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thewestern · 3 months

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Chapter 23

Of note, all Ari found were the front bumper of Billy’s car, a positive pregnancy test in a hamburger bag and a one-eyed cat. Little devil nearly clawed His Eye out when he lifted the lid. Dumpster diving — that’s all counterintelligence work amounted to nowadays. Analog investigation, at least. No need anymore for gumshoes. Not in the era of Electronic Surveillance. He couldn’t have deduced anything about Billy, or any of these barfly meshuggenehs for that matter, that couldn’t have been much more easily ascertained from the comfort of a cubicle somewhere, with a few deft clicks and keystrokes. Like all modern currencies, information was now being traded programmatically on a digital exchange. Millions of micro-transactions processed per second. No non-institutional intelligence broker could ever hope to keep up with Big Brother and the Holding Company. Cell phone records, email transcripts, browser histories, unpaid parking tickets, voter registration, bank statements, dating profiles, grade point averages, blood types and sperm counts. It was all out there for the taking … Somewhere In The Cloud. (The rainbow is over. Or at least you can’t see it behind … The Cloud.) Hell, even Billy’s car was a computer. That wasn’t how Ari had found it though. It was Perlmutter Agency policy to keep tabs on clients and any relevant associates. Only as a contingency. Within reason, of course. Therefore, Ari had stashed a transponder under the chassis, of both this car and its backup. They had all types of cool shit like that down at the office, despite that most of it was in a broom closet collecting dust. Listening devices, hidden cameras, a primitive pair of night vision goggles. (This particular rig weighed no less than twenty pounds, like a toaster oven hanging off your damn face. These were your classic Tom Clancy-ass, Cold War-era specs … on some Buffalo Bill shit.) Really anything you could conceivably use in the spying on and/or blackmailing of somebody. They even had an audio processor … you know, for making the monster voice. (No guns or live rounds, however. Again, agents were expected to supply their own service weapons and munitions.) Secret agent gadgets were like office supplies at Perlmutter. They were back there with the fax machine and photocopier. Nobody hardly used them anymore either.

Yes, sadly, tradecraft was a dying art. But, hey, that was no skin off Ari’s dick. He didn’t harbour any delusions about becoming an international man of mystery. Intelligence wasn’t his core competency anyway. He had been carving out his own, adjacent niche. You see, even if Ari wasn’t much for a risk analyst, as it were, you don’t need a Bloomberg Terminal to know which way the shit runs. (Downhill.) Whereas the market for information was going global, he could plainly see how good old-fashioned violence was once again being made right here in USA America. Wholesale bloodshed, manufactured in bulk. Government buildings, houses of worship, art museums, strip malls, supermarkets, sporting events and of course, schools (fucking especially schools) — potential combat zones, all. Home theaters of war. WE are soldiers. And, in addition to automatic weapons, soldiers require training. Ari would be personal trainer. Like he had been before, but not anymore at gymnasium. No longer to teach housewife fitness and nutrition. (At least, not exclusive … they are crucial part of any well-balanced threat-respond practicing.) Teaching the will to survive. The will to kill. They are same one.

However, death would have to wait, because today he was off running errands for Hildy. At least she gave him the car, for to pick up the China-man with. The airport was so fucking far, man. When he did finally get there, he had to hold a sign at baggage claim with two Chinese characters printed on Wolffenbeir Company letterhead.

Hildy had also offloaded on him the dogs. She said she needed some space. Obviously they rode up front with him, of where there was precious little. (They couldn’t well be back there drooling on this very important China-person, could they?) Needless to say, the boys were a wreck without their mummykins, and the Deep House he played in the driver’s compartment was exacerbating their separation anxiety, as well as it was wreaking havoc on their inner ear issues. (The passenger’s cabin was completely soundproof, even just beyond the thin partition. Billy could have been driving up there watching hardcore female orgasm cumpilations turned up to eleven and Mr. Wang wouldn’t have heard a damned thing.)

Having dropped off Wang the dogs, now Ari was back on to chasing Billy. Such a silly boy. How had he gotten himself involved with these silly fools? He was following them in their station wagon. Normally it would have been a difficult tail, on account of there were so many similar station wagons on the roadway. Only the girl with the boy’s haircut had drawn a penis with her finger in the dirt on the rear windshield. Ari was disgusted by this. Women should act and look a certain way, his father taught him. All the same, he could not help but admire this presumed lesbian’s athletic physique. Broad shoulders and toned triceps. Women had vanity muscles like men but they were opposite. Legs and glutes rather than chest and arms. Not her. She would be good for soldier in IDF.

(The Israeli army ranks among the global military leaders for LGBT inclusion practices, this according to a study conducted by a Dutch defence industry think tank. A far cry from a fighting force of homophobes, such as ours, here in the land of the Don’t Ask and the home of the Don’t Tell. Had Grace been so swept up in patriotic fervor following the hijacking attacks on the World Trade Center, that she marched down to her local recruiter to enlist in the forever war against global terrorism, they would have turned her away, soley on the basis that she had come out as an openly gay person three days prior. Not to mention, she was eleven.)

The large kushi boy wouldn’t have fared so well, for him. (Not only because the Israeli rank and file were markedly less tolerant of racial minorities, generally speaking.) Physical size was no more a strategic advantage in modern, urban warfare. Even in increasingly rare hand-to-hand combat scenarios, with proper instruction, sheer technique could overcome brute strength. Ari was a studied practitioner of Krav Maga, a proprietary fighting style developed by the IDF special forces, which became fashionable as a group fitness craze among civilian American women, nominally as a means of self-defense training in suburbia. Cherry-picking components from multiple martial arts, KM explicitly aims to mitigate size disparities through efficiency of force displacement. This via the shameless exploitation of one’s opponent’s physical vulnerabilities. I make demonstrate: David headbutt Goliath in groin, in repeat. Bang, bang, bang. Work combination. Alternative stomping toes with uppercut haymaker to livers. You Do Not Do That, Goliath.

(Ari couldn’t have known this, but Zeke’s size had been similarly undervalued by violent-doing elements on the home front. Perhaps in part because they lacked the same opportunity to participate in extracurricular activities as their peers at SciTech, gang affiliation among the student body at West High had reached an all-time high during Zeke’s tenure. However, certain trends allowed for him to remain an unconscious objector in such a way that would have been previously impossible for a promising young man of his considerable build. Foremostly being the surging proliferation of affordable firearms on the secondary market. Doesn’t matter how big you are, not if you’re strapped. Why would I lift weights when all I’m finna lift this nine? Lift these stacks. If anything, Zeke’s broad stature only made him an easier target. The hoppers and the corner kids had no use for a true Heavy — an old-school enforcer-type. For a fact, they all laughed at him when he passed by. Called him names, like Suge Light and Ashy the Giant and Freak-A-Zeke.

Now shout out the radio station that gave ya what ya wanted. W Boom Boom Beat, baby.

Additionally, there were the corrosive, trickle-down effects of the so-called RICO statutes. You see, before the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, the street gang economy had been a cut-and-dry oligopoly. One wherein an elite ruling class of felonious actors wielded cartel power with near impunity. Which is to say in any given market, defined be it by geographic radii or ethnic grouping, there were usually only one, two or at the upper band three competing producers for robbery, extortion, running numbers, drug dealing, whatever, what have you. In just such an environment, Zeke would have been inevitably recruited to a life of crime, itself only to be inevitably cut short by untimely death or incarceration. What RICO did via grand jury indictments was force the CEOs of these underworld conglomerates — be they the Lucchese and the Gambinos, the Crips and the Bloods, the Hells Angels and the Oath Keepers and the Juggalos — into an early retirement to be served in a maximum security prison community. However, rather than the desired upon effect of stifling organized crime from the top down, the resulting power vacuum only served to metastasize petty malfeasances among middle management-level gang bangers and cultivate a more competitive illicit marketplace, thus begetting a halcyon age of thug entrepreneurship. A free agency of chaos, call it. [For a fact, one could quite plausibly make the argument that RICO was the lone effective piece of antitrust legislation passed in the latter half of the Twentieth Century. But that’s a panel discussion for another day.] In Zeke’s hood and others like it, a kaleidoscopic network of tribalist crews and sets arose from the ashes of their absent forefathers. Known by the Sheriff’s Department gang task force to be operating in the City Public School District alone, there were the Fifty-Ninth Street Mafia, Rolling Twenties, los Gatos Ojituertos, the Bullet Hole in the Drywall Gangstas, JD & the Straight Hittas, KFBR392, the Pussy Posse, TH YNG PUSHRS, Outlaw Aristocracy, the Barrio Bourgeoisie and several others. With sundry potential suitors for his services, somehow it became easier for Zeke to slip through the cracks altogether and maintain his independent status. And that was a-okay with him. Commanding in stature though he was, Zeke was as calmly dispositioned as they came, always content to mind after his own store, so to speak. You’re familiar with the beloved children’s story of Ferdinand the Bull? All the other young Spanish bulls wanted to roughouse with one other to prove their machismo, with hopes of someday being selected for the bullfights in Madrid. (Must have been they were an optimistic bunch. In terms of a win-loss ratio, the bulls are the Washington Generals to the matadors’ Harlem Globetrotters. Of course there are exceptions, because as Maggie Thatcher can attest, the bull only hast to get lucky once. The matador, meanwhile, has to get lucky every time. Case in point, Hank had once spectated a bullfight in Mexico City at the Plaza de Toros, the largest such venue in the world. [Bienvenidos a Estadio del Cartel de Sinaloa.] That day a matador proved the old adage: you mess with the bull, you get … well, you know what you get — a belly full of horn, in this instance. Subsequently Hank took some flack from his compadres, for standing in gleeful applause as the man in the blanco pantalones’ guts spilled out there on the dirt. Que pasa? You don’t cheer for the bull?) But Ferdinand, despite being the biggest bull of them all, only wanted to have a siesta beneath the shade of his favorite cork tree and smell the flowers. No spoilers, but suffice to say that Zeke was like Ferdinand.

The black and the lesbian were led by a sad-looking caucasian male in a hoodie. What did he have to be sad about? Ari could tell from his mopey demeanor that he was American Jew. How he pitied them. The diaspora had made his people weak, as his father had so often said. No longer a sense of pride in protecting something. Nothing worth fearing makes afraid of everything. Like fear for losing identity. This, always groaning on about … Identity, this. Culture, that. Ari knew there is no such thing. Place. Only this is real. Ground beneath your feet on which to stand. Surrounded by four walls and a tall fence. Armed to teeth. Proud culture of a warrior people, fighting for homeland. Here is your identity.

Then last there was the woman who took his beer right out from his hand. Women shouldn’t drink. Especially beer. Father was adamant about this. It clots the bleeding. Old man had many opinions of the menstrations. Ari was only ordering it for cover anyway. He drank vodka. Someday, after his personal brand as self-defense influencer had scaled, he dreamt of having his own spirits brand, as side hustle. But the beer store give him idea. He had never been to a place where they made the alcohol to serve. Maybe he could make the vodka and sell it in same place, and this could combine with also dream of owning discotech? Im Tirzu, Ein Zo Agadah. (If you will it, it is no dream.)

She was driving. Typical of sad American Jew boy to be chauffeured by his lead-footed gypsy wife. On a routine tail, maintain at least three car-lengths’ distance between you and the target vehicle. More difficult in non-urban driving scenarios. Ari could barely keep up on these winding backroads. They were all four off to the foothills. Headed in the direction of the Double W Ranch. Summoned by Billy for some or other silliness. Left the foul-mouthed couple to tend the bar. Mother would never speak to his father in such way before she left home for good.

#novls of tumblr #petey pablo #ferdinand the bull

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allareass · 10 months

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#Regular maintenance services Sydney #Cleaning services Sydney #Scrubbing Sydney #Sweeper hire Sydney #sweep scrub #sweep scrub Sydney #floor scrubbing Sydney #Sweeping Sydney

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grindsetavarice · 1 year

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As a devout follower of the corporate world, I believe that nothing is more important than the almighty dollar. I live and breathe money, constantly thinking of ways to acquire more of it and climb the corporate ladder to become the richest person on the planet. To start my day, I wake up at 3 AM and start counting the cash that I have hidden throughout my house. I then head to work, where I spend the entire day buying and selling stocks and shares, even in companies that don't exist. I've created a system that allows me to manipulate the stock market by telepathically communicating with the CEOs of major corporations and convincing them to make decisions that will benefit my investments. I also have a secret room in my office that is filled with gold bars, which I use as collateral to make even riskier investments. My coworkers think I'm insane, but I know that they're just jealous of my success. I've even created my own currency, which I exchange with other wealthy individuals in secret underground meetings. This currency is so powerful that it can buy anything, even the moon. But my obsession with money doesn't stop there. I've created a team of robots that are programmed to steal cash from banks and other financial institutions. I then use this stolen money to buy up entire companies and create a monopoly that will make me the wealthiest person in the world. To keep myself motivated, I've even created a personal soundtrack that plays every time I enter a room. It's a combination of the sound of cash registers ringing, the beep of stock market machines, and the sound of an ATM dispensing money. I know that my approach may seem insane to some, but I believe that money is the key to happiness and success. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to become the richest person in the world, even if it means sacrificing everything else in my life. Because in the end, it's all about the money.

#sigma male grindset #hustle #business

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mariacallous · 1 year

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Nigeria’s 1966 coup d’état ushered a group of young military men into power, where they remain today as kingmakers, wielding immense political influence.

In this circle of elites known as the Class of ‘66 is Nigeria’s outgoing President Muhammadu Buhari and the former military leader and later civilian president, Olusegun Obasanjo. The late Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, who was handpicked as Obasanjo’s successor, was the younger brother of an army officer turned vice president during the junta’s rule in the 1970s. Even Nigeria’s former civilian president, Goodluck Jonathan (the only president to have lasted just one term), was previously vice president to Yar’Adua.

Unprecedented young voter participation in this year’s presidential election aimed to break the two main parties’ 24-year monopoly (unbroken since democracy returned in 1999). Not only was a member of the Class of ‘66 not on the ballot, but neither was an incumbent, because Buhari has served his two-term limit. Around 40 percent of Nigerian voters are under the age of 35, and the vast majority of those voters cast their ballots for the Labour Party’s Peter Obi, who at 61 was the youngest of the top three contenders.

But in an election dogged by abysmal planning and fraud allegations, political “kingmaker” and ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) party candidate Bola Ahmed Tinubu, who turns 71 later this month, emerged as the leader of a country with a median age of 18.

Tinubu’s exact age is contested; his critics suspect he is older. Few Nigerians wanted another leader in frail health (Tinubu once posted a video of himself riding an exercise bike as proof to Nigerians that he wasn’t dead) let alone a continuation of an APC leadership characterized by impunity for the massacre of children in its war with Boko Haram and of young people during protests against police abuse. His party’s terrible policy choices include blocking dollar access for food imports and a botched currency swap inflicting economic pain on households.

Tinubu may have won the top job on his first attempt, but his 37 percent share of votes is the lowest mandate of any democratically elected Nigerian president. Atiku Abubakar of the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) got 29 percent while Obi took 25 percent.

The perception among some analysts is that voter suppression prevented a run-off.

At 29 percent, this was Nigeria’s lowest voter turnout in decades. Of the 93.4 million registered voters only 24.9 million voted, with incidents of thuggery and biometric machine failures preventing many Nigerians who had queued for hours from voting at all. “The bottlenecks around the elections enabled the emergence of a Tinubu win,” said Leena Koni Hoffmann-Atar, associate fellow of the Africa program at Chatham House think tank in London.

The hotly disputed 2007 election that brought Yar’Adua into power ignited calls for reform and ushered in the 2022 electoral act and use of new technology. In that election, Yar’Adua won more votes in key areas than there were voters. “It is very ironic that the first election after the passage of the act from this long period of election reform is one that has caused such injury to the public trust,” Hoffmann-Atar said.

In some states such as Lagos where Tinubu lost by a small margin, there are reports that vote tallies transmitted electronically at some polling stations were actually erroneously uploaded totals from northern states—suggesting, for example, that Obi had a larger than officially recorded win in Lagos.

International observers slammed election day’s chaotic exercise. A 40-person delegation led by Joyce Banda, the former president of Malawi, concluded that the secrecy around some ballot counts “created confusion and eroded voters’ trust in the process”; the EU criticized logistical failures that “challenged the right to vote.”

Tinubu is a divisive figure who has been labelled “corruption personified” by one Nigerian politician. Money laundering allegations trail him. (Despite denying tax fraud allegations, he settled a $41.8 million lawsuit out of court in August 2022.) But his supporters credit his term as governor with having greatly increased Lagos’s revenue generation through foreign investment and taxation; and point to his pro-democracy activism, which led to his exile under dictator Sani Abacha. Nigerian newspaper This Day editor Shaka Momodu cuttingly wrote that Tinubu’s “desire to be seen and called a democrat is only matched by the reality of his undemocratic tendencies.”

There are plenty of historical power structures and a divisive playbook underpinning Tinubu’s win. As a grandmaster of Nigerian political maneuvering and after decades behind the scenes financing or sabotaging political careers, Tinubu built himself powerful bases (alongside the erosion of the main opposition party’s strongholds) to win the vote.

He utilized regional and religious alliances like many Nigerian politicians before him. Outside of Lagos, in key southwestern cities such as Abeokuta and Ibadan, his campaign posters adopted a distinct phrase, “Awa Lokan,” meaning “It’s our turn”—merging his win with that of the Yoruba nation. In these cities, Foreign Policy witnessed his supporters calling out “Asiwaju”—his Yoruba title, meaning leader.

Tinubu also spent much of his time networking northern governors on a controversial Muslim-Muslim ticket alongside Kashim Shettima, a former governor of northeastern Borno State. He also claimed responsibility for Buhari’s presidency. “I am a talent hunter,” he once boasted. “I put talents in office.”

Opposition parties have ongoing litigation against Tinubu’s victory. PDP’s Abubakar—another political godfather—called it “a rape of democracy.”

The opposition parties are also blaming each other. Obi claims he won the election and will prove it. Abubakar, his former running mate turned rival, suggests Obi simply split PDP votes. Obi ditched the PDP last year when it became clear he wouldn’t be its presidential candidate, having been Abubakar’s running mate in 2019.

“There is a fact that he took our votes from the southeast and south-south and that of course would not make him a president,” Abubakar said. “You all know that to be a president of this country you need votes from everywhere.” Here he referred to Obi’s poor results in the north, outside of Christian areas, where he polled between zero and 10 percent. To win outright, a candidate needs the most votes and a geographical spread of 25 percent of votes cast in two thirds of all states and the capital territory. Northern Nigeria, which has 19 of Nigeria’s 36 states, thus determines elections.

Obi was dismissed as a “social media president“ but managed to outpoll the ruling APC in Nigeria’s federal capital Abuja and commercial powerhouse Lagos. The success was aided by young, digitally savvy Nigerians frustrated that the two main parties’ grip on power has failed to make their lives better or lift out of poverty the multidimensionally poor, which constitute over 60 percent of the population.

They wanted a president with a cleaner record, even if Obi is not entirely unblemished. (He was named in the Pandora Papers, a dossier of global leaders hiding offshore wealth.) “In Peter Obi, there was hope that Nigeria could change,” Edna Ugochinyere, a 24-year-old student in Lagos, told Foreign Policy.

Obi’s popularity is historic. Nigeria has never had an Igbo candidate come so close to the presidential seat since the civil war, when Gen. Johnson Aguiyi-Ironsi, an Igbo, seized power in January 1966 and lasted just six months in office before being overthrown by Hausa army officers in an event that culminated in the bloody Biafran War.

Until today, the inner circle of the Class of ‘66, from Gen. Yakubu Gowon to Abacha, have controlled Nigeria. Their terms in office have been characterized by unaccountability and entrenched corruption that have proved difficult to shake. As Michael Ogbeidi, a professor of history and strategic studies at the University of Lagos, noted, “The sixteen unbroken years of the military era from the fall of the Second Republic in 1983 and the restoration of democracy in 1999 represents an era in the history of the country when corruption was practically institutionalized as the foundation and essence of governance.”

When Buhari first seized power in 1983, his short-lived regime was notorious for having jailed some 500 corrupt politicians and businessmen. But under his current eight-year civilian tenure, Nigerians have become less safe and income per capita has fallen.

Tinubu inherits his party’s legacy. Nigeria’s youth unemployment rate is 42.5 percent, impacting 21.72 million people, which is more than the entire population of Senegal and about 70 percent of Ghana’s population. Islamist insurgencies have spread beyond the northeast. Nigerians are under threat from kidnappers, communal clashes, and various secessionists.

Almost half of Nigerians lack electricity. Total debt stock has increased six-fold to around 77 trillion naira ($167 billion), or 40 percent of GDP. Buhari controversially added an extra $50 billion in government overdrafts to state debt.

Unsurprisingly, between 50 percent and 70 percent of Nigerians want to leave the country. One Afrobarometer survey suggests 89 percent of Nigerians believe the country is heading in the wrong direction.

Many worry a disputed election in Nigeria could be consequential for other elections across the continent. Social media misinformation is circulating now, including that U.S. president Joe Biden has called for results to be cancelled.

Prior to the election, analysts had warned of disputes if the process was not seen as transparent. “In a very divisive election cycle like this—one of the ways to manage division is to ensure that every policy is seen to be fair and believed to be fair, that there is uniformity of process and national compliance to the legal framework on election,” said Cynthia Mbamalu, director of programs at Abuja-based Yiaga Africa, a non-partisan group promoting fair elections in Nigeria. “With the economic hardship we have a lot of people that are angry. There are a lot of angry Nigerians.”

The nation’s political landscape is perhaps irreversibly fragmenting as young voters grasp the immense staying power of so-called kingmakers—elite politicians born decades before them.

The flip side is data collated by citizens and at polls will be scrutinized over many months. “An election that was not as transparent as people were expecting it to be will maybe even become one of the most transparent elections, ironically, Nigeria has ever had,” Hoffmann-Atar said. “Young people are going to learn how to engage with politics outside of election day and how that is very crucial to winning on the day …. They are going to learn how Nigeria’s politics disenfranchises them.”

Ultimately, the fact that a third party even managed to challenge Nigeria’s two-party system is a significant albeit small democratic success.

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dailypioneer · 2 years

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In a major blow for the ruling Trinamool Congress in Bengal, the ED on Friday recovered at least Rs 20 crore from the house of Arpita Mukherjee, a close aide of Bengal Industries Minister Partho Chatterjee, sources said.

The count of notes could go further up, sources added.

The ED raided 14 locations in Bengal, including the houses of senior Trinamool Congress (TMC) leader and Industries Minister Partho Chatterjee, his Ministerial colleague Paresh Adhikari, party MLA Manik Bhattacharya and a bevy of former senior education department officials.

The raids are linked to the recruitment scam in the West Bengal School Service Commission and West Bengal Primary Education Board.

The recovered cash is suspected to be proceeds of crime of said SSC Scam. The search team is taking the assistance of bank officials for the counting of cash. Apart from the currency notes, 20 I-phones, gold and other ornaments have also been recovered, sources added saying three counting machines had been employed to count the notes.

#ED #Trinamool Congress in Bengal #Trinamool Congress #TMC #Industries Minister Partho Chatterjee #West Bengal Primary Education Board #Primary Education Board #SSC Scam #today news #viral #trend #news #viral news #trending #latest news #trends #breaking news

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five-rivers · 3 years

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Technically Still a Crime

For @nocturna-starr

“My dude,” said Danny, “I am really, really sorry about your window, but there are only so many ways to tell you that I’m not going to rat you out to the government for…” He let his eyes roam over the room full of t-shirts. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d even rat you out for. Did you steal these from the mall or something?”

Danny had been doing his normal ghost hunting routine when he’d been thrown into a mostly empty office building by an oversized mountain-lion ghost. He’d caught the ghost, but by that time the window was a lost cause, and everyone inside the not-actually-uninhabited building was freaking out about the IRS or the police or something.

At least, the people in the room were. Maybe if there were any people in other parts of the building, they were calmer.

He rubbed his head. He didn’t think he had a concussion, but he’d definitely taken a few whacks to his good old noggin and he was having trouble focusing.

“No, no,” said the man (short, round, vaguely South Asian, but honestly could have been from anywhere), “so theft, no stealing.”

“Then I’m not sure what the problem is. You aren’t hiding, like, kidnapping victims in here, are you?” he peered past the man, core flaring.

“No! No.” The man leaned closer to Danny. Danny mirrored him. “We are making…” He let the pause drag on. “Knockoffs.”

“Oh,” said Danny. “Cool.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Nope.”

“But you’re, like, a superhero.”

“Dude. Dude. My existence is literally illegal in all fifty states. I am breaking so many laws right now.”

“What?”

“Being a ghost is one-hundred-percent illegal. Those government agent dudes that chase me around sometimes want to dissect me. I’m not going to report you to anyone.” He paused. “As long as this isn’t a sweatshop or anything. I draw the line at hurting people.”

“Oh,” said the man, as if he’d just been given a revelation.

“Yeah. Also, do my pupils look the same size to you? I think I have a concussion.”

“What?”

“Because sometimes I prophesy when I have a concussion, and that’s just a bad time for everyone. Also, don’t get a dog.”

“Uh.”

Someone deeper in the room, hidden by a rack of clothing called for the man, who quickly ran off. Danny shrugged and flew away. He’d get Jazz to check him for concussions.

Somehow, inexplicably, word got out that Danny Phantom was down for crime.

This led to three separate people asking him to help them break into Vlad’s manor. Which. Danny wasn’t against on principle, but still. He declined.

(The ones who were trying to burglarize non-evil people got rejected with a bit more force.)

“I don’t know why people keep asking me to do crime,” said Danny. “I don’t do crime.”

“Yes, you do,” said Tucker. He showed Danny his card. “What does this one do, again?”

Danny was attempting to teach Tucker, well, it didn’t have an English name. Ghost poker, essentially. With Tucker’s card-counting skills, Danny reckoned they could sweep the literally underground ghost poker tournament. If Tucker could learn the rules.

“For that one, you have to draw from the deck again,” said Danny. “Anyway, this is different.”

“You are wanted by the law in two dimensions.”

“Walker is not the law,” scoffed Danny. “Except, you know, on his own island.”

“You’re illegal by existing. You’ve convinced me to gamble for money.”

“That’s not illegal.”

“It’s a felony, Danny. You blew up Vlad’s house. I think that counts as arson. Or something.”

“That was an accident.”

“The vandalism.”

“Okay, that wasn’t an accident.”

“The ghost weed—”

“Ghost nip,” corrected Danny.

“Ghost nip thing wasn’t technically illegal, but I’m pretty sure that’s because the government doesn’t know it exists. As soon as they know it gives dead people superpowers—”

“Dead people already have superpowers. And that was also an accident. I hate being high.”

“Sure. Anyway. Danny, you live a half-life of crime.”

Danny grumbled.

“I think that swatting Vlad was also a crime.”

“Not swatting. It was the GIW.”

“Still illegal. How about those ectoguns? You have a concealed carry permit for them?”

“They aren’t real guns.”

“They’re real weapons. You bring them to school.”

Danny abandoned his hand of cards to push his face into one of his pillows. “Stoppit. I’m not crime.”

“You are crime. Honestly, I think you should try to see how many crimes you can rack up.”

“Seeing as this is kind of life and death,” said Danny, “I don’t really want to push it.”

“Because you’re half alive and half dead?”

“No, because the GIW will kill me if they catch me, and if the government gets me, they’ll give me to the GIW.”

“Oh. Wow. That got dark really fast.” Tucker fell silent for a bit. Neither of them was paying attention to their card game anymore. “Hey, what about that car we stole, isn’t that-?”

“Hrrrngh,” said Danny.

“The IRS?” said Danny, incredulously. “You’re IRS agents?”

The larger of the two suited men tried to pull himself out of the ectoplasmic web. “Uh,” he said.

“Yes,” said the shorter man. “Did you know, filing a false death report is a crime, as is not filing a death certificate?”

“You were carrying shotguns.”

“Tax evaders can be dangerous.”

“Shotguns full of salt.”

“We aren’t approved for lethal force.”

“Salt.”

“It’s cheaper than a taser.”

Danny shook his head. “Just admit that you’re ghost hunters and go home.”

“Only after you admit that you’re committing tax fraud.”

“I’m not committing tax fraud! I don’t even file taxes!”

“Also a crime!”

“I make no money!”

“Or so you claim!”

Danny rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Wait!” said the taller one. “You’re not going to leave us here, are you?”

“It’ll dissolve! Eventually!” shouted Danny.

“I’ve got to pee!”

“Tough!”

“Don’t you dare!” shouted the other. “I’m right below you!”

Danny was not paid enough for this. (Or at all, technically.)

Danny stood between Johnny and Technus, staring at the clinking, churring machine that continuously output sheets of thick green paper.

“Why?”

“I’ve always wanted to get involved in a serious crime,” said Johnny.

“I, TECHNUS, MASTER OF ALL TECHNOLOGY, WILL CONQUER THE UNITED STATES ECONOMY USING THE POWER OF COUNTERFEIT CURRENCY.”

“Oh my god,” said Danny. He looked at the nearest sheet. “Are those all ones?”

“THE LEAST LIKELY CURRENCY TO BE CHECKED, ACCORDING TO MY RESEARCH.”

“Oh my god,” repeated Danny. He brought his hands together as if praying, then looked heavenward. “You probably have more of these hidden somewhere, so I don’t want to deal with it.”

“No, this is—”

Technus rammed his elbow into Johnny’s side.

“I don’t want to deal with it,” repeated Danny. “Don’t spend it in Amity Park. Or Elmerton.”

“Gotcha,” said Johnny. “How much do you want for your cut.”

“I want to go back in time to before you told me about this, that’s what I want,” said Danny.

“So, Sam,” said Tucker, “did you hear that Danny’s now a crime boss?”

“I am going to commit murder.”

“That’s a crime, Danny.”

“I have a very good motive.”

“Technically,” said Tucker, now edging away from Danny, “that’s still a crime.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Broken Mirror: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

“What the hell was that? Why did he say that he knows what to do next? Is he gonna hurt my daughter?” Evan was the first to speak.

“He was grandstanding.”

“You don't know that. You--you can't possibly know that.”

“Mr. Davenport, I have learned more in the last five minutes than in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, really? Well, I don't understand. Why is he focused on you right now?”

“Because we are interfering in his relationship with the girls,” you answered.

“He said he knows all about you.”

“He profiled us, Mr. Davenport.”

“Why would he do that?” Cheryl asked.

“To show us how smart he is.”

“Often times the best profilers are the unsubs themselves. They're the ones able to walk into an arcade full of children and pinpoint the boy or girl that can be led out quietly,” Spencer explained.

“But he made a mistake, because he gave us something he didn't expect,” you smirked, looking at the other agents in knowing.

“Which is?”

“He told us how to find him,” Gideon smiled.

Of course, right when the calls ended, Vincent shows up and pretends like he has Evan’s back. The glares coming off of you were very strong as he moved about the house as if he didn’t have Trish locked away somewhere nearby.

“You said you knew how to find him, that you were gonna save my daughter. Why don't you get out there and do something? What are you--Everybody's standing around here, looking--”

“Mr. Davenport--”

“Don't condescend to me. Don't patronize me,” he interrupted Gideon.

“Evan, Evan, Evan,” Vincent swooped in to save the day. “Everybody is doing the best that they can. Come on. Come on. Take a break, come on.”

“For the suspect to know that much about us he has to be one of us,” Derek said.

“I'm gonna have Garcia do a search of the New Haven FBI field office. The guy we're looking for knows this house and knows the family.”

“There's seven hundred agents in New Haven and another seventy in satellite offices. Davenport knows quite a few of them,” Spencer spit out.

“While we're narrowing the list, Cheryl can't stay here. If he's one of us, he has access and weapons, and you bet he's got a strategy.”

“So who can we trust?” Derek asked.

“No one. We need to get Cheryl to a safe house.”

“And limit the amount of agents she comes in contact with.”

“Don’t let it be Vincent,” you whispered to Hotch when Gideon moved about the room to select who would go with Cheryl to the safe house.

“Look,Y/N--”

“I don’t care if you believe in what I can do or not, but I know something is wrong with him. I don’t mean to disrespect you or anything like that, but all I’m asking is that you have a little faith. Can you do that? For me?” you asked, begging the older agent with your eyes.

Apparently it didn’t matter what you said because Vincent went with Cheryl, Derek, Elle, and a few others. Hotch tried to make the point that Elle and Derek would be there, but you didn't stay to listen. You were angry at the fact that despite what Derek said about you being part of the family, no one was treating you as such. Hotch said you were on the team, but he wasn’t making you feel like it at all which is what bothered you the most. The only thing you could do without jeopardizing your career was sit with Spencer and monitor what could be controlled. As soon as Elle and Derek arrived at the safe house, she called you since she thought of something important. Placing the phone between yours and Spencer’s ear, you let him listen in. It was better than putting her on speakerphone to let everyone know what you three were talking about.

“They did a bug sweep right when we arrived.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Yet, the unsub seems to know all about us. Hey, Reid, do you know what non-local interaction is?”

“What are you getting at?” he asked.

“How can he be holding Trish prisoner, and still know exactly what we're talking about?” she wondered.

“I know what you're saying. It seems like he knows what's going on here the moment that it happens.”

“It’s what I’ve been saying this entire fucking time,” you hissed quietly.

“There's gotta be a listening device.”

“They swept the room when we got here,” Spencer stated.

“Then they brought in their own equipment.”

“Gideon, come here,” you announced. Once the older agent approached, you voiced Elle’s opinion. He decided the best thing to do was to do a bug sweep on the new equipment, and low and behold, there was a bug placed inside their machine. Looking at Hotch, you didn’t say anything but the look in your eyes was enough.

“Agent Shyer called you by your first name,” Gideon said to Evan. “You know him that well? He works out of the New York field office.”

“I know his father. We've met socially on occasion.”

“Has he been here before?”

“A few times. Why?”

“He’s the one that has Trish and you handed Cheryl over on a silver platter,” you announced.

“Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?” Hotch asked, bringing you to the side.

“Look--”

“I don’t appreciate how you’ve been acting lately. I know you’re new to this, but we work together as a team.”

“I get it, Hotch. I’m new and I can do things you’ve never seen before. I truly don’t mean disrespect, but I’ve been living with this… thing… my whole life. Never once has it let me down. I’d like to think that my teammates have my back when I tell them who our unsub is. You want to punish me for being a little frustrated, fine, but please consider what I have to say next time so we can avoid all of this.”

“We’ll talk more about this when we get back to the office,” he said with a stern tone, leaving your side to go help save Trish and Cheryl since Derek wasn’t answering his phone.

Once Cheryl was found unharmed, Vincent gave the location of Trish which wasn’t far from Evan’s house, just like you said. When Hotch saw Vincent in cuffs and both young girls fine, he apologized for not listening to you, and you apologized for not handling things better. There was no need for a conversation once Hotch promised he would work on believing you when you tell him things.

The family of three were reunited, and you stood by Spencer and Gideon’s side to watch their happiness. Trish was taken away on a stretcher, and Cheryl and Evan went with her in the ambulance.

“Hey, how did Elle get Shyre to give us Trish's location?” Spencer asked.

“I imagine she found some creative way to persuade him.”

“What do you think--”

“You know, you just don't need to ask so many questions. Let's just enjoy the moment,” Gideon interrupted, making his exit.

“I have a question for you,” you said, turning to face him. “What did our date mean? I mean, I don’t want to be one of those girls who demands a relationship or whatever, but I just wanted to know if it’s something you want to do again? Maybe we can do something you want to do. I can’t imagine sitting through four hours of horror movies with me sleeping on your shoulder would be considered a fun time.”

“I actually do have something in mind. Do you know Russian?”

“No, but I’d be willing to learn for you. Photographic memory so I can’t forget it,” you told the truth, knowing what he wanted to do was to watch a film in Russian. You didn’t know a lick of Russian, but if it would make him happy then you would do it.

“There is a showing of my favorite movie this weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

“It’s a date,” you grinned.

"When love is in excess, it brings a man no honor, nor worthiness." - Euripides

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hooniee · 3 years

Text

— ꒰‧⁺paris run away *ೃ༄

↷ heeseung x reader ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷genre: fluff | comdey ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷ warnings: not proofread | none! ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷ synopsis: (y/n) just graduates from high school and feel incomplete but doesn’t know what’s missing. a trip to paris might be able to fix that ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷ author note: this is @enhypenwriters event of the month! strangers to lovers <3 i think this was my favorite to write out of the three pieces but i feel like it’s lacking some flare :( i think it still turned out okay though. i hope you enjoy <3 ⋯ ♡ᵎ

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*

you should have listened to sunoo when he said that it wasn't a good plan to travel to a foreign country on impulse.

you wouldn’t say you’ve ever been the most courageous person in your life. determined to break that trend, you planned this super out of the blue trip without much thought.

yeah. maybe this was a bit TOO courageous.

you didn't comprehend what compelled you yet here you were, arriving at paris charles de gaulle airport.

you stared at the large windows of the airport, viewing the plane that you had just left.

the gate for the concluding passengers had been locked by the flight stewardesses.

one of the stewardesses obtained eye contact with you, before shooting a smile and lightly bowing her head.

you absentmindedly returned the gesture, mind elsewhere.

bustling throughout the airport were people hurrying to their connecting flight or slumping into their lover's arms

people carried two or more suitcases with various bags strapped on their bodies, nothing on you besides a petite sling purse and one small carry on suitcase.

as weaved your way through the mass of stressed travelers, you briefly thought to yourself

how the hell did you get here?

2 days earlier

clusters of kids outfitted in blue gowns and caps could be recognized a mile away.

the graduation from high school to university.

your friend minji encloses her arm around your shoulder, your arm resting on her waist.

minji’s mom was stood in front of the both of you, gesturing wildly as she tried to take the ‘perfect graduation photo’ as she had put it

"okay pose! get a little closer, perfect. 1, 2, 3" your friend's mom counts.

the camera shudders which creates a beaming light to flash, eyes faintly twitching.

shrieks could be heard throughout the campus as girls queued up to take their final photographs with the popular guys.

minji's mom draws back the camera and we check the picture.

"it's cute," minji exclaims, peering at it a bit more closer. you nod your head in approval.

you would miss minji, one of the friends you could constantly count on in math class when you neglected to do your homework from binging korean dramas.

"i'll send you the picture later (y/n)! don't forget about me alright? you have my socials and you can always talk to me," minji grasps your hands

you smile, feeling sad at the departure of your best friend, "of course minji, don't forget me either"

"i could never," she brings you into a secure hug.

"sweet pea perfume," you say and she chuckles. sweat pea was minji's preferred perfume and you would miss that aroma.

"i have to go now, but i'll see you around okay?" minji says.

you could notice tears well up in her eyes and she fans her eyes to prevent the tears.

"don't cry ji, i'll start crying," you joked. "i live near here and you can always visit me! my door will always be open."

she smiled, "the same goes for you." her mother shouts her name before she has to go.

"alright, see you around," you wave to her as she leaves.

on the opposite side of the garden, your mom signals to you with your bouquet of red roses in hand.

"are you ready honey?" she asks you and you smile, nodding your head.

the car ride was in pleasant quietness, light radio music fluttering in. you had taken off your cap and laid it in the car seat next to you accompanying with your bouquet.

you had glimpsed outside to see your campus still arranged with your classmates, beaming and posing for additional pictures.

you bitterly smiled.

for the first time, graduation didn't appear like one of those liberating scenes of a movie,

1 day ago

you sprawled on his bed, staring straight up. a fan in your hand, fanning the perspiration that threatened to come.

your eyes match the fan's speed directly above your neighbor and best friend, sunoo's, bed.

his air conditioner was broken. with the avail of those elementary paper fans and the only fan stationed in the house, you were able to find comfort

you questioned if he ever got frightened of it dropping on him when he slept.

sunoo occupies the bathroom that's joined to his room, applying some light powder.

your mind strays, more thoughts simmering in the back of your brain. you sigh for the 10th time and sunoo being exasperated, allows out a loud groan.

it draws you out of your daze and you snap your head towards him."

"what is with you? what is on your mind sunshine?" he shuts his cushion, flinging himself on the bed.

"are you ever scared of the fan falling on you?" you felt the bed dip

"no, it's been like that for years, and don't change the subject. what's wrong?" sunoo retorted

"what makes you say that? i'm fine, " you answer

"uh-huh," sunoo rolls his eyes

it's the blatant eye-roll rather than the hushed one, he implied business

"you've been sighing for the past ten minutes, spill," sunoo says

of course, sunoo could recognize your distress. what sort of best friend would he be if he couldn't distinguish your emotions?

you huff, " okay then"

"i don't know why but i just feel stuck? i just graduated high school and nothing feels different, i mean it doesn't have to, but what do i do now? maybe i just watched too many movies"

sunoo tsked, " (y/n). sweetie, i graduated last year and i'm still stuck here. i do nothing besides go out or stay in my room. no in-between."

"but you have something sunoo. you have a bunch of your friends, you're an instagram star and i don't know, it's just different, "

it was accurate, sunoo was extremely popular. he had a bunch of friends and acquaintances from being the vice president.

sunoo inflated up on social media for his content from makeup to dance practices, a versatile instagram star.

you conceal your face with your hands before emitting a loud groan.

sunoo remarks, "i don't know how i can help you (y/n)? maybe you should try to rest a bit"

"easy for you to say, you, who isn’t dealing with a mid-life crisis, " you whine.

"this isn't a mid-life crisis, this is a post-graduation crisis which is totally normal. how about going out of town? obviously not to paris or whatever but maybe, what was her name again? minjoo's town!" sunoo suggested.

"obviously not to paris"

"not to paris"

"to paris"

"paris"

what about paris? paris was considerably away from your town and had a ring on the tip of your tongue.

you had sprung up, grasping sunoo by the shoulder and shaking him, "you're a genius sunoo! paris is a genius idea."

sunoo's eyes widen and he shakes his head while attempting to pry your hands off of him.

"no, you have to think rationally-"

you released sunoo from your hold which let him stabilize his spinning head.

"and i am! i need something new. being in this town for my whole life makes me realize, maybe i just need a spontaneous trip. "

your words scarcely blur together, adrenaline rushing through your blood as you understood this could jolt you out of your post-graduation slump.

"but-"

"no buts! pass me my laptop,"

present-day

you are currently disliking your choice, anxiety rushing through your veins, but it's too overdue to have other opinions.

you had landed in france and this was a life-altering moment; a chance of a lifetime.

peering nearby, you squint at the tiny english translations of the signs. you pull out your phone.

you open up the camera to see if zooming in would improve it for your eyes. as if on cue, your stomach rumbles vaguely making you startled.

you panicked as the pocket that was previously supplied with snacks became loaded with empty wrappers.

maybe if you would be lost in this wonderful city, you might as well try some of their famous pastries.

your muscles had retracted, the result of finally getting some movement after being restrained in a metal machine that was adjacent to the fiery sun.

you stumbled across this petite bakery and enter, sparingly bowing your head.

the owner was an older lady with her greying hair that designed it to resemble ashy highlights, pulled into a loose bun.

"que puis-je vous offrir?" she smiles.

"i'm sorry, i don't speak french?" you admit, embarrassed

as much as you assumed duolingo and rosetta stone could benefit you on a flight to paris, the only thing you could accomplish to say without messing up is "bonjour"

"that's fine mademoiselle! what can i offer you?" the lady shifts to englsih

you let out a sigh of relief, appreciative for blundering into this bakery.

"may i have your most popular pastry to go and a water bottle?" you smile, fishing out some euros.

you had looked down to the currency that you had exchanged before embarking on the plane.

"of course mademoiselle!" she says, reaching behind the counter and with her gloved hand, seizing a chocolate croissant.

"that will be 4.12 euros!" she rings you up in the cashier.

"is this the right amount? i'm not very good at counting euros," you revealed your hand where the money was.

she nodded her head and took the money, printing your receipt out. before giving you your receipt, she interviews you with a question that you weren't confident in answering"

"if you don't mind me asking, why are you here in france? not to sound rude! but i'm just curious"

you softly smile, sensing the kindness illuminating from her tone of voice. she wasn't rude at all and she was asking a simple question, but your brain struggled to obtain an answer.

"well, i would say i'm here to explore? i just finished high school and life felt incomplete. my best friend jokingly said "go to paris" and so I booked a ticket."

you look back up at her to see her delicate gaze. the rustling of the paper bag stopped the moment of silence

"that's amazing mademoiselle! france is the city for that. you must visit the notre-dam cathedral while you're here, it's beautiful. and maybe even find some love?"

she winks at you and you engage with a small giggle.

just like the show "emily in paris," you could merely fantasize about living a life like hers but it was an altered universe. she was an employed woman and you; a fresh graduate from high school.

"maybe! but i'm not looking forward to dating right now"

it wasn't a lie nor the truth. you would love to date someone right now but dating someone from a foreign country with a language barrier? not the most desirable idea. the owner laughs, handing you your pastry and water bottle.

"thank you for dropping by here mademoiselle! please enjoy your time in france,"

"merci beaucoup" you stumbled out, providing a small wave out.

the airport seemed to be more crowded than before. slowly opening the wrapping, you take a bite of the chocolate croissant and let out an audible gasp.

unquestionably, one of the greatest pastries you have tried in your life.

you promptly pull out your phone, snapping a picture for your instagram story. it was an adorable picture with the bakery in the background with the chocolate croissant in hand.

with "just landed" as your caption, you posted it to your close friends story. almost a second later, sunoo request to video call you.

you were welcomed by a piercing shriek into the phone.

"YAH I WAS JUST GREETED BY YOUR PARENTS WHO SAID YOU WERE AT A SLEEPOVER FOR A COUPLE DAYS? SLEEPOVER MY FOOT? YOU'RE IN PARIS-"

sunoo screeches over the phone and you timidly grimace, turning down the volume as people begin to stare.

"sunoo, i'm currently in a public airport with no earbuds plugged in, can you please STOP screaming?" you whispered audibly to him.

"OH, I FORG- sorry," sunoo sheepishly responds.

"my parents would never let me go this far so i just had to lie that i was going to a sleepover at minji's house which is out of town. plus i'm only going to be here for two days," you consult him.

"you saw me buy the tickets sunoo. why are you scolding me now? shouldn't you have tried to stop me while i was in the middle of buying the tickets?" you added.

"well now i want you to come back, who am i supposed to hang out with for the next 2 days?"

though it was dark in the setting sunoo was in, you could practically see his pouting face.

"you could hang out with jake? or sunghoon? aren't they both your friends?"

jake and sunghoon went to the same school as sunoo and you're buddies with them. you've known each other since middle school but jake and sunghoon were always closer to each other just like you and sunoo.

"jake and sunghoon hyung are busy on a vacation together in the bahamas"

you stifled a laugh in, "good luck being alone for the next two days."

"not funny (y/n)! besides that point, what if you get caught?"

"don't worry, i won't get caught because you're the only one who knows about this .as long as you don't rat me out sunoo," you scowl at him.

"i won't, i won't, i promise but you have to buy me something? deal?”

you roll your eyes, "deal mr. sunoo-shi, i have to go now. i need to try to find my hotel"

"be safe, love you!"

"i will! love you too"

you sulk after the call ends. without your best friend on your side, you felt a little feeble and lost but it's not time to be pondering like that.

paris awaits and you couldn't linger at the airport the whole day.

first challenge

getting to your hotel was a struggling. wandering around a city with no basis of the language besides "hello" and "thank you so much", didn't do enough for you.

first, you had to find a taxi that could converse in english. most people had turned you down as you couldn't speak french.

thankfully, it was a fortunate day and you met this kind lady who had coffee-colored curly locks, gentle chocolate eyes, and light freckles scattered around her face.

"do you speak english?" you crisscrossed your fingers, your legs close to giving out after scrambling for taxi drivers

"yeah, i do mademoiselle! would you like to hop in?" she extended a friendly smile and you had never felt bricks lift off your chest faster.

she opened the back of the taxi and you scouted in, permitting your purse to lay on your lap.

the women examined both directions of the road, looking out for passing cars and entered the driver's seat.

"where are you heading mademoiselle?"

you swiftly pull out your phone to your notes, "hotel le walt paris?"

you corked your eyebrow, making sure it was the right name before she nodded her head.

"a very famous hotel huh? right near the eiffel tower. i recommend that you wait till it gets dark and sit on the balcony to see the eiffel tower with lights. it's beautiful"

you smiled at the kind words of the lady, "i will surely try that! thank you miss..?"

"elena! elena is fine and you mademoiselle?"

"i'm (y/n)"

"it's nice to meet you"

"likewise"

the entire ride, you felt at some peace finally conversing with someone who understood english,

after a 30 minute drive, you had arrived at your destination.

feeling a sad departure from this mellow woman, who turned out to be 19 seeking to make some pocket money in the summer, she was one of the first people that you had grown connected with throughout this ride.

"elena, though it was a short time, thank you for keeping company"

you present her with a warm smile as she unlocks the door for you. you exit the taxi, clasping at your phone.

"here, give me your phone."

you softly planted it in elena's hand. you were perplexed about why she showed you your home screen until you realized you had a password.

you enter your password, giving it back to her. she did a bit of clicking and you could see her hands typing something in before returning the phone back to you.

"that's my instagram, stay in contact with me alright?"

you felt the sides of your lips curve into a slight smile. you dragged her into a soft hug.

"thank you elena"

she visibly hesitant before easing into the hug. she softly rubbed your back.

"i have to go, i might get fired if i stay here too long"

you bided her a fare-well. thirty minutes was an extended time to get a know a person.

and that was the first friend you met in france.

second challenge

checking into your hotel wasn't as difficult. most people could speak english and besides the uncanny looks that you received from the clerk, check-in was pretty smooth.

"here you are mademoiselle" the bellman lowers your suitcase in front of your hotel door.

"merci beaucoup," you smile and he returns the gesture before leaving you.

you look down in your hand where you are grasping the card tightly. you scan the card against the door meter and it flickers twice.

red, green

the door clicks before you push on it and reveal your hotel room.

at first glance, your mouth dropped.

the hotel room seemed better than it did on the online photographs which was a rare possibility.

though it was a small room, it was renovated beautifully.

overhead the king-sized bed, there was an extensive painting of the eiffel tower. a blue chair that held a place directly by the bed along with a little wooden table.

the hotel was fine but you definitely weren't

"(y/n) shut down in,"

"3"

"2"

"1"

before thinking, you throw yourself on the bed having the jet-lag kicking in. the bag offers a 'thump' sound as it connects with the ground.

'ouch that hurt'

you fish through your pocket, pulling out your phone. it was hardly twelve pm and you were already fatigued.

what was your strategy? you were in france for two days and you don't have a plan to do anything.

first things first, you needed to sort out this jet-lag.

1) taking a shower

showers are always a great way to awaken and could shake you from this daze. you endured a scream as your water turned to be ice cold. someone must be utilizing the hot water. that shower unmistakably woke you up

2) skincare

after getting out of the shower, skincare was the secondary way to wake up. cleansing with toner, dropping essence into the skin, and implementing a nice coat of moisturizer to lock-in.

3) fueling with food

food can beat anybody out of slumber if they're fueled with enthusiasm but you didn't have any food on you? that indicates it's time to go out and explore france.

unfastening up your suitcase, you drabble on what you can wear.

reconciling with a simple pair of denim shorts and a light pink tank top, you catch a fast mirror selfie.

being content with the ultimate product, you smile to yourself.

"phone, key, wallet," you whispered, securing the thoughts of having everything.

everything was arranged to go and it was time to tour paris.

third challenge

cruising through paris would be by notably the toughest challenge while you were here.

you had your phone to navigate solely with wifi and you couldn't be that favorable to be able to meet people who could speak english all the time.

you had entered a small restaurant, where you worked to communicate with people in defective french but they moderately understood what you wanted.

after that fiasco trying to order a chicken frricassee, you were able to appreciate your time there along with sending a picture to sunoo who reacted with,

"can that be the souvenir you bring back to me TT?"

you chuckled at the message, knowing typical sunoo, and finished up eating.

eating wasn't the one exclusive thing available in france. there were various activities but you were too afraid to venture any future for the hotel. getting lost too was easy.

that being said, eating after eating all you could do was roam around the city. it was around 2pm and you could spot a diverse crowd of people.

you could see kids. in uniforms that just got out of school or a cute couple that was experiencing their date.

you slightly squint and cover your eyes as the sun is at its highest point.

yes, paris was lovely and you would prefer to travel more but but you didn’ toriginally have a plan

for a couple of hours, you completed wandering around the area where your hotel is. you wished at moments like this that you would have jungwon, sunoo's friend, with you to help navigate you.

jungwon was also a friend you guys met in middle school but he went to your school. very mature for his age and great at preparation.

before you knew it, the sun had died down and it was time to retreat to the hotel.

'ah right! elena told me to look out at the eiffel tower as it gets darker'

you softly tread back to your hotel, observing the blisters at the back of your foot.

you could clearly sense the entire day of walking take a toll on your body.

you scan your key card and fling your bag to the floor as soon as you get inside. you open up your suitcase to change into suitable sleeping clothes.

you briskly cleansed your face and tied your hair back.

you had approached the balcony, guessing how to cautiously open the glass door.

you gradually shift the handle to the right and the door made a scanty creek. you gingerly put more stress on it, opening the balcony wide.

a distinct gasp could be heard from you.

subsequently taking a step onto your balcony, the frail breeze made you quiver in the long black tee that adorned your top half and the sweatpants that settled on your waist.

the balcony was small, barely able to move besides staying still.

you had peered to your right, glancing at the eiffel tower.

elena was correct. the eiffel tower was breath-taking at night. for the first time when landing in france, you could feel in harmony. below you was a crowded street.

it was only 8 pm yet you could feel your eyes droop as opposed to the bouncy pair of kids that ran through the moobs of people.

the radiant yellowish glow of the eiffel tower was able to save you from dozing off. you softly hum 'fly me to the moon,'

'fly me to the moon,' didn't have significance, it felt appropriate in the second.

you hadn't regarded it but a figure had gently peeked out of the other balcony, attentively listening to the silky melody that you were humming.

"nice song"

a voice interrupts and your humming had come to a halt, eyes widened.

you had turned to the origin of the voice and discovered the culprit

the balcony alongside you.

"thank you"

you glanced over, granting him a slight smile before he returns it.

"new to paris?"

he questioned, now you guys facing each other.

"yeah, just arrived this morning, and you?"

you asked before he softly smiles.

"not really, i've been here multiple times but the feeling is something i'll get used too."

you hum as a response

"how did you know to speak english to me? do i really act like a foriegner?"

you were growing more drowsy but this stranger was fascinating. who else could say they met someone and talked to them from a balcony romance?

"english song, random guess"

you nodded your head, not certain if he could see you but that was all you could muster up.

there grows stillness beside the bustling street below until the stranger breaks it.

"i know this sounds weird but since you're new here, would you like to go out with me tomorrow to travel the city?"

that question felt like ice water was just splashed onto your face. the proposal startled you.

the stranger didn't appear like a bad person. been to paris varied times, can acknowledge good music and good at conversation.

as much as this stranger flatter you, how could you trust him?

"as much as i would love to, how do i know that you're not trying to kidnap me, even worse, kill me?"

he stifles a laugh.

"hey knock it off, this is a very serious question, balcony boy"

you snicker, desiring to know the answer than anticipated.

"i promise you that i won't try to kidnap OR kill you. i'm just offering and you can even pat me down before we go out together."

this was by far one of the most peculiar offers you had received but this was THE stranger offer you came to france seeking.

you know sunoo would not advocate for numerous reasons and you can hear his voice already

"number one, dangerous"

"number two, dangerous!"

"number three, DANGEROUS!"

but sunoo isn't here right now. you chose to grab the opportunity. france had provided you luck today.

"alright then"

a moment of silence goes by before you hear him clearing his throat.

"you're serious right?"

he glances at you and your eyes lock. though you can't see that well due to the absence of light, you nod.

the eiffel tower gave you enough light that you could make our curious eyes, tall nose, fair skin that radiated in the soft lighting, and full lips that were curved into a smile

"i'll see you at the lobby at eight,"

next morning

to say you were nervous was an understatement, you were terrified. you agreed to a stranger who claimed to know paris like the back of his palm. you met him off your balcony and now you were agreeing to go a date with him?

"you must be out of your mind!" sunoo exclaimed through the phone.

"well yes i must have been at 8 pm last night when fatigue was hitting the hardest but how can i say no now?"

"i don't know maybe, I DON'T KNOW YOU STRANGER DANGER?" sunoo shouts

and like you foretold last night, sunoo was not a big supporter of this idea. over the course of fifteen minutes, you had been continuously scolded by him.

you cringe, " sunoo, i promise that i'll be fine. i just need you to help me pick out an outfit"

sunoo rolls his eyes, "what are your options?"

though sunoo wasn't supportive of this, he couldn't let you go on a date without style.

you held up two choices; a blue floral dress that settled to your mid-thigh and a pink tennis skirt with a white cami shirt.

"well do we like this guy or do we like LIKE this guy?" sunoo questioned.

"what- well i literally met him last night? so i don't even like him, we're just going out for this one day since he offered"

"uh-huh, then the blue floral dress, it's hot there right?" sunoo says

"super hot," you groan.

you glance at the time, 7:00 am.

"i have to start getting ready sunoo, i'll update you later alright?" you smile

"alright, try not to get killed but have fun too! love you"

"love you too," you say back before hanging up.

you quickly hop in the shower and make sure to not take too long.

doing skincare, putting on the outfit, and spraying a little bit of perfume, you are ready to head out the door.

one last check to make sure you have all the things.

7:58 am

you quickly head down to see several people in the lobby.

a bellman, a pair of teenage girls who seemed like they were dragged here, a couple around the mid-40s trying to check-in, and a teenage boy that rested on one of the lobby seats.

it was evident who the balcony boy was but you just called out to be safe.

"balcony boy," you say.

the teenage boy that was seated turns around before flashing you a smile.

"miss singer,"

you airly chuckle at the nickname.

observing him in person was a lot different. you could see his long body proportion, bright eyes, sharp jawline, with fair skin that complimented his rich brown hair.

a distinct experience from seeing him on the balcony.

"i'm (y/n)! and you?" you ask

"i'm lee heeseung"

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

Note

soul reapers to get paid and their salaries are even quite high! if i remember correctly, lieutenants make around $7k while a captain’s salary is almost triple(nearly $19k)

(cont) that is if my conversion was right, in a JET interview kubo said captains make 2million yen, lieutenants - 700 000yen and an unseated officer - 200 000yen. but then again, i think the living cost in ss is much higher, i remember matsumoto mentioning that clothes in the living world are much cheaper

I have to say this is one of the liveliest discussions on Bleach meta that I have ever participated in on this website. I feel like I can definitively report that is is both fanon consensus and supported by the creator himself that Soul Reapers do, in fact, get paid. For the record, my husband, who started this, conceded days ago and I am sure has not thought about it since.

In any case-- I was very surprised by these numbers, and at first I thought that maybe they were in kan, the fictional currency used in Soul Society, rather than yen. I mean, $19k/year is a terrible salary (for those of you who are not American it is roughly minimum wage). I attempted to figure out the conversion rate between kan and yen once, and at the time, came to the conclusion that kan were worth somewhat more than yen, but I no longer have my scratch pad, so I cannot show my work. Looking at it again, they seem pretty close.

Then, just to get an idea, I googled the salary of a four-star general in the American military, which I thought should be a rough equivalent, and the article I found reported all its numbers in monthly salaries, which I am not used to seeing, but maybe they are more common in other countries. In any case, according to the article I found, the highest salary you can make in the US military is $15,800/month ($189,600/year), which is pretty close to what a Gotei captain makes. I realize that is a lot of money on an absolute scale, but that actually seemed shockingly low to me, in the sense that there have only ever been 246 four-star generals in the history of the U.S., but this is the sort of salary that, say, a C-suite executive might make. A president of even a public university can make 2-5 times this. Now, a career in the military comes with a lot of other perks-- free room and board, free healthcare, etc, but I think this is going to make a much bigger difference to the people in the lower ranks.

The more I thought about it, I do think this tracks, though. Gotei captains are immeasurably valuable and basically impossible to replace. One of the more chilling moments leading up to the Winter War was the part where Hitsugaya is basically like “we don’t know how many Arrancar Aizen has, but if it’s more than 10, we’re screwed” and then it cuts to Hueco Mundo, and Aizen is just surrounded by guys. So, yeah, it honestly makes perfect sense to me that captains are paid a “good living” but it’s insulting compared to the wealth of the nobles that live around them. I don’t usually have a lot of nice things to say about Byakuya, but I do want to emphasize that this has to be chump change for him. This guy definitely works out of a sense of duty, he is not in it for the Benjamins.

The vice-captain salary (~$84k/yr) comes closest to an O-4, which corresponds to a major or a lieutenant colonel, and usually entails about 10 years of service. I guess years count for less when you’re immortal, so I guess that works out. One thing that doesn’t fit is that in another interview, Kubo states that Renji’s sunglasses cost half a year’s salary, but their price is listed in the Bleach Bootleg as 84,700 kan. If a kan is roughly equal to a yen, this is wildly off. I will get back to this later. In WDKALY, there was some mention of vice-captains and captains being given “mansions” to live in (if they chose to). I absolutely cannot accept this fact as canon. I can’t. I mean, there are numerous omake about Hisagi trying to score free food out of Omaeda, yet this man lives in a mansion? And do not tell me he (or Matsumoto or Iba) would pass up living in a mansion if they had the option, even if the commute were an absolute nightmare. Maybe he can’t afford the cost of utilities and furnishings. I don’t know. Please, someone write me a sitcom of Hisagi and Kira living in giant mansions next door to each other, but it’s just like the Bluths living in the sample house in Arrested Development. [Aside: Renji would take the mansion, but he would turn it into an indoor soccer field and continue to sleep in the barracks search your heart you know it’s true]

Back on topic! The unseated officer salary of 200k yen/mo works out to an E-3, which is what an enlisted service member makes after a year. Everyone in the Gotei is considered an officer, and unseating people are awful, so, once again, this seems fine. Well, it seems shitty, tbh, but consistently shitty.

To really answer the question of “is this shitty?” though, we need to consider buying power. Earlier, I mentioned that Gotei service includes free room and board, and that alone is equivalent to a lifetime of wealth for someone from the lower Rukon. I mentioned earlier that I once tried to calculate the exchange rate between kan and yen using a variety of prices for various items. I wish I had kept better notes, because my main takeaway was that prices for things were not very consistent. A copy of the Seireitei Bulletin is 380 kan. Using a straight kan to yen to dollar conversion, that’s $2.80 (I am using 100 yen = $1 because it’s close enough, in case anyone was wondering). Sexy photo books of the captains cost ~$25. The budget of the Shinigami Women’s Association is $2500/year, and the Men’s is $900/year, which is roughly the cost of one pair of sunglasses. I think it must have been the sunglasses that threw me, because I kept trying to peg the cost of a pair of sunglasses to a half year’s salary. The club budgets are just honestly confusing because I have no idea what a calligraphy club budget should look like. It seemed... fine... that a club budget should be equivalent to half a year’s salary? To be honest, I think a kan should be roughly equal to a yen and the sunglasses are just priced too low. (Not a statement I ever thought I would be making).

The comment about clothes being cheaper in the World of the Living makes a lot of sense! Cloth in Soul Society is probably hand-dyed, rather than mass printed, and sewed by hand, rather than by machine. On the other hand, if you wanted goods made in traditional ways, it would be a lot cheaper to get in Soul Society. A chusen-dyed kimono is a luxury good in 2021, because you have to option to order a cheap t-shirt and sweatpants from Amazon. Everyone wears hand-made kimono in Soul Society because that’s what there is, so the price is going to be relatively lower. I do think that cost-of-living jumps sharply inside the walls of the Seireitei, and that it’s very common to do your shopping in the upper districts of Rukongai, where there are lot of highly skilled artisans making goods for the city-dwelling market. I figure that one of the few opportunities for upward mobility, aside from selling your soul to the military is to make enough money to buy your way inside the gates (either through overpriced business licenses, getting a noble patron, or by arranging a marriage to someone who already lives inside)

That being said, I have thought a lot about importing items from the WotL--shinigami usually travel through senkaimon, which do not allow for matter conversion, so they wouldn’t normally be able to bring anything with them. I imagine that it’s sort of a perk of the job that when you go on a mission where you have to go through a matter converter (which would include any time you are bringing a gigai over) you could smuggle back whatever you can fit in your kosode. It’s very strange which technology is adapted from the World of the Living (washing machines, treadmills, urinals) and what isn’t (coffee). In fanfic, it’s common to see shinigami wearing Living World clothing in their off-hours, but I don’t think that’s supported by canon or filler in any way. For my own fanfiction, because it’s fun and world-buildy, I like to pretend that Ichigo is a very popular figure after the Winter War and that World of the Living fashion, music, etc becomes popular, starting during the two-year timeskip, particularly among the younger denizens of the Seireitei, and that there are special bars and such that specialize in that kind of thing. Shinigami who have done extensive stints in the Living World are considered cool for their knowledge of such esoteric subjects as “rice cookers.”

I am done now! I swear! Thank you, everyone for reading all the way down to the bottom of possibly the nerdiest and most boring post I have ever made on this website! (wait, no, I just remembered the one on senkaimon transfer protocols. Second most boring.)

#soul society #bleach worldbuilding #weirdly enough i have just been talking about a number of these topics in my latest chapters of a little in love #i took exactly (1) economics class and it made me a monster

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: History

Characters: OFC (Shane Benton), OMC (Elliott Thomas)

Summary: Shane Benton is a hard-working physical therapist and a loving girlfriend…but her boyfriend has a less than desirable way of showing it.

In case you’ve fallen behind or want to read more of my drabbles!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, angst, infidelity, domestic violence (moderate). Yeah, this may be a tad rough for some readers, but I tried to be mild, and mostly implicit. It was hard still, to see my fictional offspring go through this, even if she gives as good as she gets!

Author’s Note: Oh, y’all. When I needed a break from the sweet tenderness of Chapter 8, I came here and put Shane through some hell. (You can blame one of my friends I was talking about for this angst as they’re the one who put me into angsty headspace by cheating on my other friend! It’s been weighing on me! But I guess at least I’ve been able to use it!) I really hope you enjoy a bit of backstory on our heroine! I really liked writing her ferocity.

Also, I meant to have this posted yesterday, but because of some tragedy in one of my other fandoms (and the world, in general! Rest In Power, Chadwick Boseman!) and a bit of craziness in my personal life (my HS bestie wanted to hang out this weekend, so I spent a lot of time with her…also…I’ve been talking to a real live fella! OMG! And it’s entirely too soon to say that I like him, but like…I very much do…but he’s far away and recently single and things are complicated in just, several ways, so it just can’t happen at this point. But…like, we have been talking a ton recently, and…sigh. I have found it difficult to focus on the matters at hand. But, rest assured, I’m working on Chapter Nine, and it will be up just as soon as I find my rhythm!

Disclaimer: Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. (Well, this isn’t a super fun chapter, I guess!)

Tags:

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@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! (Also, if you’ve asked and aren’t on the list...well...that would be because I forgot to add you and reminding me will not offend or upset me. I think I might have ADD, or something, and being reminded about things is kind of how I survive!) Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X

5 years ago-

Shane got home from work, exhausted. The new electronic documentation system they'd just implemented was kicking her ass. And Anita's, whom she constantly had to help with it, all the while hearing Anita bellow "When can I retire?!" which lost its charm on about the third day.

"Elliott, I'm home." She didn't smell anything cooking, despite the fact that she knew he was off all day today. Whatever. She was used to him doing virtually nothing but whatever hipster bullshit he got up to on Instagram and YouTube, trying to get off the ground as an influencer with a brand…spare her. Since when did that become a job? She didn’t mind to get takeout though, if only she knew he wasn’t cooking. Maybe she should have asked. "Honey, I could have picked something up if--" she was startled by him in the doorway to the hall, in only his anime boxers, looking like he was trying to not be surprised she was home. "What?"

"Nothing, just…excited to see you! How was your day?" Elliott asked, scratching the back of his neck, displacing his mid-length, slightly moppy light brown hair, already disheveled. That was his tell. Something was up. She knew it.

"What's going on? Are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would you ask me that? Don't you trust me, baby?!" he guilted. Knowing just the buttons to push for empathy. It wasn't gonna work today. The machine was all out of that selection and full of his bullshit currency.

"Now that you mention it, no. I sure as hell don't." she walked around to enter the hall and investigate the rest of the house. "Let me through." he wouldn't budge. He had the advantage of physical size, but she was still wearing her work uniform including sneakers…he was more than half naked. She stomped hard on his instep and smacked him in the ear as he doubled over. She felt marginally bad for that in the moment…at best he'd get mild tinnitus for a while. At worst, he could have permanent hearing damage. She'd check later for blood coming out of his ear and see if she should feel worse about it then.

She rounded the corner to their bedroom. The quilt her grandma had made her was carelessly crumpled with the top sheet and blanket at the foot board. She noticed a swatch of an orangey red lipstick on her pillow. The same shade smudged onto the full mouth of the panicking strawberry blonde frantically donning clothes in front of her antique mirror, and the same shade, she was guessing, that was smeared across certain places on Elliott’s body that were now covered by those boxers that she had always hated. You know what, Elliott, she thought to herself. Fuck Bleach, and fuck you!

"I'm sure you're a lovely person who's just been lied to by a very charming and manipulative man, but…you still only have ten seconds to get to my front door before I call the cops." Shane threatened the girl, who couldn't have been more than twenty-one…and he was thirty-three.

"She's my guest." Elliott defended.

"You're not even on the lease. Your credit was too bad." she said over her shoulder while still squared off with the girl. She turned back to her. "I'm trying to be calm here, sweetie. But do not make me tell you even one more time to get out of my…fucking…house." the girl picked up her shoes and a small messenger bag from the floor near where Shane stood, keeping as wide a berth as she could, and skittered out of the room in terror.

"How many times, Elliott?"

"Don't do this, Shane."

"No, I think this is something we should do. Count the times you’ve broken my trust. Kissed another girl, fooled around with one, fucked one…I mean…I've never caught you in our bed before, so this LOOKS like a first…I sure hope it is…because I don't recall you doing any laundry since you've lived here. And if I thought you let me sleep in the same sheets that you…I can't even look at you, you son of a bitch."

"It's not what you think, Shane." he said, calmly, as if he'd simply picked up the wrong consistency of peanut butter from the store. The wrong brand of milk. Not that he ever did the shopping.

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit. Elliott. I come home and find you like this, and there's a girl in OUR bedroom, and her lipstick is all over MY pillow, and your balls, no doubt. Not gonna make you prove it, because at this point, I don't give a shit anymore. I've lost count of how many times I've forgiven you, even times you didn't care enough to ask me to. Times you probably don't even know that I know about. But it's done. You're gonna pack up all your things. And you're gonna be gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow. And don't expect me to be late…because I will not be."

"You're acting crazy. You can't do this. Where will I go, Shane?"

"That's not my concern anymore. Find an apartment that accepts Likes and subscriptions and followers as rent and cherish it. But your free ride here is done. I'm not your mom, your maid, your cook, or…anything to you anymore, Elliott."

He was getting angry now. His nostrils flared and his breaths came more quickly.

"Is this because you're fucking another guy? Hmm?" he got in her space, but she was out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. She shouted back.

"Oh, NOW you're gonna try to deflect this onto me? When in holy hell would I have time to get with anyone but you, when we don't even have sex anymore?! It's been, what, two, three months?"

"You work with guys."

"You have no idea who I am. To think that I would do something like that. No idea at all. If I don't have time at home, I certainly don't have time for sex at work, and you can ask any of my coworkers, male OR female. That place is an unsexy, unholy shit show 90% of the time. And the other ten, it's just above bearable."

"Well, I'm still not going anywhere."

"You are. Like I said. You're not on the lease. And all I have to do is call the landlord and tell him you're here without my permission and he'll have the cops here." she had gotten a glass of water…although she needed something stronger, and was standing by the sink with it. Her mouth was getting dry. She couldn't take much more of this without breaking.

"You wouldn't really do that to me though. I'm the only man who can give you what you want." he grabbed her by the arm, hard.

"Let go of me, Elliott."

"Or what." he asked for it. She got the other instep, his groin, and threw water in his face. She grabbed her purse and bolted out the door.

She got quickly on the phone with Heather her closest friend who had recently been hired on as a secretary for her clinic.

"Yello." she said, cheerful.

"Two things: can I crash at your place tonight and what kind of phone do you have?" she asked.

"Yes and a Galaxy something, I dunno, but what the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"I'll explain when I get there. I’m on my way to CVS for some essentials. Do you need anything?"

"Sounds like we need wine and ice cream!"

"Already on the list." She thanked Heather and hung up, calling her landlord.

“This’s Sam.” She heard over the receiver.

“Sam, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a situation at the house.”

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked concerned. She’d never rented from anyone so kind. He’d become almost family. Like an uncle.

“Long story short, pest control. I’m kicking Elliott out and he has until the time I get home from work tomorrow. I told him you’d be there with the cops if he didn’t comply because he’s not on the lease. Is there any way you can help me and make that good?”

“He hurt ya, Shane?”

“Not, umm…not physically.” Although she had been rubbing the place on her arm where he’d grabbed her, certain there would be a bruise.

“That’s all I need to know. I’ve got a buddy or two on the squad here in town. I’m sure they won’t mind to help me out. You need anything?”

She held back the tears until she could hang up. “I’m staying over at a friend’s tonight and headed into CVS now for a few things I didn’t take time to grab after I kneed him in the groin and ran out.” She had just pulled into the parking lot.

“Well I’m nearby if you need anything when you’re back home.”

“Thanks. I guess just watch for smoke from the place for now. I don’t know what he might do, honestly.”

Up Next: Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy #hes in this chapter in spirit ok

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businessplanningsolutions · 4 years

Text

The Authority of Money

During my recent trip to the U.S., I decided to play tourist and visit a few places that I had never been. One of the more interesting destinations was the Money Museum at the Federal Reserve Bank in Chicago, Illinois.

youtube

No matter how much it’s talked about in the news and politics, I really had no idea exactly what the Federal Reserve Bank does. I know its name is printed at the top of all of my Benjamin, but that was about the extent of my knowledge. With the help of a friend I’ve had for 40 years, I signed up to take the tour and get a glimpse behind the scenes of the place that money calls home. Knowing the amount of money that passes through the place and seeing the turn of the century style conjured up images of caper stories the whole time I was there. I couldn’t help but think

“okay, if I was going to rob this place, how would I do it?”

The Guided Tour

While it was interesting to learn what the Federal Reserve Bank does, the real beauty of the visit was a special tour through some of the innards with a guide who knows trivia that spans centuries and literally trillions of dollars. Jerry, our tour guide, was a fascinating man who returned from the boredom of retirement to be a tour guide, talking guests through the museum.

He wore a light green and white suit, looking like he too had been minted by the U.S. government decades ago. Over the course of the next hour or so, he shared background on the Fed, stories and more numbers than anyone should be able to recall.

In the main museum, we got to see a number of displays about the history of currency in the United States, including a couple of displays of One Million Dollars:

We also got to learn a bit about what the Federal Reserve Bank does in a video that was put together in-house – nice, but a bit dry. I’m sharing what I took away from it, which may be entirely inaccurate, due to my failing memory.

The Fed’s charter is to “oversee how monetary policy is implemented.” It comes down to three primary functions:

they oversee how payment systems work, so the way checks are cashed, the way credit card and online transactions take place;

they are the regulators of banks in the U.S., so they’re the ones who go in and audit banks to make sure they’re not breaking any laws and

The most visible function is that they’re responsible for moving cash around.

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For most of us, that’s the fascinating part of what they do. Every day of the week, shipments of currency come from the United States mints to the Federal Reserve Bank. The Fed then ships that currency out to the banks that need it. While the larger bills are transported by armored car every day, the $1 bills are packed into unmarked semi-trailers and driven to the building to prepare them for distribution.

I guess it’s not much different from shipping a truckload of iPhones to a warehouse, but somehow it SEEMS riskier that they do that.

On the flip side of things, the Fed gets deliveries of cash from the banks, which is counted and bundled for re-distribution. This is also the step that includes pulling old and worn bills out of circulation. One of the most surprising things I saw was how little wear a bill needs for it to be taken out of circulation. Most of the bills in your wallet are probably not going to pass.

About $17 Million in currency is destroyed every day at the Chicago Fed, which is one of 12 Federal Reserve Banks. The Money Museum even gives you a small bag of shredded money as a souvenir, which contains the remnants of currency equal to about $370. One of the more interesting facts about this shredded currency is that until the mid 20th century, the shredded bills were burned, but because of the toxic chemicals used in the ink, they had to stop doing that.

It’s now shipped off to special landfills for toxic materials. Kind of makes you worry about handling it every day, doesn’t it?

A Personal Tour

I had the pleasure of getting a more personal tour, including a trip to see the money sorting and counting machines (through a thick glass window, of course), but sadly the machines weren’t operating that day.

Those functions are visible from an additional section of the Museum that was closed off in 2001, so not many people get to visit it.

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My other favorite part was looking at the high denomination currency that’s no longer in circulation. One display has a $10,000 bill in it, along with several other bills from the 200-ish years of American money printing. The 10k bills were printed until the 1940s and discontinued when it became apparent that virtually all bills above $1000 in denomination were being used for criminal purposes.

Just over 300 of the bills survive, most of which are in the hands of collectors. About 9 years ago, one of them actually arrived at the Fed through normal banking channels! Someone had gotten hold of it (perhaps stored in a box in an attic somewhere), taken it to their local bank and deposited it. With a quick bit of research, they’d have discovered it was worth close to 10 times that to a collector.

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I’d love to make a few suggestions to the guys at the Money Museum as improvements, but since this is solely for PR (admission is free), I’m sure they are limited in how much they invest in the tour. Although considering the constant saber-rattling in Congress about the Fed, maybe they could use a bit stronger PR push.

One of my biggest pet peeves with 90% of museums is that no one really thinks about photos. Placement of light fixtures to minimize glare, setting up obstruction free angles and allowing guests the chance to pose without impeding traffic are critical factors for any museum and most of them don’t think that through.

Re-open the closed section of the tour. Money counting and shredding is one of the more fascinating things that happens at the Fed and no one gets to see it. I get it. 9/11 happened. But the security checks and procedures keep out bank robbers, so I’m sure they can be effective for other people, too.

Tell some stories. Interactive displays are all well and good, but you’ve got an asset like Jerry who has hundreds of stories in his arsenal. I’m the only one who heard any of them. Everyone else just heard him introduce the video and rattle off a lot of facts and figures.

Stories = excitement. Spend a little money and create a new video to share some of these stories in the context of explaining what the Fed does.

All unsolicited advice, of course, but I found the place fascinating and woefully under-utilized. As an average tourist, there just wouldn’t be a lot to hold my interest without some upgrades.

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