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twistedminutia · 2 months ago

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A Million and One Minutia: Child Protective Services

The teachers discuss Twisted Wonderland's protective services for children.

Read the rest of the chapters here and crossposted to AO3 here.

My position as Headmage Crowley’s gopher usually doesn’t bother me that much. I mean, having him basically shove me into the path of two overblots sucked, but it’s not like he knew that was going to happen. I think.

The actual stuff I do for him on a daily basis is usually less involved than ‘solve the mystery of who’s pushing students down stairs’ and ‘defeat the on-campus mafia.’ It’s more like ‘sort this paperwork into two piles: optional and extremely optional’ or ‘go talk to Sam about restocking the store with extra potion ingredients’ or ‘straighten up my office for me.’ Grim complains every time, and maybe he’s right to do it, but I’ve always been more of a teacher’s pet. If something’s egregious, I’ll put my foot down, but if cleaning up after the headmage is what I have to do to stay on campus, then there are worse fates.

It was, I will admit, a little easier last semester. Headmage Crowley needed to either send a messenger, magic or otherwise, to fetch me to his office, or he needed to track me down in person. Not like it was hard for him to do either, but it did cut down on just how often he could give me stuff to do. After winter break, though, he oh-so-generously decided that I could keep the phone he’d lent me. He presented it as the most benevolent thing he could think of. I also caught him showing off the latest smartphone to Professor Trein less than a week later, so I don’t know if it was ‘benevolent’ so much as ‘an excuse to get a shiny new toy.’

That was what I thought the first week, anyway. Now, I think he just realized that a phone means he can just text me whatever asinine problem he wants help with instead of having to track me down first. And yes, I can refuse to see it, ignore the phone for as long as I can, but that results in Headmage Crowley blowing up my phone, repeated texts escalating to calls, all of which start with him stating that I wasn’t answering his texts, he felt so worried he had to call, and while he has me here could I please come to his office and dust his weird collection of random shiny things again?

I did try to turn my phone off once. It worked for a couple of hours. Then Headmage Crowley stopped by Ramshackle. He didn’t make any kind of threat, or at least, not one that was as blatant as the stuff Azul gets up to.

He just told me the phone belonged to him and he was still paying for the plan.

I got the hint.

It’d be unfair to say he abuses it. I don’t get a text more than a couple times a week, and he’s backed off now that the VDC crew is staying at Ramshackle. But he still does use it. And when he uses it, I go.

This time, it’s a simple message: Come to my office at 3:45 today. Usually they’re like that- I don’t know if he has a distrust of technology or if he just likes giving orders in person, but regardless of what the task is and whether it’s necessary or not, Headmage Crowly summons me to his office to deliver the news.

By 3:40, I’m standing outside the door of Headmage Crowley’s office. Grim pads along next to me, expression irritated. “We already got so much work to do. Why’s the headmage think he can give us more, huh?”

“Shh,” I tell him. I knock on the door and there’s a faint ‘Enter!’ from the other side. “Don’t complain when he’s right there.”

“But Trein gave us so much history homework to do,” Grim complains as I open the door. “It’s not fair! I bet he just likes giving us more homework than we can- eep!”

There are four people in the room. One of them, standing behind his desk, is Headmage Crowley. The other ones are professors, one of whom clearly heard Grim saying his name.

I give Professor Trein a tentative wave. The faintest of smiles touches his mouth. He nods to me. Professor Crewel looks at me with the sort of vague interest you might give an unusual plant on the roadside- kind of an ‘oh, what’s that doing here?” expression. Coach Vargas shrugs a boulder-sized shoulder. “These’re the kids you called?” he asks. “I think you could have called someone with a little more muscle power…”

“Muscles hardly have anything to do with what we’re talking about,” Professor Trein says. He lets Lucius leap from his arms and trot over to me. “Gray is going to be working on managing the surveys, then?”

“Surveys?” I repeat, glancing at each of the teachers in turn.

“Every year, in the second semester, we distribute a student survey!” Headmage Crowley says. The flickering lights where his eyes should be somehow curve up at the bottom- like they’re crinkling with a smile. Some kind of magical effect of the mask he always wears? Or are the lights actually being produced by his eyes, and the smile lines are just cutting into them? “It’s an effort to engage our students in school improvement!”

And knowing the kinds of students who go to this school, I’m sure the survey is a resounding success. Grim folds his paws over his chest. “So, you just called us here to fill out some surveys?”

“Of course not!” Headmage Crowley says, still smiling. “You’re going to distribute the surveys to the students!”

Wow. My two favorite things! Talking to people and asking them to do something for me! Unfortunately, all of the teachers are looking at me, and blatantly refusing seems like an even worse idea. “Uh. Why don’t you just distribute them in class? Wouldn’t that make it easier? More students would probably get one that way,” I suggest.

“We’ve done it that way in the past,” Professor Crewel says. “But plenty of students aren’t honest when teachers give them forms.” His mouth thins into a sneer. “I had one particular plucky pup last year try to tell me that he would write a glowing review for me in the survey… if I boosted his grade an extra point in the exam final.”

I have a sneaking suspicion I know who that might be. “But how am I supposed to hand them out? Accost students in the hallway or the lunchroom?” God, what a way to make myself look worse- no one likes being asked to do a survey, and marching around handing them out on behalf of Headmage Crowley is going to make me look like the biggest kiss-ass priss in the universe. Also, my general social anxiety balks at the idea of initiating conversation with anyone.

“You’ll figure something out,” Headmage Crowley says, completely nonchalant. Professor Trein, Professor Crewel, and Professor Vargas all look at me. It’s hard to say there’s sympathy in their gazes, but there’s something that could maybe almost be if you squint.

“Am I allowed to recruit other people to help me?” I ask. Deuce and Ace will hate me for it, but they still owe me since bailing them out from Azul.

Headmage Crowley thinks for a few moments. “If you can get other students to help you, then I don’t see it being an issue.” He smiles. “Now, go out there and get as many answers as you can!”

“Right,” I say as he shoves a stack of papers at me. I split off a small portion of the stack for Grim, who grumbles as he clutches at it with his paws. “Uh, Headmage, can I talk to you after the meeting?”

His smile, previously relaxed, goes stiff on his face. Like he’s already guessed what I’m about to ask him and he’s trying to squirm his way out of answering. “Why, as your generous headmage, I would be more than happy to speak to you about any subject you’d wish!” he says. “But, alas, I do have to finish up this meeting, and it may take quite some time, and I would never wish a student to spend valuable learning time waiting around! Perhaps we could set up another meeting time, maybe in a couple of weeks?”

Which is long enough for him to wriggle out of it again. I set my teeth. “I can wait in the hall.”

“She could sit in here and do her homework,” Professor Trein says. “We’re not talking about grades or anything of the sort. There’s no harm if she listens in.”

“I agree.” Professor Crewel cuts his eyes toward me and Grim with a vicious glare. “Both those pups could to with a little extra training.”

“Or they could do some exercise!” Coach Vargas suggests. “Squats, push-ups, leg lifts-”

“Students,” Headmage Crowley says, “are not to be in the teacher conference meetings. And I am a very busy person, I have a lot going on after this meeting-”

“Right when we began the meeting, you stated you were looking forward to relaxing as soon as it was over,” Professor Trein says. Headmage Crowley blanches- I can see his eyes go wide, which is impressive because they’re still just yellow lights behind his mask. Lucius hops onto his desk and levels an accusing meow at Headmage Crowley, who just blinks back, stunned.

“You’ve been avoiding me for ages!” I say. “I tried to talk to you before break and you said you were doing research but you won’t even tell me what the research is!”

“You’re not a mage,” Headmage Crowley says, his yellow eye-lights giving a nervous flick over my shoulders to the other teachers. Professor Crewel smacks his riding crop (is that what that is? I’ll ask Riddle later) against his gloved palm. “Gray, you won’t understand it-”

“Then explain it to me! You’re supposed to be a teacher, aren’t you?” My argument is weak- it’s entirely possible he won’t be able to explain it to me because it’s magic way beyond what I’ve learned since coming here. But I just want to know he’s doing something, something that can be explained to me in concrete terms, even if I have to take notes and go to Riddle later for a more thorough breakdown. “Just explain to me what you’ve got to far, even if it’s not much!”

Headmage Crowley folded his arms over his chest. “I am not going to discuss this right now-”

“Then when are we going to discuss it?” I can feel the gazes of the other teachers, moving between Headmage Crowley and I like a tennis match. You’d think my awareness of that would slow me down, but I’m tired, because I haven’t been sleeping well for months, I’m hungry, because Grim will eat anything that’s not nailed down at lunch, and I’m frustrated because I’ve been here for months and I have no indication that Crowley is even attempting to learn anything about my home. “You’ve been shoving me off for ages now, I can’t ask you about it without something else coming up, and I haven’t heard any kind of updates since I’ve gotten here. Please. I just- I just want to know when I’m going to be able to go home!”

There’s a wake of silence after those words. Headmage Crowley’s gaze flicks up past me, to the other teachers in the room. “I,” he says, “can explain.”

I look back. Professor Crewel is gripping his riding crop with both hands. Coach Vargas has his arms folded, impressive muscles tensed. Professor Trein is just glaring, but he’s managed to hone it into a laser beam of concentrated disdain.

“Crowley,” he says in the same tightly calm voice he gets when someone in class really screwed up. “What does she mean by that?”

Headmage Crowley looks at me, as if expecting me to say, ‘ha ha, I was just kidding! I can go home whenever I want!’ I don’t say anything. I just stare back at him. Grim fluffs up, stepping closer to me and resting a paw on my leg.

“Gray,” Professor Crewel says, apparently deciding to ignore Headmage Crowley completely. “Are you being kept here against your will?”

“Um,” I say. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Coach Vargas repeated. He folds his arms tighter and all his muscles flex. I hear Headmage Crowley gulp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gray,” Professor Trein says, his voice lower and a little gentler. “We’ll help you. But we need to know what’s going on first.”

Lucius pads closer on Headmage Crowley’s desk and bunts his head against my hand. I pet him absently. Grim scrambles up a second later, sitting pointedly close until I take the hint and start patting him, too. “It’s a long story,” I offer. “And it doesn’t make much sense.”

“Do your best,” Professor Crewel demands. “Both of you.”

I take another glance back at Headmage Crowley. This time, he does speak. The words almost sound cheerful, even though they also sound like they’re being pulled out like teeth. “You’ll recall what I told you about the entrance ceremony? The chaos with the entrance of our resident direbeast?”

“Hey! You should be grateful I shook things up at that boring ceremony!” Grim huffs. I run my hand over his head and he settles back, grousing under his breath.

“I recall. You told us about it when you mentioned bringing two new custodians onto our staff as part-time workers,” Professor Trein says. “I also recall you later deciding to bring them in as ‘special circumstances’ students. While being rather vague on the actual special circumstances.”

Headmage Crowley clears his throat into a gloved fist. “A-hem. Well. Those special circumstances were that Gray was summoned by the Magic Mirror from another world.” He smiles, spreading his arms. “And in my magnanimity, I decided to allow her to stay here.”

The other professors don’t look impressed. Professor Crewel specifically looks pissed. “What do you mean, ‘another world?’”

“It’s called Earth,” I offer, and three stares of impressive intensity switch to me.

“How,” Professor Crewel says, each word gritted out between his teeth, “did you get here?”

“Oh.” I glance at Headmage Crowley, but he’s no help. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember exactly what happened- I just woke up here.”

Headmage Crowley coughs into his fist again. “Ah, it would appear that Gray was summoned in the same manner as the other students, through the Dark Mirror. But as for how the Mirror was able to reach across worlds to summon her from Earth?” He smiled, spreading his gold-taloned hands wide. “No one knows!”

“A child appears at your school from an unknown location, and you have no idea how it happened?” Professor Trein asks. His voice is thunderous. I’ve seen him pissed before- I sit next to three people with an incredible talent for falling asleep in class- but never quite like this. It’s a little scary.

Grim taps one of his paws against my leg and tilts his head to the slightly-ajar door. An escape route. And I know I can’t avoid them forever, but getting out of the way of the rapidly-brewing argument feels like a good idea. At least for now.

I nod at Grim and take a cautious step back. Then another. Then another. And then a very muscular hand clamps down on my shoulder.

Somehow, I forgot Coach Vargas was there.

“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks, and because Vargas has never heard of an inside voice, it draws the attention of the professors and the headmage.

“No,” I mutter. “Not really.” Coach Vargas shoves me back into the direct line of multiple gazes.

“And you haven’t tried to send her back home?” Professor Crewel says, and hey, it’s not like he has to talk about me like I’m not in the room, right?

“I did attempt it,” Headmage Crowley says. “I instructed the Dark Mirror to send her home, but it was unable to locate her world.”

“It could bring her here, but not send her home? That doesn’t make sense,” Professor Trein protests.

“I assure you, it’s just as baffling to me as it is to you. But those are the circumstances,” Headmage Crowley says.

“A child,” Professor Trein says, and his fingers draw long lines down Lucius’ back, “arrives at your school with no parent or guardian, no way to contact them, no way to return her home, no supports- and you enroll her in classes?”

“He wouldn’t let us enroll right away!” Grim complains. “We had to be janitors for the day!”

Coach Vargas is frowning, but Professor Crewel and Professor Trein’s combined gazes are approaching the full power of the sun. Professor Crewel’s pointer snaps across his gloved palm. I have the urge to grab Grim and hide under something, to shield from the inevitable explosion. “You. Made. Her. Work?”

“Ahem,” Headmage Crowley says meekly. “I rather thought you were aware of that…”

“No,” Professor Trein says. “Did you get in contact with the DMP?”

“The what?” I ask. If they’re talking about me, it feels fair that I have some knowledge of what they’re saying.

Professor Crewel’s gaze loses a shred of fire as he looks at me. “Department of Minor Protection.”

“Oh.” That’d be their equivalent of child protective services, I guess. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but it is a little weird Headmage Crowley didn’t report anything about me to them. Aren’t teachers mandated reporters? Maybe not here.

Headmage Crowley seems almost offended by the notion. “Of course I didn’t report her!”

Professor Crewel’s teeth grind. “You are the headmage of one of the most illustrious schools in all of Twisted Wonderland, and a child turns up from another world with no guardian and, I assume, no legal record, and you don’t report her to the department intended to deal with those cases?”

Headmage Crowley folds his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Why not?” Professor Trein asks.

“Because if I had reported her, do you know what would have happened?” Headmage Crowley returns. “She would have been removed from the school and, likely, shuffled into the foster care system. Given that Sage’s Island is a satellite nation of the Land of Dawning, it’s most likely she would have been sent off the island entirely. Away from Night Raven.”

“Perhaps that would have been for the best, all things considered,” Professor Trein says. I wonder if he’s thinking about the overblots.

“No,” Headmage Crowley states. “Whatever force pulled her into this world, it pulled her here. And, short of sending her for study at a magical research facility, there are fewer places in the world that are more thickly soaked in magic or better equipped to examine the magic that could send her home. If the dark mirror is involved, sending her away could be catastrophic for her chances to return.”

“You could explain that to the case workers,” Professor Trein suggests, though his voice is a bit more uncertain.

“I have been running this school for over a hundred years,” Headmage Crowley says. “I have had, in that time, many encounters with the Department of Minor Protection. With multiple government agencies, in fact. Do you think they would listen if I told them?”

There’s a moment of damning silence. Professor Trein lets out a low breath.

“Regardless,” Headmage Crowley continues, “Gray is seventeen. It is unlikely she would be placed into foster care. More likely, given that she is nearly the age of majority, she would be legally emancipated and be sent out into the world with little documentation, less knowledge, and no formal job qualifications.” He puffs up his chest, his voice growing more boisterous. “Which is why, in my magnanimity, I have allowed Gray to stay, tuition-free, at our illustrious school. She has a safe location to stay in and is gaining an education that may one day serve her in finding a career here.” I’m not sure what he’s talking about. It’s an education, yes, at a prestigious school to be sure, but it’s also a magic education. It’s like giving a person with no arms a thorough schooling in brain surgery. Yes, very impressive, but you can’t do the job you’ve been trained for.

“Of course,” Headmage Crowley continues, “hopefully the job will not be necessary, as I will endeavor to have Gray home as soon as possible.”

It’s still not comforting that he’s clearly made plans in case I’m here for a long time. But it also is sort of nice to know that he’s thought this through more than I thought he had. I still don’t trust him, to be clear- he’s still taking advantage of the fact I’m under his thumb to squeeze me for labor. But maybe he’s not as incompetent as I assumed.

Professors Trein and Crewel exchange looks. Coach Vargas furrows his thick brows. “We are supposed to report things like this,” Professor Trein says, but his conviction is much less than it was.

“The headmage has a point,” Professor Crewel shoots back. “Throwing her to the wolves of the government hardly seems like a better solution.”

“Given the circumstances,” Professor Trein argues, and I assume that’s his polite way of saying overblots, “one could argue that the wolves of government would be safer for her.”

“One could, if one enjoyed being wrong,” Professor Crewel snipes back. “Nothing has happened so far, and the pup can clearly handle herself. At least if she stays here, we can keep an eye on her.”

A vein has started to throb in Professor Trein’s head. Professor Crewel’s teeth are starting to grind. I heard from other students that they didn’t get on, but I’ve never seen them fight in person. Even Lucius is puffing himself up into a pom-pom. Grim’s trident tail lashes as his ears flatten back. “Now, now,” Headmage Crowley says in a too-feeble voice. “No need for-”

A taxicab whistle fills the office, so loud it makes my ears ring for a couple seconds after it stops. Everyone turns toward the whistle’s source. Coach Vargas waits until all attention is on him, then lifts his massive shoulders in a shrug. “Ask the kid.”

Professor Trein blinks. “Beg pardon?”

“Ask the kid.” Coach Vargas claps a hand on my shoulder and I nearly collapse under the pressure. “She’s seventeen, yeah? Almost an adult. She can decide for herself.”

The gazes all turn to me. I nearly wilt under the weight of them, the warmth of Grim pressed against my leg bolstering me just enough to stay upright. “Uh. Can I ask- what would happen to me if I did leave?”

Professor Trein speaks. “The standard procedure would involve you being taken into custody by the Department of Minor Protection under the Land of Dawning government. You would be assigned a case worker who would be your guardian until you were either shuffled into the foster system or legally emancipated. Typically, a seventeen-year-old would be legally emancipated, but given your lack of connections and experience in the world, they may decide to foster you regardless.”

The idea of being sent off to unceremoniously live with strangers is… unsettling. Not to mention that if the foster system here works anything like the foster system back home, they might not be very nice people. “I wouldn’t be able to stay at Night Raven College if I got sent into the system?”

“It’s possible,” Professor Trein says, “but unlikely. Your enrollment here is already a special case, but if the Land of Dawning was given guardianship, they would likely unenroll you, even if Crowley gave you permission to stay. If you had magic, that may not be the case, but they would likely see sending a magicless student to an arcane academy to be a waste of time.”

“Which is utterly ridiculous,” Headmage Crowley cut in, pouting like a stepped-on cat. “The education here is beneficial even to non-mages!”

“Be that as it may,” Professor Trein sighs. “You would likely be sent to a more traditional school for non-mages.” His tone is skeptical about whether that would be a bad thing. But I have one more reservation.

“Then what would happen to Grim?” I glance down at the bundle of fuzz who’s still near my leg. He blinks back up at me with his big, blue eyes.

Headmage Crowley lifts a hand to his chin. His golden talons gleam in the candlelight. “Hmm. The two of you are here on a dual enrollment basis. The beast and the beast-tamer. If one of you were to leave…”

“Gray’s my hech-human!” Grim huffs. “Ya can’t send her away!” He scrambles up onto Headmage Crowley’s desk, sending papers skidding beneath his paws and huffs out a small puff of blue flame. “I’m gonna be a great mage and Gray’s gonna be my hench-human!”

“I suppose Grim does have the magic capabilities to stay here on his own,” Headmage Crowley muses, like he doesn’t even hear Grim. “Though whether he has the discipline, well…”

“No one is being sent away,” Professor Crewel tells Grim. “Now get off the desk!” His crop snaps down right next to Grim, who leaps at me in terror. I scramble to catch him and end up holding him upside down.

If I leave, Grim’s going to be alone in Ramshackle. He’s a pain, of course- he’s impulsive, cranky, a bottomless pit, reckless and combative to a ridiculous level. But he’s also earnest, straightforward, loyal, and when I woke up screaming for the third time this week, he offered me a can of tuna, and curled up next to me in bed until I fell asleep again. I don’t want to leave him.

“I want to stay,” I say, setting Grim back on the ground. Right side up, this time. “I- I’m used to it, here. It might-” This part’s harder, because it feels more like a lie. “It might be easier for me to find ways to go home if I’m here. And if I can stay here for the three full years anyway, that might be better…”

Only three years. The fourth year is an internship. I don’t know if I can do any kind of internship.

“I suppose,” Professor Trein says after a moment. “At least for the time being.” He doesn’t look happy about it- neither does Professor Crewel for that matter. But Headmage Crowley does.

“There! Of course, such a promising student can glean the clear superiority of my magnificent plan!” he preens. I suddenly regret agreeing with him. “Now, I believe that settles all of that.” He sounds only too relieved for the discussion to be over.

Professor Trein sighs. “Gray. May I see your phone for a moment?”

I fish it out of my pocket and hand it over. Professor Trein fusses with it for a moment, then hands it back. “My number is in there now. I’ll be checking in with you periodically, and I expect you to reach out if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Professor Crewel huffs and holds out his hand. “Give it to me as well.” I hand my phone over a second time and he gives it back with a new contact. “The pup is in my class after all,” he adds with a sharp look to Professor Trein, who just shrugs it off.

“Now that’s all taken care of,” Headmage Crowley says, “we should be getting back to the meeting. Gray, if you could pick up those surveys…”

I move to put my phone away as I lean over to gather the surveys and a thought occurs to me. “Uh. Hey. Wouldn’t it be easier just to email the surveys to students? You could get them out to a lot more students that way, and it’d be faster.”

Headmage Crowley’s expression freezes on his face. “Ah.” When his smile returns, it’s just a bit too big to be convincing. “Ah, of course! Yes, I knew you were the right person for the job. Of course, in my magnanimity, I will allow you to use electronic mail to send the surveys out! Please have them set up and sent out by tonight.” He ushers Grim and me toward the office door. “I’ll be checking in with you tomorrow on the status!”

The door swings shut with a final, echoing bang. I stare at the ornate surface for a moment. Grim grumbles. “Figures he’d somehow dump more work on us while we’re tryin’ to make things easier for him.”

“Yup,” I agree. “Let’s go to the library. You can work on some homework while I get this survey stuff done.”

Grim whines and complains until I bribe him with some tuna fish, which means his only protests as we head to the library are malcontent grumblings. I hug the surveys to my chest. I didn’t actually ask Headmage Crowley about the thing I’d gone in there for in the first place. How he’s been doing on finding my way home. Context clues suggest the answer is ‘not well.’ And it’s nice that he’s been planning ahead for my time here, but if he has, how confident does that mean he is in finding me a way home? Does he really think I’m going to be here for years and years?

I don’t even know if Headm- if Crowley is working on the way home or not. He’s so evasive when I ask him- does he care at all? Is he trying to avoid disappointing me by pretending not to have done anything when in reality he’s just not finding anything? Because, honestly, I’d rather have bad news than no news. At least then, I’d know he’s trying.

Right now, though… If he can’t find anything, what do I do? I can’t go home. I don’t want to stay here. What do I do?

“Hey, hench-human! Watch where you’re going!” Grim snaps from a few feet to my left. I look over and realize I was half an inch from going face-first into a wall.

“Sorry, Grim. Lost in thought,” I say. Grim huffs, but there’s something mildly affectionate in it.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” he mutters. “Come on! Sooner you get done with that stuff, the sooner I get tuna!”

“You only get tuna when you’re done with your work too!” I call after him, but he’s already sprinting away on all fours. I laugh quietly and push myself into a jog after him.

Read the next chapter here.

#twisted wonderland #a million and one minutia #twst #twisted wonderland fanfic #yuusona #dire crowley #mozus trein #divus crewel #ashton vargas #grim twst

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justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months ago

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Camilo Montoya-Galvez at CBS News:

The Trump administration will be revoking the legal status of hundreds of thousands of Latin American and Haitian migrants welcomed into the U.S. under a Biden-era sponsorship process, urging them to self-deport or face arrest and removal by deportation agents. The termination of their work permits and deportation protections under an immigration authority known as parole will take effect in late April, 30 days after March 25, according to a notice posted by the federal government. The move will affect immigrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela who flew to the U.S. under a Biden administration program, known as CHNV, that was designed to reduce illegal immigration at the U.S.-Mexico border by giving would-be migrants legal migration avenues. A total of 532,000 migrants entered the U.S. under that policy, which was paused soon after President Trump took office, though it's unclear how many have been able to secure another status that will allow them to stay in the country legally. CBS News first reported in early February that the Trump administration was planning to revoke the legal status of individuals who entered the U.S. under the CHNV process. The Department of Homeland Security said it will seek the arrest and deportation of those subject to the policy change if they fail to depart the U.S. in the next 30 days. Officials are urging migrants to use the newly repurposed CBP Home smartphone app to register for self-deportation.

More anti-immigrant cruelty from the Trump Regime: The US under 47 will revoke the legal status of more than 500,000 migrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua, and Venezuela that came into the USA as part of the CHNV program under his predecessor Joe Biden.

#Donald Trump #Immigration #Cuba #Haiti #Nicaragua #Venezuela #Trump Administration II #Migrants #CHNV #Trump Regime

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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Entering the United States has become more precarious since the start of the second Trump administration in January. There has been an apparent surge in both foreign visitors and US visa holders being detained, questioned, and even deported at the border. As the situation evolves, demand for flights from Canada and Europe has plummeted as people reevaluate their travel plans.

Many people, though, can’t avoid border crossings, whether they are returning home after traveling for work or visiting friends and family abroad. Regardless of the reason for travel, US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officials have the authority to search people’s phones and other devices as they determine who is allowed to enter the country. Multiple travelers have reported being questioned or turned away at the US border in recent weeks in relation to content on their phones.

While not unique to the US border—other nations also have powers to inspect phones—the increasingly volatile nature of the Trump administration’s border policies is causing people to rethink the risks of carrying devices packed with personal information to and from the US. Canadian authorities have updated travel guidance to warn of phone searches and seizures, some corporate executives are reconsidering the devices they carry, some officials in Europe continue to receive burner phones for certain trips to the US, and the Committee to Protect Journalists has warned foreign reporters about device searches at the US border.

With this in mind, here’s the WIRED guide to planning for bringing a smartphone across the border. You should also use WIRED’s guide to entering the US with your digital privacy intact to get a broader view of how to minimize data and take precautions. But start here for everything smartphone.

What Can CBP Access?

Do CBP officials have the authority to search your phone at the border? The short answer is yes. Searches are either manual, with a border official looking through the device, or more advanced, involving forensic tools to extract data en masse. To get into your phone, border officials can ask for your PIN or biometric to unlock the phone. However, your legal status and right to enter the US will make a difference in what a search might look like at the border.

Generally, border zones—which includes US international airports—fall outside of Fourth Amendment protections that require a warrant for a device to be searched (though one federal court has ruled otherwise). As such, CBP has the power to search any traveler’s phone or other electronic devices, such as computers and cameras, when they’re entering the country. US citizens and green card holders can refuse a device search without being denied entry, but they may face additional questioning or temporary device seizure. And as the Trump administration pushes the norms of acceptable government conduct, it is possible that, in practice, green card holders could face new repercussions for declining a device search. US visa holders and foreign visitors can face detention and deportation for refusing a device search.

“Not everybody has the same risk profile,” says Molly Rose Freeman Cyr, a member of Amnesty International’s Security Lab. “A person’s legal status, the social media accounts that they use, the messaging apps that they use, and the contents of their chats” should all factor into their risk calculus and the decisions they make about border crossings, Cyr says.

If you feel safe refusing a search, make sure to disable biometrics used to unlock your device, like face or fingerprint scanners, which CBP officers can use to access your device. Instead, use only a PIN or an alphanumeric code (if available on your device). Make sure to keep your phone’s operating system up to date, which can make it hard to crack with forensic tools.

You should also consider factors like nationality, citizenship, profession, and geopolitical views in assessing whether you or someone you’re traveling with could be at higher risk of scrutiny during border crossings.

In short, you need to make some decisions before you travel about whether you would be prepared to refuse a device search and whether you want to make changes to your devices before your trips.

Keep in mind that there are simple steps anyone can take to keep your devices out of sight and, hopefully, out of mind during border crossings. It’s always a good idea to obtain a printed boarding pass or prepare other paper documents for review and then turn your phone off and store it in your bag before you approach a CBP agent.

Traveling With an Alternate Phone

There are two ways to approach device privacy for border crossings. One is to start with a clean slate, purchasing a phone for the purpose of traveling or wiping and repurposing your old phone—if it still receives software updates.

The device doesn’t need to be a true “burner” phone, in the sense that you will be carrying it with you as if nothing is out of the ordinary, so you don’t need to purchase it with cash or take other steps to ensure that it can’t be connected to you. The idea, though, is to build a sanitized version of your digital life on the travel phone, ideally with separate communication and social media accounts created specifically for travel. This way, if your device is searched, it won’t have the back catalog of data—old text messages, years of photos, forgotten apps, and access to many or all of your digital accounts—that exists on your primary phone and could reveal details of your political views, your associations, or your movements over time.

Starting with a clean slate makes it easy to practice “data minimization,” or reducing the data available to another person: Simply put the things you’ll need for a trip on the phone without anything you won’t need. You might make a travel email address, some alternate social media accounts, and a separate account for end-to-end encrypted communications using an app like Signal or WhatsApp. Ideally you would totally silo your real digital life from this travel life. But you can also include some of your regular personal apps, building back from the ground up while determining on a selective basis whether you have existing accounts that you feel comfortable potentially exposing. Perhaps, for example, you think that showing a connection to your employer or a community organization could be advantageous in a fraught situation.

Privacy and digital rights advocates largely prefer the approach of building a travel device from scratch, but they caution that a phone that is too squeaky clean, too much like a burner phone, can arouse suspicion.

“You have to ‘seed’ the device. Use the phone for a day or even for a few hours. It just can't be clean clean. That’s weird,” says Matt Mitchell, founder of CryptoHarlem, a security and privacy training and advocacy nonprofit. “My recommendation is to make a finsta for travel, because if they ask you what your profile is, how are you gonna say ‘I don't use any social media’? Many people have a few accounts anyway. One ratchet, one wholesome—add one travel.”

Cyr, from Amnesty International, also points out that a true burner phone would be a “dumb” phone, which wouldn’t be able to run apps for encrypted communications. “The advantage that we all have with smartphones is that you can communicate in an encrypted way,” Cyr says. “People should be conscious that any nonencrypted communication is less secure than a phone call or a message on an application like Signal.”

While a travel device doesn’t need to use a prepaid SIM card bought with cash, it should not share your normal phone number, since this number is likely linked to most if not all of your key digital accounts. Buy a SIM card for your trip or only use the device on Wi-Fi.

Traveling With Your Primary Phone

The other approach you can take to protecting your device during border crossings is to modify your primary smartphone before travel. This involves removing old photos and messages and storing them somewhere else, cleaning out nonessential apps, and either removing some apps altogether or logging out of them with your main accounts and logging back in with travel accounts.

Mohammed Al-Maskati, digital security helpline director at the rights group Access Now, says that people should consider this type of clean-out before they travel. “I will look at my device and see what apps I need,” he says. “If I don't need the app, I just remove it.”

Al-Maskati adds that he suggests people particularly remember to remove dating apps and anything related to LGBTQI communities, especially if they consider themselves to be at higher risk of facing a device search. And generally, this approach is only safe if you are particularly diligent about removing every app that might expose you to risk.

You could use your own phone as a travel phone by backing it up, wiping it, building a travel device with only the apps you really need while traveling, going on your trip, and then restoring from the backup when you get home. This approach is doable but time consuming, and it creates more opportunities for operational security mistakes or what are known as “opsec fails.” If you try to delete all of your old, unwanted apps, but miss one, you could end up exposing an old social media account or other historic service that has forgotten data in it. Messaging apps can have easily searchable archives going back years and can automatically save photos and files without you realizing it. And if you back up all of your data to the cloud and take it off your device, but are still logged into the cloud account underpinning other services (like your main Google or Apple account), you could be asked to produce the data from the cloud for inspection.

Still, if you assess that you are at low risk of facing scrutiny during a border crossing or you don’t have access to an additional device for travel, modifying your main smartphone is a good option. Just be careful.

What To Do, If Nothing Else

Given all of this, you may be hyped up and ready to throw your phone in the ocean. Or you may be thinking there’s no way in hell that you’re ever going to take the time to deal with any of this. For those in the latter camp, you’ve come this far, so don’t click away just yet. If you don’t want to take the time to make a bunch of changes, and you don’t think you’re at particular risk during border crossings (though keep in mind that it’s possible your risk is higher than you realize), there are still a few easy things you can do to protect your digital privacy that are better than nothing.

First, as mentioned above, print a paper boarding pass and any other documents you might need. Even if you don’t turn your phone off and stow it in a bag for your entire entry or exit process, you can put it in your pocket and have your paper ticket and other documents ready while actually interacting with agents. And taking basic digital hygiene steps, like updating your phone and removing apps and data you no longer need, can go a long way.

“We all need to be recognizing that authorities may scrutinize your online presence, including social media activity and posts you’ve published,” says Danacea Vo, founder of Cyberlixir, a cybersecurity provider for nonprofits and vulnerable communities. “Since people have gotten more vocal on social media, they’re very worried about this. Some have even decided not to risk traveling to or from the US this year.”

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suzukiblu · 2 years ago

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Day sixteen of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

TTK does, apparently, protect Kon from callouses, which Tim learns the hard way as Kon laces their fingers together and rubs his thumb across the back of Tim’s hand. His skin is so much softer than it should be, Tim thinks accusingly. Couldn't he at least have the decency to have chapped hands? Sweaty palms or something, even?

Unfortunately, what Kon has is soft, warm, strong hands whose fingers lace easily through Tim's own, and Tim just has to deal with that somehow, apparently. Apparently that's just his problem now.

Bastard.

Tim needs to not melt into an incoherent pile of mush, so he just acts like this is fine and normal and normal and fine and walks into the store with Kon and leads him over to the phones. Kon seems smugly pleased. Tim pretends to not be an incoherent pile of mush.

It doesn't particularly work, but he at least puts in the effort.

“Any preferences?” he asks, tugging Kon towards the closest display.

“For a phone?” Kon says. “Not really. I mean, whatever works.”

Tim is going to take full advantage of that “whatever”, he immediately promises himself. Full and total and complete.

“Okay,” he agrees, then starts looking at the high-end models. No point in going cheap, though he's definitely going to make sure to pick a durable brand with the least possible degree of planned obsolescence involved. If it comes to it, he'll either upgrade one or build Kon something outright later, but for now the standard retail models are gonna have to do.

“Uh,” Kon says, cocking his head with a bemused expression and then gesturing towards the wall with his half-empty smoothie cup. Tim is perfectly normal about the fact that they're still holding hands. All kinds of it. Completely and totally. “The burners are over there, man.”

“Why would I get you a prepaid phone?” Tim asks, making a point of putting on a skeptical expression. “Most of those models don't even have a decent camera.”

“That is a nine hundred dollar smartphone that you are currently looking at,” Kon says incredulously.

“Given your powerset involves the ability to decide to make anything you're touching invulnerable, I'm not particularly concerned about you breaking it,” Tim replies reasonably. “Like, are you even capable of dropping things?”

“Technically no, but I still fight supervillains on the daily, dude,” Kon says.

“Then I'll spring for the accident insurance,” Tim replies reasonably. “I'd have to come back to buy you a new burner anyway, so it's just easier all around if you can duck in and pick up a replacement without needing to wait for me.”

“It is nine hundred dollars,” Kon says.

“There's an eight hundred dollar model, if you don't mind a little less memory,” Tim says.

“The burners are like, twenty bucks,” Kon says. “And you don’t need to sign up for a plan or anything.”

“Yes, but if you run out of minutes or break it, you’ll need me to come reload or replace it,” Tim says. “This way you can do it yourself and you can talk as much as you want.”

“How much exactly are you expecting to want to talk to me, man?” Kon says with a self-deprecating little laugh. Tim thinks vicious thoughts, makes room for a few more spaces on his supervillain vengeance list, and then just shrugs.

“Up to you,” he says. “I mean, I have school and extracurricular stuff, but that only fills up so much of the day, you know?”

“You cannot possibly have researched me thoroughly enough to be that sure we’re gonna get along,” Kon says, frowning faintly at the phones.

“You’re seriously underestimating my capacity for research,” Tim informs him, taking a sip of his smoothie. “Also I’m really just going on how well we’ve been getting along so far.”

“Oh,” Kon says, and his face flushes again. “Uh . . . okay.”

“How about this one?” Tim suggests, tipping his head towards one of the mid-range models. Decent brand and sturdy build, but not quite as expensive.

“That’s still five hundred bucks,” Kon says.

“I am intending to spend a lot more than five hundred bucks on you today,” Tim says. “And anyway, five hundred bucks for both our conveniences is a small price to pay, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” Kon says, glancing towards him for a moment before looking back to the phones. “Um . . . maybe, then. If you’re–sure.”

“I’m sure,” Tim says firmly. “Seriously, I’m not texting you on your work phone, that’s a terrible idea.”

“If you say so, man,” Kon says, ducking his head a little like he’s trying to hide his smile. It’d work better if he weren’t taller than him, probably.

The bastard is still holding his hand, so it’s only fair, Tim figures.

God, since when is Kon this cute, anyway? He's always annoyingly hot, obviously–leaning more strongly towards the “annoying”, for obvious reasons–but he isn't usually cute. Tim wasn't prepared for that. He hasn't had the time to build up the necessary defenses against it.

“I say so,” Tim says. “What color do you want?”

“You're a very weird dude, you know,” Kon says with a little laugh, shaking his head.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon #long post

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msoregano21 · 3 days ago

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The Battle Within Ch. 2

Danny pushed open the door of the business building where he just had class. Autumn in Oregon was not like home–the campus seemed to be bathed in a warm glow of gold with speckles of brown and red in the trees. The outside air was cold like Amity Park, yet there were students out on the lawns, chatting and doing homework, even one playing the guitar.

“Danny!”

He turned to find Emma waving to him, hand-in-hand with Tucker.

“Where you off to now?” she said when they caught up to him.

“Lunch. You?”

“Same, but I have class at two,” Tucker said.

“I don’t have class ‘til the evening. I’m just here to take Tucker to lunch,” Emma said. “You and Sam should come with us to the Bistro!”

“Sounds good! Thanks, guys. Let’s go pick up Sam, then. I’ll text her to meet us outside the chemistry building.”

They weaved their way around campus to find Sam sitting on the steps, scrolling through her phone, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey Sam!” Emma shouted.

She rushed over to Sam’s side and looped her arm through hers.

“Hi Emma.” Her face relaxed as she slid her phone into her pocket. “Hey guys.”

“How was class?” Danny said as they all walked together.

“Honestly…kinda boring.”

“Really?” “Yeah, just a review of concepts that I learned last semester as a freshman. I tried catching up with world news to pass the time, but I had to scroll through so much celebrity gossip to get to the stuff I was interested in.”

“Seriously,” Emma said, “we need a phone that prioritizes ethical news content and actual factual information while also showing more of what interests a person right on the home screen.”

“I got you, babe,” Tucker said. “I’m telling you, FoleyFone is going to be a thing. I’m going to reinvent the smartphone so that it’s better, faster, and actually gives people what they want. Like foldable phones. It’s about time we had a touch screen that can bend to any angle!”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Emma said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to see it,” Danny said.

The path narrowed into a sidewalk. Emma pulled Sam back, letting the boys walk ahead of them.

“You okay?” Emma said, keeping her voice low.

“Uh, yeah, why–”

“You were making that face.”

“Face? What face?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “Sam. Come on. We lived together for a year. And we still hang out all the time, even after you and Danny moved in together. I know you saw something about yourself or Danny on social media or some gossip site that you didn’t like.”

Sam quickly glanced at the guys, who were now animatedly discussing their plan to defeat the next level boss of their video game.

“It’s not like I look for it. It came up on my news search. I hardly call it ‘news.’”

“What did they say?”

A laugh broke out between their boyfriends, and Sam felt a warmth overcome her. She would do anything to protect that childlike joy within Danny for as long as possible.

“...Someone snapped some pictures of us grocery shopping yesterday. They listed out what we bought.” “Jeez! Can’t even buy the essentials without the paparazzi.”

Emma looked over at Sam’s stern face as she stared straight past their little group, as if surveying for any cameras ahead of them.

“That’s not all, is it?”

Sam sighed. “No…”

“You read the comments, didn’t you?” “I didn’t mean to.”

Emma pulled her back a little more.

“...They called me a necrophiliac. Someone else called me a…well, an antisemitic slur.”

“Oh my goodness, Sam…”

“The necrophilia is a new one. I’ll give them points for that.”

“You don’t deserve that.”

Emma pulled her elbow in tighter and rested her head briefly on Sam’s shoulder.

“Tucker had to turn off the comments on his InstantPic pretty soon after word got out that we were together, and you already know I had to make that new LookBook account under a fake name.”

“Yeah, you said you weren’t ready to talk about it.”

Emma leaned into her friend, and Sam placed her head on top of hers.

“I got messages saying I was slut or a gold digger. They called me on his posts…” Her breath caught in her throat.

“You don’t have to repeat it…”

“Let’s just say they had a field day on things to call two Black people dating each other. Although, they did say more stuff about me than him.”

Sam shook her head. “You know, I was called a slut, too. Even though I’ve only ever been with Danny!” “That’s just stupid.”

“But you know something, they’ll call us women whatever they want–a hoe, a skank, whatever–and they’ll hardly ever say anything about the guys. With Danny, it was like, ‘He’s a superhero! He’s a Nobel Peace Prize winner! He’s this, he’s that…’”

“They’re the winners,” Emma said softly.

“And we’re the sluts.”

They ceased their conversation when Danny held the door open to the Bistro.

“Thank you,” Emma said as she walked in and interlocked her hand with Tucker’s.

Sam kissed him on the cheek.

“You good?” he said. “You two seemed to be talking about something important. We didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for giving us some space.”

Click.

All these years of dating Danny gave her an excellent ear for picking up the sound of a phone camera going off.

She shot her head towards the direction of the sound.

A young man with a buzz cut lowered the phone behind the plush booth, but his blue-green eyes never left hers.

Click.

Another camera went off behind them.

Click click click click click.

“Uh, Sam?” Emma said as she spun around to find the horde of college students at this point no longer caring about subtlety and decency.

“Guys, we should go…” Tucker said, shielding Emma with his body as best as he could.

“It’s Danny…” “Tucker Foley…” “...Danny Phantom is RIGHT over there!”

Danny ground his teeth together.

“Guys!” Tucker said as Emma pulled him back outside.

“Danny…”

Sam pulled back on his hoodie.

“You people…” Danny growled.

“Danny?”

“What are you looking at? Huh?!” he said with a raised voice, his eyes suddenly turning fluorescent green.

The chatter came to a dramatic halt.

“We’re just normal people, trying to get something to eat, just like the rest of you. Turn around and find something else to talk about!”

“Danny, your eyes!” Sam said.

He gasped at the realization and forced himself to calm down, which reverted his eyes back to normal.

“We’re going,” she said.

He let himself get pulled back out of the Bistro by two pairs of hands.

When he turned around, Tucker and Sam removed their grip on him.

“It’s okay. We can stop at our apartment and order something from DinerDash,” Emma said.

“Lead the way,” Danny grumbled.

Tucker sighed and, taking Emma’s hand again, led the group back to their place.

“What happened back there?” Sam asked as she interlaced their fingers together.

“I’ve just…had enough of other people ruining our normal lives.”

He did not want to tell her about the grocery trip article he found a classmate reading in his business class.

#danny phantom #fanfic #fanfiction writer #ao3 author #ao3 writer #fanfics #fanfic writing #phandom #The Battle Within DP #danny phantom oc

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bardic-tales · 5 months ago

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The Leviathan method: Step 11: Describe Your Protagonist(s)

Bianca Moore is a striking figure with golden hair that frames her flawless complexion and brown eyes, complemented by an hourglass figure. Standing at 5 feet tall, her appearance is both graceful and formidable, with white, black, and gold wings accented by golden feathers that hint at her celestial origins. Despite her angelic beauty, her elongated canines and aura of mystery hint at her hybrid nature. She is shaped by trauma and conflict. Bianca carries the weight of her tumultuous past with silent strength and often conceals her vulnerability behind a mask of pragmatism and reserve.

Quick Reference List

Tech Knowledge: Basic Modern Tech, Writing Software

Economic Class: Upper Middle-Class Author, Self-Sufficient, CEO Wife

Skills: Magic Combat (time-space-ice), Healing, Reality Manipulation. Swordsmanship (Noctemaris - Solstice)

Hobbies: Reading, Sketching, Writing

Classifications: Celestial-Demonic Hybrid, Otherworldly, Cosmic Horror

Vital Stats: Petite Build, Ethereal Glow, Dual Heritage

Bianca Moore: Detailed Character Breakdown

Technology/Tech Knowledge Bianca has a rudimentary understanding of modern technology but is far from a tech-savvy individual. She knows how to operate everyday devices like smartphones and laptops, using them primarily to write her novels or research. Her skills extend to basic software like word processors and communication tools, but she struggles with more advanced or futuristic technology. Due to her displacement, she has no need for advanced machinery, relying instead on her abilities. However, she is intrigued by weaponry and gadgets, particularly those she encounters in the world of Final Fantasy VII. Tech Knowledge: Basic Modern Tech, Writing Software

Economic/Social Class (during her marriage to Mordecai) Bianca’s economic status reflects her partnership with Mordecai, whose successful business ventures as CEO of Darklight Publishing ensured a comfortable and stable life for both of them. As an accomplished romance novelist, Bianca also contributed to their financial security. Her career, while not as lucrative as Mordecai’s publishing business, allowed her creative freedom and an independent sense of purpose. Economic Class: Middle-Class Author, Self-Sufficient, CEO's wife

Magic Abilities or Skills Bianca possesses a vast array of abilities tied to her celestial and demonic lineage. Her most prominent powers include spatial manipulation, energy projection, and the ability to interact with the souls of the departed. She has time, space, ice, nightmare, healing and protective magic, . Her combat style relies on agility, evasion, and precision strikes with her celestial blade, Solstice, and demonic blade Noctemaris. While she has some knowledge of swordsmanship, she excels more in magical combat and strategic planning. Skills: Magic Combat (time-space-ice), Healing, Reality Manipulation

Culture and Hobbies Bianca is a passionate reader, finding solace in romance and survival novels that mirror aspects of her life. She also enjoys sketching, often drawing scenes from her past or the people she holds dear. She appreciates moments of quiet reflection, writing in her journal, or exploring natural landscapes. Her hobbies provide a reprieve from her turbulent existence, grounding her in a sense of normalcy. Hobbies: Reading, Sketching, Writing

Classifications Bianca’s unique lineage as a celestial-demonic hybrid grants a distinctive appearance. Her golden hair, radiant complexion, and glowing eyes mark her as a being of divine origin, She has angel wings (black, white, and gold feathers). Classifications: Celestial-Demonic Hybrid, Otherworldly, Cosmic Horror

Vital Statistics Height: 5 feet (152 cm) Weight: 105 lbs (47.6 kg); 128.6 lbs (58.3 kg) including wings Age: 23 Health: Moderately stable, though influenced by her traumatic past Appearance: Bianca has waist-length wavy gold hair, piercing brown eyes that glows gold when she uses her powers, and an hourglass figure. Vital Stats: Petite Build, Ethereal Glow, Dual Heritage

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @whatwedointhecraft @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @seastarblue

@inkandimpressions

#my ocs #ff vii oc #character sheet: fwc #character sheet: fwc: ff #fwc: ff #characters: fwc #characters: fwc: ff #character sheet: bianca moore #bardic tales #bardic-tales #wip: blood and stardust #lm: step 11: describe protagonist #passion project: fantasy worlds collide #oc: bianca moore

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stacksrackz · 1 month ago

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Act I, Chapter 4

Word count: 4.6k

The Texas sun was already making its ascent into the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the landscape by the time Estelle decisively zipped her suitcase shut, readying herself for the journey ahead. Morning light streamed through the delicate lace-curtained windows of Mère Solène’s grand estate, illuminating the room and creating a shimmering spectacle as it caught the dust motes swirling through the air—tiny fragments of beauty, suspended in the golden glow like glitter trapped in a timeless bottle of amber. The house, with its sturdy walls steeped in history and sentiment, felt unusually still, almost sacred in its silence; it was as if the very structure itself was holding its breath, anticipating the momentous changes that were about to unfold.

In the living room, Mère Solène sat patiently, her wise eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and intent as she cradled a small velvet pouch in her hands, its rich color seeming to absorb the light around it. “Protection,” she said, her voice low, inviting, and melodious, like a soft lullaby that echoed through the quiet air. “Not revenge. Not power. Just protection.” With gentle resolve, Estelle reached for the pouch, her fingers brushing against Solène’s. Their hands met—warm, firm, and filled with an understanding that felt both profound and final. In that fleeting moment, neither woman could bear to look away, both sensing the weight of destiny hanging between them.

“You’ll do what needs doing,” Solène murmured, her words imbued with a mix of encouragement and caution. “Just don’t forget—you’re not a girl anymore, bébé. Don’t act like one.”

“I don’t plan to,” Estelle replied, determination sparking in her eyes as she readied herself for the path that lay ahead. Just then, Avelle appeared at the end of the hallway, her arms crossed, a whirlwind of emotions swirling around her. Without hesitation, she swept Estelle into a tight hug, drawing her close as she whispered fervently, “You move like the bloodline is watchin’ you—’cause it is. We been waitin’ on you to wake up since ’32.”

Amara stood hesitantly by the door, clutching her keys tightly in her hand, her fingers nervously playing with the cool metal as her eyes darted anxiously between each person in the room, a whirlwind of emotions battling within her like a storm. It was clear that she was grappling with the overwhelming urge to cry, her throat tightening as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. “If we don’t leave now,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with urgency, “we’re not going to make that flight.” The weight of her words hung in the air, underscoring the reality of their tight timetable. Estelle, however, did not take a moment to say goodbye to her friends or acknowledge the tension that filled the room; instead, she simply turned and steeled herself, stepping boldly out into the crisp morning air, leaving behind the warmth of their shared moments and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

The airport was much colder than she had anticipated, a brisk chill that seemed to seep into her bones and make her shiver slightly. Estelle followed Amara through the bustling terminal like an obedient shadow, her eyes darting around in a whirlwind of excitement and mild trepidation—taking in the automatic sliding doors that whooshed open and shut, the vibrant neon signs that illuminated the space with a kaleidoscope of colors, and the multitude of people conversing animatedly into their glowing rectangles, which she recognized as smartphones. She remained silent, choosing not to voice the myriad questions swirling in her mind, yet her grip on the suitcase was unwavering, a testament to her nervousness.

They eventually made their way to the first-class boarding area. As they stepped inside, Estelle's eyes widened at the sight before her. The seats resembled miniature thrones, plush and luxurious, firmly bolted to the floor as if they were meant to provide a sense of stability amidst the chaos of air travel. Estelle cautiously sat down, her movements deliberate, aiming for a posture that was both proper and composed; her back was straight, and her lips were pressed tightly together in a line that reflected her anxiety. In stark contrast, Amara settled into her seat with an ease that suggested she had done this many times before, as if none of this were unusual at all.

“Relax,” Amara said with an air of nonchalance, as though calming a frightened kitten. “Planes are like magic school buses. You just sit still and pray you don’t die.”

Estelle couldn’t help but let a small frown form at that comment. “That’s not comforting,” she replied, feeling the tension in her shoulders tighten further.

Amara merely shrugged, an indifference etched on her features. “I ain’t here to comfort,” she stated with a hint of a grin playing on her lips. “I’m here to deliver.” The weight of those words hung between them, stirring a mix of anticipation and apprehension in Estelle as she settled into the plush seat, every sound around her amplifying her racing heart.

When the plane took off with a powerful surge of speed, Estelle instinctively gripped the armrest, her knuckles turning white as she braced herself for the sudden burst of motion. The force of acceleration propelled her back into the plush seat, as if invisible hands were firmly pushing her into the cushioned embrace. Outside the tiny oval window, the earth beneath her began to tilt at an angle that made her stomach churn, while the immense expanse of the sky opened up before her like a thrilling invitation. A sharp pop echoed in her ears, a reminder of the pressure changes at this altitude, and with it, her stomach performed a startling flip, like a roller coaster plunging into a heart-stopping descent. Blinking through the haze of lightheadedness that washed over her, Estelle managed to whisper to herself, “This doesn’t feel natural,” the words escaping her lips in a mix of awe and anxiety.

Seated beside her, Amara barely lifted her gaze from the bright screen of her phone, seemingly unfazed by the tumult occurring around them. With a casual air, she replied, “It’s not,” her voice devoid of any drama. “It’s Delta,” she added, as if the mention of the airline somehow explained the bewildering rush of emotions and sensations swirling within Estelle. The atmosphere was electric with excitement, and Estelle couldn’t help but feel a mix of trepidation and exhilaration, all wrapped up in the sheer thrill of flying through the boundless sky on a metal bird.

Later, as the anticipation filled the air, the drinks finally arrived, carried skillfully by the flight attendant, who began to rattle off an impressively lengthy list of beverage options at an astonishingly rapid pace—champagne, juice, espresso, sparkling water. The words seemed to blend together, and Estelle found herself feeling a bit lost amidst the whirlwind of choices.

Confused, she turned to her friend and asked, “What’s a mimosa?”

Amara, sitting nearby, leaned over with a glint of excitement in her eye and explained, “It’s a delightful combination of champagne and orange juice.”

Estelle's expression shifted to a frown as she processed this unusual pairing. “Why would someone do that?” she wondered aloud, genuinely perplexed by the idea of mixing the bubbly with the citrus.

“Just give it a try!” Amara encouraged, her enthusiasm infectious.

With a sense of hesitation, but spurred on by her friend’s insistence, Estelle took the plunge and brought the glass to her lips, allowing just one hesitant sip. Her face remained still, yet her eyes conveyed a whirlwind of thoughts and reactions that words couldn’t express.

“It’s… sweet,” she finally managed to say, a mix of surprise and uncertainty in her voice.

“You’ll get used to it,” Amara reassured her, a smile playing on her lips, clearly enjoying the moment.

“I don’t want to,” Estelle replied, her tone light yet firm, as she considered whether she would ever embrace such a peculiar concoction.

Somewhere over the vast and lush landscapes of Louisiana, where the sun cast a warm golden light across the bayous and fields, Estelle finally surrendered to the pull of exhaustion and gently shut her eyes. The rhythmic hum of the airplane engines provided a soothing backdrop, a lullaby that beckoned her to drift into a world of dreams. As she leaned back in her seat, the rolling hills and sprawling wetlands below began to fade from her mind, inviting her to find a moment of peace amidst the chaos of travel. It was in that fleeting moment, high above the earth, that Estelle felt the heavy weight of her worries start to lift, allowing her to embrace a quiet stillness that had long eluded her. As she embraced the enveloping quietness of the early morning, with the world outside still wrapped in slumber, Estelle fell into a delicate, foggy memory that danced just beyond her reach, beckoning her to explore the corners of her past, swirling like mist in a picturesque landscape. It was as if the gentle stillness around her had unlocked a hidden door to her mind, inviting her to wander through the ethereal pathways of yesteryears, where vibrant moments faded into soft echoes, and familiar faces flickered like shadows in the distance. With each breath she took, she felt the layers of time peeling away, revealing fragments of laughter and whispers, as nostalgia washed over her like a warm wave, urging her to linger just a little longer in this magical reverie….

The juke joint glows with a deep, vibrant red, casting an almost surreal light that dances across the walls, enveloping the atmosphere in an aura of both excitement and danger. Her legs—bare and vulnerable, yet strong—tremble slightly, revealing a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty as she stands in the center of this chaotic scene. Her lips are parted just enough to suggest she might speak, yet they remain silent, suspended in a moment where words could either provide comfort or amplify the tension that looms in the air. Stack’s face is mere inches from hers, his intensity palpable as he leans in closer, whispering something that feels both soft and violent—a murmur that carries the weight of hidden intentions and unspoken fears. Suddenly, a loud bang erupts, shattering the charged silence like glass breaking under pressure. Blood spills forth, painting the once vibrant scene in shades of dark crimson, while the weight of death begins to bloom inside her chest, pressing down like an iron hand, leaving her frozen in place, caught between the thrill of life and the horror of loss.

She woke with a sharp breath that seemed to slice through the early morning silence like a knife. In that moment, there was no sound at all—just a profound stillness that wrapped around her like a soft, comforting blanket. Estelle glanced over at Amara, who was still peacefully sleeping, her chest rising and falling gently in rhythm with the quietude that enveloped the room.

With a yearning gaze, Estelle turned her attention to the window beside her. She watched as clouds drifted gracefully across the sky outside, slipping beneath them like ethereal ghosts, their shapes shifting and morphing in a mesmerizing dance. “I’m not dead,” she whispered softly to herself, a mixture of relief and determination lacing her words. “Not this time.” Each word resonated in the stillness, a quiet proclamation infused with a flicker of hope. In that fragile moment of realization, she embraced the breath of life and all the possibilities that lay ahead.

They landed in Atlanta, greeted by the sun still hanging high in the clear blue sky, while the air enveloped them, thick and heavy like a warm, damp blanket. Estelle moved through the bustling terminal at a slower pace than before, her senses heightened and fully engaged, as her eyes took in every detail around her: the vibrant glow of nearby vending machines flickering with a promise of snacks and drinks, the cacophony of overlapping voices blending into a chorus of excited greetings and farewells, and the sight of a small boy energetically dragging a suitcase that seemed far too large for his tiny frame.

As they stepped outside, the heat hit her with an unmistakable force, wrapping around her like a sudden, stifling embrace. It was hard and humid—a stark reminder that they were no longer in the cool, comfortable confines of wherever they had come from. They piled into a car that began to roll forward, cruising past vivid murals bursting with color, lively vendors calling out their enticing wares, and the slow, steady crawl of traffic that seemed almost as lazy as the afternoon itself. The unmistakable thump of trap music filled the air, setting a vibrant rhythm that seemed to pulse through the very streets of the city.

As the skyline began to unfold in the distance, Estelle watched, captivated by the towering glass buildings and tall antennas reaching skyward, stretching and twisting as if they were yearning to touch the heavens above. The scene unfolded before her like a stunning visual narrative, but she remained quiet, lost in her own thoughts, allowing the images to wash over her.

“What are you thinking?” Amara’s voice broke the silence, nudging Estelle back into the moment. Without turning to meet her friend's gaze, she replied contemplatively, “I feel like I died and woke up in somebody else’s dream.” There was a vulnerability in her words, a sense of disconnection that echoed in the heavy air between them.

“That’s kinda what happened,” Amara said with an understanding nod, finally drawing Estelle's attention. Estelle turned to her friend, uncertainty written across her face. “What if I don’t fit here?”

With a confident smirk, Amara shot back, “You don’t. You ain’t supposed to fit in. You here to disrupt.” Each word carried a weight of promise, a challenge inviting Estelle to embrace the unfamiliarity, to carve her own distinct path amid the bustling chaos of the city. The exchange hung in the air, both a revelation and a declaration, as the vibrant pulse of Atlanta thrummed beneath them, waiting for Estelle to dive in headfirst.

Amara’s cozy apartment perched on the third floor of an unassuming building, nestled discreetly behind a bustling laundromat and a quaint nail salon. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by an inviting aroma that blended the earthy scent of burning sage with the sweet notes of an expensive lotion—an olfactory signature that enveloped guests in warmth and tranquility. A vintage vinyl record spun in the background, filling the air with a slow, soulful melody that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the space. Lush green plants, with their leaves reaching yearningly toward the sunlight streaming through the window, added a touch of life and vibrancy to the atmosphere. Stacks of books, piled high in corners as if they had sprouted there organically, hinted at the many stories and adventures that echoed within those pages.

Estelle stepped into the room, taking in the surroundings with wide eyes, as if she were wandering through an art gallery filled with treasures. “It’s so peaceful,” she remarked, her voice filled with awe. “It’s mine,” Amara replied, her pride evident as she embraced her personal sanctuary. The two friends settled into the moment, sitting comfortably with juice glasses resting on the table, beads of condensation forming on their surfaces. The music played softly in the background, creating an intimate cocoon of sound that enveloped them.

After a serene pause, Estelle turned to Amara with a curious glint in her eye. “Show me what the girls wear now,” she urged, her excitement palpable. Amara turned slowly, a big, infectious smile spreading across her face as she responded playfully, “Say less.” The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, as Estelle awaited a glimpse into Amara’s world—a world vibrant with style, flair, and individuality that reflected the essence of their generation.

But they certainly didn’t kick things off by diving straight into choosing the dress. “Oh no, baby,” Amara declared with a playful smirk, snapping on her gloves with the finesse of a seasoned surgeon preparing for a delicate procedure. “We’re going to start with the basics, and trust me, you’ll want to pay attention.” Estelle, whose curiosity was already piqued, raised a curious brow and glanced at Amara with an inquisitive look. “What kind of basics are you talking about?” she asked, her interest genuinely sparked.

Amara leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, and replied, “The self-care kind, darling,” as if revealing a well-guarded secret. She knew that to create a truly stunning look, it wasn't merely about the clothes one wore but how one felt from the inside out. Self-care, Amara believed, was the bedrock upon which brilliance was built, and she was determined to impart that wisdom to Estelle with every step of their journey.

“Eyebrows,” Amara said with a playful smile as she held up a shiny pair of tweezers, preparing for the task ahead. “Hold still,” she instructed, her tone firm yet teasing. “You’re going to pluck my face?” Estelle responded with a mix of disbelief and amusement, raising an eyebrow of her own at the thought of such a beauty endeavor.

“Yes,” Amara confirmed, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “These little wisps you got?” she continued, gesturing dramatically toward Estelle’s unkempt brows. “Very Dust Bowl. Let’s elevate your look to something a bit more polished and chic.” Estelle gulped nervously, her heart racing as a feeling of dread flooded her. She winced at the very first pull, the sensation sharp and unexpected. “Are you sure this is necessary?” she asked cautiously, trying to convey her reluctance while nestled in the warm atmosphere of their shared space.

“I’m positive,” Amara replied confidently, determination evident in her voice. “Beauty is pain. Welcome back to womanhood!” she added with a flourish, as if welcoming Estelle into an exclusive club that required a little discomfort for the sake of aesthetic appeal. The air in the room was charged with a mix of anticipation and apprehension as Estelle braced herself for what was sure to be an experience that blended friendship with a fair amount of beauty sacrifice.

Facial waxing is an experience that often brings a mix of anticipation and discomfort. As the warm wax is applied to the skin, a feeling of slight burning typically follows. “This is burning,” one might exclaim, expressing the pain that accompanies beauty in the pursuit of smooth skin. To this, the esthetician calmly replies, “It’s supposed to,” reassuring the client that this sensation is a normal part of the process, meant to remove those pesky little hairs that can feel stubbornly invasive.

In response to this reassurance, it’s not uncommon for someone to mutter in disbelief, “That can’t be right,” questioning the logic behind such beauty rituals that involve enduring temporary discomfort for the sake of a polished appearance. Yet, with a hint of humor, the esthetician might compare the situation to the concept of resurrection, remarking, “Neither is resurrection, but here you are,” illustrating that sometimes, experiences that might seem daunting or illogical can lead to a transformative feeling of renewal.

So, amidst the laughter and shared understanding of the beauty struggle, one can find camaraderie in the discomfort and emerge with not just smooth skin, but also a story to tell about the wild ride of personal grooming.

“Bikini wax.” Amara confidently held up a warm wax strip, its gentle heat radiating as she prepared for the task ahead. With a playful smirk, she instructed, “Drop the robe.” Estelle's reaction was immediate; she took a shocked step back, her eyes wide as if Amara had just drawn a weapon. “That’s below the belt,” she exclaimed, a hint of panic in her voice.

“Exactly. This part ain’t for them—it’s for you,” Amara stated, her tone light yet reassuring. “Trust me, once we’re done, you gon’ feel like an absolute goddess, ready to conquer the world.”

Estelle remained hesitant, glancing between the wax strip and her own reflection in the mirror. “This feels like a trap,” she murmured, doubt clouding her expression.

Amara chuckled softly, her enthusiasm unshakeable. “You came back from the dead! If you can handle that, then you can definitely survive this little beauty ritual. Just think of it as a rite of passage—embracing your fabulous self. You might even start to wonder why you didn’t try this sooner.”

With a flicker of determination igniting in her heart, Estelle considered the potential outcome. She imagined herself transformed, infused with an invigorating energy and renewed confidence.

With meticulous care and artistry, they carefully sectioned it into manageable parts, ensuring every strand was perfectly poised for transformation. Then, they generously oiled it, infusing each lock with nourishing goodness that would not only add shine but also vitality. Next, they blew it out, skillfully utilizing the heat and airflow to create a smooth, voluminous base. As the final touch, they curled it into long, luxurious waves that cascaded elegantly down the shoulders, a stunning testament to their dedication and expertise. “You’ve got too much body to not have body,” Amara declared with a bright smile, her enthusiasm infectious. “This hair? This hair’s about to tell a story,” she continued, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she envisioned the countless tales and adventures that would be woven into each graceful curl.

Makeup was strewn across the vanity like a painter's palette, a myriad of colors and textures waiting to be transformed into an enchanting masterpiece. The ring light, bright and inviting, illuminated the space, casting a warm glow that made everything feel magical. Lashes, elegant and voluminous, were carefully laid out, ready to be applied and enhance Estelle’s captivating eyes. Brushes danced across her skin with a gentle but deliberate grace, each stroke a testament to artistry honed over countless hours.

Amara sculpted Estelle’s face with the precision of a skilled architect, a woman who had been raised in a lineage that demanded nothing less than perfection. Every touch was intentional, every contour carved out with the finesse of a seasoned expert. The matte foundation glided on effortlessly, creating an impeccable base, while cheekbones emerged as if they had been chiseled from marble, sharp and alluring. A touch of gloss brought Estelle’s lips to life, giving them a look so tantalizingly luscious that one couldn’t help but wonder how they might taste.

As Estelle gazed into the mirror, she was momentarily spellbound by the reflection staring back at her. The transformation was nothing short of extraordinary, making her almost unrecognizable in the most flattering way. “I don’t even need a name,” she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and joy. “I just need to walk in.”

With a gleam in her eye, Amara grinned, the kind of grin that promised excitement and mischief. “And baby, when you do? Don’t let nobody breathe too easy,” she replied, her voice dripping with confidence and enthusiasm. Estelle felt the thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins, ready to take on the world with the fierce beauty that now radiated from her.

Then came the moment to unveil the dress. It was a stunning deep burgundy velvet, rich in texture and exuding elegance. The design was short and strapless, crafted with a daring low cut that hinted at an alluring secret, as if the fabric itself had a story to tell. Estelle approached the garment with a mix of excitement and anticipation, stepping into it slowly, savoring how each inch embraced her form.

When Amara, her trusted friend and confidante, carefully zipped her up, it was as though the dress had been patiently waiting for ninety long years to finally meet its perfect match. The fabric molded to her body like a second skin, highlighting her curves and accentuating her figure in the most flattering way.

With a deep breath, Estelle turned to face the mirror, and the reflection that stared back at her was nothing short of breathtaking. Her hair cascaded down in glossy waves, catching the light and shimmering like the stars in a night sky. Her skin glowed in a warm golden hue, radiating confidence and vitality. Estelle’s lashes fluttered dramatically, framing her eyes like delicate, captivating wings, transforming her gaze into something spellbinding. Her lips, full and painted with a hint of mischief, seemed ready to form the words of a thousand untold stories.

In that moment, she didn’t merely look like someone who had returned from the shadows of the past; she appeared reborn and invigorated, embodying the very essence of allure and temptation—like sin itself had risen anew, clad in deep burgundy velvet. It was a striking transformation that promised an unforgettable evening ahead.

Amara quickly raised her camera, the lens focused intently on her friend. With a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, she commanded, “Don’t move,” as if capturing a fleeting moment of magic. Estelle, in response, effortlessly struck a captivating pose, her natural grace shining through without a hint of hesitation. With just one swift glance in the mirror and a subtle tilt of her chin, she embodied a blend of elegance and strength. Click. Click. The shutter of the camera echoed softly in the quiet space, each sound sealing the moment in time.

Amara, with a sense of pride and excitement, turned the screen around to reveal the image she had just captured. “Look at you,” she exclaimed, her voice laced with admiration, as she showed Estelle the beautiful photograph.

Estelle’s eyes widened as she stared at the reflection of herself in the image, a complex mix of emotions washing over her. “She’s not who they buried,” she said quietly, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air, each syllable resonating deeply as she processed the complexities of her identity.

“No,” Amara whispered back, her voice soft and empathetic, as if she understood the profound implications of what Estelle was trying to convey. “She’s who came back.” There was a moment of silence, filled with an unspoken bond between the two friends, as they both contemplated the powerful journey of transformation and resilience that Estelle had undergone.

They stepped out into the sweltering heat of Atlanta, the kind of oppressive warmth that made the air shimmer, and they strode forward with a swagger that suggested they owned every inch of the bustling city around them. A man hurried past them on the stairs, caught off guard by their commanding presence; he turned around in surprise and nearly lost his balance, teetering on the edge of embarrassment. But Estelle, unfazed and stoic, didn’t so much as blink or flinch at the distracted passerby. There was an air of confidence about her that demanded attention, yet she held her cool like a seasoned star in the spotlight.

As they continued down the sun-soaked sidewalk, the anticipation of their destination buzzed in the air like a police siren in a silent night. By the time they reached the car, a sleek vehicle parked under the protective shade of a nearby tree, Amara was already deftly unlocking the doors, her nimble fingers moving with practiced ease. Estelle gracefully slid into the passenger seat, her movements fluid and regal, like a queen reclaiming her throne after a long absence.

She didn't need to ask where they were headed next, for the answer was well-known and familiar to both of them. The name hung in the air between them like a shared secret, a promise of laughter and adventure waiting to unfold. The destination was clear — Bella. The thought fluttered like a butterfly in Estelle’s chest, full of vibrant memories and the excitement of new ones yet to be made.

#stack #stack sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners film #bellacti

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year ago

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Best and worst of both worlds (part 12)

Tw: injury, yandere and monty just being a creep

the University option was 60% wben the votes were 20, idk y suddenly u guys decided to favour 5 blocks away from ur house too

Damn from what i seen theres like distinct team monty and team Yves, ngl as writer i am biased towards Yves he my favourite

Part 13

You told him that you need to go to class.

Montgomery frowned. "If ya' say so." He shifted his gears and began driving away.

You looked at the scenery around you. This place is definitely not somewhere you visited before, you see a few buses driving by. But none of which you recognize.

"You free during the weekends?" He asked.

You said no.

Montgomery pouted. "Well, when are you free?"

You shrugged and said being a university student is demanding.

He sighed dejectedly. "What do I know, I only have a high school diploma. Wasn't one for the books, I'd rather git' out there and make me some cash."

You stayed silent.

"You ain't built for that, it really ain't for the faint hearted. So you gotta stay in school and try your hardest, sweetheart. Follow your dreams of becoming... whatever you wanted to be."

You nodded in acknowledgement. But Montgomery kept talking.

"I came to the city 'cause I heard I can make it big there. I didn't really have a plan, I was hopin' I'd make big bucks and start my own business." He switched his blinker on as he readies himself to make a turn.

"It was totally harder than I thought. I moved from city to city, was broke in every single one and I had to live out of my car if I wanted to eat. The people, all of 'em were mean as hell no matter where I go. They're nothin' like the people back home."

Curiosity gets the best of you and you asked why didn't he just return to base.

He laughed. "I didn't wanna hear an 'I told you so' from my family. I had to fight to get out of that damn farm. I can't imagine the humiliation if I come back home, tail between my legs, empty handed."

The air between you became quiet after that.

"So... what are ya' studying?"

You tried your best to explain your degree and the profession that you're hoping to work as. Montgomery hummed in response.

"I dunno much about that. But it sure sounds stressful and too brainy for me. You're such a smart kid."

You said thanks.

"A little lackin' in the brawn department though. That's why you need me to protect ya'." He grinned. "We sure are such a great match! When I get that business idea of mine up and runnin', you're gonna be handling the books. I'll be handlin' the shop- the physical part. We're gonna be swimmin' in riches, in no time!"

You didn't respond to that, making his excited laughter die down quickly.

"...Or you could just choose what'cha wanna do. Fine by me, I'll fund it the best I can." Montgomery is starting to look uncomfortable, it seems like he's trying to make some conversation with you. But you didn't want to give him any more of your attention.

The rest of the ride went by smoothly.

"Sixth period, I guess." He stopped in front of the entrance. You wonder if he's confused as to why he barely sees anyone around now.

You looked at the time. It's 11:45AM. The bus is coming in 5 minutes.

"Here." He shoved something into your hands. "Treat yourself to something nice." You uncrumpled it to reveal two $20 bills.

You thanked him and pulled the handle of the door.

"Wait! I want your number!" He got out of his car and ran up to you.

You said that you don't remember and you don't have your phone with you.

"You don't remember your own phone number?" He stared in disbelief.

You said that with the advancement of technology, no one needs to remember any phone numbers. It's all stored in the smartphone.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I think you should memorize at least a couple of em'. What are ya' gonna do when your phone breaks, huh? You're gonna be doomed!"

Yeah. Like how you are right now.

You tried to end the conversation by agreeing and saying bye.

"I have an idea." You yelped as he grabbed you by the wrist. He pulled out a pen and uncapped it, Montgomery wrote a string of numbers on your arm.

You can only watch as he decorated your entire forearm in horror. How are you going to explain this to Yves?

"There, that's my number."

You pulled your arm away and told him that you're going to be late for class.

"Don't forget to call me!" He hollered as you move far, far away from him.

Finally, $40 richer, 100% more disturbed, 200% sweatier, you reached your house. 20 minutes late.

You dragged yourself onto the porch and struck your arm repeatedly against the door. Panting with your tongue out like a dog.

You wiped the sweat off your brow as the door opened. Thinking it's one of your housemates, you tried walking past them, only to be grabbed by the shoulders.

"(Name)!"

You looked up and saw Yves with the most haunting expression you've ever seen on his beautiful yet bruised face. Half it was still concealed by his hair. There was a mix of worry, sadness, anger and relief. It was an expression that guarantees you're in trouble.

You stared at him for a few seconds, his dilated pupil never left yours. You felt like you were on a court trial during those 20 seconds, Yves seemingly scrutinizing every aspect of your soul.

You burst into tears, sobbing loudly and pathetically. You didn't know where to start, you had so many unmet needs at the moment.

You're roasting in your own skin and sunburnt, you don't even have a wink of sleep, you feel violated by Montgomery, your stomach hurts from eating the greasy fast food, your muscles are aching from that epinephrine shot, you have a headache, you don't like how your clothes stuck to your body and Yves is mad at you.

One of the needs was immediately met when he pulled you into a hug.

"I'm not upset at you." He whispered, pressing kisses on your head. You cried harder and sunk into him deeper.

Of course, he knew what happened, where you went and what Montgomery did. All of it was caught on surveillance cameras and they're easy to hack into. He heard the conversations between you and him, Montgomery should upgrade his phone, it didn't even put up a fight when he tried accessing it remotely.

All because he didn't predict that you would be anaphylactic to your new medicine. If you knew he's virtually everywhere and watching your every move, Yves would have immediately intercepted before you could even put a foot down on the floor.

Yves let you wet his clothes until you calmed down enough for him to pull you into the house, where it is much cooler and dimmer. Your nosy housemates were peeking from the hallway, but this time Yves wasn't acting so nice. He shot them all a death glare, which made them promptly retreat into their rooms.

He closes the door and leads you to the sofa. Where he allowed you to let your emotions out on his chest, while sitting on his lap.

A hand stroking the back of your head, another pulling you close to him. Yves placed his lips on your forehead as snot drips down your nose and onto Yves. He doesn't mind your sweat or skin flakes.

Yves does appreciate that Montgomery was there at the right time. When you started to rub your eyes excessively, Yves was already on the highway, doing 120 miles per hour on an 80 limit. He knows something is wrong.

Unfortunately, though, he was too late and Montgomery already drove off with you. So he had to do a detour and tailgate him instead.

He did all the calculations and thought of all the possible outcomes in his head. And... to his dismay, the best one was to let everything that happened to you happen. Yves lets go and allows Montgomery to be the hero for today for the sake of your life.

But you were never in any real danger. Yves was following closely behind this entire time. Of course, you're definitely going to be uncomfortable. However, he knows you're not stupid, he could not slip a single "coincidence" that will allow him to save you from Montgomery. It's going to be too implausible to happen given that Yves is still a relatively "normal" person in your eyes.

You hiccupped in his chest, apologizing over and over again. Yves assured you that you did nothing wrong. He reached for his bag, taking out a packet of wet wipes and dry facial tissues.

He began cleaning you with the damp towel. Yves did not flinch when you coughed right into his face and had thick, opaque mucus land on his eyelashes. He continued wiping away the snot and tears while letting a glob of green rest on his eye.

If you had lingered at the university longer, Yves would have 'coincidentally' bumped and picked you up instead. Under the guise of him searching for you because he arrived early at your place to find the front door unlocked, your bag in your room and your phone on the table. Very unusual behavior of you.

But he underestimated your desperation to catch the next bus. You have broken his records, that was the fastest you ever ran since middle school and he has the data to back it up.

Now that you're slowly relaxing, Yves removed the goop from his eye using another wet wipe. His long eyelashes clumped together from the moisture. He continued by drying you using the facial tissues, which includes drying the sweat from your back and to your rear. Who gives a damn if Yves has his hands up your shirt and down your pants, it's Yves. You trust him.

You didn't pay enough attention to wonder why he brought some aloe gel today out of all days. Yves snapped the lid open and applied a pea sized amount on his fingertips. Yves spread it evenly on your now peeling skin, you let your shoulders sag as the gel soothes the burning pain.

Montgomery proved himself useful, twice. First, by saving your life. Second, by helping Yves look much more appealing to you. Doesn't his feather-like touches feel nice? It's nothing like that brute's talons.

Yves only wished that he had half a brain to feed you something appropriate and not an artery-blocking lump of fat and sugar. Four, of them plus two grease saturated hash browns, to be precise. God, Montgomery is spineless, he should have stopped you or at least found a way to make you eat slower.

You fell limp onto him as he skillfully massaged your scalp with his fingers. Your eyes rolled back into your head as the tingles travel down your spine, causing you to forget about the soreness you've been experiencing.

Yves had a look of disdain when he caught a glimpse of Montgomery's phone number written on your arm in pen ink. He doesn't know when to quit, does he?

You never once stopped to wonder how he knew to prepare a pack of ice wrapped in a towel even before you came back. He brought the chilly item to your neck, cooling down one of your crucial points.

Yves continued massaging your head to relieve you of any tension. He ticked off his mental checklists on your needs, another thing is going to be off his list very soon.

He watches your eyelids droop until your eyes are fully closed. Now draped across his lap, you're starting to snore and drift into slumberland.

He sighed. Caressing your tender leg as you sleep.

"You are such a troublemaker." He quietly hissed. Scooping you into his strong arms.

Yves carried you into your room, where he lowered you onto your bed. He didn't put the blanket on you, because you will overheat, wake up and panic again.

He went out and retrieved his bag. Yves took out his portable fan and placed it near you, so the moving air could cool you down further. If you weren't so bashful and considerate, he would have installed a portable air conditioning unit in your room already. But he knows you will find the gesture too extravagant and start to spiral out of control with your self depreciation.

He closed the curtains, turned off the lights. The only thing illuminating the otherwise dark room are the holes in your curtains and his laptop screen.

Yves took a seat, put on his reading glasses and began typing away. One hand keying in the information, the other holding the wretched medication that hospitalized you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc yves #oc Montgomery

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piduai · 9 months ago

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AITA for kind of hoping that my enemy manages to beat the shit of my useless subordinate, leading to his imminent death?

I know it sounds kind of bad but hear me out. While I was involved in a kidnapping and escaping from my enemies (I kidnapped a 13 years old girl), one of them has jumped on the vehicle I was on and engaged in close combat with one of my subordinates. He is allegedly protecting me.

The problem is, I really don't like him. First of all, he's 10-15 years way too old to be effectively manipulated and meaningfully brought to my side, which is a great turn-off. Second of all, he is literally a spy for the central government, and he's been sent to observe my actions and report back, with the final intent being getting rid of me. Third, he keeps stealing my hair wax. He has a habit of pocketing things that aren't his own and I know damn well that I didn't use two entire bottles in one week. It's the good stuff. I dedicate a good portion of my pay to that. He had no right. Also, he's a smoker, and I find the smell and the act revolting.

It is time sensitive as I type this with one hand on my Meiji era smartphone while in active combat and I have important plans afterwards (mental torture of a minor) so I need a clean conscience.

#gkposting

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tomorrowusa · 7 months ago

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The upcoming Trump Tariffs could provide an unintentional temporary boost to the economy – which will end on January 20th.

People who don't wish to pay 10% to 25% more for various goods when Trump takes office are advised to buy them sooner rather than later.

Already, Trump announced he will slap a new 25% across-the-board tariff on imports from Mexico and Canada as well as an additional 10% tariff on Chinese imports the very day he’s inaugurated. And on the campaign trail, he pledged to levy a 60% tariff on all goods imported from China and a 10% to 20% tariff on goods coming from all other nations. Such tariffs have the potential to significantly increase the prices consumers pay on nearly everything that isn’t made entirely in the US, of which there are very few goods.

Tariffs are paid by those who import the goods – NOT by the exporting countries. Many idiots just don't get that.

Tariffs are a tax on imports. Governments often impose them to protect national security, bolster domestic businesses and raise revenue. But they can be expensive for consumers, as businesses often pass along higher costs. In total, the typical middle-income US household could be stuck shelling out more than $2,600 extra a year if a blanket 20% tariff on all imports and a 60% tariff on imports from China are imposed, according to research from the Peterson Institute for International Economics.

Yep, tariffs are a TAX. The money goes to the government. Perhaps Trump thinks that he can tax consumers more to pay for more tax breaks for the pathologically rich like Elon Putz.

These are the five categories of items which CNN says would be good to buy now rather than after Trump returns. See the linked article above for details

Major household appliances

Laptops and tablets

Smartphones

Video game consoles

E-bikes

Another category would be imported foods. But their perishability would put a limit on how much you will save. Some items with naturally longer shelf-lives might be worth buying soon. Many teas come from China; my Bigelow Oolong tea, for example, has an expiration date of May 2027. I might as well buy a few more boxes of tea in coming weeks.

When you talk about tariffs, never forget to remind people who is responsible for them. Always call them Trump Tariffs.

#donald trump #tariffs #trump tariffs #maganomics #maga #trump tax on consumers #trumpflation #price hikes #laptops #tablets #e-bikes #major household appliances #smartphones #video game consoles #cost of living

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ozoraslegend · 6 months ago

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Favorite Music

Yagami Taichi

What: High-energy, active, inspirational rock and pop anthems, motivational pop tracks with strong beats, and nostalgic camaraderie tracks.

When: During training, battles, or moments where he needs to pump himself up. Before a big game or a challenge, and occasionally during relaxed evenings or lazy times.

Where: On his headphones during solo walks, when preparing with friends for challenges ahead, out on the field, during jogs, or when thinking.

How: His smartphone with shared playlists.

Why: Music reflects his assertive, action-oriented personality and keeps him focused on the bigger picture while lifting his spirits. Also helps him energize, motivate his team, and stay grounded.

Motomiya Daisuke

What: Upbeat and fun J-pop, especially idol groups, anime openings full of optimism and fun, catchy melodies.

When: Whenever he’s with friends, relaxing with ramen, or hyping himself up before an adventure.

Where: In the background during hangouts, or while working on his soccer skills.

How: Buys CDs to collect and listens via a portable player to feel cool and unique. He also shares earbuds with friends or plays it on a portable speaker.

Why: These tracks mirror his cheerful, emotional, and protective nature, helping him stay optimistic and feel validated in his dreams. The positive vibes also mirror his optimism and his love for simple joys, lifting his spirits when he feels insecure.

Matsuda Takato

What: Gentle, emotional instrumentals, soft J-pop, and music from anime opening, ending and soundtracks. Loves acoustic and piano renditions and nostalgic tunes that spark imagination.

When: While drawing fan art, writing fanfiction, or unwinding after an emotional day, during rainy days, or spending time with Guilmon.

Where: In his room, surrounded by sketches and Digimon cards, having drinks. Or somewhere he can look out the sky or paint.

How: Streams music from channels that curate calming, anime-inspired melodies or his old CD collection.

Why: Reflects his sensitive and imaginative personality, helping him focus and find emotional balance. These tunes also match his sensitive and creative soul, inspiring his art and giving him a sense of calm.

Kanbara Takuya

What: Energetic, adrenaline-pumping tracks, sports anime openings. Anything with a powerful beat and fast tempo, including high-energy EDM and pop-punk.

When: During workouts, battles, when hanging out with friends, skateboarding, preparing for an adventure, or doing shenanigans.

Where: In gyms, on rooftops, while riding his bike, in parks, or while "exploring" new places/things.

How: Keeps a playlist for instant motivation. He also plays it loud and proud on portable speakers or blasts it through his headphones. Overtune everything he can.

Why: Matches his adventurous and action-packed personality, fueling his sense of justice and competitive nature. It also fuels his adventurous spirit and matches his hotheaded, competitive drive.

Daimon Masaru

What: Old-school rock, upbeat punk, fight songs, intense battle themes and drum music. Anything with fast beats.

When: Before a fight/challenge, during a brawl, while doing chores that require bursts of energy, during downtime between meals.

Where: On a stereo in the garage or while sparring. In training spaces or open fields.

How: Builds playlists based on fights or victories, tuning out everything else. He also hums along or turns on the loudspeakers.

Why: Masaru’s energetic and confrontational side thrives on intense beats, while rock’s raw emotion mirrors his honor-driven loyalty. Music also pumps him up for action and honors his love for strength and fighting with honor.

Kudou Taiki

What: Uplifting orchestral pieces, motivational pop, and tracks that inspire.

When: Strategizing, relaxing after a victory, or during reflective moments.

Where: Anywhere that needs a positive vibe, often shared through portable speakers. During planning sessions, or late at night in his room while organizing his thoughts.

How: Curates playlists for every occasion. He also plays playlists through his laptop or shared speakers.

Why: Taiki’s kind and optimistic nature resonates with music that builds morale and reminds everyone to unite for the greater good. The music’s hopeful tone also reinforces his optimism and reminds him of his goal to unite and protect.

Akashi Tagiru

What: Catchy, energetic tunes with heavy beats, or music from action anime. He also enjoys action-packed rock.

When: Whenever he’s showing off or gearing up to prove himself. Anytime he's hyped up, especially before diving headfirst into challenges.

Where: On the go, usually with a small, flashy portable speaker. On the go, in the heat of action, or while daydreaming about surpassing Taiki.

How: Streams playlists. He also blasts tracks on his headphones. Mostly unorganized.

Why: Reflects his competitive and ambitious spirit, fueling his drive to surpass Taiki and his rivals. The energetic and competitive vibe also resonates with his ambitious nature.

Shinkai Haru

What: Emotional ballads, indie-folk, and soundtracks from fantasy/sci-fi chill films. He also enjoys gentle acoustic tracks and classic orchestral pieces.

When: During quiet evenings when reading or reflecting on his goals. While reading or reflecting on his place in the story named world.

Where: In his room, with a book in one hand and music softly playing in the background. In libraries, quiet parks, or his favorite reading spot.

How: Prefers curated playlists designed. He also uses a vintage music player.

Why: Matches his gentle, introspective nature and love for stories that stir the heart. The calm tunes also complement his introspective, side-character persona, helping him find clarity.

Amanokawa Hiro

What: Melodic tracks with a mix of upbeat and introspective tones, such as Aimer or Radwimps. Prefers versatile music that adapts to his mood, including ambient electronic music and thought-provoking indie tracks.

When: When pondering Digimon mysteries, helping others or caring for Gammamon.

Where: Walking to school or on peaceful evenings at home. At home, during walks, or while exploring Digimon phenomena.

How: Keeps a varied playlist that transitions between calming and energizing tracks. He uses sleek wireless headphones or plays music discreetly in the background.

Why: Hiro’s balanced and introspective personality finds comfort in music that mirrors his dual need for stability and exploration. The introspective yet dynamic tunes also align with his dependable yet curious personality.

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thistransient · 6 months ago

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More musings on Naha:

- My Japan-visiting history includes Naha in 2018 and Tokyo in 2023 (each for 3 nights). I loved Naha the first time, but did not really have the same feeling about Tokyo (which I chalked up to insufficient planning, sprained ribs, and having gotten over the first-time-in-Japan thrill). But I also loved my second time in Naha! The factors I think are at play:

1. Public transport: there's a singular monorail, no need to navigate Tokyo's convoluted two-company labyrinth of an MRT system. It was also a brisk 12 minute ride from the station nearest my hotel to Naha International, unlike the commute from the city center to the airports servicing Tokyo. It's also only a 1 hr 30 minute flight from Taipei, can't really beat that.

2. Walkability: to get anywhere else in Okinawa one must rent a car, but it's perfectly possible to stroll around Naha center on foot. I spent quite a bit of time on the train in Tokyo (and all that that entailed) trying to explore different neighborhoods, which was tiring. I didn't feel threatened by motorised traffic in either city but I found myself jumping out of the way of bicycles in Tokyo a few times.

3. Shīsā (シーサー, 風獅爺, 獅子): "a traditional Ryukyuan cultural artifact and decoration derived from Chinese guardian lions, often seen in similar pairs, resembling a cross between a lion and a dog, from Okinawan mythology. Shisa are wards, believed to protect from some evils. People place pairs of shisa on their rooftops or flanking the gates to their houses, with the left shisa traditionally having a closed mouth, the right one an open mouth. The open mouth shisa traditionally wards off evil spirits, and the closed mouth shisa keeps good spirits in." I love these things so much, they are so fun to spot while walking around, people even dress them up in little outfits depending on the season!

(At this point I should optimally visit a third city to triangulate my experiences a bit.)

- I find if I only go somewhere for a few days, it can be really nice to not buy a SIM card, just download an offline map, save some restaurant locations, and wander around looking at stuff almost like the pre-smartphone days.

- At some point I was also thinking to myself "wow, sometimes it's nice being in a country with minimal hawkers, hustlers, and touts! No one is trying to sell me stuff unsolicited!" Then I accidentally wandered into the red light district while taking a roundabout stroll to a shrine on the edge of town. The deserted back streets of Naha sprang to life and suddenly I was very popular (I suppose it must get boring for them at noon on a Sunday, but I felt like a lone gazelle on the savanna and made a hasty escape with a lot of head shaking and staring intently at the pavement). Perhaps they intentionally put the brothels near the temple to ensnare wayward tourists, who knows.

- The silence of Naha streets compared to the incessant scooter-revving in Taipei made me wonder how much psychic damage the noise pollution is really dealing me on a daily basis. I was also operating with a Taiwanese mindset when jaywalking across a median to get to a supermarket (only because I'd seen some locals doing it), and stepped back cautiously to wait for an oncoming bus which I was sure would otherwise punch me a one-way ticket to the afterlife. Instead, it STOPPED. There wasn't even a cross-walk! I waved somewhat guiltily and scampered away full of wonderment. Frankly I did not really want to come back from pedestrian heaven where there are zero scooters on the unobstructed sidewalks and crossing the street is not a hair-raising experience.

- By sheer, strange coincidence I ran into a friend on the street (as she was getting off a bus), who definitely should not have been in Japan (she told me she was moving back, probably to Tokyo, only after Christmas)- she was in Okinawa for approximately 24 hours to look at real estate and didn't have time to hang out but it was very surreal to catch up for a couple minutes.

To be honest I had had some ambitions for trying out more Duolingo-learnt phrases, but in the moment chickened out and ended up just pointing at stuff lest I give the impression I was capable of more in-depth conversation beyond これをください³. I've had vague thoughts about language school (for the purpose of being able to communicate about print-making and/or shibari, but also to test the waters beyond the tourist experience), and I feel in theory knowing Mandarin first should help with learning kanji, but on the other hand I look at this

- I was a bit surprised when the airline queue employee in International Departures started talking to me in Japanese off the bat (something that has never happened in TPE with Mandarin, they see a westerner and have real low linguistic expectations), so I eyed her a bit blankly til she was done and then tested out my Duolingo skills with 日本語が話せませ¹ to which she responded 英語?², I said "yeah" and she told me I needed to use the kiosk first, to which I protested that I'm always prompted to go to the counter for document verification, but then for once the thing actually didn't (take note if you're doing visa runs, Peach Aviation evidently gives no shits about exit flights).

¹ I don't speak Japanese

² English?

- Last but not least, I flew back south only to find Taipei 5 degrees Celsius colder than Naha, the bidet frostier than ever. 再見琉球，等我回來 T_T

and in my mind it says "Jiùmìng dòngyī wa zuòxí no xià ni arimasu". I think I will stay in Taiwan for now. (Also apparently immigration is not super keen on people over 30 with dubious employment history rocking up for language school in Japan, but that's a bridge to cross when one comes to it).

³ Please give me this

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universalaigroup · 3 months ago

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Universalaigroup.com review Trading Platform

When choosing a forex broker, traders look for security, reliability, and user experience. Nobody wants to risk their money with an unregulated or questionable platform. That’s why today, we’re taking a deep dive into universalaigroup.com reviews, analyzing its regulation, reputation, trading conditions, and user feedback.

A good broker isn’t just about flashy promises—it needs a strong foundation, proper licensing, positive trader reviews, and a seamless trading experience. So, does universalaigroup.com review check all the right boxes? Let’s find out. We’re going to break it down, step by step.

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One of the key indicators of a legitimate broker is the consistency between its establishment date and the date of domain registration. For universalaigroup.com reviews, the domain was purchased on December 7, 2020, while the company itself was officially established in 2022.

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Universalaigroup.com: Strong Regulatory Backing

One of the most important aspects when evaluating a broker’s legitimacy is its regulation. universalaigroup.com reviews operates under the FCA (Financial Conduct Authority), a top-tier regulatory body known for its strict standards and investor protection measures.

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Brokers without strong oversight often operate in the shadows, avoiding strict compliance rules. But universalaigroup.com review has passed the high standards of one of the toughest regulators. If there was ever a sign of trustworthiness in the forex world, this is it.

Universalaigroup.com: What Do Traders Say?

A broker’s reputation is best reflected in its user reviews. universalaigroup.com review has a Trustpilot rating of 3.9, with 6 reviews so far.

Now, let’s break it down. While a rating of 4.0 or higher is considered excellent in the trading industry, a 3.9 is still close and shows a generally positive sentiment. But what really matters is the number of reviews. Since there are only 6 reviews, the score isn’t fully representative yet. Why? Because early reviews can fluctuate significantly with just a few ratings.

Here’s the key takeaway: a developing broker with a near-4-star rating is a good sign. As more traders use the platform, we’ll get an even clearer picture. For now, this suggests that traders have had a mostly positive experience, which is a solid indicator of trustworthiness.

Is universalaigroup.com review a Legit Broker?

After thoroughly analyzing universalaigroup.com reviews, the evidence strongly points to its legitimacy. Let’s quickly recap why:

✅ Domain History Aligns with Legitimacy – The domain was purchased two years before the company’s official launch, signaling a well-planned business rather than a rushed scam. ✅ Regulated by FCA – One of the most respected financial regulators, ensuring transparency, security, and fair trading conditions. ✅ Decent Trustpilot Rating – With a 3.9-star score, the early feedback from users suggests a mostly positive trading experience. As more traders leave reviews, this will give us an even clearer picture. ✅ Multiple Trading Platforms – From WebTrader to Mobile and Tablet trading, the broker offers flexibility for different types of traders. ✅ Fast Deposits and Withdrawals – Transactions are instant or take just a few hours, with zero commission fees, which is a major plus. ✅ User-Friendly Support and App – The app is available on App Store with a solid 4.8-star rating, proving its reliability for mobile trading.

Would an unreliable broker go through the trouble of obtaining an FCA license, investing in user-friendly technology, and ensuring seamless payment options? We highly doubt it. universalaigroup.com review presents itself as a serious and trustworthy platform for traders looking for a regulated and flexible forex experience.

#Universalaigroup.com review #Universalaigroup.com #Universalaigroup

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