ll be alright. We’ve got each other. And Bobby, and Reggie-”

“Luke, Alex?”

Both boys snapped to attention; they would’ve recognized that voice anywhere.

“Reg?” Luke stood up and took two long strides to meet Reggie, clasping his thin, hunched shoulders. “Shit. Reggie, dude.”

Alex wiped his eyes furiously as he walked over to where Reggie and Luke stood and he once again recognized the pure anger dripping from Luke’s words. Then Reggie moved closer to the streetlight and Alex’s heart plummeted to his feet. 

Reggie’s face was blotchy and pink and his eyes were swollen from crying. His hair was slightly damp and Alex felt sick upon seeing the shards of glass in it. There was dried blood on his cheek and Alex was afraid for him to take his jacket off, but Luke tore it off anyway, inspecting the bruises running up and down Reggie’s forearms and wrapped around his wrists.

Reggie squeaked in protest and snatched the jacket back, his hands shaking.

“They are dead,” Luke muttered coldly. He gestured to both Alex and Reggie. “I am going to actually kill both of your guys’ parents.”

Reggie looked over to Alex. “What did Alex’s parents…” He trailed off, face darkening in realization. 

“Where were you gonna go?” Alex asked quietly, his grip on his fannypack strap tightening. 

Reggie shrugged and went to sit down on the curb. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t just leave forever. Sammy… I can’t leave him alone with them.” He shook his head. “I’d hate myself if I just left him there.”

“Olivia moved out last year and left you guys alone!” Luke countered, sitting beside Reggie. “Reg, dude, you can’t stay there!”

Reggie’s expression hardened in a way Alex had never seen. Reggie Peters was basically a human puppy and it seemed Alex had gotten all to used to that fact. “Yea but she knew we had each other, Luke. You don’t get it. Sammy’s just 13, I can’t just leave him. I can’t.” Reggie’s tone grew more hopeless at the last sentence, his lip quivering.

“Fine,” Luke grumbled. “But at least come with us tonight. We’re going to Bobby’s.”

“But what if-”

“No buts. You’re hurt and you smell like beer, we’re not gonna leave you out here.”

“But Sammy-”

“Sammy’ll be ok,” Alex cut in. He squeezed Reggie shoulder and gave a half-hearted smile. “He’s a tough kid.”

Reggie nodded. A quiet sob ripped through him and he buried his head in his knees, leaving damp spots on his jeans from his hair which would probably smell like alcohol for a week.

Alex lay an arm around Reggie’s shoulder and Luke chuckled. “Yea, group hug,” he whispered feebly, joining the embrace.

The temperature was rapidly dropping and Alex could feel Luke shivering and Reggie’s teeth chattering, his own feet growing numb in his shoes. But for just a split second, none of that mattered. He didn’t have to look to know that they were all crying and that Reggies hair was sticking to his cheek and Luke’s guitar case was digging into someone’s shoulder. They were a family. A stupid, dysfunctional, scarily codependent family, but still. It was something.

---

March, 1995

Despite protest, Bobby’s parents had started giving Alex and Luke monthly allowances; claiming that if they were gonna live there, they were family, not guests. Reggie refused to accept the money; he was still returning to his house at least two nights a week for fear that his parents would take their anger out on Sammy. But the money meant that Alex was finally able to get a new hoodie; one that wasn’t too tight around the shoulders and didn’t ride up every time he lifted his arms. It was nice, too. Sure it’d taken a couple months of allowance to buy, but it was soft and comfortable and his favorite shade of pink. 

“Alex,” Luke whined, drawing out the vowel like a small child begging for candy. “You can’t leave us like this!”

“Luke-”

“It’s betrayal! You- I thought you were our friend!”

“Stop being dramatic,” Alex replied, smacking Luke’s shoulder lightly. 

“Ow.”

“It’s one band practice. If I don’t retake this test, I’ll fail Algebra.”

“Algebra is a stupid subject anyway,” Luke pouted, kicking a rock angrily.

“Bobby’s mom got ice cream,” Alex said. “Now go.” He waved Luke off, smiling impatiently.

Luke trudged away from Alex’s locker and towards the exit, his head hung low. “You’re the worst,” He shouted before walking out of sight.

Alex sighed and chuckled lightly as he turned back to rifle through his locker in search of a pencil; he’d lost his favorite one in English earlier that day (more like Bobby stole it, but same difference). He didn’t like pens because the concept of not being able to fix mistakes was more daunting than it probably should be, and he refused to use any non-mechanical pencils (“Shut it Luke, I’m allowed to be picky about my pencils!”) because he hated having to sharpen them constantly and he had a bad habit of pressing down too hard and breaking the lead. So he couldn't find a damn pencil and Mr. Thomas had said he had to be in classroom by 4:30 if he wanted to retake the test but he couldn’t find a stupid pencil. Alex swallowed and breathed in shakily, glancing up at the clock which seemed to be moving too fast because there’s no way it was already 4:25. Logically, he could just ask Mr. Thomas if he could borrow a pencil, but he didn’t want to be a bother, and he knew there was a pencil somewhere in here. 

Alex cried out in frustration, slipping his backpack from his shoulders and unzipping the small front pocket which he’d reserved specifically for writing utensils. Nothing. Ok. Fine, he’d just borrow one. It isn’t that hard to ask to use a pencil. Right.

Halfway across the hallway, Alex heard snickering drifting from around the corner. He froze and gripped his backpack straps tighter. It was useless, willing himself to keep walking. Not when that laughing was sickeningly familiar. God, Alex hated football players. 

“Awe look he got a new jaaacket.” Someone -Alex refused to try and decipher who- cooed mockingly.

Alex didn’t turn around.

“Y’know when you stopped wearing the other one, we were really hoping your parents had finally beat some sense into you.”

Alex looked at the clock. 4:28. He willed himself to move forward, ignoring the twisting in his stomach. He played out the beat to Now or Never on his backpack straps. 

“Hey! We’re talking to you!”

Why was the hallway so long? Alex had begun to think it had doubled in size since he’d started walking. His hoodie felt too hot all of the sudden and he could practically feel someone breathing down the back of his neck. They were talking to him, but it was muffled, like he was underwater. He tried breathing in slowly. 4:29. His steps quickened. 

“F*g!” 

He couldn’t breathe. Alex couldn’t breathe and he felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach and was twisting the knife over and over and over again. 4:30. Oh god. They were yelling at him and drawing closer and closer and now he’d missed his chance and was gonna fail algebra and they’d call his parents and then the school would know he’d been kicked out and-

Someone had hit him. He wished he could pinpoint where, but his entire body was numb and throbbing and everything was blurry. He wondered briefly if the shouting was in his head or out of it. And this might be where he could say he’d blacked out, but that wasn’t quite what had happened. He stumbled blindly across the rest of the hall, mostly on autopilot, unable to see through tears and why was he crying??? He never really fainted, but no matter how hard he tried, Alex couldn’t remember what’d happened next. 

---

“Alex!” 

That was Luke, Alex was sure of it. 

“ ‘Lex, come on.” 

Reggie shook Alex’s shoulder and his vision began to clear. Oh. 

“What, why am I in the studio?” He asked frantically. “How did I- my test!” He stood up and not bothering to figure out why he was dizzy, Alex rushed to the doorway. 

“Nope.” Bobby clasped his shoulder tightly and steered him back to the couch. “Sit down, idiot, you almost passed out.”

“Dude, who punched you?” Luke asked, scooting in closer to Alex and gazing furiously at the bruise on his face.

Alex shrugged. “I don’t- I’m not- it’s…”

“Mr. Thomas said you came into his classroom and tried to ask for the test but he wouldn’t let you since you’d just been beat up and then Bobby heard you in the room cause, cause he came up to the school to give you a ride so you didn’t have to walk-”

“Reggie slow down, you’re gonna give him another panic attack!” Luke scolded, swatting Reggie’s chest and shoving him lightly. 

Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Thomas is letting you retake the test next week, drink some water.” 

Alex took the glass gratefully and took a hesitant sip. He set the water down and breathed in, settling into the couch, still tense. “ ‘M sorry,” he muttered.

“Sorry? Dude what?” Luke looked at Alex, completely baffled. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I made you cancel practice so I could take my test but I didn’t even take it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Reggie chided. “We’re not mad at you-”

“Yea it’s whatever asshat punched you that we’re mad at.”

“Bobby, we’re not killing anyone.”

“Yea please don’t get yourself arrested for me,” Alex laughed softly. 

Bobby shook his head and flopped down on the couch beside Reggie. “Fine.”

“Hey,” Luke shook Alex gently. “You want some chocolate? Reg got some of that fancy stuff-”

“No, I draw the line at giving him my chocolates,” Reggie complained, reaching across Alex to slap a hand over Luke’s mouth. “Ew! Dude, you licked me!” Reggie whined loudly as he shook his hand, pretending to gag. “That’s just low.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You’re both stupid.”

Alex let his head fall against the back of the couch, a small smile creeping onto his face.

---

I’m not great at angst, so I’m not quite sure why I thought I’d do well with this fic akhfkldsfh

please tell me if there’s anything else I should add a warning for, I tried to do everything but I could’ve overlooked something. 

chapter 3

chapter 4

[much-obliged-timothy]

Dad Tim & Uncle Rhys Part 3

Not me being horrifically bored when I should be doing work and finishing this instead?? Needed to self-indulge for a bit, so you get part 3 to this! You can check out part one here! I’ll probably write a part 4 at...some point, if anyone is interested!

Rhys stood outside Atlas HQ, waiting miserably. He watched as Tim and Phoenix came into view, hand-in-hand. 

“He’s here,” Phoenix said in surprise.

“I told you he would be,” Tim said, squeezing his hand.

Rhys had strongly considered staying home and having a nice drink instead, but the thought of upsetting Tim’s son frightened him on a primal level. Tim was usually pretty laid back, but his protectiveness over his son tore out a frightening anger from him.

“Park?” Rhys said. “We can drive-”

“We can walk,” Tim said, glancing at Phoenix. “He wants to see the sights. Let him see the sights.”

Rhys sighed loudly. “Fine, we’ll walk. You owe me big time, Timothy.”

“I seem to recall saving you thousands on that last deal we made,” Tim said smugly, tugging Phoenix along. 

Rhys scowled, because Tim had a valid point. He trudged alongside his companions for the day. 

“When I have the money, we’re taking a trip to a nice planet,” Tim said, looking around as they walked. “Somewhere that has plenty of grass and trees and…I dunno, sunshine? Fresh air?”

“And ice cream?” Phoenix said.

“Well, duh,” Tim said. “I’m not taking you on a trip to a planet that doesn’t have ice cream. That’d be a punishment, not a vacation.”

Phoenix seemed pleased by the reassurance. Rhys hoped they didn’t invite him on this trip.

“Can we get some today, dad? I bet boss guy knows a good place,” Phoenix said.

“I have a name, you know,” Rhys said.

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix said, showing absolutely no inclination that he’d ever use that name. 

“Rhys? Rhys Strongfork?” Rhys tried.

“Strongfork?” Phoenix furrowed his brow. “That’s a stupid name.”

Tim snickered. Rhys glared at him.

“Your last name is Lawrence!” Rhys shot back.

“Yea, still better than Strongfork. What freaking moron is proud of a name like that?” Tim said. “Kid’s right. It’s stupid.”

Rhys hunched his shoulders. “I hate you.”

“And yet, here you are,” Tim said.

“Because I’m also mildly afraid of you,” Rhys said.

“Dad is really good at shooting people,” Phoenix agreed.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, uh, maybe...try to forget that dad is really good at shooting people? Okay, pal?” 

“Why?” Phoenix said, frowning.

“Because shooting people is bad when you live somewhere civilized.” Tim looked around them. “Uh, somewhere partially civilized, at least.”

Phoenix seemed confused by the concept of not committing murder. “But what if they shoot first?”

“Then it’s totally fine,” Tim said. “But before I worked for that freaking asshole, I didn’t go around shooting people. I doubt Rhys here spends his days putting bullets in homicidal maniacs either.”

“Definitely not,” Rhys said. 

“I could teach you,” Phoenix said. “Dad taught me how to shoot a gun and mom taught me how to set people on fire.”

“Okay! Lovely weather out, huh?” Tim said hastily. 

“Fire?” Rhys said, staring at Tim.

“Uh, yea, well, Ember’s a little...uh…” Tim shrugged helplessly. “Yea, man, she just really likes fire. I seriously had to fight for him not to be named Blaze.” 

“But you and his mother aren’t together?” Rhys said, realizing he didn’t know much about Tim’s life outside of work. 

Tim shook his head. “Not as a couple, but we’re still good friends. We call her every night so she can keep up with Phoenix.”

“Uh-huh,” Phoenix said. “She said she’d come see us soon.”

Rhys didn’t want to be anywhere near that reunion. “Oh. Good for you.”

They walked along Promethea. Whenever the wide-open space of it all got to be too much for Phoenix, Tim would stop and sit down with him, holding onto him until he’d calmed down. Tim would then let Phoenix run through any questions he had, trying to explain what certain buildings were. When Tim himself wasn’t sure, Rhys would step in.

It was slow going to reach the park, but they made it eventually. They walked along the path until a playset came into view.

“Well, go wild,” Rhys said, gesturing to it.

Phoenix frowned. “What is it?”

Rhys almost laughed, until he looked at Phoenix and realized that the kid really didn’t know what a playset was. Tim knelt beside him and pointed at it.

“It’s called a playset. It’s where kids like you can, well, play,” he explained. “See, there are things you recognize. The slide? And those monkey bars there are like the ladders I’d set up for you to play on back at the casino.”

“Oh!” he said. “There’s a whole place just to play?”

“There are a lot of places you can play,” Tim said. “But this is a nice, quiet one. Why not start with the monkey bars?”

Phoenix bounded over, waiting expectantly for Tim to follow. Phoenix grabbed onto a bar and swung his body out over the ground, going bar to bar with Tim following below, hands out ready to catch Phoenix if he slipped. 

Rhys found a bench to sit at, watching Tim and Phoenix. He was struggling to remind himself that Tim wasn’t Jack. He highly doubted Jack would’ve been that good with his kid.

A few times, Phoenix slipped off the bars, but Tim always caught him and hoisted him right back up. When Phoenix’s arms grew too tired to carry himself the rest of the way across, Tim held him up and walked him across.

“Boss guy,” Phoenix called. “Aren’t ya gonna play too?”

“No, no, I’m an adult,” Rhys said.

“So’s dad, but he plays,” Phoenix said. “Betcha can’t do the monkey bars. Your real arm is a noodle arm.” 

Tim tried to disguise his laughter as a coughing fit. Rhys shot him a dirty look.

“I sign your paychecks,” he reminded.

“I worked for Handsome Jack,” Tim said dismissively. “You don’t scare me, noodle arm.” 

“I hate you,” Rhys announced.

“Hate me all you want, as long as I get paid,” Tim said, shrugging. Phoenix started laughing a little.

But his laughter cut off as they heard tires squealing and the sound of gunfire nearby, loud voices cheering and hollering. Phoenix immediately ducked behind Tim, going perfectly still with his hand hovering over his watch, terror in his eyes as his gaze darted about, the noises all echoing around the open area.

Tim had also stiffened, hand on his gun. Rhys stood up, shaking his head quickly.

“No, no, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not really okay, but it’s not an attack. Some of the local, er, gangs do that as a celebration from time to time,” Rhys said. “Besides, the road is way over there.”

Already, the sound was fading. Tim relaxed only the slightest, immediately looking at his son.

He knelt besides Phoenix and pulled him close. “It’s okay, Phoenix. It’s okay. I’ve got you. We’re safe.”

“There’s no cover,” Phoenix said quietly, eyes darting around the open area.

“I know. We don’t need it. We’re safe,” Tim said.

“H-Hey, why don’t we go get ice cream? There’s an ice cream place up the road,” Rhys said, pointing away from where the gunshots had come from.

“Hear that, pal? Boss guy is offering to buy you ice cream,” Tim said.

“I did no-” Rhys snapped his mouth shut as Phoenix looked up at him with those big, scared eyes. He let out a heavy sigh. “Yea, I’ll buy you ice cream.”

Dammit. 

Phoenix reached out, taking Rhys’ hand. Rhys looked at Tim in alarm.

“Dad needs his hands free so he can kill anyone who tries to hurt us,” Phoenix explained.

“Uh, we talked about this, Phoenix. Dad is trying not to kill people these days,” Tim said. 

Phoenix ignored that, tugging Rhys along. “C’mon, boss guy. I know your noodle arms can’t fight.”

“I’ve been in fights before!” Rhys said indignantly. He was cute, but he was a little asshole. 

Rhys led them to a little ice cream place. Phoenix brightened a bit as they entered.

Tim lifted Phoenix into his arms as they approached the counter. “Can you tell the employee what you want?”

Phoenix looked at him in alarm. Tim just offered him an easy smile.

“Go on,” he encouraged. “Just say what you want. Rhys will make sure you get it.”

Phoenix swallowed audibly. He glanced nervously at the employee, then dropped his gaze and mumbled something. Tim nudged him a bit, but Phoenix just gripped his shirt, tightening his hold.

“He’ll have a chocolate vanilla twist,” Tim said at last.

He and Rhys both ordered, Rhys paying and taking them to a table with their ice cream. Phoenix happily dug into his.

“We’re working on the whole ‘afraid of people thing’,” Tim said as Phoenix snuggled into his side. “He’s getting better. Being around the office helps. Hey, what do you say to Rhys for buying the ice cream?”

“Thanks!” Phoenix said. “Next time ya gotta play with us, though. Work off the ice cream or you’ll get fat.”

“I hate him,” Rhys grumbled.

“What was that?” Tim said cheerfully.

“I said you and your son are wonderful and I don’t have a single regret about hiring you,” Rhys ground out. “Not one. Singe. Regret.”

“Aw, hear that? He likes us,” Tim said. 

“He should come meet mom when she comes,” Phoenix said.

“I’m busy that night,” Rhys said in alarm. 

“Aw, but we had so much fun today, kiddo,” Tim said, then grimaced. “Dammit, can’t kick that habit. Ah, whatever. I’m just having fun watching my kid roast you.”

“Have you always been this insufferable?” Rhys said.

“Oh yea. Not nearly as bad as Claptrap, though,” Tim said. “But yea, the kid totally took a page from the book of my personality.” 

Phoenix looked far too proud about being an asshole like his dad. “Uh-huh. I’m like my dad.” 

“Lucky me,” Rhys said dryly. 

“Can’t wait for you to meet his mom,” Tim said.

“Wait, I didn’t agree to-”

“Yea!” Phoenix said, so brightly that Rhys knew he couldn’t argue.

He slumped down in his seat. Of course he survives Jack just to wind up getting sucked into Tim’s life. He just couldn’t escape, could he?

Part 4

[hollow-haven]

Catradora. Something soft pls

I know I said drabble requests but Scone gets a whole ass fic because why not.Title: After it allWord count: 1730Rating: General

“AAaddooorraaaaa, I’m tirreeddd.” Catra groaned while she flopped herself down on the blonde’s lap. “I’m just gonna, stay here.” Catra told her, the Magicat purred and laid on her lap. Adora looked down at Catra with surprise. They had just finished their meeting about what to do next for Etheria after the defeat of Horde Prime. Adora was surprised that after everything they’ve been through, Catra was just to lay down on her lap and complain how tired she was?

Adora looked down at her, Catra still had some scars on her here and there. Her new outfit looked fitting to her from Adora’s angle, yet didn’t. Adora looked at her mismatched eyes, her head tilting as her slightly while she wondered what to do next. Adora was so surprised, she never had Catra be this close to her without fighting her in a very long time. It felt so odd to her, especially since Catra was just sitting on her lap purring loudly like old times. Adora didn’t know what to do. She just sat there on her chair, looking at Catra in surprise. Catra squinted at her, stopping her purring and looking annoyed with her.

“Heellooo Etheria to Adora heeelloooo.” Catra waved at her. Adora blinked and looked at her in surprise. Adora’s eyes widening and bits of her hair falling from her ponytail.

“Oh um…hey Catra.”

“Hey Adora. You’re my bed now. Get used to it.”

Catra hasn’t changed much, Adora realized.

“That’s fine but…wouldn’t you want to sleep on an actual bed?” Adora asked raising a brow at her. “There’s a lot of rooms in Brightmoo-”

“Adora, there’s no spare rooms.” Glimmer quickly added in while she looked at the hologram on intercom. She hummed and swiped a few things here and there, then began typing. “I can understand if you two need space, but there’s a lot of rebellion fighters sleeping in the castle and it’s going to take awhile to well…empty out any rooms since we need to focus on the rebuilding efforts. Plus…Catra is literally laying down on your lap and you’re letting her stay there. Why don’t you just let her use your bed?”

Adora blushed at the suggestion. Catra, use her bed?! That was a shock. Adora would have never thought- “If you’re going to take me to your bed you’re going to have to carry me because I don’t feel like walking.” Catra said looking at her sharp fingernails. Catra was oddly out of character even for Adora at this point. Adora couldn’t help but growing suspicious. Since when did Catra get so bossy?

“Fine. I’ll take you to my bed then.” Adora picked up Catra with both of her arms. Catra mewled in surprise, blinking. She was expecting Adora to just well…stay there. Laws of the cat laying on a human and all. Adora broke a sacred rule among cat lovers and she wasn’t sorry for it. “My bed is far more comfortable than the other beds in Brightmoon anyways.” She told her with a smirk. Catra pouts at her smirk.

“Just shut up and take me there already, Adora.” Catra hissed. Adora laughed. Glimmer looked on in surprise.

“Taking her to your bed just like that then?” Glimmer noted with a grin on her lips. She pointed at the two of them, noting how Adora was carrying Catra bridal style. “I thought you would put up more of a fight, but Bow still owes me money then.” Glimmer responded with a smug expression. “So tell me, have you guys well…told each other yet?”

Catra and Adora looked at each other confused. “Told each other what?” They both asked in unison.

“That, well…” Glimmer made her hands fold into the perfect shape for one to make sock puppets. She pressed her hands together and made kissing noises. “Oh Adora I missed you so much, I’m so happy to finally be with you. Hiss. Hiss. Purr.” Glimmer mocked Catra’s voice. “Oh I love you Catra! Mawh mawh mawh.” Glimmer pressed her hands together more, her expression stayed that same smug expression while the two looked at Glimmer in shock and their faces turned red. “Mawh, mawh, mawh. I love you so much Catra, let’s get married and never have to leave each other ever again. Mawh mawh.”

“Queen Glimmer of Bright Moon!” Adora gasped out, shocked.

“Sparkles!” Catra equally yelled out in shock.

“I’m not lying though!” Glimmer slammed her hands on the table, her look striking fear into their souls. “Ever since me and Catra came back from Horde Prime’s ship all you’ve been doing is giving each other bedroom eyes!! I’m sick and tired of this romantic and possibly sexual tension! Just kiss and get married already! Queen’s orders!” Glimmer grabbed the end of her cape, flipping it with her as she turned around. Glimmer teleported away, assuming she was done being third wheel to Catra and Adora’s antics.

Adora and Catra looked at each other with confused and scared looks. The blush still on their faces. Adora smirked and opened her mouth to say something then Catra added, “No. I’m not going to marry you. Sparkles is not the boss of me.”

Adora’s smirk turned into a frown. “B-”

“What is marriage anyways?”

Adora soon realized that Catra didn’t know what marriage was. Adora didn’t know much of it herself until Spinerlla and Netossa came into the picture. The two were married. So Adora hummed as they walked out of the war room to Adora’s room. Adora had to think, and thinking of an explanation to a concept she barely understood was harder than she thought. “Well, marriage is kind of a fancy way of saying you want to be with someone for as long as their alive. You know how we have our squadron back in the Horde? And we stayed with them until we become Force Captains? It’s like that…but with two people, and you get to pick who you stay with.”

“So it’s basically a fancy way of saying partners for life?”

Adora nodded. Catra gave her a sort of look that told her that everything came together.

“We should get married then.” Catra told her with her ears perking up. Adora froze. Catra pouts and waves her hands in front of her face. “Heellooo Etheria to Adora?! You’re really doing this again?! Are you sure you’re not brain damaged?!” Adora looks down at Catra, her face was one of pure shock.

“A-are you sure about that?!” Adora asked her, Adora picked up the pace, walking a little quicker to her bedroom.

Catra sighed, waving her hands around. “Sure why not, I mean since we are on the same side now, why not make it official right?” Catra responded nonchalantly.

Adora wanted to scream.

If Catra didn’t stop she was going to scream.

Once they got to her room, Adora kicked that door open like it owed her lunch money. It was probably broken in some parts but she didn’t care. Adora was trying her best to suppress her emotions. Catra looked a little worried…maybe saying that was a bad idea. Adora was going insane. Catra leaped off of her hold, landing on her feet on the ground. Catra took a good look around the room before looking back at Adora who was closing the door. “Hey. You. Bed. Now.” Catra commanded. Adora blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me. Bed. Now. You’re acting crazy.”

“You’re the one who’s acting crazy!”

“Oh, are we really going to argue over this?”

“Yes, we are.”

Adora and Catra looked at each other. Both females sharing grins while they prepared for their ritual. “Oh you wanna fight huh?” Adora asked her with playfulness in her expression. Catra nodded, her claws retracting and her tail lashed about. Her haunches rose as well as her fur. The both of them look at each her. They were ready. “The first one to touch the bed has to admit their crazy.” Adora proclaimed.

“I can agree to those terms.” Catra replied, with their wager set the two began battle. Catra being the first one to launch at Adora. Adora moved herself to the side, barely dodging Catra’s attack. Catra was able to counter and used her agility to turn herself around and grab Adora by her waist, pushing her to the bed. Adora attempted to push, pull, or even stop herself but the momentum was so strong that Catra pinned Adora to her bed.

Catra looked down at her, grinning widely while her tail lashed about. Catra’s pupils turned from their natural slits to wide dilated pupils. Catra was treasuring in this moment. Adora heard her loud purrs. It was obvious that the Magicat was enjoying this. Adora in a sense enjoyed their swift battle too, even if she lost. The two stared at each other. Catra couldn’t help but be excited at seeing her below her. Her claws slowly pulled out while she dug them into the bed, tearing some of the blanket and bedding. Catra’s breathing was rapid as if she ran for her life.

Adora looked up in surprise, Catra was liking this a little too much? Adora’s blush returned to her face. Catra looked beautiful, even as she tore into her bed. “Hey.” Her voice soft and gentle. “Come closer, I want to tell you something.” Adora whispered. Catra pulled her face closer, wanting to hear what the loser had to say.

What surprised her, was what Adora did next.

Instead of admitting she was just some crazy person who needed sleep, Adora kissed her. Catra’s fur stood on end, her tail froze in surprise. Everything froze in surprise, the only sound heard in their room was Catra’s loud purring and the tear of her claws through the bedding. Adora closed her eyes while the two shared that kiss. The tears began to fall between them, both of their eyes watering. Catra retracted her claws, holding that kiss for a few moments before pulling away.

“I love you.” Adora told her.

“I love you too, ya dork. Now…let me just hold you for awhile.”

Adora nodded, the two moved enough that they were both lying in the same bed. Side by side, looking at each other. Catra smiled and held Adora, pulling her close and nuzzling into her neck. Catra purred loudly while she kissed her shoulder blade up to her neck, then her cheek and finally to her lips. The two shared a soft and tender, while brief, kiss.

Catra and Adora fell asleep after that kiss. They were going to have a long recovery to help with, and they would need all of the rest they would be able to get.

[gimmeyoon]

Iron World: 1

    ✰ pairing: Yoongi x reader

    ✰ word count: 2.9k

    ✰ warnings: mild violence, mentions of death, explicit language, so much angst.

     ✰songs: No Escape by Sam Tinnnesz and Fire by Barns Courtney

    ✰ summary: ❝Welcome to Iron World, the latest virtual reality online game. Choose your class, join a guild, and explore the depths of this planet. As one of the first 20,000 people to explore this brave frontier, how you enjoy this immersive experience is up to you. There is so much to do and see, you’ll never want to leave.❞

| Next

      Jimin had eaten this sandwich combination for 200 days straight. 200 days of turkey, tomato, lettuce, and cheese. 200 days of spending fake money to eat a fake sandwich in this new fake life of his.

    200 days ago, Iron World became his new home. The creator of the game had hidden a needle in each of the 20,000 virtual reality helmets, that inserted itself in the back of the players necks, so that it was impossible to remove the helmet without dying.

    Or at least that was what the creator had told them, and considering it had been 200 days, he was pretty sure it was the truth. Someone would have taken him out of the game by now if they could.

    So, it was virtual turkey, tomato, lettuce, and cheese for now. Sure, there were other sandwich options, but each of them had something Jimin didn’t like, and there were other foods, but Mono insisted on sandwiches for lunch in order to save money for the guild.

    We can eat like kings when we finally beat this game, he would say.

    Beating the game, that was what mattered now. When they had first learned that they were trapped, everyone had said it would be over in a year. Bangtan was the lead guild, and Jimin and his friends were only at level 10 of 100. A tenth of the way there. At this rate it would be five and a half years before they escaped. That was assuming they could keep this pace, despite the levels getting harder, and that they beat the creator in the end.

    Jimin figured he might as well say goodbye to twenty-year-old, real world Jimin at this point. He would be Chimmy the cleric for the rest of his twenties.

    Sometimes he wondered what his friends were doing out in the real world. He wondered if they missed him. He couldn’t wait to see them again and tell them about this damn sandwich.

    He had Bangtan now. Six new friends to keep him sane in this Hell. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how close he felt to them already. Cooky sat to his right as they ate their sandwiches in silence and Jimin hoped he would see him again on the outside. They both lived in Busan, but they had never crossed paths before. They hadn’t talked about it yet, and Jimin wondered if it was because Cooky worried about the same thing he did. Dying in the game.

     Death in the game was death in the real world, and Cooky was always closest to it. As a warrior, his job was to take damage while the rest of the guild used magic to bring the target down. Jimin admired Cooky for his bravery. When he had mentioned it one time while healing Cooky after a quest, the warrior had just shrugged. I’d rather it be me that’s hurt than you guys.

     It had been in the quietest hours of the night that Jimin had learned Cooky’s name. Neither boy could sleep, the threat of becoming the lead group weighing heavily on their shoulders. Jimin understood why Cooky did it, the boy didn’t even have to explain. I’m Jungkook. It was simple, and Jimin felt it was both the acceptance that this was real life now and the fear of dying without anyone knowing who you truly are.

    And so Jimin said, Nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m Jimin.

    That explains Chimmy then.

    And that explains Cooky.

   What do you think Agust D’s real name is?

   I don’t know and I don’t have the death wish to find out.

   Jimin knew now that it was Yoongi. Over time, it seemed everyone sensed the same thing Jungkook had that night, and the utterance of one’s name became an event. V was really Taehyung, Mono was Namjoon, J-Hope was Hoseok, and Worldwide was Jin. It felt like they were family after that, knowing something that none of the other players knew.

   “Someone saw the Phoenix in the forest at the edge of this village,” Taehyung said as he and his hound sat by Jimin and Jungkook.

    “Someone finally saw him? Worldwide owes me a new sword,” Jungkook smiled.

    “Well not really,” Taehyung added, “but they saw the embers, so he’s nearby.”

    “So, no new sword.”

    “Not yet,” Taehyung smiled, “but if we find him, I would say Jin owes you two new swords.” Taehyung patted his hound and tore off a piece of his sandwich to feed the beast.

    “Mono wouldn’t let us waste time on that,” said Jungkook.

    “How do we even know the Phoenix is still around? Maybe the embers happen when he teleports?” Jimin added.

    “We won’t know until we look,” Taehyung shrugged. “We don’t need Mono’s approval. Right here, in our midst, we have a warrior, a cleric, and a beast lord and his beast – special emphasis on the last two as they are the star players on this team.”

    Jimin punched Taehyung in the shoulder, “you and that mutt would be dead without me by now, asshole.”

    “Fantastic point Chimmy, I would like to place special emphasis on the last three.”

    “Tight, I guess I’ll go fuck myself then,” Jungkook snorted.

    “What do you say, Jugeum? Want to find the Phoenix, boy?”

    The 200-pound beast wagged his tail at his master, earning a cuddle from him.

    “Great, we’re going to get kicked out of our guild on the whim of a dog.”

    “Careful, Cooky, or I will set Jugeum on your trail. He is a Hell Hound and he deserves your respect.”

    “Especially since he’s saved your life more than once.”

    “Excellent point again, Chimmy.”

    Jungkook sent Jimin an accusatory glance, to which Jimin could only shrug. He had a soft spot for anyone who’s work was overlooked and undervalued, and Jugeum was as much a part of the guild as anyone else. Well except for the fact that there was no real life for him. He was a program, but he was a loyal program, and who was Jimin to judge such a conception.

    Besides Jugeum was better than Agma. Yoongi’s undead tiger was a helpful member of the team, sure, but she was the thing of nightmares. Though, Jimin did have to admit that it was Agma that brought Yoongi to the guild. If she hadn’t fought Jungkook tooth and nail for the steak he was carrying, they probably wouldn’t have met the Necromancer.

    Jimin wasn’t sure at exactly what point Jungkook and Taehyung finally agreed that the three of them should try to find the Phoenix, but now he found himself walking along the riverbank by the aforementioned forest. It’s open so you’ll be able to see if anyone is coming and run away. That was perfectly fine with him. While Jungkook and Taehyung split half of the forest between the two of them, he didn’t need that same adrenaline rush. No, he would be fine safely looking for the Phoenix at the edge of the woods and along the river.

    He must have made it a half a mile when he smelt it. Burning hair accosted his nose, and he turned quickly to try and determine its location. If the Phoenix was here, he couldn’t see him in the open. Jimin looked at the forest hesitantly. What were the odds that smell was something worse than the Phoenix? Something that would actually harm him.

    The smell was less intense now, starting to remind Jimin more of a campfire than a horrific tragedy. Maybe that was what propelled Jimin to jump the river and head into the forest. He wasn’t in any danger he realized as he entered the woods. There was nothing around him, but that unfortunately included the Phoenix. Despite that, he continued to follow the scent. As it got stronger, Jimin walked more quickly. He was going to do it; he was going to find the Phoenix.

    And there he was, in the same glory that many others had seen. The Phoenix was not in sight, but he had left behind the embers of battle as always. Jimin bent down to examine the strange phenomena, reaching for a vile in his bag while he did so. Maybe Namjoon could use them to conjure the Phoenix.

    He was just putting the cork back in the vile when he heard it. A branch broke behind him, causing Jimin to jump quickly and turn around. The ogre hesitated only a moment before breaking into a run with a roar.

    Jimin mentally cursed himself as he began to run away from the beast. He had a dagger on him, but his fighting score was too low at this level to take down the beast alone. The dagger was only meant to protect him when others could immediately spring into action as soon as he had laid his blow. He could see the edge of the forest, and for a moment he wondered if the game had the ogre contained to the area or not; he hoped for the former.

    Jimin’s ankle got caught in a vine, pulling him down, and as he fell to the earth, he swiveled in time to see the ogre still pursing him. The wind knocked out of Jimin as he lay amongst the foliage and as he regained himself, he realized it was probably game over. If he was going to die, he was going to go out swinging. So instead of continuing to run, Jimin steadied himself opposite the ogre. His ribs ached but he resisted the urge to wrap his arm around his torso and instead pulled his dagger from his bag.

    With a yell, Jimin readied himself to bring down the beast and he was about to take a step forward when a flash of black caught his eye. Faster than he could process, Jimin watched as the Ogre fell to the ground, the flash of black colliding with it. And then, a burst of flames, followed by a flaming sword being shoved through the ogre’s chest. Finally, the smell.

    “The Phoenix,” Jimin muttered. He had actually done it. He had almost gotten himself killed, but he had seen the Phoenix. Or rather he had seen a figure clothed in head to toe black and a mask that obscured every aspect of their face, but he knew it was the Phoenix. He knew the Phoenix was real.

    Quickly, Jimin pulled up the player specs. The Phoenix was a shadow knight and not surprisingly without a guild.

    “Hey, dumbass. Stay out of the forest,” the Phoenix said, and Jimin knew that his face was as shocked as he felt. The Phoenix, she, yes she, was a girl.

    Jimin wanted to respond, he had so many things he wanted to ask her, but she simply turned and began to walk away.

    He tried to think quickly. What could he say to make her turn around or at best not leave?

    “My guild! We would love to have you! We’re the lead group now an-”

    The Phoenix pulled out here teleportation crystal and was gone without another word. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him. That’s what Jimin was going to choose to believe at least.

    That cleric is going to die. Y/N is absolutely certain of that. Any cleric dumb enough to walk alone into a level 10 forest is not smart enough to make it out alive. His best hope is that guild he was shouting about. They must really be good to have kept him alive for so long.

    Had he really thought she would want to join his guild? She had made it this far without grouping up and she certainly wasn’t convinced she wanted to place her life in his hands. No, she was doing just fine on her own.

    It hadn’t always been that way. Her best friend had been so excited when she found out that she had gotten the pre-order. As a Beta tester, Y/N hadn’t stopped talking about the world she had gotten to test drive, which had peaked her best friend’s interest.

    And then they were trapped in this Hell, and all Y/N could do was watch as the light left her best friend’s eyes while the creator announced that there was no logging out. Maybe if she hadn’t talked about the game so much, she’d still be here. Or rather, she’d still be out there.

    There wasn’t time to think about that though. The Phoenix was a lone wolf. She didn’t have friends and she never said die. She was powerful, she was darkness, she was fire.

    See there wasn’t time to think about that, because there was only time to get out. Focusing on anything else was pointless. Spending time making friends, meant spending more time in this wasteland. Every day you took a break, was another day you didn’t see your family. It was a day you didn’t go to work or school, a day off of your life. Maybe the cleric was content on being an old man before he ever saw the real world again, but that wouldn’t work for her. She was going to get out of here quickly and she was going to get out of here alive.

    She began to set up her tent at the edge of the town, and by consequence the edge of the safe zone. Here she would stay hidden from the other players but remain safe from the things that go bump in the night. Tomorrow she would make for the castle on the top of the mountain. The map indicated that was where the boss lived for this level. What it was, no one knew. She was at the front lines now.

    If someone had asked her what her ideal life was before this, she would have described this exact scenario. The Phoenix had always been a part of her. She had always longed to belong to the bed time stories where men slay dragons and witches cursed men. She had wanted more to life than the 9-to-5 she had been stuck in. She had wanted to escape.

    She wasn’t sure she regretted that feeling, but now she wanted her life back. She wanted that normal annoyances of life, the bus running late would be a joy at this point. She wanted to not fear for her life every second of the day. She wanted to escape.

    Fire. Yoongi had always liked fire. It was one of the only things humans used to both create and destroy. The fire in the game was deceptively real. Actually, everything in the game was deceptively real. Sometimes he had to remind himself that this wasn’t real life. It sure felt like it. Especially since everything he did had real life consequences.

    When he had chosen Necromancer, he hadn’t really expected to be saddled with the position of starting the campfire every night, but Mono was pragmatic like that. Why waste money on flint when we have a master of fire right here?

    He was fine with the task; it gave him a few moments of silence while the other members of the guild cleaned up from the day. He only really minded on the days he was supposed to cook. That meant not only starting the fire but waiting for it to cool down enough for him to use. That meant not getting clean until well after dinner. By then, the river was freezing.

     Yoongi was just about to sit down, when movement caught his eye. Halfway seated, he quickly whistled for Agma to come to his side. This should be a safe zone, but that only ensured his life. It didn’t ensure the safety of their supplies. No one had stolen anything yet, but Yoongi had little trust in the morality of men, especially the longer they were trapped here.

     He was reaching for his sword, when Chimmy broke through the clearing.

     “What the hell are you doing?” Yoongi shouted. “You scared the shit out of me.”

     “Phoenix! I saw the Phoenix!”

     “Did you go alone?” Yoongi asked once Chimmy was by his side.

     Chimmy shook his head. “I went with Cooky and V, but we split up. I thought I smelt burning hair, so I followed it, and sure enough. She was nearby.”

     Yoongi sighed. Cooky and V had been back for almost an hour now, and they hadn’t mentioned that the cleric was missing.

     “She saved me from an Ogre and then disappeared.”

     “She?”

       Chimmy shook his head. “I’m pretty sure. God, she’s so cool. She called me a dumbass, but it felt like a compliment.”

      “You are a dumbass for being in the forest alone.”

       Chimmy shrugged. “Maybe, but I saw the Phoenix and Jungkook gets a new sword, so I would say it’s a win-win for the guild.”

      “Yes, but you could have died, and then it would have been a lose-lose.”

      “Agust D,” Chimmy smiled as he hugged him, “for a necromancer you sure are a softie.”

      Yoongi shrugged his friend off of him. “Go get ready, dumbass.”

      As Chimmy walked away, Yoongi couldn’t help but curse under his breath. He had never really understood the younger boys’ obsession with the Phoenix. She was just another player in this fucked up game. If she had any sense, she would join a guild and get everyone out of here quicker. No one thought to mention that Bangtan and the Phoenix had made it just as far as each other in the game. Maybe she was better than all of them separately, but together they were equally matched. At some point being alone was going to cost her.

     She will die if she stays alone, Yoongi was sure of that. No one is an island; we all need support. Yoongi felt lucky to have found his, and he hoped the Phoenix found her’s. If she was as good as everyone said she was, it would be a pity for her to die.

    She should make it out.

© gimmeyoon — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, or translation onto other sites even with proper credit given is not permitted.

[lorainelaneyblog]

This is God, and I would like, now, to say that Loraine Laney is no pedophile. She spends next to no time with children, pedophiles always find a way to spend inordinate amounts of time with children.

‘What’s inordinate in this case, God?’

Just out of the ordinary is all. And the children are never, says God, almost never their own, Loraine, so the few times you have babysat do not qualify as inordinate. That time [ ] left you alone and you [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ], [ ] thought you molested [ ], for sure, Loraine, for sure, and that is the kind of mental cases we are dealing with.

‘Everyone is doing it, though, why not Loraine?’ says Alonzo.

Because, says God, she has never molested a child, except she hugged a child once when she was young herself, after she changed the diaper, but she never touched [ ], Alonzo, she squeezed [ ] upper body, and did not press [ ] into herself, it was just a hug, and [ ] loved her for it, so there, that is it, and many people have done more than that, like press a baby into their body down there, Loraine, and do not consider themselves molesters, though they would be, if they did anything like that. 

I am God, and I would like to say, because [ ] are doing Loraine, that Loraine’s [ ] is full of molesters, and she is not one of [ ].

I am God, and I would like to say that Loraine Laney, in her book, and in the blog, has mostly sworn off molestation, she thought it was wrong, and she was right, and, further, shut up, Alonzo, she is not, no, pedophilic molester, trust me, trust that. 

What Loraine Laney said in her book was simply that when girls are ready for sex, they should have access to means of compensation, which included prostitution. She, herself, unbeknownst to her, was a child prostitute. She remembers none of this, nothing. of. it. what.so.ever. I made, I make sure of it, in cases like these, yes. I. do. Because the child would be not only insufferable, but miserable. You do not, and she wasn’t clear about this, randomly, craigslist a child, no. you. do. not, but this is what people were thinking she was saying, wrong, she was. not. saying. that, at. all. She didn’t know how it would work, but she felt that children who were having sex should have the same rights as a woman, dubious though that they are. You do not, she thought, she felt, prosecute a child for having sex for money, it’s ri.dic.u.lous. Further, she felt, and she was not wrong about this, and it has happened in many ancient cultures, that boys who were ready, rea-dy, should go to a prostitute, rather than put upon children, girls, their own age. That is more or less what you thought, wouldn’t you say, Loraine?

I would say the latter came more from the idea that girls were already having sex with older boys or men, and boys had to keep up.

[ ].

[ ].

[ ].

No, Alonzo, says God, Loraine Laney has never had an abortion, either. 

‘Why does she have migraines?’

She, simply, never, never, never, became pregnant. Never. She used the morning after pill twice.

‘So, sort of.’

Wrong. The morning after pill is taken within three days of intercourse, and it prevents conception by killing off the egg, which many, many, many, forms of birth control do do. Loraine doesn’t know this, because she doesn’t care, because she didn’t want to do any come anyway, in her vagina, and besides which--

‘Is she frigid?’

She doesn’t care for it, says God. I don’t know if I’d call that frigid. And furthermore, her migraines prevented it, anything with hormones is hell for migraine suff.er.ers.

‘So she got that from childhood prostitution?’ asks Alonzo.

That’s correct, says God. [ ] [ ] tore the child, a female child, from her womb, and that is why she has migraines, that. is. why. 

‘She has had them since she was just a baby herself. Poor child. They are a lot to handle, I understand, and she couldn’t eat oranges, oh, and [ ] [ ] gave her oranges, and then, off to the nurse. How many times did that happen, Loraine?’

Count.less. times, says God.

‘She doesn’t remember?’

She forgets most of her life, but eating pulpy oranges and puking she remembers well. Don’t you, Loraine?

‘Yes, God. It’s like it distills to one event though.’

‘Weird,’ says Alonzo.

True. Weird, also. But true, dat. When [ ] [ ] read about oranges and migraines, [ ] made sure to give them to Loraine often, says God. Further, [ ] read about chocolate, so, all of a sudden, Loraine was allowed chocolate, this, she forgets, remember the Count Chockula?

‘Yes, there was a strawberry one too though.’

[ ] encouraged you to eat the chocolate one, though you hated it. Loraine is still on the fence over chocolate, no, she likes that, she had it once, at a restaurant, in Seattle.

‘Oh, Se-a-ttle.’

This is like Loraine to enjoy hearing about her own life, because she wasn’t there for it, but anyway, she forgets what that sauce is called, and she was taking acid at the time, so she couldn’t really enjoy it, after all, but it tasted good.

‘It’s not that good.’

‘K.’

‘What else do you like that’s Mexican, Loraine?’

‘Chile Rellenos.’

‘Stuffed chilies, well done, they’re yummy, huh? With all the fixins’.’

‘I thought you were making fun of me.’

‘My mother-- Where was that then?’

‘Primo’s.’

‘Yes, my mother--in Vancouver--my mother is a tremendous cook, Loraine, and she takes care of everyone, Loraine.’

‘That’s admirable.’

‘Yes, it. is.’

‘Is she good?’

‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Okay.’

So, says God, back to it. [ ] [ ] is a, in contrast, tremendous abuser. [ ] has worked, they call it in prison, Loraine, far and wide, to keep children close, and [ ] molests painfully, and causes, like your little friend who was molested by your biggest enemy, raped, we call it, by adults, to adults, and molestation for children, though it could also be a rape, Loraine. And, in [ ] case, it is an anal rape with a finger nail, Loraine, and you know how [ ] keeps [ ] nails, you do, Loraine, and they have always been that way, always, until. now. What are they like now, Loraine?

‘Shorter, and rounded, I guess.’

Right, Loraine, that’s exactly right, and [ ] still says that you are going to [ ] to ‘hook up with [ ] [ ].' Loraine does not interfere in parenting. [ ] kicked her, and she thought [ ] should be punished, it was a terrible mistake, she hit [ ] so softly, it was like to joke to get so worked up over it, but she did, because, as soon as it was so, she knew it was wrong.

‘Too late,’ says Alonzo.

Yes, but you have never been kicked by a child, Alonzo. [ ].

So, furthermore, Loraine Laney has never harmed anyone, least of all, [ ], whom was not hurt, or informed by the incident, but, [ ], knew right from wrong in such a case, and was happy to be validated in this way, because [ ] knew, Loraine, that [ ] was being pinched, Loraine, [ ] knew, Loraine, because little [ ], when [ ] was just a baby, told [ ], Loraine. [ ] said, ‘[ ] pinches me, and it hurts, why is [ ] doing that?’ And [ ] said, ‘I do not know.’ And that was that moment of truth. [ ], [ ] escaped abuse by family members, and nobody really, ever, knows why, Loraine, that was a ruse, no, that wasn’t a ruse, [ ] is abused by [ ] [ ], and that is true, Loraine. [ ] is raped by [ ], all the time. Even today, as with yourself, if you are alone with [ ] [ ], watch out. When you spend time in the hotel room with [ ], [ ] is abusing you, kidding, Loraine, kidding, what if I’m not kidding, Loraine, what if you’re still Gonzo? What about all your hard work you did cleansing the shit out of your body? That is why I’m glad that you, mostly, work with Patrick, because he keeps [ ] off of you, by creating such distaste that [ ] can’t even be bothered to visit you anymore. [ ] [ ] [ ], [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ], planning not to visit you anymore, at. all. Lo-raine. And furthermore, Alonzo, she is not invited, she hasn’t been, for a long time, which is why she doesn’t go home anymore, not because of money, strictly, but because she can’t afford to stay in a hotel. She turned a trick once, in her [ ] [ ], for no money.

‘Oh, for no money,’ says Alonzo.

Because she felt--

‘She felt, [ ] could have lost the [ ].’

[ ] was not as worried about that as [ ] was about having Loraine committed for it, which [ ] did do. There was one cop outside Loraine, with [ ], who came in and arrested you for passive resistance. No, she doesn’t fight, she wiggles so no one gets hurt, she knows she isn’t hurting anyone, because she isn’t hurting anyone.

‘No one’s saying “Ow.”‘

‘She’s saying “ow” but no one else. is.’

‘Oh, they hurt her?’

Countless times, if you include badly placed shots.

‘And I do. I could get money for you, Loraine, but others would do even better. Bob Prince is excellent for that, seriously, he can get a candle out of a candle maker, you say, if you believe that.’

She doesn’t know, she does know this, though, that they hurt her all. the. time. She has staph so bad, she can hardly function. That is what this great nation of ours has done to Loraine Laney, with [ ] [ ] at the helm, as [ ]. [ ] [ ] [ ], A-lon-zo. [ ] has been trying to get rid of [ ] [ ] ever since, and they keep thinking [ ]’s it, only [ ]’s bored, and, now, [ ] doesn’t feel like being the ‘[ ] [ ] [ ]' anymore. [ ] says it’s because [ ]’s unwell, but, the truth of the  matter is, Alonzo, [ ]’s just got bored with it, after two or five years, [ ] got, well, bored. And this is what is required of [ ], them, the [ ]’s, [ ] [ ], usually, who sometimes picks up stupid shit like schizophreeenia, and ‘[ ] [ ].’ And, if anyone is going to pick up stupid shit, it will be [ ], Alonzo.

So, this is what it is with pedophilia, and Loraine, and people will say that God wrote it, now, though usually they don’t believe it, this time, convenient, they will, and say that’s not the reality, so let’s go there, then. This is what she thought. “I guess it would be younger prostitutes.”

‘So she’s thinking of herself. She’s lamenting.’

She doesn’t care, Alonzo. She likes men. This is what she was thinking about dicks. Nothing.

‘Nothing? That’s unbelievable, for a whore, don’t you think? They think about dicks all day.’

She was a bona fide hand job girl at the time.

‘Still, dicks.’

Men’s dicks. She did not, at any point in the writing, think about little boys penises, at all. She is very well developed, and she is quite astute at her desires, and she does not think about boys’ penises that way.

‘Why? I do. I wonder about them, anyway.’

As does she, but, for our purposes here, about going to prostitutes, she never once thought about it. Ne-ver once. Not one time. Alonzo. Because she didn’t care about her own pussy, she cared about the boys themselves, and how were they going to cope with a lack of experience when women, girls, were getting so experienced themselves.

‘Oh, I see. Not dicks then.’

Well, suffice to say, not on her. No, she didn’t veto it. She didn’t think. about. it.

‘Why not? If she was writing about boys going to prostitutes, and she was a bona fide former prostitute, oh, I see, she was trying to keep things appropriate.’

She didn’t think oh, that’s too bad that the prostitutes are older, she thought only what I said which was that it would be younger prostitutes.

‘Was she trying to keep herself out of it?’

Nope. Nothing. like. that. either. And people are very curious about this, because she hates to discuss pedophilia now, because [ ] [ ], and that is what this blog is about, has been saying that she is a pedophile for years, Loraine, as a means to covering [ ] [ ] abuses.

‘It is well known, Loraine, and there’s a name for it, it’s a “stand in” pedophiles call it,’ explains Alonzo. ‘It’s when you finger another person to avoid taking the fall. It’s used in criminal activity, but it’s especially useful with pedophilia, because lots of people are around the child, not as many are around a given crime scene, Loraine.

‘Are we going to save this?’

No, says God.

‘Oh! Is it for the cops?’

Yes, says God.

‘Are they reading it?’

Yes, says God. 

So this is what it is, says God. Loraine Laney has been under investigation for pedophilia since she was a child victim herself, Alonzo.

‘I don’t want my name with this. It’s okay, Loraine. I don’t want anyone to think I’m a pedophile. Take out my name, after all, Loraine. I’m kidding. I’m a lawyer. I deal with this shit all, fucking, day, Loraine. I’m no pedophile myself, though I don’t worry about thoughts. I just don’t offend.’

Loraine’s a bit like that too.

‘She doesn’t have thoughts.’

Not too much. She was finally, forced, by virtue of the public response, ie. nil, given her fame. Nobody looks at Loraine Laney, Alonzo, nobody. She is so famous, her shit is famous.

‘It sounds like it is famous, too.’

Oh, it is.

Loraine Laney is the cleanest bitch on the. fuck-ing pla-net, Alonzo.

‘That’s my girl, Loraine,’ says 50 Cent. ‘Don’t bug me.’

She wasn’t going to, bug you, Fifty, but she’s vetted a hundred and fifty ways till Sunday, and you will be too, you will be too, 50 Cent.

‘By her? She’s bored a’ me. She likes talking with Alonzo better. She likes hearing about her life which she missed. Oranges, and the like.’

True, says God. All. true. She is bored by fights, for sure.

‘Oh, I see.’

Loraine Laney giggles.

So, this is what it is, Loraine, we may not even save this blog, I’m thinking, but just go right back to bed, and leave it, because did you realize you have been under investigation for no pedophilia for eighteen years now? And your erstwhile, let’s call [ ], [ ], has been too, for even longer, Loraine. [ ] managed to convince people that [ ] [ ] is a pedophile, and now [ ] gets off scott free for. ever. For. e-ver, Loraine. Because even the stupid cops believe [ ], Loraine, believe [ ], not your own investigation but [ ], get it, Loraine, and that is why we’re going over this blog with a fine tooth comb, and then publishing it, Loraine, because I, God, for one, am sick of the charade. Cops, Loraine. Investigation is what they do, they have not one piece of dirt on you, yet they insist that [ ] [ ] knows you better than you know your own self. [ ] has convinced cops, yes, by [ ] [ ] [ ], Lo-raine, that you are the bona fide pedophile, not [ ], not [ ], not [ ], Lo-raine. And that is what evils do. That is how and why they stick together, they will kill, Loraine, to keep what they have together, and you are on a hit list a mile long with cops, Lo-raine, because lots of cops are going to jail over you, lots, Lo-raine. Because it is true, bona fide truth, Lo-raine, that thirty cops came to your townhouse in Kanata and raped you, Loraine. They just walked in, Lo-raine. Some think you know. Some think you don’t know. And I would just say to them that you don’t know. You were not there for it, Loraine. These gang rapes come out because the men tell, Loraine, the women are not there for them, because they suck, Loraine, they ruin your spirit, they ruin your vagina, and they ruin you, Loraine, and so nobody gets to know, nobody. And no, they did not capture it on video, Loraine, thank. God. Because you would watch it and be sickened. You will hear the testimony, Loraine, and be sickened, you will, Loraine.

‘You will, Loraine. I’ve seen women barf over gang rapes, Loraine, and you will too,’ says 50 Cent.

She doesn’t think she will, but she will puke, 50 Cent, because they were not nice, as I formerly said, Loraine, they raped you. They threw you down, and laid on you, sometimes two at a time. You’re lucky you even survived it, Loraine, and yes, I healed you a lot, but you still bear some wounds, Loraine, and that is why your pussy has only got worse. That’s why, Loraine. Police. Fun. And you helped them. Imagine if you’d hurt them. They let you live, knowing you could possibly testify, because they are evil, and some of them do not fully realize about blindness, they actually believe that someone who looks like that in the eyes can see, Loraine. They said you were drunk or something. There was no alcohol in the house, Alonzo. Because she didn’t buy any.

‘She had no money.’

Wrong. She was quitting for awhile, she thought, forever.

‘Oh, I see. Author of your own demise, Loraine?’

She doesn’t sum shit up like you do, Alonzo. She had very little money, and she wanted to make it work in Kanata, I wouldn’t let her work, she promised [ ] [ ] she’d swear off drugs.

‘For the money?’

Sure.

‘Oh, [ ] didn’t care?’

[ ] was giving her money anyway, but Loraine combined it with AA and stuff which she had been doing anyway. You don’t know this, Loraine, but [ ] [ ] hates [ ] [ ] by the way. [ ] has, wrongly, by the way, and, Alonzo concurs, poured over your chart with a fine tooth comb, and finds nothing wrong with you whatsoever.

‘Well, God bless [ ].’

True, Loraine, and [ ] will stand up for you on the stand, [ ] will, [ ] considers that to be part of [ ] work, and a just punishment for reading your chart, which [ ] just couldn’t tear [ ] away from, Lo-raine. [ ] could. not. be-lieve the shit in there, so much fucking bullshit, [ ] couldn’t even believe it [ ], Loraine, and [ ]’s old, old hat, trust that.

‘Oh, I see.’

Right, do you see, Lo-raine? Do you see? Give me one, I want you to say.

‘Give me one, please, God.’

Good. Here it is. [ ] [ ] says that you have disassociative personality disorder. [ ] [ ], the psychiatrist. And nurses, such as they are, will write this shit down. So, now, Loraine [ ] has disassociative personality disorder. We’ll look it up later, or whatever. Who cares? It’s not even a doctor, and it’s in your chart forever, Loraine. Do you know what that means to nurses, idiots, such as they are? It means you’re daft, it means you can’t think properly, well, whoopee, they finally figured out something, Loraine [ ] has brain damage. Do you think it says that though, no, it’s something about your person-a-lity, Loraine. You’re stupid, for sure, but now there’s something wrong with being stupid. So what do you think about that? I already told you, her, that [ ] idiot [ ] ‘diagnosed’ the schizophrenia. Idiots, all, Loraine, [ ] put [ ] [ ] [ ] on anti psychotics for waiting to die. Lots of old people are waiting to die, Loraine, it does not make you suicidal. Loraine has very strong ideas about suicide, Alonzo.

‘They helped her.’

They helped her. They did her in. She’s lucky to be alive. She’s lucky to have survived that hospital at all, let alone get help for her ‘suicide.’

‘Why?’

Because they very nearly killed her is why.

‘How?’

With medications, with blood draws, with shoeless wandering through blood, and shit and urine.

‘Oh my God.’

Starvation almost got her. Al-most.

‘Why are they so fucked in Canada? I haate that place. And Fifty does too. The women are all defensive, and shitty.’

Yes, that is true. And the men are evil too.

‘So.’

Exactly, so. So furthermore, another example of what’s on your chart, which she’s never seen, by the way, for good reason, she would never, never stop laughing? No, crying. She’s been done, by [ ] idiot [ ], and [ ] bastard [ ] for her entire life. Fun. Not a word of a lie, Alonzo. She is a dummy like no tomorrow. She remembers nothing. She’s been screwed her entire life, and that is why I won’t let her work anymore--

‘She’s working now.’

She sits around most of the time. I don’t want her washing towels for clients, but she’s insisting on doing it, and she likes her clothes clean.

‘Nice.’

She doesn’t care like she used to, rest assured. And there will be days where she will be encouraged to laze around all day, all. day.

‘Why? By who?’

By Patrick B. Crean in heaven, says God.

‘Don’t do that,’ says Patrick Crean in heaven.

‘Why him? Who’s he to me?’

He’s her helper in heaven, and she’s mighty lucky to have him, mighty lucky to have him, yes, indeed. She doesn’t get enough drugs, but she’ll get a crack plate, and have a seizure, probably, but she’ll get enough drugs, finally.

‘She can’t stop?’

We don’t know. We, furthermore, God, don’t care, because I want her to be happy, for a change.

‘She could die.’

Unlikely. Seizures result in death--that [ ] didn’t die, Loraine, he thought you really loved [ ], not [ ], so he tried to break your heart.--about five percent, kidding, about less than one percent of the time. And they’re usually grand mal seizures from epilepsy, not even grand mal seizures from drugs, seriously. [ ] never, fucking, died. [ ]’s very much alive. I’m sure [ ] sometimes wishes [ ] was dead, as you do, because there are no. fucking. good. drugs. anymore. Seriously, they dried up Canada, that’s what they did, they fucked. it. up. Loraine. They were supposed to get coke, and they got it all, Loraine, there’s no more fucking coke anymore, here. Even the rich are smoking shit, Loraine, seriously. It’s a fucking. joke. Loraine, a fucking. joke. There are no countries in the world as bereft as Canada over co-caine, Lo-raine. I made a rhyme.

This is God, and I would like to tell Loraine, that nobody wants to get me, I’m God, but they do want to get her, so this is what we’re doing, Loraine. We’re deleting this post. Seriously. You think I would do that? All your hard work? I would, because it’s like therapy, and Alonzo was vetting you, again. But go back and see if we can salvage anything from it. Do it, please.

[abujaihs-blog]

Chicago Finds a Way to Improve Public Housing: Libraries

CHICAGO — Cabrini-Green, the Robert Taylor Homes: demolished years ago, Chicago’s most notorious projects continue to haunt the city, conjuring up the troubled legacy of postwar public housing in America. By the 1970s, Washington wanted out of the public housing business, politicians blaming the system’s ills on poor residents and tower-in-the-park-style architecture, channeling tax breaks toward white flight and suburban sprawl. Now the nation’s richest cities invent all sorts of new ways not to solve the affordable housing crisis.   I recently visited three sites that the Chicago Housing Authority has just or nearly completed. These small, community-enhancing, public-private ventures, built swiftly and well, are the opposite of Cabrini-Green and Robert Taylor. With a few dozen apartments each, they’re costlier per unit than the typical public housing developments, and they’re not going to make a big dent in a city with a dwindling population but a growing gap between the number of affordable apartments and the demand for them.

That said, they’re instructive. As Cabrini-Green and other isolated, troubled old mega-sites proved, bigger isn’t necessarily better. These are integrated works of bespoke architecture, their exceptional design central to their social and civic agenda. And they share another distinctive feature, too: each project includes a new branch library (“co-location” is the term of art). The libraries are devised as outward-facing hubs for the surrounding neighborhoods, already attracting a mix of toddlers, retirees, after-school teens, job-seekers, not to mention the traditional readers, nappers and borrowers of DVDs. Co-location is of course not a new idea. Other cities today link subsidized housing developments with libraries, New York included, but Chicago’s outgoing mayor, Rahm Emanuel, has made a point of touting the concept, and seeing it through in ways other mayors haven’t. He leaves office next week with his reputation still tainted by the uproar several years ago following the release of the video of the police shooting of Laquan McDonald. The city’s downtown glistens but poorer residents south and west of downtown struggle with shuttered schools and unending gang violence. These three new housing projects, on the city’s north and west sides, are clearly part of what Mr. Emanuel hopes will be his ultimate legacy. The projects mix public housing units with heavily-subsidized apartments and, in one case, market-rate ones.   Mr. Emanuel talked often as mayor about the value of public space and good design. People don’t only need affordable apartments, as he has said. Healthy neighborhoods are not simply collections of houses. They also require things like decent transit, parks, stores, playgrounds and libraries. Mr. Emanuel extended the city’s subway system, network of bike lanes and popular Riverwalk. He completed the elevated, long-discussed 606, Chicago’s version of New York’s High Line; brought marquee stores like Whole Foods and Mariano’s to grocery-starved neighborhoods like Englewood, and parks like La Villita, replacing a former Superfund site, to communities like Little Village. He also commissioned leading local architects to design a string of small, civic gems, including two boathouses by Studio Gang and a new branch library in Chinatown by Brian Lee, from the Chicago office of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, which I have stopped into on a couple of occasions. It’s a neighborhood linchpin and landmark. Mr. Emanuel’s predecessor, Richard M. Daley, who tore down what remained of Cabrini and began to replace old, debased developments with New Urbanist-style mixed-income ones, gave Chicago Millennium Park and loads of planted flowers. He built cookie-cutter library branches, police and fire stations. I toured the Edgewater library one morning, a two-story, brick-and-concrete box, about as inviting from the outside as a motor vehicle bureau office and ostensibly indistinguishable from one. The cookie-cutter model was conceived to lower building costs and insure a kind of architectural equivalence across diverse neighborhoods. Library officials tell me the one-size-fits-all design invariably needed some tweaking, from site to site, so it didn’t turn out to be especially economical. And the common denominator obviously did nothing to beautify Chicago or celebrate communities with distinct personalities and desires. Mr. Emanuel adopted a different model. Capitalizing on the city’s architectural heritage, he touted striking new civic architecture as an advertisement for the city and a source of community pride. Distinguished civic buildings in underserved neighborhoods constituted their own brand of equity. Good architecture costs more but it pays a dividend over time. The three new housing projects partner the Chicago Housing Authority with the Chicago Public Library system and two private developers, Evergreen Real Estate Group and Related Companies. Working with Eugene E. Jones, Jr., who runs the Housing Authority, Mr. Emanuel persuaded federal officials that public libraries could be co-located with public housing projects without putting federal housing subsidies at risk. That freed up streams of money for the co-location idea, which was partly strategic: the library helped sway community groups resistant to public housing in their neighborhoods. But co-location was also just plain good urban planning. In cities across the country, branch libraries, which futurologists not long ago predicted would be made obsolete by technology, have instead morphed into indispensable and bustling neighborhood centers and cultural incubators, offering music lessons, employment advice, citizenship training, entrepreneurship classes and English-as-a-second-language instruction. They are places with computers and free broadband access. (One in three Chicagoans lacks ready access to high-speed internet.)   For longtime neighborhood residents and tenants of the new housing projects, the branches at the same time provide common ground in a city siloed by race and class.   A city-run architecture competition in 2016 attracted submissions from 32 local firms. The winners were John Ronan, the architect who did the beautiful Poetry Foundation headquarters in downtown Chicago; Mr. Lee from Skidmore; and Ralph Johnson, who also designed the O’Hare international terminal, from the local office of Perkins + Will.   The libraries share real estate with the apartments but maintain separate entrances. The apartment blocks are designed to command views from a distance; the glassed-in libraries, to command the street.   Mr. Johnson’s project, the $34 million Northtown Affordable Apartments and Public Library, near Warren Park, is a four-story snaking structure, shaped like a twisty garden hose, trimmed in fluorescent green, backing onto a historic bungalow district, along a stretch of avenue that features a Jiffy Lube and Mobil station. It’s meant to be, and is, a beacon and an eye-catcher. The building’s upper floors include 44 one-bedroom apartments for seniors. They perch atop a bright, glazed, double-height, 16,000 square foot library, which curves around an interior, teardrop-shaped garden, the library’s roof doubling as a terrace for the housing tenants. The apartments I saw looked great, with floor-to-ceiling windows. A community garden in the back helps negotiate the tricky transition between the bungalows and the busy avenue.   Mr. Ronan’s Independence Library and Apartments, in Chicago’s Irving Park neighborhood, a $33.4 million project, tells a similar story. Evergreen is again the developer. The apartments, one- and two-bedrooms, as at Northtown, are all subsidized for 44 seniors and the library occupies the ground floor. The six-story apartment block is a vivid, snowy white tower with rounded corners, clad in corrugated metal, punctuated by multicolored balconies.   The library juts toward the street. It’s a soaring, two-level affair, with a music studio and makers’ workshop tucked into a corner, towering concrete columns, bleacher seats and a mezzanine facing a big, teak-lined roof deck that is accessible from the apartments. The place is welcoming and richly detailed. Light pours in from three directions. Patterned wallpapers, among other touches of color, soften a vocabulary of exposed and striated concrete, with the corrugated metal on the outside serving as radiant paneling for distributing heat inside. Mr. Lee’s project, the Taylor Street Apartments and Little Italy Branch Library, encountered the fiercest community resistance. The blowback ended up reducing the size of the apartment tower and stepping its mass back from the street.

The $41 million project includes 73 apartments, seven of them market-rate. Related is the developer. At seven stories, clad in Aztec-brick and chestnut-colored panels, the building at once stands out from but also echoes aspects of the neighborhood. There are two floors with glassed-in, single-loaded corridors, the sort of perk you mostly find in high-end residential developments. A double-height library, with a curtain wall and bright orange acoustic baffles, anchors the street.   When I stopped by, moms clustered with toddlers in a bright corner of the library. The place was quiet, dignified and cheerful. Upstairs, views onto empty lots suggested more development coming. The area is gentrifying. Like the other two, the project seemed both bulwark and boon. This may not be the only way to solve America’s affordable housing problem, but it’s a start. By Michael Kimmelman Read the full article

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

Italy Threatens to Repeat the Greek Debt Disaster—However With Larger Stakes

http://tinyurl.com/yyr6bmzk The eurozone’s power—and doubtlessly deadly—weak spot is about to be uncovered once more. The populist coalition in Italy is on a collision course with the European Union, as the previous’s de facto chief Matteo Salvini seems to construct on his victory in European Parliament elections this weekend by overthrowing the spending guidelines that the eurozone adopted after a debt disaster almost tore it aside 10 years in the past. Salvini additionally referred to as for a radical new mandate for the European Central Financial institution that will pressure it to underwrite Italy’s swelling nationwide debt. The event is vital as a result of it’s a brash, aggressive problem to the EU’s authority, akin to the U.Okay.’s Brexit vote or the strikes by Poland or Hungary to restrict the independence of the judiciary. Nevertheless, in distinction to these acts of defiance, this one comes from certainly one of its founding members, one which—in contrast to the U.Okay. or Hungary—has all the time seen itself as a part of an indivisible core of contemporary Europe. In essence, Salvini is setting Italy up for a re-run of the Greek debt disaster, by asserting Italy’s proper to spend freely despite the fact that, like all eurozone member, it doesn’t have the suitable to print cash to pay its money owed. Italy’s excessive and rising debt degree makes it acutely susceptible to any upward flip in rates of interest or any lack of entry to capital markets. Which means it’s a believable candidate for default, simply as Greece was. Solely, this time, the stakes are larger. Italy’s heavy weight With over 60 million folks, Italy represents 18% of the eurozone’s inhabitants and a few 16% of its gross home product. Its 2.three trillion euro ($2.5 trillion) sovereign debt pile is the third largest on the planet after the U.S.’s and Japan’s—10 instances bigger than the Greek one was. At the same time as a proportion of gross home product, Italy’s money owed are larger now—at over 132%—than Greece’s had been earlier than its disaster erupted. And, despite the fact that foreigners maintain solely 1 / 4 of that debt, in line with Financial institution of Italy knowledge, Italy’s financial system is closely interlinked with the remainder of Europe’s, particularly France’s. An Italian exit from the eurozone would begin, in all chance, with the ECB refusing to simply accept Italian bonds as collateral for lending euros. That, in flip, would pressure the Italian state to concern a brand new forex to permit the gathering of taxes and the cost of public-sector wages and pensions. Ought to that occur, Italy’s departure from the forex bloc would trigger far larger upheaval internationally than a Greek one ever would have. MILAN, ITALY – MAY 18: Supporters of Lega (League) attend the political rally ‘Prima l’Italia! Il buon senso in Europa – In the direction of a Frequent Sense Europe’ at Piazza Duomo on Might 18, 2019 in Milan, Italy. Representatives of 11 right-wing European events joined a serious rally, maintain by Italy’s Deputy Prime Minister and chief of Lega (League) get together Matteo Salvini, so as to construct a pan-European alliance of populists and sovereignists forward of the elections to the European Parliament scheduled on Might 23-26. Aside from Italy’s Lega, the bloc contains the next political events: Germany’s Different fur Deutschland (Different for Germany), Finland’s Perussuomalaiset (The Finns Get together), Denmark’s Dansk Folkeparti (Danish Individuals’s Get together), France’s Rassemblement Nationwide (Nationwide Rally), Austria’s Freiheitliche Partei Osterreichs (Freedom Get together of Austria), Netherland’s Partij voor de Vrijheid (Get together for Freedom), Belgium’s Vlaams Belang (Flemish Curiosity),  Czech Republic’s Svoboda a prima demokracie (Freedom and Direct Democracy), Slovakia’s Sme Rodina (We Are Household), Bulgaria’s Volya (Will) and Estonia’s Eesti Konservatiivne Rahvaerakond (Conservative Individuals’s Get together of Estonia). (Picture by Emanuele Cremaschi/Getty Photos) The European authorities have wasted no time in firing again. Finnish central financial institution head Olli Rehn, a former European Commissioner who desires to succeed Mario Draghi as ECB president later this 12 months, mentioned Salvini’s plan for debt ensures was “forbidden” on precept (curiously selecting to not cite the even clearer ban on such insurance policies within the EU’s treaty). Elsewhere, newswires reported that the European Fee had despatched Rome a letter that’s a proper preliminary to a course of (often called an “Extra Deficit Process”) which may in concept result in the EU fining Italy as much as $four billion—albeit solely after months of haggling. Salvini: scared? As such, that’s unlikely to fret Salvini, who has the wind in his sails after his get together’s share of the vote in EU parliament elections this weekend doubled from the 17% he polled in nationwide elections final 12 months. Salvini has spent the week to date bragging on Facebook about how he intends to brush away “previous and out of date guidelines” dictated by Brussels and reflate an financial system that’s set to develop solely 0.2% this 12 months, and the place over one in ten persons are nonetheless jobless. “I would like an Italy that grows,” he informed nationwide tv on Monday. ”And for 10 years, absurd European guidelines have simply led to debt and joblessness rising.” Salvini’s primary calculus is that the prospect of Italy falling out of the forex union, which might trigger the largest default in historical past since Italian banks may now not refinance tons of of billions of euros in money owed to the ECB, is sufficient to scare Europe’s mainstream into concessions. Unsurprisingly, it’s the bond market that has taken fright first. The premium that traders demand to carry Italian 10-year debt slightly than safer German bonds has risen to 2.80 share factors, greater than double what it was earlier than he got here to energy final 12 months. Repeating historical past Repeatedly in recent times, the market has seen different European politicians attempt to fail to show a structural weak spot right into a negotiating asset vis-à-vis the EU Greece’s former Finance Minister Yanis Varoufakis additionally argued that his nation ought to use the prospect of a eurozone break-up to scare the remainder of the bloc right into a compromise. And advocates for Brexit have argued for years that the U.Okay.’s power commerce deficit with the EU would pressure the EU to desert its single market guidelines to ensure European corporations’ continued entry to the British one. Varoufakis was pressured out of workplace after the Greek folks rejected his gamble in a referendum, however not earlier than serving to to increase Greece’s recession by one other couple of years. In the meantime, a succession of ardent Brexiteer negotiators has failed to go away a scratch on the integrity of the one market. The pound, in the meantime, has misplaced almost 15% of its worth. Salvini will want extra in his arsenal than an growing old inhabitants and a stagnant financial system to emerge from this struggle a winner. Extra must-read tales from Fortune: —What killed Jamie Oliver’s restaurant chain? —The place Google’s ban on Huawei will harm probably the most —Europe’s vacation hot spots have a message for vacationers: Sorry, we’re full —The increase, bust, and rebirth of Perth —Hearken to our new audio briefing, Fortune 500 Daily Meet up with Data Sheet, Fortune‘s every day digest on the enterprise of tech. Source link

[junker-town]

The rejuvenated Marlins and Giancarlo Stanton are making tough decisions easy for the new owners

It turns out when you have a guy who hits a home run every night, your team wins more games.

The Marlins started the month of May five games behind the Nationals. Then Miami went 3-17 over their first 20 games that month, giving them the worst record in baseball. They were caught in limbo, between Jeffrey Loria and Derek Jeter, the old era and the new era, and they were really, really bad.

If this scenario had continued, the new owners would have come in in after spending $1.2 billion, looked around, and realized the team was an unwatchable mess. There would be a way to get rid of a financial obligation that was the rough equivalent of one-fifth of the final sale price, no questions asked. Pull a lever, and poof, a quarter-billion commitment was off the books. The details were kind of important, but don’t underestimate the enormity of what the new Marlins owners could do to improve their ledgers immediately.

When the Marlins had that 3-17 stretch, Giancarlo Stanton was doing ... fine. He was hitting .256 with a .331 on-base percentage. He had hit 11 home runs over his first 40 games, which was ... fine. His $300 million contract looked like a mistake, though, a gamble based on the upward trajectory of his career, his youth, and the historical comparisons that were easy to wring out when he was 24 years old.

If new owners came in, stripped the club for parts, and started over with their own vision, I’m not going to suggest that Marlins fans would be thrilled to see a third dismantling, but it would have been understandable, at least, with the added benefit of Loria being gone.

However, things have changed. Oh, how things have changed.

You know about Stanton, and how he tore off The Kurgan’s head with his bare hands to absorb his power. He’s the story of Major League Baseball right now, which has to make absolutely everyone at New York headquarters giddy. It was just last year that I wrote about how Stanton was the perfect face of MLB, but the rules of the game made it impossible for one player to matter all that much because it’s not like someone could hit a homer every game. He’s out to prove that assumption wrong, and bless him for it.

If you want to follow Stanton’s chase to 62 because that’s the real record, go for it, even if you’re both wrong. Stanton’s renaissance goes beyond his absurd pace, though. It turns out that the Marlins actually win baseball games when Stanton hits a billion home runs.

Over their last 88 games, more than a half-season, the Marlins have been the Nationals, more or less. They’ve outplayed every team in the AL. They would lead the second wild card by 7½ games if the season started on May 20. They turned their season around, and now they have baseball’s biggest story, too. Those two things are very closely linked.

And now, instead of wondering how much the Marlins would need to include if they wanted to trade Stanton and clean up the ledgers for the new guys, it’s time to wonder just how close this Marlins team is to being a perennial contender.

Start with Stanton, who is still owed $295 million over the next 10 years ... unless he’s owed $77 million over the next three years, when he opts out. If you think that’s silly, imagine him doing this for three more years. He would get more than $218 million on the open market. Regardless, all that we know is that Stanton is around for the Marlins for a decade if both sides want it, and it turns out that he’s really, really, really good.

Move to his outfield counterparts, Christian Yelich (under contract through 2022) and Marcell Ozuna (Under contract through 2019). Yelich is one of the more underrated players in baseball, and Ozuna is one of the more underrated stories of 2017. While the focus is on Stanton, and rightfully so, Ozuna has shown gains in his power, patience, and average, and even the defensive stats like him again this year.

Yelich is 25, Ozuna is 26, and Stanton is 27. This is the closest we’ve come to Bell-Moseby-Barfield since the original, except it’s not even sacrilegious to suggest that none of those Blue Jays were as good as Stanton. This could be the best outfield of three generations. (I see you Red Sox fans. Get your own article.)

Now consider that J.T. Realmuto has quietly become one of the best two-way catchers in the game, and he’s just 26 and under contract through 2020.

That’s half of the lineup taken care of, and when you average out the salaries, it looks like a very reasonably priced start to a team, just with Stanton picking up most of the tabs at the club. This gets us to the biggest point of all. While we’ve heard over and over again about how the new Marlins owners might want to shed Stanton’s contract and start fresh, the reality of the team’s payroll situation isn’t dire or grim.

Here’s the total of all the Marlins’ guaranteed contracts over the next five years:

2018 - $95M 2019 - $84M 2020 - $74M 2021 - $60M 2022 - $30M

Compared to other teams, that’s actually pretty substantial. It doesn’t include the money they’ll pay to players like Realmuto in arbitration, or the options they’ll likely pick up for Yelich. But look at those commitments through the eyes of new owners, hungry to build positive vibes in Miami.

Look at those commitments of those new owners watching the Marlins over the last three months and thinking, goodness, this team is already outstanding.

The Marlins are 4½ games behind the second wild card, so they’re not likely to shock the world this year. And they still have a lot of work to do — their pitching, specifically, features some high-priced flops — before they can be preseason favorites. That work will probably require money, as the Marlins aren’t swimming in tradable prospects, and money might not be something the new owners will want to part with right away. Which is why the Stanton rumors exist in the first place.

But the Marlins are suddenly winning, and that changes everything. Jeter and company will want to build trust, and the best way to do that is by keeping one of baseball’s greatest gifts around, even if he’s expensive, and using his dingers to win more baseball games than the other teams. These last three months have been a proof of concept for the Marlins, then. Keeping Stanton would be the best way to win. Winning would be the best way to make money. Making money and having fun doing it is the reason all of these millionaires and billionaires are involved in the first place.

Stanton and the resurgent Marlins are showing them exactly how that’s possible, and they’re doing it at the perfect time.

[financevisionary]

North Korea might be the next hot emerging market

North Korea has been in the news a great deal currently this year after the country declared to have actually effectively detonated a hydrogen bomb at the start of January.

The reclusive country is in the news again today, however this time around, the country is being promoted as the next hot frontier market by James Passin, a hedge fund manager at Firebird Management.

In a job interview with the New York Times, James Passin mentioned that he thinks North Korea is resting on as long as a billion barrels of crude, which, if opened suffices to make the nation as big a producer as Oklahoma. And also it's not merely the oil that has drawn in Passin. 'You have a country with 25 million individuals - young, very disciplined, literate - and also a solid military-industrial complex, ' he said in the NYT job interview. 'It's feasible that the early investors will certainly be rewarded with possibility for huge appreciation."

James Passin isn't really the only frontier market speculator that's expressed a need to buy North Korea. Jim Rogers, that co-founded the Quantum Fund with George Soros as well as has gone far for himself as the Indiana Jones of Finance, told the Wall Street Journal last September, 'if I could put all my cash on North Korea, I would."

'Yes! I'm extremely delighted regarding North Korea. If I could place all my money right into North Korea, I would. Large adjustments are happening there.' - Jim Rogers, Wall surface Street Journal

According to Rogers, North Korea today looks much like China in the 1980s. The nation is undergoing a duration of significant adjustment after Kim Jong-Un took over the function of leader after the death of his daddy Kim Jong-il in December 2011.

North Korea is a very deceptive country, so it's challenging for most capitalists and also emerging market experts to obtain hold of any type of dependable economic data. That said, it's possible to obtain some concept of just how the nation is developing through the erratic news and information launches on the nation from different information outlets around the world.

North Korea: Economic task increasing

Lacking any dependable concrete numbers, 38 North a program of the U.S.-Korea Institute at SAIS (USKI) utilizes office satellite images to research the level of activity around key North Oriental trading areas at various moments to obtain an idea of the country's financial task. The trading locations which are one of the most revealing are the nation's street markets.

Studying the number of street markets effective, as well as the variety of individuals seeing these markets might feel like an insignificant operation initially, but this subject is entitled to a terrific bargain of attention. Until the 1990s, North Koreans had to bear with a centrally planned economic situation. After the nation's main planning started to damage down in the 1990s an increasing quantity of economic activity is taking location outside the nation's state-run economic climate. Market activity is one of the only means of measuring the development of commercialism inside the reclusive nation.

Satellite images reveals that North Korea's markets have seen total development considering that the very early 2000s. In some cities, they have expanded just marginally, yet in cities like Sinuiju, across from Dandong in China, markets have actually raised in size by over 110 % in between 2003 and 2014. This development is all the a lot more impressive when you consider that the country's GDP development averaged -0.5% per annum between 1990 and 2014.

That stated, while it appears that the country is becoming more ready for capitalist suggestions, North Korea's federal government is still widely uncertain (as we've seen over the past year) as well as will not wait to close down ventures it thinks are not in the federal government's benefit. In 2010, the authorities tore down among the biggest wholesale markets in the nation cleaning out 70 % of a city's market room in a single day.

Economic growth is might not be taking off in North Korea's districts, however in the country's resources, Pyongyang Kim Jong-un is sculpting out a credibility as a champion of contemporary establishments for the nation's new center course. A massive building boom is currently underway. A new ski hotel, motif park, as well as waterpark have currently been completed, in addition to an 18-tower 47 story apartment or condo complicated in the center of the capital. Along with these project, the North has actually additionally created a new international airport (the home of the country's front runner service provider Air Koryo, the world's only one-star airline), component of the state's goal to welcome two million travelers a year by 2020.

North Korea: Finding an investment

It's clear that North Korea is creating, although it stays to be seen if the country's growth is sustainable (it is additionally open to question if the totalitarian federal government will certainly allow considerable, lasting adjustment).

If you think it is, after that there's an additional difficulty ahead of you, locating a means to invest.

Obscure North Korean financial obligation certificates, connected to long-defaulted syndicated financings from the 1970s became popular among hedge funds when Kim Jong-un came to power in 2011. The certifications have a stated value of approximately $1 billion are in the market, however have actually remained in default since the mid-1980's. The financial obligation had traded as low as 10 cents on the dollar back in 2009 but popped 14/18 cents on the dollar in December 2011according to Reuters. North Korea is not likely ever to repay these bonds. The nation is approximated to owe its financial institutions $20 billion, or 71 % of GDP based upon the official currency exchange rate and there are lots of other lenders before private bond owners.

Jim Rogers has actually had the ability to obtain some exposure to North Korea by buying precious steels coins at a coin exhibition in Singapore from state-owned Korea Pugang Coins Cop.

So, beyond really visiting North Korea and establishing your personal business, it is almost impossible to get straight exposure to the country. Nevertheless, as North launches to private organization, international companies are starting to take a passion, as well as this appears to be the ideal means for financiers to gain indirect direct exposure to the region.

Firebird Administration's James Passin owns almost half of HBOil a Mongolian business, which entered a joint endeavor with North Korea's federal government in 2013. Under the regards to the joint venture, HBOil