#Track your personal loan

[loantrivia]

Best Tips & Tricks to Track Your Personal Loan Status Online

These days, personal loan application status can be followed up online at many financial institutions. You can check the status of your loan application and learn when you can expect to receive your funds by accessing the lender’s online portal using the credentials provided to you. Track Your Loan Status through the Lender’s Official Website Your loan application status can be monitored in…

[kc22invesmentsblog]

Navigating Financial Planning: A Guide for Millennials

Written by Delvin In the ever-evolving landscape of personal finance, millennials face unique challenges and opportunities. As a generation born between the early 1980s and mid-1990s, they find themselves grappling with student loan debt, a competitive job market, and the need to prepare for a financially secure future. However, with careful planning and the right strategies, millennials can set…

[reiderwriter]

Puppet On A String

Chapter One of I Can't Help Myself

Synopsis: Expecting your big promotion any day, you're none too happy to hear about the departments miraculous new hire. You're even less happy when he moves into your office and starts touching things.

Warnings: Shitty office politics, brief allusions to Spencer's time in prison, swearing, reader is understandably bitter.

Masterlist || 5k Celebration Challenge

The day your professional aspirations came to a crashing halt was also the day that you met Doctor Spencer Reid. To say that your view of him was somewhat soured by the unpleasant circumstances of your morning meeting was an understatement and a half.

Sitting in your bosses stuffy work office, you felt your heart stop as the situation was explained.

“You understand, right, Y/N? We really value your work here, so we're really relying on you to help him settle in.” He grinned at you from behind his desk, but all friendliness in the gesture was dampened by the fact that he hadn't even bothered to look up from the papers he was looking through, glasses hanging low on his nose.

“I'm trying to understand, I am. But last week, we discussed me moving onto the tenure track. Are you saying that's out of the picture for me now?”

The smile turned into a grimace as he looked up at you, finally. He removed his glasses and folded them in front of him as you squirmed in your seat. You needed to advocate for yourself, but it wasn't easy when it felt like you were in the principals office being reprimanded.

“Doctor Spencer Reid will be joining us on loan from the FBI. Someone at the Bureau called in a favour with one of the college executives. The decision is above my pay grade - thus it is above yours.”

Your cheeks felt hot as he reprimanded you, and you bit your tongue as best you could.

“He will be with us for the semester, and then we can discuss your promotion again next semester. I will ask again, you understand the situation?”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken - the department wide email introducing your new member of staff and the generous donation from the FBI that came with him. You brought nothing to the department other than a stellar academic record and hard work.

“I'm glad we could both come to an understanding,” he said, aptly dismissing you as you stood to take your leave.

“Ah, one last thing, Y/N,” he said, stopping you in your tracks as you readied yourself to run to the nearest bathroom stall and cry until your first class - roughly 7 and a half minutes.

“Doctor Reid will be sharing your temporary office space. We're strapped for space, and there weren't any other facilities available at the last minute. Since your students always remark on how approachable and welcoming you are, you're the best person to show him around, too.”

The gloom in your heart hardened to anger as the man dismissed you, returning his glasses to his head and not bothering to make eye contact as he added more work to your already heavy load.

“Of course. Thank you.”

You closed the door behind you, willing yourself to not slam it, and stalked down the corridor to your own - now communal - office.

Half of your brain was screaming at you to quit, but with rent in a college town to pay, and the academic year already in session, there was no way you were finding something this lucrative again.

You'd worked your ass off for the last five months. You just had to survive three more with Doctor Spencer Reid.

You had to keep your emotions in control until at least your office, you thought, even as the inescapable tears threatened to fall down your face. You hate that you cried when you were angry, that your emotions couldn't even sort themselves out enough to give appropriate physical responses, but at least you could angry-cry in peace before your new coworker showed up.

You ripped open the door and stomped to your desk, slamming the door shut behind you as you fell down with your head in your hands and let out a frustrated groan.

“Um… hello, can I help you?”

The voice caught you so off guard, you almost jumped from your seat in shock, backing up to the single window in the office.

“Fuck, you scared the hell out of me. What- who are you?” You asked the man you now saw sitting at the sofa opposite your desk, next the door. So close in fact, that you didn't see him walking in.

He was sat down, but you could tell he was tall, slightly older than you, but with big brown eyes that betrayed some experience. He sat comfortably at first, legs crossed, book in hand, but as you spoke, he sat straighter, stiffer, his relaxed expression becoming somewhat colder.

“I'm Doctor Spencer Reid. I was told this is my office from today onwards? If I'm incorrect, I can leave you to your…”

Of course, the very attractive, soft-spoken man in front of you just happened to be the derailment of your career. Temporary, you reminded yourself. Temporary derailment.

“No. Doctor Reid, of course. Hello. I'm Y/N. We'll be sharing the office for the semester, I just didn't know you'd be here today.”

He frowned slightly, like sharing the space was as uncomfortable with him as it was with you.

“If you can excuse me, I have a class to teach in…” You looked to the shelves where your small clock had fallen over once again - the office was cramped and the shelves unstable enough that closing the door meant knocking at least three things over.

“Three minutes, shit. I have to leave, please keep to yourself, I have a lot of important documents in here.”

The words were colder than you would've liked, but you couldn't find the strength to care much about his opinion of you.

You grabbed your laptop and left the room swiftly, abandoning Spencer Reid to your shared office.

Your first meeting may have been sour due to circumstance, but your second was unpleasant on the strength of Spencer Reid's grating personality alone.

In your five months at the college, you'd worked up a system for classwork.

Gather books. Go to class. Pick up coffee. Teach. Leave class. Pick up a second coffee. Go to your office. Host office hours. Work on a research paper. Rinse and repeat for any other classes you had that day.

With such a busy and caffeine fuelled schedule, you kept your office as neat as you could with your rickety shelves.

So, returning to meet Spencer Reid a second time, you almost threw up at the sight that befell you in the office.

“Hey, welcome back.”

The man sat on the one inch of your floor that wasn't taken up by furniture with all of the books in the office stacked up around him, the shelves bare and tipping precariously to one side.

“What the hell did you do to my office?” You blanched, looking around, unable to see the set of books you had organized for your next class.

“The shelves are broken, I put in a request to have them replaced, and I've been organizing the books by topic so-”

“The books were already organized. By class, and week they're to be taught. Fuck, I have a seminar in 30 minutes, I need those books.”

To his credit, Spencer Reid looked panicked as he sat sifting through all the books, even as your anger rolled off of you in waves.

“I can fix this. What shelf was it on?”

“Don't bother, just ruin my day some more. Hey, how about next time, you just throw everything in the trash?”

“I was trying to help, we're going to be sharing the office, and there isn't exactly space for two desks with your current filing system.”

“So you decided to rearrange without telling me? Asking me? I've been here five months, but you strolled in five hours ago and decided to change everything to suit you.”

“That's not - look, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you can start your apology by footing the bill for whatever improvements you've made. We're not tenured professors. Anything we add to the room or request comes out of our paycheck, and I'm not starving myself for floor to ceiling bookshelves.”

Whatever retort he was about to make was lost as you grabbed your bag from the floor and stormed out, leaving him behind in your dilapidated office.

When you returned to your office later that day, he was nowhere to be found. His new furniture, however, was crowding the room. A clone of your own desk was pushed up against the side of it, the pair forming an L shape. Great. Couldn't have gotten any closer if you tried.

Your couch was still in place by the door, but the old bookshelves were gone. They were replaced by a sturdier looking wooden set that now shelved all the books you'd inherited in the office or were using for class. And some new titles.

He hadn't put them back in the order you needed them in, though you doubted he ever would, but instead had them grouped by topic and within groupings in alphabetical order.

“How very precise,” you said, running your fingers along the book spines as you made your way to your desk.

“Whoops,” you said, pulling out a book you knew wasn't yours and letting it fall to the floor.

Was it petty? Sure. Was it therapeutic?Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Nice. Mature,” a voice said behind you, and for the second time in 12 hours, you jumped at the sound of Spencer Reid's voice.

“Jesus Christ, you need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what, walking into my own office?” He said, leaning against the new bookshelves.

“Our office. Shared. For three months.”

“Oh so you do remember we have to coexist?” He asked, grinning down at you. When did he get so close that he had to look down at you?

“Trust me, your presence is…felt,” you said, gesturing around the cramped space.

“What classes are you teaching?” You sighed, pushing past him to the open door and sitting down at the sofa.

“Profiling and the Criminal Psyche and I'm guest lecturing in Criminology 101. I have a few special lectures on geographical profiles in the next month.”

“And office hours?”

“What?”

“Your office hours, you're going to need to post them soon. Mine are Mondays and Thursdays at 11am, you'll need to be out of the office then so I can consult with the students about any absences or grades. If you haven't decided on your hours yet, my schedule is taped in the first draw of my desk.”

You grabbed your jacket from the hook on the door and pulled it over you like a blanket, laying yourself down on the sofa.

“Why would I need your-”

“Do us both a favour and schedule your hours during my contracted teaching time. It'll be easier.”

“Then why don't you schedule yourself during mine?”

You scoffed as you pulled a couch cushion up to rest your head on, closing your eyes as you drowned him out.

“Gee, you're some kind of genius. Can't you figure that one out yourself?”

You heard his sight of frustration but plugged in your headphones anyway, enjoying your 20-minute power nap as you stubbornly refused to face the day's stress.

A week later, you were deep into a College Cold War.

Spencer had attempted what you'd thought was a truce on his second day, arranging the pile of books you needed for that week's seminars on his desk happily.

Until you went to grab the top of the stack, and his hand held yours down on top of it.

“Sorry, that's for my class,” he said, glancing up at you. He smiled as he noticed the irritation in your eyes as you ground your teeth together.

“I'm teaching a class today based on this text. It was an assigned reading-”

“What a coincidence. It's an assigned reading in my class as well. For all 46 students. You better run over to the library, Y/N.”

You dragged your hand out from under his, brushing off the heat that ran up your arm from his hand as disgust rather than attraction.

His existence was irritating, but his face and body were more distracting than anything.

Storming off, you knew you had to one up him somehow, but you wanted to put some thought into it before doing something impulsive. Your first thought had been slashing his tires, so some perspective was definitely needed.

A week passed, and you found yourself having to endure the man's company on a Friday night for a departmental welcome meal. You'd assumed a week ago when it was scheduled into your outlook calendar that it would be to celebrate your promotion, and now the egg was most definitely on your face.

You'd debated not even turning up, but a warning email had let you know that attendance was compulsory, and the dress code was semi-formal.

So, you begrudgingly forced yourself into the little black dress you'd purchased a lifetime ago for your first graduation and got yourself a taxi over to whatever ridiculously expensive restaurant you have to fast at this time.

“Y/N, you’re here. We weren't sure you'd show up, after… you know!” One of the older professors said as you walked in, pressing an air kiss to either cheek as she handed you a champagne flute.

“Well, attendance was compulsory, so here I am!” You wanted to wipe the pompous smile off the woman's face so badly, but unfortunately, she was a member of the hiring committee. Three more months of sucking up to her was in your future, courtesy of a shitty move by the FBI.

“You say that, but our guest of honor isn't even here yet. Typical, right?”

You downed the drink she gave you and excused yourself to take your seat at the dinner table, needing a place to rest your glass to save yourself from cracking it in your furious grip.

It took another hour for Spencer Reid to show his face, and to your glee, he looked genuinely uncomfortable at the prospect of the night ahead.

“Sorry, I was unpacking some stuff at my apartment.”

“Oh, did you move recently?” A curious voice trailed up the table to ask him as he awkwardly side stepped to his seat. Right beside you, obviously.

“No, just… I had some stuff packed up.”

He held his tongue, not revealing more as the table fell in an awkward silence.

You dragged another glass to your lips and sat back in your chair, doing your best to stay unaddressed as the appetizers finally came out.

“Does the department have dinners often?” Spencer whispered, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he leaned closer to you.

The hot feeling washed over you again as you turned towards him, immediately pulling back and putting some distance between the two of you.

“No. Usually, it is only when welcoming guest lecturers or when someone gains tenure.”

“So who got tenure?”

You scoffed. “Funny. Thanks, Spencer.”

“What?”

You looked back at him again, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“This meal is to introduce you. Everyone else here has tenure.”

“You don't.”

“Yes, well, there wasn't exactly room in the budget for the hotshot FBI profiler and a steady income for another Professor.” You slammed your glass down again and picked up your bag and things, hoping the table hadn't heard your conversation.

“Please excuse me.” You said smiling at the rest of the table. Some of the women sent you sympathetic glances, but the department dinosaurs simply continued their conversations. You'd think a department of psychologists would be able to figure out they were all absolute narcissists.

You carefully exited the group and took yourself outside for some much needed air.

“Y/N.” He shouted from behind you again, and you had to be honest, you were sick of him following and sneaking up on you.

“God, what now, Spencer? Go back inside and get celebrated or whatever. They probably can't start the self-congratulatory circle jerk without you anyway.”

“I came to apologize. Again. But you don't seem to be able to handle the words ‘I'm sorry,’ at all, do you?”

He looked exasperated, but however he was feeling, you felt worse.

“Look, Spencer. I probably have nothing against you personally. But I've just been conned into another three months of probationary minimum wage because your boss at the Bureau decided he wanted rid of you for a month or two. Some of us didn't get child genius scholarships for multiple PhDs and aren't receiving two paychecks right now.”

“If money is an issue, Y/N, you know I could-”

“No. No, stop butting into my personal problems. We can be civil, but we're not… we're not friends, Spencer.”

You stepped back and let out another sigh as you forced the words to stand between you.

“Okay. I'll stay out of your way.”

“Great. Looking forward to it.”

“Sure. Me too.”

[dcb-bank]

DCB Bank helps you stay in-tune with the ongoing status of your loan. Now keep track of your loan at any stage by just simply entering the required details.

[theambitiouswoman]

Basic Financial Skills Everyone Should Learn

Budgeting: Creating a budget is a crucial skill for managing personal finances. A budget helps you keep track of your income and expenses and enables you to plan and prioritize your spending.

Saving: Saving is another important financial skill. It's essential to set aside a portion of your income for emergencies, retirement, or other long-term goals.

Investing: Understanding the basics of investing can help you grow your money over time. Learning about different investment options such as stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and ETFs can help you make informed investment decisions.

Debt Management: Understanding debt and how to manage it is essential for financial stability. This includes understanding interest rates, payment schedules, and strategies for paying off debt.

Credit Scores: Your credit score is a critical component of your financial health. Understanding how credit scores work, what factors affect them, and how to improve them is vital.

Taxes: Understanding the basics of taxes, such as tax deductions, credits, and filing requirements, is essential for managing your finances.

Financial Planning: Developing a financial plan helps you achieve your financial goals by identifying your priorities, creating a budget, and determining the best investment strategies for your needs.

Understanding Interest Rates: Interest rates are an important component of many financial products, such as loans, credit cards, and savings accounts. Understanding how interest rates work, how they are calculated, and how they can impact your finances is important.

Insurance: Understanding the different types of insurance, such as health, life, and property insurance, is crucial for protecting yourself and your assets. Knowing what types of coverage you need, how to choose a policy, and how to file a claim is important.

Retirement Planning: Planning for retirement is essential for everyone, regardless of age. Knowing how much you need to save, how to invest your money, and when to start taking Social Security benefits can help you achieve a comfortable retirement.

Estate Planning: Estate planning involves creating a plan for the distribution of your assets after you die. Understanding the basics of estate planning, such as creating a will and selecting beneficiaries, can help ensure that your assets are distributed according to your wishes.

Basic Math Skills: Having a basic understanding of math, such as calculating percentages, can help you make informed financial decisions. This includes understanding how interest rates are calculated, how much you can save by making extra payments on your loans, and how much you will earn from your investments.

[lulu-nightbon]

alright, i... didn't want to do this. i didn't want to have to do this. especially with all the hate ive been getting in my inbox recently. but i don't have a choice.

hi. im lulu. im a 21-year-old autistic immunocompromised queer person. i currently live with my mother (senior) and my little sister (10 years old). i need your help to get out.

(context and avenues to help below the cut)

as some of you may know, my stepfather died on august sixth from a heart attack. we lived in his parents basement, as it was all we could afford, and we depended on his income. he had a stable job, and mom decided to become a housewife and sell some things from the buisness they created together. when he died, the buisness was dissolved, as it was an llc partnership. his parents are extremely controlling, and as such, he was only able to finally start building up credit when mom came along, and we were almost at the point where he could qualify for a home loan so we could get out and get away from his parents.

that's gone now.

mom cannot qualify for a home loan because of her student loan payments and the credit card payments. we do not have the money to pay these off, and mom is trying desperately to get a job. we need the money to get out, as my stepfather's parents have been trying to get my sister away from my mom and shove both her and i out of the family for years. things are only getting worse now as we have reason to believe they are spying on our conversations and even going so far as tracking us (for example, they found a spare key to the car and went and took it and "cleaned it out" without mom's knowledge or permission, as it's her car now). they have been trying to circumvent mom and go behind her back during the entire process with the funeral home, coroner's office, all the legal documentation, and they are extremely infuriated that they cannot decide anything or push mom out because they are not the next of kin and have been trying to circumvent this. we have reason to believe that they're going to attempt to sell the cars that are still in my stepfather's name to collect on the money and never give us a dime, like they had with almost all of the money my little sister received as part of the college fund we set up at my stepfather's funeral as well as any money that my little sister had won in the past. we will never see a dime of it, and it's extremely upsetting that they are doing this. they have been running scams for years, and they have been nothing but hellish towards my mother, claiming she's withholding information from them when she has offered more than they've asked for and they have done nothing but take my little sister out and about without ever telling mom anything (for example- they screamed that mom was withholding information when she said she didn't copy the tox report for them because it was empty and claimed they needed to know his cholesterol levels [which doesn't even show up on a tox report- they didn't run his blood, either, and they didn't check his cholesterol levels anyway because they know that's what killed him, they could see it] and would not provide reasoning why [it does not affect them anyway just by nature of it being cholesterol], while on sunday they took my little sister out the whole day and failed to communicate with my mother that she would be with them and would be home after dinner).

they have been screaming at mom for collecting social security as though she was stealing their money and demanded that she doesn't get a job, and we have more than enough reason to believe that they are trying to get her to default on the bills so they finally have legal grounds to take my little sister and kick us out, leaving us with nowhere to go and no options. they have even gone as far as to threaten to take my sister away using force in the past, and, as they have firearms, that is a terrifying threat. they are unhinged and extremely upset that they cannot control us and make us do what they want, how they want, when they want, and they are up in arms over it.

when we move out, all hell is going to break loose, but the longer we wait, the worse it's going to get.

my stepfather, being 37 when he died, did not like thinking about his own mortality, so he didn't have a life insurance policy, a 401K, a will, nothing. we have been left high and dry by his death, and that is pushing aside the grief. we do not have the money to pay off the bills, pay for a lawyer, pay to have the car re-keyed to keep them from stealing it again, or to even flat-out buy a house to circumvent needing a loan, and on top of it all we have to deal with stepfather's parents not allowing us to grieve and implying that mom is a tramp and a heartless bitch that will blow any money given to her when she is more financially responsible than them. we also have to worry about them stealing our things, especially with how much they complain about how messy the basement is when most of the things here are theirs (stepfather's parents are hoarders- more specifically, his father hoards cars, and his mother hoards everything else, going out and shopping frivolously almost every day).

we need help with money, and i hate to ask, especially with the requirement of revealing my legal name and in light of the harassment i have been receiving for over a month now, but we need to get out of here, and we need to get out of here soon. it's only going to get worse the longer we stay. we need money to help with the bills, my mom's student loans, getting a lawyer, and getting a place to move into.

im posting this because im the only one my stepfather's parents won't find on any platform that i choose to use. my current goal is $9,000 USD, if only just to get enough money to get a cheap plot of land to move into, or one of the really cheap houses out here. this won't cover the loans or bills in addition, or the cost of getting a lawyer or anything else we need, but it is enough to get us a cheap place to live. i know it's a lot of money, but we are in a dangerous situation and need the money to escape. if we were to pay for everything, the goal would be in the hundreds of thousands, and i feel horrible just asking for this much. if you can't donate, please reblog, even the visibility might help and please do not spread my legal name. please remember to put "payment" or something generic in the reasoning box if it's required so that i will actually receive the funds instead of having my account purged from the site. i didn't want to ask for this, but i have no other options. please help.

c*sh*pp: $lulunightbon

v*nm*: @Lulilial

Goal: $0/$9,000

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐁*𝐓𝐂𝐇 (𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐑𝐀)

; 𝐆𝐔𝐍-𝐖𝐎𝐎 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈. 𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒.

summary: killing kim myeong-gil would bring many people satisfaction. as hyeon-ju, gun-woo, woo-jin and the others begin to plan on how to do it, choi knows that there's someone in seoul who would take part in it with much pleasure.

wordcount: 3.348k (i got a little bit excited, the other chapters gonna be shorter don't worry)

tw: swearing, almost-fighting, so just plain bloodhounds-things (i update this section with every new part of the story)

author's note: i watched the k-drama in one day, it's wonderful. a little explaining for the "y/h/c", i wrote it with creme-blonde haired character so i'd recommend some extreme or light color. other than that, it's free for every hair color!!

in the burger shop, the pregnant silence after gun-woo's confession about the loan and his mother's café shop was broken by the arrived burgers, brought by woo-jin. hyeon-ju's face became hard again.

"as you heard, my grandpa is no longer a loan-shark. he provides zero-interest loans to people in need. but we occasionally come across punks who try to take advantage of his good heart. yang jae-myeong was one of them. he lied about his mother needing to get an operation. he borrowed ten million won and vanished. it took me half a year to track him down. i saw him begging in front of a train station. at first, I thought he had really become homeless, but i noticed how clean his teeth were as I was passing by. so i tailed him, I found out that he and his goons were pretending to be homeless and stealing IDs from actual homeless people. they use the IDs to create shell corporations and open bank accounts. then they con loan sharks and take out loans anywhere from tens to hundreds of millions of won. this tactic was so professional, we thought there could be someone behind yang jae-myeong. i heard that this person had connections to yang jae-myeong. do you know him?"

after the photo was shown, they talked about how to follow yang jam-myeong's gang, but before the trio stood up from the table, hyeon-ju nodded to the guys to stay sit. digging into her jacket's pocket, she took out a piece of paper that seemed to be like a photo.

"before you begin stalking the gang, i want you to find this girl. i didn't have the time to talk to her, since i was searching for yang jae-myeong, but now i want you two to talk to this girl. gun-woo, tell her about the loans your mom signed and what happened after. she's hard-headed and kind of keeping to herself."

"fine, but who's she?" woo-jin asked, as gun-woo looked at the picture. long y/h/c hair, the mask was on her face, but she had wide, clear speaking eyes. ones like woo-jin's, the ones you look in and can read from them without a loud word.

"she's y/n. i heard my grandpa talk about him on the phone, this was the only picture i could get about her. she doesn't have instagram, facebook or any of these apps, i took this from my grandpa's office. it's possible that she won't open up to you, but it's a must to talk to her."

"yeah, i get it. but why do you want us to find her?" gun-woo was also interested about this question. was she an enemy? young kids can also be stolen by criminals and raised by them, to be as loyal as a dog can to do anything for theirs.

"y/n is good, don't worry. as far as i know from what my grandpa said on the phone, she is someone whose parents were close to my grandpa. she followed her father's track and trained herself in the most brutalist martial arts, like the israelite krav maga, the russian systema or muay thai."

"aisssh, i wouldn't want to confront her in any way", woo-jin said. gun-woo thought about these fights; he only saw muay thai on tv, and that seemed really dangerous in itself. he knew that as soon as they begin to track the girl, he's gonna search up the other two martial arts on his phone.

"yeah, me neither" gun-woo added.

"will you two do? and asking for her phone number?" hyeon-ju asked, the guys nodded.

"yes, of course. but i'll bring a white flag just in case", woo-jin answered as they stood up from the table.

a few hours later, gun-woo and woo-jin were on the streets, wandering around buildings.

"fuck, how can we find someone in a town where nearly ten million people lives?" woo-jin asked. gun-woo looked at the picture. 

“hyeon-ju said that she’s a pro in martial arts. maybe we should look in the gyms?” 

woo-jin patted his chest, “look, a real genius here.” 

going to every gym around the town, gun-woo and woo-jin began to lose hope. 

“maybe she’s working today or just doesn't feel like coming down to train.” gun-woo began to think about what to tell hyeon-ju if they don’t find the girl. she sure will be pissed or angry, but this is a really difficult task. 

“aish, gun-woo, don’t be like that! would you say something like this? people like us, people who train daily, their safe place is the gym. feeling sad? go to the gym! feeling happy? go to the gym! did your date went well? go to the gym! you just broke up with your girlfriend? go to the gym! look, for every problem, there’s a solution, and the solution is called–”

as woo-jin talked and talked, gun-woo thought he’s hallucinating. on the other side of the crosswalk, a girl tapped on her phone. same (y/h/c) hair, same (e/c) eyes, the same way she dipped her shoulder as she looked behind her, even the black sweater was the same. she wasn’t tall, the arms of her sweater weren't puffed from muscles. maybe she isn’t y/n, but they can try. 

“woo-jin, look. do you think that is her? y/n?” he asked, cutting off his friend. woo-jin looked at the picture, than at the girl, than at the picture again, and the girl again. 

“honestly, how could we know if we don’t ask her?” woo-jin smiled, just as he always does when he’s in some doubtful situation. they began to walk behind the girl. she wore earphones. woo-jin went to tap her shoulder, but when he touched her shoulder, the girl turned around, grabbing woo-jin’s wrist to keep him still so she could punch him in the face, gun-woo hurried to stand beside woo-jin. the girl took out the earphones with her free hand. 

“what the fuck do you want from me?” she asked, looking up from under her eyebrows, looking from one second to another at each of them, like she waited for some attack. she really was a pro, gun-woo said to himself. gun-woo had to admit that she was quite pretty. not like pretty girls from clubs or his high school and university, or the nurses at the marine, but some pretty girl that his mother would like to date him. he bent deep down. 

“we are sorry to disturb you, but we have a question. we don’t mean harm, we don’t intend to hurt you” he said fast, and the girl let go woo-jin after looking at the guy, and making sure he nodded. the girl turned, pointing to one of the restaurants. 

“can we talk while i eat? i just came out from training, i’m starving.” woo-jin and gun-woo nodded, following the girl. 

“so, what did you want to ask?” the girl began eating. woo-jin looked at gun-woo, who watched her dainty fingers grabbing the utensils. he sighed and took out the photo, placing it down to the table so the girl could see, she stopped eating instantly. pulling up her eyebrows, she distanced from the table a little bit. before any of the guys could talk, the girl began to speak fast and stark. “are you from the police? the secret service or some fucking spy-bullshit? what the fuck do you want from me? it doesn’t matter, i shouldn't talk to any of you, i’m not gonna do this shit. how did you get this photo of me?” gun-woo wanted to talk, but the anger in her eyes made his mouth shut. “doesn't matter, i hope i'll never see you again.” she began to pick up her things. gun-woo thought about hyeon-ju, sir choi, her mother, and the ugliest guy that beat him up that night in the coffee shop. 

“we just want to ask you about your name,” he spoke clear. “we’re just curious if you’re y/n or not. anyway, my name is gun-woo, and he’s woo-jin.”

“yeah, why? you probably know this because you have every information about me.” she replied, her chest rising and falling a little bit faster than usual. 

“no, we don’t. we… so, well… we know a man who’s name is sir choi. and her granddaughter… her granddaughter told us to meet you.” 

y/n looked around herself, like checking if someone else was there as a spy or some third wheeler, but when everybody was lazily chomping down on their dinner, being on their phone with some boring video or tweet, she slowly sat back down. sir choi’s name moved something in her, because she leaned closer to the guys. 

“if that’s what about i think it is about, then this is some serious shit. really, maybe the most serious shit in seoul’s money and business history, so if you truly mean sir choi’s name, than i really recommend you two to turn around and walk away from all of this. understood?” gun-woo sighed. 

“i think that i’m deeper in this than i wanted to”, he replied, the girl looked at him from under her lashes. 

“what do you mean? is this about loans?” gun-woo nodded, the girl looked up to the ceiling, sighing, letting out a long whisper of swearings. “then we aren't talking about the price of my dinner, aren't we?”  

“we don't talk about money, we talk about catching the men who are behind this.” woo-jin continued, y/n looked up at him, smiling sadly. 

“i hope that you are alright in the head, so you can understand that this is nearly impossible.” 

“it is not, believe us. we gonna find a man who’s in contact with them.” y/n sighed, looked to the side, looking at her phone. 

“how can i trust you two? really, anyone can talk to me about this, anyone who took loans from the old man.” “we found this photo of you in sir choi’s office.” 

“you two? how did you get into sir choi’s office? not even his closest people could get there.” gun-woo looked at woo-jin, sighing. 

“well, not us, but his granddaughter. her name is hyeon-ju, we are her so-called bodyguards.”

“i don’t know anyone who’s name is hyeon-ju. so, summing up, not sir choi, but his granddaughter wants to talk to me? why?” 

woo-jin looked at gun-woo. “can we talk a little bit?” 

“sure.” y/n responded, turning back to her food. woo-jin gulped. 

“should we tell her about the plan? yang jae-myeong? but what if hyeon-ju wants to tell her this?”

“i think she would understand it better if we told her. she doesn't know who we are, and sir choi’s name means something to her, but in this case, sir choi doesn't know about our mission.” woo-jin shrugged his shoulder, turning back to y/n. 

“it’s about catching a man who’s in connection with the loan-sharks, and the one smile capital. since hyeon-ju told us to find you, we think that you’d be interested to catch these guys.” 

“this is real, they have some repayments for me.” gun-woo somehow knew that this wasn't about money, but how could he ask when they knew each other for two hours? 

“so, are you in it, or not?” woo-jin leaned forward, offering his hand for a handshake. y/n pointed up her forefinger. 

“one talk. only one session with hyeon-ju, and then i decide whether i'm in or not.” she stated, woo-jin and gun-woo nodded, while they smiled lightly. looking at each other, they shared the ‘we made it’-look, making the girl scrunch her eyebrows. “okay then, where and when should we meet tomorrow? i guess this can't wait, if that’s so important that you found me.” y/n brushed her hair behind her ear, gun-woo didn’t miss the tattoos on her fingers, and the 

“maybe… tomorrow at noon? here, in front of this restaurant.” gun-woo offered, the girl nodded. 

“deal. see you guys tomorrow!” she said as she stood up, gun-woo stood up too. he didn't know why, he just felt that he needed to accompany the girl, no matter where she went home. 

“wait, y/n!” the girl turned around, woo-jin looked at him like he had some shock or something. “where… where do you go home?” 

‘to yongsan, and you?” she asked, gun-woo’s eyes lighted up. 

“me too. would you mind if i… so, maybe we can go home together?” he asked, hoping that the girl wouldn't mind. 

“yes, we can. goodbye, woo-jin!” she answered easily, bidding goodbye to the guy beside gun-woo. after she went out of the door, woo-jin began to lap gun-woo’s back. 

“aye, gun-woo! did little y/n just trickle some love into your heart?” he asked grinning, gun-woo shook his head. 

“no, it’s just… what if she gets into trouble at night? it’s dangerous.” gun-woo answered innocently, making woo-jin do a little ‘tsk’ in the corner of his mouth. 

“by her grabbing on my wrist before he almost punched me to death, the one who needs protection is me!” woo-jin dramatized the situation, pointing at his wrist. 

“she didn’t do anything, and she won’t again. she seems… peaceful.” 

“yeah, well, stopped beating me because she found his prince.” woo-jin continued the teasing by adding some eyelash flutter that girls do when they find someone really handsome, making gun-woo roll his eyes. “okay, well, just go. and tell me everything when you get home. or… if you haul up at hers. or i hope that your house has thick walls and your mother doesn’t mind the constant whining noise!” he giggled, having fun. he could tease his friend forever, now that this girl was in the picture. 

“woo-jin-ah! don’t do this!” gun-woo replied, making woo-jin laugh. 

“okay, okay! have fun, and bring her too! don’t forget to ask for her phone number!” 

“goodnight, woo-jin.” 

stepping out into the chilly night air, y/n waited for him. they began to walk to the bus station. gun-wo thought about what he should ask from her. family? no, that's too personal, and they just met today. he wasn’t good with girl stuff, only had one girlfriend and she dumped him after two months, when he applied to the marine. 

“so, since when do you box?” she asked, making gun-woo looking at her wondering. 

“how… how did you know that i box?” y/n snapped with her tongue, looking at him. she had pretty eyes, and although her mask was on, she seemed like this was the easiest question in her entire life. 

“when your friend grabbed my shoulder, his grip was firm, his palms are not too big, but they are strong. he lifted his other arm, just in case he needed to protect himself. i think i even saw your friend on the tv. you two are muscular, it can be seen from under jackets, but your legs’ aren't as muscular as your torso. in other martial arts, you need to train your legs too, to kick as strong as you can, but in boxing, you only use your arms. oh, and bodyguards are most of the time professional agents, but you two are young. or am i wrong?” 

gun-woo didn’t know how to respond, he wanted to tell her how cool it was to deduce what they did, just from looking at them. 

“no, you are right. and… hyeon-ju told us that you are a pro in many martial arts, so… since when do you train?” 

“since my childhood. it’s not that difficult, many movements and styles are similar.”

“did you fight competitively? like, in championships?” 

y/n shook her head. 

“no. only in gyms, i don’t like championships. you can get burned out easily. but i guess, since you asked that, you do championships. what is it like?” 

gun-woo smiled under his mask. y/n was really cute as she asked about him. otherwise, maybe he could never tell her these things. he wasn’t a man of words, and only a few times he knew what to say. 

“you would like it, really much. before covid, the arenas were filled with people, and the energies, the mood was really high and good.”

y/n hummed as they got on the bus, sitting beside each other. gun-woo protested that he should sit on the outer seat, and as y/n didn’t sense any dangers from him, she accepted and sat down. 

“i hope that this hyeon-ju girl is cool, because i had some cat fights with others in the last weeks. girl fight in the gyms, you know.”

“cat fights? with girls?” 

“yeah, but it wasn't so serious, i wondered where all the girls were, who'd ripped each other apart. a year ago, those fights were brutallic, like some freaking mma-cage fight, and now… at there, we say about these lazy gym-championships that there were no claws, but only strokes.” 

gun-woo snickered. 

“and these gym fights, do they pay well? or… do you work somewhere?” 

the girl looked at him, scanning him from bottom to top while leaning to the glass window, leaning on her elbow, tilting her head. “you don’t look like a drinker, so i don’t think we would meet at my workplace.”

“you're a bartender? woo-jin would like this! he likes to drink, sometimes, always saying how good he can bear alcohol.”

y/n laughed. 

“yeah, he looks like the typical tough guy who grew up on the bad side of the river, but when the two of you constantly looked at each other, i knew that he’s just as rookie as you.”

“yeah, that’s right. we began to work recently at sir choi, we are his granddaughter’s, hyeonju’s bodyguards. but she said she don’t need bodyguards.”

“but if she doesn’t need you, then how did you stay?” 

gun-woo sighed. 

“i… i begged for her to stay. i have a debt to work off to sir choi.” 

“oh, so you work down the loan sir choi gave you, and this is the way you are affected personally by these loans?” 

gun-woo thought about that night. when in-beom beat him up, when the boss threatened him not to call the police because his mother would end up dead, when he felt like he can’t do anything. looking at y/n, he didn’t want this girl to get involved in this business. gulping, gun-woo nodded. 

“yeah. my mother too.”

“you work for your mother and her protection? you take life danger upon yourself so that she doesn't get hurt?” y/n asked, pulling together her eyebrows. 

“we could say so.”

y/n sighed, looking forward, leaning back on the seat. looking at her hands, picking at the tattoos she had on her fingers. after a few seconds, she bent closer to gun-woo. she had dauntlessness and bravery in her eyes, without a blink of her eyelashes. her lashes were longer than usual, giving her the attitude on the outside as on the inside. pressing the get-off button of the bus, she gathered her bag in her lap. 

“i understand it now. in this case, count me in, too.” 

gun-woo looked at her. 

“why? you doesn’t even know what is this about, this is serious danger, y/n.” 

y/n shrugged her shoulders as gun-woo let her out from her seat, as they stood, y/n gave her a piece of paper. 

“because it’s personal for me, too. see you tomorrow, gun-woo.” 

gun-woo bent deep down as the bus stopped. 

“thanks, y/n, for talking to us, and not beating up woo-jin.”

y/n giggled, and bent slightly down too. 

“thank you for giving me an opportunity.”

as she got off, gun-woo sat back, folding out the paper. it was her number, they didn’t even ask for her number and she gave it to him! on the paper, there was a little message too. 

show this to hyeon-ju. you guys forget everything. make sure she notes my number. and don’t worry, we are going to figure this out, one way… or another. y/n. 

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃.

author's note: i hope you liked the first chapter. sorry for my english, it's not my first language, and i just got back to writing after a looong break. leave a like or comment if you liked it!! by babes

ask for taglist in comment or here

[toournextadventure]

oh wait nvm sorry my thing lagged i didn’t see your bio 😭 can i req a Wednesday x fem! reader whos oblivious and can’t take a hint and enid is trying to help and enid says that wednesday likes her and she’s like “no she doesn’t” and leaves and maybe she’s hanging out w wednesday and she’s like “maybe we can be more than friends” and readers like “oh, like best friends??” and everyone’s like OMFG

I'm obsessed with a dumbass reader. Just absolute pure of heart, dumb of ass, no thoughts head empty

you idiot

“Because Wednesday likes you, you idiot!”

You froze with the most stupid look on your face, and Enid wanted to slap you. She has had to listen to you go on and on about Wednesday for months without you ever making a move. Normally Enid would admit that Wednesday was pretty outward about her feelings, but she would hand it to her roommate this time. Wednesday had been very honest about how she felt for you.

And you still had the audacity to say she didn’t like you?

“Nuh uh,” you said with a shake of your head.

“Oh my god,” Enid groaned and fell back onto her bed.

Why were you like this? Why were you so infuriatingly blind to Wednesday’s clear attempts at telling you she liked you? Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most clear to everyone, but she was trying! She loaned you her books, let you skim her novel, and even threatened you less than anyone else! What part of all of that were you not understanding?

“Just get out,” Enid finally said as she pointed to the door.

“You’re still wrong,” you called out from the doorway, just narrowly avoiding the pillow Enid threw at you.

It was days later when you agreed to go out to coffee with everyone. Wednesday had originally only asked you, but then you had turned it into a whole group affair. Enid nearly felt her heart break at your obliviousness. How one person could be so utterly clueless, she had no idea. And if Enid was saying it, then you knew it was serious.

Wednesday had effectively ushered you off to a corner of the coffee shop, glaring at anyone who dared to get too close. Not that anyone would, they were all in agreement that Wednesday liked you and just needed to let you know. As in, word-for-word tell you she liked you and wanted to ask you on a date. And she had to use the word date!

It was cute to see you and Wednesday just talking and enjoying being together over in the corner. Everyone at Enid’s table was… less than conspicuous, she would admit. They were all staring, pointing out how cute you both were, only really looking away when Wednesday noticed.

Because of course you didn’t notice.

“I need to confess something.”

The entire coffee shop fell deathly silent at Wednesday’s words. Every Nevermore student within the vicinity froze in their tracks and listened with bated breath to what Wednesday would say. Would this be it? Was she finally going to tell you to your face that she liked you?

“Don’t hold it against me,” Wednesday stated, “but I would like us to be more than friends.”

No one moved, no one ever breathed. This was the moment they had all been waiting for, and it was finally happening. All of their dreams were finally coming true. Wednesday had said the words, there was no way you could-

“-you mean like best friends?”

Every Nevermore student at the coffee shop let out a chorus of “oh my gods” and groans of frustration. You jumped and looked around at everyone, confusion evident on your face. Wednesday let her head fall to the table with a loud *thud.* Enid stood up and pointed at the both of you.

“Wednesday, you need to raise your standards,” she complained. Wednesday never even lifted her head.

“Oh shit, did you lower your standards for someone?” You asked as you turned back to face Wednesday. “That’s pretty embarrassing.”

“You think?” The whole group shouted at you once again as they all settled and started grumpily drinking their coffee once again.

Enid gave up. You were utterly, completely hopeless.

[blue-kyber]

Hey guys! So, I'm curious to see what we have in common; what was your favorite place to go to as a kid?

....

....

HAHA, GOTCHYA!

If you see this question, DO NOT ANSWER IT.

This is a phishing question.

It can be phrased differently to disarm you into thinking it's all fun and not harmful.

But this question, "Where was your favorite place to go as a kid?" is a legit security question.

It's an option on the dropdown list of a loan I applied for a couple of weeks ago. (didn't get it. My credit it good, but it's a long story.)

FOR THE BABIES WHO WEREN'T RAISED WITH THE INTERNET WHEN THE INTERNET WAS IN DIAPERS, AND TAUGHT TO NEVER GIVE OUT YOUR PERSONAL INFO ONLINE....

If you see a question like this from a stranger or someone you barely know, just don't answer it.

Please.

If you answer it vaguely, like, "I loved the aquarium!" that can give someone a clue who's willing to do junior detective work to narrow down various aquariums, and look for details in your personal photos involving a background. It might take them a while, but someone determined putting the strings together on their corkboard can do it.

They can use anything from a park in the background, a street sign, or something that appears in an area you take pictures in a lot that can tell them you tend to be in that particular area, then run a google Earth search to find it, and compare it to a personal picture or item in the background that can be linked to something.

I'm not a detective, nor have I done this, (I've just stalked my own home town on google Earth just to see it from space, but who hasn't?) but I have a brain (as squishy as it is filled with useless information), and I've watched enough Law and Order, detective, and spy shows, having basically been raised by the T.V. to come up with ideas. Bad idea, but ideas. I've read the entire Hardy Boys series in the 4th grade. Plus, I know someone who's really into detective stuff.

I thought about this today after my dream last night, and thought, "Oh shoot. Babies might not consider xyz."

If I were someone without morals and a conscience or ADHD with RSD (which makes me apologize profusely and feel bad forever about doing the slightest thing wrong, or hurt someone), I could find someone. And I'm an amateur. Imagine someone disgusting with better tracking skills and no soul.

BE. CAREFUL.

T'is the season for identity fraud.

If you don't trust the person asking it (and I mean REALLY trust them), and if it's publically available for anyone to see, don't answer it. If you have ANY doubt that giving this info isn't safe, don't answer it.

This Tumblr community is made of squishy beans that I want to keep safe. I want you all to have a good holiday season.

Love you guys. :)

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hi everyone,

I got an inbox asking to share some tips for financing when you’re autistic. I found a helpful guid from the National Autistic Society:

Budgeting

The first step to managing your money is to work out a budget and stick to it. Budgeting will help you:

* keep track of what you are spending

* help you to avoid going overdrawn on your bank account by spending money that you don't have

* decide whether you can afford to buy something that you would like

* deal with debt by planning repayments that you can manage

* work out how much money you may have to save. 

Bank, building society or post office accounts

Most people now have one of these types of account. The benefits of these are: 

* it will keep your money safe

* you can pay bills more simply by direct debits or standing orders

* internet banking is now widely available. This reduces the need to visit banks and other services that autistic people may find difficult

* benefit payments can only be paid into an account

* you can have a debit card, making it easier to pay for purchases and you can shop online 

* you may be able to earn interest on the money you have

* you can pay bills by direct debit or standing order, which are sometimes rewarded by a reduction in what you pay for services

* you can use your cashpoint card to access money easily from cash machines in the UK and sometimes abroad

* your bank or building society may be able to give you an overdraft or loan.

Debit, credit and store cards

There are a number of different cards that you can use to make a payment. These include:

* cashpoint and debit cards

* credit cards

* store cards.

Borrowing money, making payments and debt

It's easy to think of a loan or overdraft as free money, but it’s actually expensive as you have to pay back the original amount plus interest. Try to only borrow money when you need to and repay it as soon as you can. There are many ways of borrowing money, including:

* borrowing money from family or friends

* having an overdraft

* taking out a personal loan or secured loan

* applying for a credit card.

The full article will be below, as it goes into more detail. I hope this helps many of you.

National Autistic Society

[batboyblog]

Hello! I just wanted to let you know that I recently discovered your weekly updates on stuff President Biden has done and they are so amazing! Your posts have definitely given me back some hope and it’s wonderful to see everything laid out like that! I just wanted to say thank you for posting them. Also, while I followed you for the politics, I have to say that you have really great taste in the superhero posts! I’m loving all the art and fan art! Anyway, I hope you have a great day and a wonderful week!

well thank you for saying so!

uh yeah in real life I'm a very political person and Tumblr was my space to indulge other interests, but sadly it seems like its really important to spread information to count a real sea of misinformation about President Biden thats been going on for most of his Presidency at this point.

I feel like just pointing out what he does every week for Americans is a good way to do spread positivity.

one narrative that is really dragging him down is the idea that he "doesn't do anything" Biden and the Dems passed 3 of the biggest laws I've seen, the American Rescue Plan Act, the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, and the Inflation Reduction Act.

and like part of the way Biden gets the biggest climate bill in American (and world) history through Congress is he doesn't call it "The Green New Deal" he calls it something boring like "Inflation Reduction Act" but we got a Green New Deal, it happened, we're on track to carbon neutral by the end of the decade, and I find learning about the pieces of that the Investments that are gonna add up so cool and so hopeful, like getting a Alaska native tribe a new dam so they can have clear hydropower rather than use diesel generators, SO! cool.

and another thing about Biden is he's been around so long he understands how the government works really better than any one. Student Debt is such a great example, most Presidents they get shut down by the Supreme Court they go "well I tried" and give up. Biden hasn't given up since the conservative court shut down his first effort at student loan forgiveness. He's take programs and authorities that got passed years ago and taken them as far as they can go, got debt forgiveness to 4 million people, so far and he's not stopping, it might take more time but he's gonna get there and only he really knows all the places to look to get the authority to do something like this because he has so much experience.

any ways I'm just trying to live by Harvey Milk's words "I know you can not live on hope alone, but without it life is not worth living, so you gotta give 'em hope."

[tozettastone]

Re: my Naruto OC [x, x]

Here she is, in an unedited version of how she learns to hate Uchiha Itachi

----------

She had no name. The illusory shape she was currently inhabiting was a man called "Ryouta," who was a missing-nin of middling skill. He was tall enough and symmetrical enough to look sort of attractive if he cleaned up, but average enough to drop off the radar for most people. He was a kenjutsu master, which would pose an issue for her if she was required to actually engage in combat as him... but since her entire repertoire of skills was built up around the central pillar of avoiding combat, she felt that was pretty unlikely.

The real Ryouta was also off living his own life some hundred and ten miles away, deep in Wind Country, where his negotiations with clients formed data points for her research. His image was simply on... temporary loan.

Here and now, this image of Ryouta was following up on her favourite and very long term pet project: the outlier missing-nin, Kakuzu.

She strolled through the market that had popped up on the industrial outskirts of Rain. It was damp—it was always damp—and the place had been set up on a flat, hard-packed area that had gotten absolutely annihilated during the war by what looked like, perhaps, a lava flow? At its edges, aging electrical wires sagged, and hastily patched up buildings loomed, and on the far side the road went straight out to the river and apparently endless rice paddies.

Despite the setting, the little market was cheerful and bright. People called out to Ryouta as she passed through, calling for him to try their deep fried water bugs on sticks, buy their herbs, or marvel at their machine-woven cloth. Two children, under the watchful eye of an older lady selling jars of hot red chillies, were playing with sticks in the mud, stirring the water in their hand-dug hole as if it were a pot of soup.

Rain as a village was... interesting, from Ryouta's perspective. It operated under a system of benign neglect. That the governing body was presided over by an undead missing-nin and his angelic partner was kind of an open secret among the people who'd lived there long enough. And, historically, those two had chosen to address only violent foreign shinobi, two plague outbreaks, a food crisis, and actual invasions. They rarely intervened to regulate or support the population otherwise. Instead, the village had mostly divided itself into small neighbourhoods of ten or twenty families, and those families typically bartered and supported one another.

Such systems, Ryouta knew, only functioned because their communities were small enough that everyone knew everyone else's business: they kept their own informal tallies of what was polite and who owed what assistance to whom. This was also how such small communities managed crime so efficiently... for a value of "crime," that was defined very casually by whether or not most people found something acceptable, and "management," that stood for vigilante justice, of course.

Such societies became more and more alienated from the causes and effects of crime as they grew larger, until you had something like the Grand Court over in Fire Country, where people who barely knew each other committed crimes against one another and were given sanctions that held no relevance to the victims whatsoever. At that point, all crime was basically against the state, not really your neighbours...

It was a fascinating area of study, although it was not her specialty. Her area of study was more elusive, more secretive, and a lot more dangerous.

There was a shinobi walking through this market, and he was the real focus of her attention.

Hidan was an idiot, so she didn't have to try very hard to evade his senses as she tracked him. She just had to be careful she didn't get too close. Occasionally, he stopped to examine something, and then she stopped, too. Simple, right?

Really, her distance was more of a precaution against his personality than it was against his senses. He would never pick her out of a crowd, but he excelled at pointless, aimless violence, so it was possible that he wouldn't need to pick her out of a crowd. Would he act that way in Rain, where Pein and Konan watched over the population with a view to eradicating shinobi threats? Well. Ryouta wouldn't have chanced it... but Hidan rarely shared her risk aversion.

"That's so cool," she said, leaning over some of the ugliest jewellery in the world. Mostly it was insects trapped in amber, fancifully tied up in bright string to form bracelets. "Do you think my girlfriend will like it, Auntie?"

The lady's babble—of course she would, why, any woman would love a juvenile sand scorpion stuck in a fossil!—washed over her. She was paying more attention to Hidan, who'd stopped to buy a bug on a stick.

The shopkeeper gave him a second one for free. From this distance it was hard to say if he knew who Hidan was and was attempting to ward off death with food, or if Hidan was just kind of reaping the rewards of being beautiful in public. Either way, he looked at it, shrugged, and took it too, twirling the stick deftly between his fingers as he moved on. The fried water bug's legs wagged stiffly with its momentum.

"Ah, I think I should check with her before I spend money on it," Ryouta said regretfully. "What if she doesn't like it, and I can't get her something else because I spent all my money?" The stall lady did not, she noticed, hasten to offer a returns policy. "Thanks for your time, Auntie!"

It became harder to follow Hidan innocuously when he passed the edge of the market. There was no longer a crowd in which to immerse herself. Ryouta wasn't sure how they did it exactly, but she knew that she'd be heavily surveilled if she seemed suspicious. She could hide her identity easily, but it was harder to hide a developed chakra system... and someone might show up to chase her off. She'd been chased off once, as Chiriko, and it wasn't lost on her that the real Chiriko (a genin missing-nin from Sand who'd been part of her pay grading study) had died pretty shortly after. She didn't want that.

Luckily, being chased off once gave her plenty information to come back with a work around. She couldn't hide that she was somewhere in Rain—whatever surveillance technique they used was simply too good, or too large, or... she didn't know. But she could cast a broad enough genjutsu to confuse it. For several hours, she could be everywhere in Rain, all at once.

It was still risky, which was why she also paired it with an illusion that layered over her Ryouta mask. She was Ryouta, and over that, she was a relatively wealthy civilian lady she'd copied from the market, and over that, she was wearing a little seal carved into the back of an amulet, a low level genjutsu for hiding skin blemishes.

If someone—Kakuzu, obviously, because it wouldn't be Hidan—managed to sense her genjutsu, she could surrender the amulet, and that distraction would allow her to drop a little illusion over him, a veil so delicate he'd never even see it.

For anyone else, holding onto four separate genjutsu techniques all at once might be a challenge. But Ryouta had been a missing-nin, and, more importantly, a freelance criminologist specialising in missing-nin, for almost thirty years now. She would never attain half her data if she'd been unable to observe and record her subjects. And her subjects hated to be observed.

She'd been the best genjutsu master in Waterfall by the time she was twelve, and she had only improved since leaving that village.

She flicked a senbon at an urn of hot water to cause a little distraction. A child yelped in startled pain as the ceramic broke, and she took the opportunity to lift a cute brooch off a woman's lapel, because why not? And then she became the civilian lady as she passed through a narrow walkway between stalls, just as everyone was distracted by the broken urn.

She emerged from the market a foot shorter and much less threatening, clutching her bag to her side as she went. Her footsteps were quick and her eyes were cast downwards.

Hidan, ahead of her by two hundred paces, did not notice. He was gnawing a deep fried water bug leg, rolling the snath of his giant scythe on one shoulder so the blades twirled dizzily against the black and red cloud design of his Akatsuki cloak, and strolling along as though he hadn't a concern in the world.

A few years ago, she would have thought that he seemed not to notice and that he was playing a long game whose central goal was to drive her paranoid. But time and experience had given her more insight. Hidan really, truly, did not know when he was being followed.

She had, occasionally, seen Kakuzu point out other followers to him—not her, obviously—and usually with an air of faintly murderous exasperation. Hidan never cared. He was... extremely confident in his immortality.

She followed him through the dreary rundown village of Rain, keeping her distance and tracking him mostly by chakra instead of by actually watching him. His eventual stopping point took her, as she expected, directly to Kakuzu. He was an unmistakable character in the grey weather: tall, with powerful shoulders, bare arms shamelessly displaying Waterfall's old prison tattoos, and the most hostile chakra on the planet.

She knew pair would almost certainly end up in a nearby teahouse, because Hidan was a grade-a whiner and he couldn't be stopped by the paltry forces of death.

Ryouta—in her disguise as a civilian whose name she didn't know—gave the missing-nin a wide berth and ducked her head as she walked straight past the pair. If she predicted them well enough, and went into the teahouse before both of them, she would allay most concerns that they might be being followed.

Outside, the pair were having their usual reunion: Kakuzu a murderous little cloud of angry chakra, Hidan a loud, running commentary of his own exploits.

"Oh, here, I got free shrimp," Hidan offered.

"That's not a shrimp," Kakuzu growled.

She couldn't actually see Kakuzu's face as she was moving towards the back of the store, but his tone wasn't very promising.

"They're all just bugs," shrugged Hidan, slouching into his own seat and cramming it into his face instead. "Fried water bug, shrimp. Fried scorpion, shrimp. Fried yabby, shrimp."

Without any indication that this riveting conversation drifting in from outside concerned her, she flagged down the server for a pot of tea and settled inside the teahouse's main room with her notebook and pen, writing down the details of the date and time and location, was well as a little context from her prior observations.

Kakuzu was at least eighty six years old, by the records of his own village (which was once her village, so she came by the information honestly), so there was a lot to contextualise her notes. His career was really what had set her teenaged self on the path to a criminological study of missing-nin.

The thing about missing-nin was that they lived and died by their professional networks. They needed to form trustworthy interpersonal bonds to ensure they kept up to date with vital industry intelligence (gossip), to hear about new jobs, and to ensure they were negotiating their work at a reasonable market price. The stereotype of the lone missing-nin who trusted nobody was based on a real phenomenon, but rarely did it apply to successful missing-nin, where success was measured by longevity and professional achievements.

Missing-nin who lived like aggressive, paranoid hermits actually experienced lower life expectancies and poor mission outcomes, even compared to other missing-nin. She knew because she'd completed several rounds of observation, data collection and analysis to come up with the theory.

Her study had involved tracking and following thirty two missing-nin, careening across the continent at a breakneck pace, over a gruelling five year period. She would have loved to have expanded her cohort but she was, unfortunately, just one researcher doing extremely difficult and dangerous field work, and tracking thirty two people who had been trained to evade pursuit had been a massive outlay of effort on her behalf. Ten of them had been killed in the first year of her study (which was probably lucky for her), and then five had died over the subsequent four years. As far as it went, her social networking theory had held true for basically all of them. Missing-nin like Orochimaru and Momochi Zabuza, who displayed even inconsistently prosocial attitudes towards other missing-nin, were almost always better off over the five year period of her study.

Except Kakuzu.

Kakuzu was a really significant outlier. She'd been watching him for a long, long time.

He was successful, he had lived a long time, and he showed very little prosocial behaviour. A personal professional network had built up around him like the nacre of a pearl, with him the grit at its centre.

She had her theories about that, too. Kakuzu had got to be so old by borrowing time and chakra from others' hearts and becoming virtually indestructible by way of his kinjutsu, and it allowed him to outlive every one of his contemporaries. She had not been studying missing-nin back when he had become one, but the world had been quite different at that time—hidden villages had been only lately established in a much less stable professional landscape. It was possible that different traits had been more valuable in missing-nin at that time, accounting for his ability to establish himself in that era.

Then again, possibly they had valued exactly the same things. Perhaps if you only doggedly killed everyone who got close to you, and worked very hard to become functionally immortal, you would eventually build up a professional reputation regardless of your character.

She didn't know.

She did know that Kakuzu was within the top two per cent of earners across her study (assuming some room for error), and enjoyed a strong professional reputation among missing-nin and bounty collectors while going virtually unnoticed by the big five villages—even by Leaf, whose Shodaime Hokage he had once tried to assassinate. A clerk had simply decided at some point that Kakuzu must have been dead and removed him from their active records, was the working theory.

She tapped her notebook, outwardly preoccupied, as Kakuzu and Hidan finally came into the teashop. They didn't look at her, although they surely knew she was there. If they really wanted to talk about something secret, probably they would just tell her to leave. Akatsuki were in the employ of Rain, after all... technically. They could do that.

It may not have appeared likely to a casual observer, but Hidan was the person with whom Kakuzu was friendliest. His ability to bounce back from drownings, stabbings and decapitations gave him real staying power.

At first she hadn't liked Hidan. She'd been following Kakuzu for thirty years, keeping track of his absolutely absurd shinobi career, and initially Hidan had represented an intrusion into the private lifestyle she shared with Kakuzu. But he was not obstructive, and once she realised Kakuzu quite liked him, she'd come around on him a bit.

It was selfish of her, she later decided, to resent Kakuzu's young man. Besides, Kakuzu didn't know he was sharing his life with her—perhaps he was lonely.

They were a delight to watch from her quiet corner of the teahouse, really. Kakuzu acted so cold, leaning against the back wall, sipping hot water and grunting a disinterested counterpoint to Hidan's wild gestures and loud commentary. But she felt he was unusually tolerant and engaged, comparatively.

The pair appeared to be waiting for another pair of missing-nin. That was interesting, and lent further credence to the idea that the Akatsuki were centrally organised in Rain. Perhaps they even were Rain? She wasn't sure about the mysterious undead leader, but Konan would have fit right in with the rest of them...

Her observations really went pear shaped when the other two missing-nin walked into the tea house. Hoshigaki Kisame she was pretty familiar with, and he wasn't the problem. It was the other guy.

Uchiha Itachi swept the cloth covering the doorway out of the way with one hand, ducked into the teahouse, and immediately looked straight at her in her corner.

The worst part was, it wasn't as if he actually broke her genjutsu. There was no flaw in it, no place to apply pressure. Her genjutsu was good. Itachi just saw straight through all the visual elements of it with his unholy burning eyes.

He paused in the doorway and said, "I think you are not meant to be here," and then she looked him full in the face and fainted.

--

"What's your name?" said Uchiha Itachi, the moment she regained consciousness.

She recognised Kakuzu immediately, looking fierce over his shoulder. Hidan next, then Kisame. Really, Uchiha Itachi took her the longest to put a name to, of all of them. He had not been on her radar at all—as missing-nin, the Uchiha bloodline had seemed, unfortunately, too dangerous to include in her studies. And then he'd gone and killed them all anyway, which had seemed to make it a bit of a moot point in a representative sample...

She swallowed. He was waiting for an answer.

Who was she today? Where was she? She blinked rapidly. Teahouse. Sprawled on the table. Lying on her back, surrounded by looming missing-nin. Tea cooling on her belly, not yet cold. No sounds from the staff. Memory rose like bubbles in water.

"Ryouta," she said, finally.

Someone grabbed her by the hair—her REAL hair!—and shook her. "That's not a girl's name."

"Don't touch my fucking hair," she snarled, wrenching her head around. It was Hidan's hand buried in her glossy red curls. Of course it was Hidan. She snapped her teeth at his offending hand, close enough that he yanked his fingers back.

Itachi looked at Hidan, and for just a moment he seemed unable to hide his expression of profound disdain. That was interesting, she thought. Itachi clearly thought he was better than Hidan. Fair enough. So did she. But she would bet Hidan didn't agree with that assessment. She wondered if he knew?

He probably did know. Hidan was oblivious to his surroundings but he had strong interpersonal skills. He picked up on nuances in Kakuzu's behaviour that honestly shocked her.

She glanced between the two, thoughts racing, and then settled her gaze on Itachi. He was the most dangerous to her. She needed to pay attention to him, to be compliant with him, to flatter his ego.

"I haven't had a name in decades."

"I don't recognise her," Kakuzu interjected. She wished this was an opportunity to interview him. What he must remember! But it pretty clearly wasn't the time. "We'll get nothing for her head."

"Waterfall isn't shy about posting bounties. She must not be very important. A small fry, huh...?" Kisame mused. "Well, everyone likes to make a reputation somehow." This idea seemed to amuse him greatly. He showed all his sharp teeth when he smiled.

She knew quite a bit about Kisame, as he was another of her study participants. She had watched his missions and negotiations several times, following quietly in his wake of his large-scale destruction.

But Kakuzu's eyes had narrowed. "No. I didn't sense your genjutsu." He looked towards Kisame, who also shook his head.

If Kisame had sensed her genjutsu she would have had to quit her job. He had so much chakra she could have walked by his side, right in step, and hidden herself beneath its friendly shadow. He would never have known she was there.

Except, well, of course he would have, because now he was travelling with Uchiha Itachi, apparently.

Itachi had taken her amulet, the one inscribed with a vanity seal to hide skin blemishes. He peered at it for a few seconds, and then he looked up at her face again. The sharingan really were demonic to look at, black pinwheels spinning lazily against a red so bright it seemed to glow. The sky probably turned that colour at dawn on the apocalypse.

"I doubt she's a small fry," he said. He had one of those deep voices, the kind that didn't so much 'say,' as 'intone.' Each sentence a gonglike proclamation. Ugh. "What's in this?" He waved her notebook.

She clicked her tongue. "Notes. For my research."

"People who are lying—even shinobi—tend to have certain tells. Humans are naturally afraid of being caught telling falsehoods. Their sweat changes. Their pulse beats faster. They blink more rapidly. They change their rate of eye contact. My eyes can capture all these things. But you..." He tapped the notebook against his palm. "...do not have those tells."

"I'm telling the truth."

"Were you telling the truth when you said your name was Ryouta?"

She shrugged. "A truth."

Hidan scoffed loudly.

"What's the key?" Itachi looked down at her. "You can tell me, or we will discover it on our own eventually."

They would. It wasn't a very hard code. Her notes weren't really that secret. She published her work eventually. She just didn't want to get caught writing them, so she coded them, and then they could have been anything. Mission report. Love notes. Who knew?

With a deep sigh, she told him.

He thumbed through the book. At his level, it really only took him a few minutes to piece together whole sentences. Slowly, his expression changed from confusion to understanding to confusion again. This book wasn't especially important. It had only a few notes about the really big outliers from her most recent five year study, and the tally of negotiations at the back. She always tallied negotiations she saw—because every two years, she produced a record of mission prices for missing-nin, copied them by hand and pamphleteered in dive bars across the continent. Industry research was to be shared, after all.

"You observe a great many missing-nin," Itachi said slowly. He flipped back. Paused. "...A great many. A greater number than I would expect."

He handed her notebook off to Kakuzu, who buried his face in it immediately.

"Everyone needs a hobby..?"

Kisame snorted. "Some hobby."

"This might be the most boring thing I've ever heard," Hidan said, in a worrying tone of mounting dissatisfaction.

"She's been watching you, too, fool," said Kakuzu. That was kind of unfair: she only paid attention to Hidan because he was attached at the hip to Kakuzu. Otherwise, Hidan was another dime-a-dozen missing-nin, distinguished only by his little immortality trick. You got ninja like that, sometimes—incredible combatants who were really one trick ponies, but won all the time anyway because it was one hell of a trick.

"What!" Hidan yelped. "Show me."

"...What makes you think Orochimaru is pretending to be the Yondaime Kazekage?" Itachi asked then, distracting her.

"Ah... Well, he was part of the five year study. I'm just following up on outliers right now. He definitely killed Rasa, but I'm honestly not sure why he's pretending to be him. I theorise he's enjoying bonding moments with the Kazekage's children while wearing their dad's skin."

The bonding moments were genuinely pretty wholesome. That was part of the joyous cruelty of it, probably: Orochimaru didn't mind playing the long game, and he just loved to get a reaction.

"The five year study," Itachi repeated.

"I haven't published it yet. My recent work has been tracking the correlation between prosocial behaviour in missing-nin and professional success and longevity across five years. Orochimaru in particular has proven... erratic."

Kisame, who had stood back to loom behind Itachi, gave a rusty laugh. "Erratic, huh."

Kakuzu, though, had gotten to the back of the book—where her notes on pricing were.

"You," he snarled. He jabbed a finger towards her. "You write the cost list."

His chakra leeched like poison into the air, flooding them all with killing intent.

I am in danger, she thought, with every last squealing cell in her body.

"Ohh," said Kisame. "That."

"Who cares about that," said Hidan, scowling furiously. "She wrote that I'm an idiot!"

She probably wasn't going get a better opening than that. She flexed her own chakra.

"It's not like I'm alone in that opinion. Uchiha Itachi has been looking at you like you're an idiot for the last ten minutes."

Hidan sneered. "Nice try."

"She's right," intoned Itachi's deep voice.

His head snapped up. "What did you say?"

"That's a scary face," Itachi's voice mused. His red eyes spun faster. "Do you think you can beat me with just your skills, Hidan?"

Of course, Itachi himself actually did none of these things. But Hidan obviously did know what Itachi thought of him, after all, because he believed them totally.

Thank god.

She manufactured a sniffing noise from Kakuzu, which was as close as she'd ever heard him get to actually laughing. Hidan, she knew, valued Kakuzu's regard, and he was as close to having it as anyone ever had been. If she was right, thinking that Itachi had insulted him and Kakuzu was amused by it was going to hit all of Hidan's berserk buttons.

She was right.

Hidan lunged—and not at her, but at Itachi.

Which meant that the only person who was a real threat to her genjutsu skills was suddenly very occupied. Phew!

The room exploded into noise as everyone reacted to Hidan's sudden attack.

She pulled layer upon layer of illusions over herself as she rolled off the table, and then she hugged one of the walls, camouflaged like a chameleon, and darted away.

Getting out of Rain was her first priority. Then, she'd fix whatever Hidan had done to her hair—her scalp was still sore where he'd yanked on it, ugh. And then she guessed she'd write down what she remembered of her notes.

It certainly wasn't worth going back for them.

[my-deer-friend]

Hii I have a bit of personal question, if that is alright. I am very interested in the American Revolution but I do not live in America. I would like to become a historian or researcher of that time period one day. As a student do you think it is difficult to be a historian of the American Revolution when you are not American? I get a lot of books and information online, but I do not think it is the same as being in a place? Do you think your school program a good stepping stone to get into an American graduate school? Is that something you want to do one day?

Sorry for all the inquiries, you are just the only person on here who is in a similar situation as myself! Best wishes to you!

Hi Anon! This is a really good question, and I'll do my best to answer it as both a history student and a university professional.

(First, I'll note that my interest personally is not primarily in the American revolution, but rather in the 18th century more broadly. That includes lots of angles that I can pursue in Europe, not least looking at relations in the Atlantic world, the "republic of letters" and the enlightenment, and thematically I'm interested in queer history, which can be studied everywhere. I also have no desire to live in the US. But, yes, let's assume AmRev is the focus.)

There are different considerations for undergrad vs postgrad.

Undergraduate

At undergraduate level, it doesn't matter too much where you study. At this point in your journey, broadly speaking, the focus is on developing your academic skills, learning established content about your topic, and exploring a range of scholarly interests (not just the topic itself, but how to research that topic – i.e. methodologies). As long as your university has a department for American history, or even better a major, you're fine.

While you're busy with your degree, you can supplement your learning about the period in a lot of ways, including:

Using your own library to access books, journal articles and databases (and getting materials through inter-library loans if need be)

Using the vast and ever-growing online resources on American history provided by institutions like the Library of Congress, American universities and libraries (e.g. NYPL)

Where something isn't already available online, contacting the archive that has it and seeing if you can get a copy (I wrote a post about that)

Talk to your history prof about your interest, and they will probably be able to suggest some avenues to pursue. One very useful tool is to look up the AmRev curriculum or syllabus from other univerisities and see what readings and topics they cover (just google: "american revolution" syllabus). Here's one that came up.

And then – and I'll put this point in bold because it's the most important thing I'll say here:

👉✨Attend conferences✨👈

Conferences are where you make invaluable connections with like-minded scholars, hear about new research, find out about opportunities (scholarships, programs, funding, etc.), discover what a career in academia actually looks like, get advice from people already doing the job you want to do, and so on. There are even conferences specifically for undergrad students, or there might be a track at a generalist conference that allows emerging researchers to present on a topic. Lots of these take place online (hence, cheaper), or you might be able to apply for funding from your university to attend (or idk you have a fabulously wealthy great-aunt).

Postgraduate

While undergrad is more about learning, postgrad is more about finding out. The higher up the ladder you go, the narrower your focus becomes, and you start to need more specialised guidance. To get the most out of your learning, you need to go where the experts are, and naturally, many of the most cutting-edge scholars on American history are, well, in America. You'll want to be surrounded by a community of like-minded scholars. And yeah, "being there" can be important not just for better access to primary materials, but also for insights that come from physical, social and cultural proximity.

That said, I don't think it's impossible (or inadvisable) to study the American revolution outside of America; it's just trickier. Doing that successfully comes down to 1) finding the right advisor and 2) choosing the right topic.

By this point, you should know who the leading scholars are in your particular niche of interest. Nobody really studies "the American revolution" writ large; rather, they (and you) will focus on the political or racial or sociocultural or regional or culinary or-- whatever aspect of it. It might just happen that the people in your field are located near you.

You can also approach the topic from a different angle – start from a local point of interest that you can to relate to the AmRev. (Maybe you're Italian, and you know about Italian History Blorbo who went to fight in the war, and there's a story to tell there. Maybe you're Dutch and you have things to say about the intricacies of the financial and political support the Netherlands gave to America. And so on.) This might, in fact, lead to novel insights and perspectives that haven't been explored yet.

Good luck to you!

If anyone wants to share their own experiences, please feel free!

[chrollohearttags]

i love this song https://open.spotify.com/track/5kfNriitmkNE8mUbZ7gbq8?si=ABipdw_BQqygrGqFEGPcEA and musician eren so why not combine them 🤭

everybody known eren is a rapper but my man got vocals too!! so imagine him writing this song about like an early y/n like in the early stages of their relationship. basically eren releases the song (it’s on an album or something) and everybody thinks it’s some club anthem because of the title- in my head eren has his music loved down ; ain’t nobody hearing until it’s ready!! it’s really this emotional piece about y/n.

this was probably the longest thing i put in cherry’s ask box but i just wanted to say my piece yall 😭

baeee!! This was beautiful. I swear you feed my delusions so well. 🥹 and this songgg?? I love it. I imagine this is how it came to be too..

tw: angst, mentions of childhood trauma, more reverb spoilers, weed and alcohol use

living a busy lifestyle on the road, going from city to city..state to state trying to make a name for yourself wasn’t easy. Your journey to stardom was one consistent of hard work, faith and sadly, a lot of tears. It wasn’t often that you had the chance to sit down and reflect on your past. But tonight, you found yourself in the one place that felt like a safe haven..around the one person you found solace in to freely confide in about your problems..

“It was the night of my first performance with the girls and I wanted to go run to the phone…tell my granny that I finally did it. But I couldn’t…I felt so fucking stupid. I think I spent an hour crying on the floor of that damn dressing room. Didn’t want anybody bothering me..”

(Y/N)‘s feet swayed freely in the crystalline pool waters, kicking alongside another set of legs underneath the pale moonlight. Stars glistening in the dark sky like a blanket; hovering above your head. But the hand holding your own was what gave you the strength to finish telling such a heartbreaking story. Your longtime friend and new partner, EJ The Don..at least as the world knew him. But to you? He was just Eren and that was all he ever wanted. Was for someone to see him for who he truly was. And the feeling was reciprocated. So the two of you were sitting outside, as you had done many nights before and just reflected on your past lives. All the things and experiences that led you to where you were today.. blunts illuminated around you and unfinished bottle of wine. Honestly, it was the easiest way to cope with sharing your feelings. Something that didn’t come easy. But with him listening along, you felt more at ease and comfortable..so the words flowed as did the tears you had been holding in.

“..my mama didn’t even congratulate me. Hadn’t seen that lady in years. Hell, I didn’t even know who she was until two years ago but the first thing from her mouth when I went back to my old hood was ‘think you can loan me some money?’ What kind of shit is that?”

he had never seen you so open and you had never been this vulnerable with anyone in your life. It was a new experience for the both of you. In a way, you felt ashamed..that maybe he’d view you in a different light after airing out your dirty laundry. Even though he left home of his own volition, he still grew up in a stable environment. You guys were from opposite sides of the tracks but even so he didn’t judge! And when you tried to apologize for your past, he’d clutch your hand tighter; placing a kiss to your temple before rubbing his thumb across your cheek.

“What are you sorry for? Something out of your control? I love you for who you are now and I’m grateful that you shared all of this with me. Stop apologizing for shit you couldn’t help.”

it was such a refreshing change from all the men you’ve encountered in the past. He didn’t show it that night but every word you said to Eren stuck with him. From the pain of losing the one guardian you’d had in your entire life to the toxic relationship with your estranged parents and even your stint of having to do things you weren’t proud of just to avoid sleeping on the streets. It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows for you, hence why you smiled so much now. Gracious for the life you had built. Even so, his heart ached for you..he wanted to cry knowing that such a beautiful woman with an even more beautiful heart had to endure such hardship. It pained him to not be able to find the right words to express how truly sorry and empathetic he was of your situation. How could he? Here he was some kid from Jersey who grew up well off while you were on the other side of the tracks suffering. He felt he had no right to speak on you or the things you’d overcome. But he couldn’t help himself….long after you had gone home; sitting up in his studio with his pen and pad, trying to come up with a new track. Like he had done so many times before when the woes of insomnia had kept him awake. He’d scribble a few things here and there..nothing sticking. That was until he thought about you…so helplessly crying in front of him. In that moment, he felt so weak; unable to tell you what you needed to hear. But he hoped to atone with his next gesture. Reaching over into the corner, he’d retrieve his guitar. An instrument only used in a few tracks of his but one he enjoyed playing the most. Strumming along, he’d hum a melody..closing his eyes to get a feel for what he was playing. That’s when it’d all start to click.

‘They don’t care like I do..’

from there, every lyric, harmony and melody flowed freely like the tears from his eyes when he pictured his precious girl, his princess in such a horrible situation. Scared, alone and afraid..he wrote it with everything he had in him. Pouring his heart out into that paper and microphone as he played the tune on his Fender. Singing to his hearts content as he had not done in a long time. He recorded it that same night and although, he knew it’d become lost in the shuffle of the other more upbeat tracks on his album, EJ gladly placed it in the middle of the playlist. Hoping that if it reached no one else in this world, that it’d find its way to the one person who inspired it. It was while you were out with your girls, tossing back drinks and laughing at a downtown lounge when it first debuted on radio. Months after the album had come out and he was long on tour across the country. Everyone instantly loved it, even making remarks of how they didn’t know your ‘man’ could sing like that. But as you hummed along to the beat, you couldn’t help but become emotional as you took in the intense lyrics. Realizing that they hit a little too close to home. It took everything in you not to break down right there. But it only further proved how blessed you were to have him in your life.

I hope you’re listening, (y/n). Wherever you are…I hope you can hear me. Hear how much I love you..

[qqueenofhades]

Do you have any idea where all the money in education IS going? People talk about administrators, but their percentage of the overall budget seems lowish? Facilities are expensive, but often paid for with bequests, no? Where the hell is all the money going?

The same place it's going in every other capitalistic American enterprise: to senior executives, endowments, and other places that decidedly do not "trickle down" (because you know, it never does). See my many previous posts about how college costs skyrocketed starting in the 1980s and post-secondary higher education was transformed from something in which most of the costs were governmentally subsidized to something expected to be paid (at higher and higher levels) either privately out of the consumer's pocket or from thousands of dollars in student loans. Because you guessed it, Reaganomics.

I can tell you one place it absolutely is NOT going, i.e. salaries of faculty and staff, at least in the less capitalistically sexy fields of study. The university where I work never hurts for money in the business and law schools, but because I am in the humanities/education/history, yeah, our department's budget is not in great shape. Of course, yes, COVID hit the higher-education sector like crazy (as it did everywhere else) and universities haven't figured how to recover from that, but just as with the rest of America, it's a model that is designed to funnel the vast majority of profits, i.e. from skyrocketing student tuition rates and other increased fees, to the highly compensated senior leadership and very little to the academics who do the work that makes the place, you know, RUN.

This is a bugaboo for both me and every other academic I know, because (again, just as with the rest of capitalism) it doesn't HAVE to be this way. I shouldn't be trying to manage a department that has to rely heavily on adjunct faculty every quarter and doesn't have a sustainable long-term scheduling or research model, because we're so badly understaffed with core tenure-track faculty and they won't let us hire any more, while constantly cutting our budget and giving us laughable raises (mine, after getting sterling performance reviews across the board, was a whole... 72 extra cents an hour. I wish I was joking). There is money tied up in the institution and the establishment (and as noted, I work at a well-regarded and highly-ranked private university, so it's not a matter of not having enough), but the system distributes it in a way that is inequitable and results in enforced scarcity, especially in the humanities. It's not that there isn't money to pay us fairly, it's just that they have chosen not to, because they exist in the same capitalist system as the rest of the west.

This is why there have been strikes by graduate and early-career academics in both the UK and US (I have worked/studied/taught in both places, and they're both BAD for paying lower-level academics and even established-career academics), because they simply do not pay us enough to live on or build a career on (by a long shot, ESPECIALLY if you're the only person in your household and don't have shared expenses with a partner/roommate/several roommates). This is after most of us have several advanced degrees and the debt resulting from such. We get burned out, we can't make a living in this field, we leave, and it's hollowed out even further. So. Yeah.

[geek-fashionista]

A Business Proposal

A little while ago, I posted an interest poll for a series I'm planning. Since many of you responded that you were at least curious, I come today with... limited information. Limited, because the novel version of this series is currently being read by a literary agent.

But I've always felt that this story was too big to be contained in book format. Under a traditional publisher, I would lose the rights to my own property, so if they didn't want to see more of it, that's that for myself and the characters and the readers who fall in love with the characters. Self-publishing is harder. It needs to be a collaborative effort between writer and readers if it's going to succeed. Thus, I turn to the only audience I have with my "business proposal."

(Note: If you've been around long enough, you might recognize some of these characters from posts that have since been deleted.)

~*~

Working Title: Trainwrecks Length of Series: 8 seasons Length of Seasons: 24 episodes, 12 main and 12 bonus, posted biweekly. (Each season will last three months.) Episode Length: 1000-2000 words Setting: Seattle, Washington and its surrounding towns, between the years 2004-2015 Genre: Contemporary, YA to New Adult

Trainwrecks follows a diverse group of six best friends from high school to their mid-twenties, with all the romance, heartache, college and career decisions, and confusion that entails. Our main cast:

A bubbly, fat Puerto Rican girl with a passion for art and matchmaking (Ages: 14-25)

Her adopted, Argentinian brother, who is adept at music and pretty much nothing else (Ages: 16-27)

Their childhood best friend, an Asian/British/American guy who hides years of trauma behind a flamboyant and overbearing personality (Ages: 19-30)

His ill-tempered younger sister, who has just moved back to the United States from London after their parents divorced fifteen years ago (Ages: 14-25)

An equally bad-tempered Hawaiian/French guy with a love of photography and a hatred of bullies (Ages: 14-25)

The coolest, most beautiful Chinese girl you'll ever meet, who is fighting a sex addiction after a history of abuse (Ages: 16-27)

Main episodes will be written in story format. Bonus episodes will be in epistolary format: MSN chats, text messages, letters, blog posts, and eventually Twitter posts. Y'know, cuz Twitter didn't exist in 2004.

The main series (8 seasons, 24 episodes each) will be completely free to read and delivered directly to your email inbox. There will be character artwork, a bio page to keep track of everyone, a tie-in Tumblr account for memes, Spotify playlists for each character, and helpful things like family trees and relationship charts as well. Each season will have its own key artwork---cover art, if you will.

In addition to the completely free story, there will be extra content for paid subscribers and Patreon patrons, including but not limited to:

Sneak previews/early updates

Side stories

Back stories

Character and universe development notes

Entire AUs with different relationships or different genres

Money raised will either go towards paying artists or towards my student loans. And if the series gets really popular, I intend to launch a Kickstarter for physical copies that will include all the artwork and maybe some bonus items as well.

That's my business proposal. If you like it or have questions, comment on this post, scream in my inbox, chat me---do whatever but do it vocally because I need to know you're out there. And then, feel free to follow my Substack for updates.