#and i am so so so so so proud. of every single microscopic step that i took. every question i asked. every thought that i hid and protected

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Growing up in an extremely ultra religious, cult-like family was a mindfuck for multiple reasons but that doesn't stop unfortunately, even when you escape. For example, see: The overwhelming feeling of boiling hatred and shame for who you used to be.

The angry hatred for the past person I used to be, the version of myself that mindlessly parroted my family's beliefs and listened to their every command, constantly simmered under my skin and invaded my every thought. I was embarrassed of what I used to be- even as I made friends of different ethnicities and faiths, as I listened and explored new ideas and worlds that I never knew existed, as I started the first LGBTQ+ club at my school and volunteered with kids who deserved so much more- there was always a little voice in the back of my head.

"They would hate you if they knew what you were. They would hate the horrendous teachings that were seared into your mind, the things that you used to say and believe. You are nothing but a pretender."

And it is true that my beliefs were bigoted in all the worst ways. It is true that I believed truly heart-wrenching things without a second thought and judged others in such harsh and unfair ways. I told myself that there was no coming back from that, not really. There was nothing I could do to ever make up for it.

Then I remembered that the person who said those things wore velcro light up sneakers and collected finger puppets that the librarians handed out as awards for reading picture books. The person that held signs at pro-life rallies and anti-LGBTQ+ protests had a cherished sticker book and hunted minnows in the creek after school and adored their puffle on club penguin and was really into greek mythology and had skinned knees from climbing trees at recess and knew every Disney song by heart and was absolutely terrified of the dark.

That person was a child.

I was a child.

It took a really long time. Years and years of reflection and distance, but I've decided that I can't hate the past version of myself anymore. I feel pity and remorse, I feel anger- I feel so much fury and violent rage- at what my childhood was and I grieve what could- no, should- have been, but I no longer resent who I was.

I'm not ashamed.

I am so, so, so unbelievably proud of that little kid. For being brave enough to leave the comfort and safety of what I was told was right. For not being afraid to be wrong. For seeking out information and knowledge in a culture that praised ignorance. For questioning everything, relentlessly.

I am by no means a perfect person, I never have been and I never will, but I am proud of myself in every iteration that has ever existed because I know that I have never stopped trying to understand and learn and grow, and I never will.

If you have ever been in a similar situation and feel similar things, first of all: My condolences on your lost childhood. Second of all: Please be nice to that past version of yourself and recognize all the hard work they did to make you who you are today. That person was a survivor and an inspiration. They deserve nothing but love.

[zaddyzemo]

helmut zemo x reader x heinrich zemo

⚔

cw: power imbalance, sexist language, abusive behavior, emotional manipulation, dub-con, attempted impreg

summary: your loyalty to the House of Zemo is tested when the 12th baron travels through decades to aid his son in restoring their legacy and carrying on the bloodline

author's note: for more context, check out this Avengers: Ultron Revolution clip and the two pre-serum Helmut Zemo x Reader drabbles written in that universe

as an octogenarian, Helmut Zemo is now older than his father ever was. however, watching Heinrich remove his purple cowl for you to assess the damage done by Captain Roger's fist to his face, he saw that thanks to the Super Soldier serum and time displacement, the two of them were physically the same age. "the swelling should go away by morning, sir," you smile at the face you've become familiar with through faded photos and the genes his son inherited from his side. "there is no damage to your cranium." Heinrich hissed when you touched up his stitches. "if it weren't for Zemo 2099, a little bruise would've been the least of my worries."

he wasn't talking to you, however, and he hadn't been since Helmut had brought him back to his now old castle along with the cyborg Zemo 2099. he ignored you in favor of berating his son, and you hadn't seen the baron look this humbled before. his mask was still on his hanging head and you suspected he kept it on to hide his pained expression. "I am grateful for his assistance in our battle against the Avengers. and for keeping you safe, Vater."

"his assistance? he practically fought every single one of them off on his own while you stood there like the weak link you are." Heinrich pushed you aside so that he can properly yell in Helmut's face all the insults your master would've plunged his sword through the one speaking them, but he didn't dare move a hand against his father. standing perfectly still and silent, he was falling back into the role of the perfect soldier since he failed at being a good son. he only shifted when the man screamed "the only reason you're still standing here is that you're my true heir's great grandfather."

the thirteenth baron was nobody's great grandfather. truth be told, he was nobody's father. in eighty years, there's been no shortage of women between his satin sheets and there's been more than a few men. however, there's never been a baroness. so preoccupied recreating his father, Heinrich Zemo's work and restoring their legacy he was that he ironically didn't spend a single second on producing an heir. you suspected that he didn't wish to subject his supposed brood with the same trauma he went through. he's always had a soft spot for children and you only found out once he took you in that the orphanage you grew up in was one of his many estates. he grew up an orphan himself, but he's always had his blue blood to help him gain access to all the resources he needed. as far as he was concerned, every child in every orphanage he ever built was his heir.

however, Henrich Zemo didn't see it that way. he saw his son flinch at the mention of offsprings and figured out that he doesn't have a grandchild in this timeline. "you've not produced an heir?" when Helmut couldn't meet his eyes and the shame in them was visible through the mask, Heinrich raised his voice again. "YOU HAVEN'T EVEN GIVEN ME AN HEIR? HOW IS THE HOUSE OF ZEMO SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE WITHOUT AN HEIR?"

"Vater-"

"did you try and fail as you do in everything? did you not even try?"

"Please, Vater-"

"what about das mädchen?" he pointed you out as you were packing the medical supplies. "did you not sire a child by her? i'd even name a bastard born from a bed wench my heir if it meant the Zemo name will survive until 2099."

"she is not a bed wench, she is my apprentice-"

his attempts at protecting your honor were weak and so was his voice. as powerful and proud of a man he was around his allies and even enemies, he was pathetic in front of his parent. he was silenced with nothing but a slap.

"how you survived all these decades without me I do not know and, truth be told, I do not care to know." Heinrich Zemo watched his son straighten his crown on his head and his mask on his face. he was not just disappointed, he was downright disgusted. "if it weren't for my title, my fortune, and my Super Soldier serum, the house of Zemo would've died with me."

"with all due respect, baron," you snapped, smoothening the bed sheets where he sat earlier. "your son has sacrificed everything for the survival of the Zemo name. if it weren't for him, you wouldn't be here in the first place."

he looked at you as if you were a stain on his boot. "how dare you speak to me that way? Helmut, how dare you let her speak to me that way?"

"you are dismissed, mein fräuline."

"even if she were a lady, she should know not to speak unless spoken to."

that was when Heinrich Zemo acknowledged you. and approached you. his eyes he had passed on to Helmut, but you've never seen them look down on you as if you were the dirt under his sole before.

"I'll see to it that she never speaks to you that way again, Vater," Helmut made one last attempt at deescalating the situation, but he already had you backed against the bed. his old bed. "she will be punished for her insolence."

"yes, she will." Heinrich raised his hand up in the air and struck you across the face with the back of it. "she will learn her place in my palace." the lesson seemed to be going well as you were too shocked to say a word and your master was practically mute where he stood frozen in place. the sting of the slap didn't hurt nearly as much as the shame. "she belongs beneath us." he grabbed you by the jaw and forced you to face him again. "and she will not speak over us. do you hear me, madchen? you are never to speak unless spoken to. is that clear or are your little peasant ears so dirty and clogged that you haven't heard a word I said?"

you tried looking back at your master, the thirteenth baron, but the twelfth wouldn't let you. he squeezed down on your jaw. "yes, sir."

"now was that so hard?" he loosened his grip and stroked the handprint he left on your cheeks and the tears that fell on top. you nodded instead of opening your mouth again. "of course not. you were born to obey, mein kleines lamm. and i was born to lead you lest you wander astray. no harm will ever come to you as long as you do as you are told. you will be safe, as long as you serve the house of Zemo. have I make myself understood or should i speak plainly so that you can follow along?"

"I've read all the books in the castle library, sir, including your journals. I can follow along with your words just fine."

when you saw him smile for the first time, you recognized it as Helmut Zemo's lips stretched across a row of carnivorous teeth. they were lions who've developed an appetite for lowly little lambs like you. "she's a mouthy one, isn't she? clever, too." father then turned to look at his son as he pushed the hair off of your shoulders and exposed your cleavage. "I see why you'd keep her close and even let her wear your own mother's clothes." then, he yanked your hair back and twisted it along with the rest of your body. when your back was against his chest, he came close to your ear and caught it between his canines. "you're lucky us Zemo men have a weakness for reckless women. you're always asking for it and we're always willing to set you straight."

"Vater, what are you-" Helmut found his voice, but he had yet to find the strength to step in between you and Heinrich.

"if you won't make a baroness out of this peasant girl, then I will." he licked the bitemark and buried you face-first into the bed covers. "my lineage will not end with you," he held your head down while lifting your skirts. "if you are too weak to sire an heir, then I'll do it myself."

you struggled, but he was too strong. his hands on you had a powerful grip as they parted your legs and ripped your underwear on the furst try. his hands also awakened the same ardor his son's did whenever he touched you. you were burning with shame and need in equal measure.

"you've kept a young, clean and ripe little cunt in my castle for years and you didn't even once consider it," Heinrich placed his pelvis between your thighs which were trembling in fear and anticipation. one of his fingers, his thumb, traced the lips and the leakage they were covered in. he did this several times, testing you. "look at this, Helmut. she's already wet and ready to receive me. she was made for this," he sinks his finger in and your cunt closes its warm and wet wall around it. "look at how she swallowed me whole. she was made to carry my royal brood," he chuckled, ecstatic to be so enthusiastically enveloped by you. "as lowly as you are, I'll turn you into the lady this fool never could, little lamb," he addressed you, but his words were meant to provoke his supposedly foolish son. still, you moaned into the mattress and even moved against his thumb, your body ready to be bred just like he said.

you almost missed the sound of Helmut hitting his father across his already bruised face, you were that preoccupied with whining pathetically at the loss of the feeling if being penetrated. all of a sudden, you were flipped over, your spime sinking into the mattress as your master - your true master - looked down at you with a bare face and a lustful gaze.

you sucked in air, breathless from Heinrich's ministrations and Helmut's manhandling. you didn't dare fight him ripping open your corset. finally, you could breathe snd he could behold your heaving breast which he marked as his with his teeth every night.

"I never impregnated her because I didn't want to, not because I couldn't," he looked back where his father lay on the floor. "i watched her grow under my own eyes, under a microscope, and I am very much aware of her fertile womb, father. and it is mine to turn into a bed wench, servant, assistant and even the mother of the next generation of Zemos, if I so desire." his large hands grabbed you under your knees and spreading you wide enough for him to slot himself between your legs. "she is mine."

"finally," Heinrich found his voice and his footing again as he stood up. "a show of strength," he watched you surrender to his son fully, arms flailing as you scratched the sheets in search of a grip. Helmut had entered you up to the hilt and split you open in one stroke. seeing his boy bury himself into your belly fully and noticing the bump his cock created in your abdomen, he grabbed him by his wide shoulders from behind. "you sound like the lion cub i never got to raise. you almost make me proud."

Helmut was heaving, his wide chest expanding as he lost himself in the luxury of your luscious cunt. he turned towards his father and his words of praise. "I am not a child anymore, father. I am a man. I take what is mine and tear apart all those who stand between me and what is mine." at this, he pulled out only to plummet back in. in a flash, his pace was fast and you found yourself mewling, a cat in heat or maybe a sacrificial lamb. you were his to devour.

"yes," Heinrich rubbed at Helmut's shoulders as his breathing got heavy. "yes, that's it," his hands moved lower, sliding down his spine and holding onto his lips. when the song stopped to slap the underside of your thigh, the father chuckled. "that's my boy," he squeezed his sides as they snapped against you, the sound of skin slapping against skin bringing the smirk back to his father's face as his son chased his carnal release. "mein guter junge," he nuzzled his ear. "now, come inside. come inside that cunt. that's your cunt, my boy, now claim it."

you tossed your head back as he lifted your hip up in the air and slid his cock so deep in your cunt, you saw stars on the ceiling.

"fräuline," Helmut grunted, burying himself deep inside your guts. "fräuline, you're mine." he tossed his head back against Heinrich's shoulder. "give me a son, mein fräuline."

"yes," your tongue lolled out as your eyes rolled back. your brain was a blur as you agreed to be a broodmare for the house of Zemo. "yesyesyes."

"come inside," his father pressed his lips against his earlobe. "make me proud," he kissed the shell of his ear. "come inside that cunt and give me an heir."

there's nothing he wanted more than to spill his seed inside of you. well, maybe getting more of his father's praise. once he emptied himself inside your womb, he got a pat on his head, sweaty head slicked back as you got a pat on your full tummy. "mein guter junge."

"Vater."

[abitnotgoodiebag]

Blur

Title: Blur

Square Filled: I1 - Did they or didn’t they?

Warnings: drunkenness and terrible mental gymnastics

Word Count: 2,881

Summary: Sam thinks he needs an aspirin, better yet, he needs to get up outta here.

Link to AO3

Blur

Sam groans as he swims back into consciousness.  Both his brain and his tongue are unpleasantly fuzzy and he wants nothing more than a cool washcloth, a cold glass of water and complete darkness and silence for the next decade.  He is too old to be drinking himself into terrible hangovers.  He knows the importance of staying hydrated and yet, here he is again, wishing for death to claim him. Sam can certainly say that he has never been the best at making good decisions.

As Sam debates the pros and cons of moving from his comfortable cocoon, he becomes aware of the sounds of soft snores uncomfortably close to him.  He feels the body heat of someone else underneath the sheets of his (is it his?) bed. He also realizes very suddenly that he doesn’t have a single stitch of clothing on.

Shit.

Sam tries to think of who could possibly be behind him snuffling softly in slumber.  The fact that he’s naked probably means that they are too and Sam could slap himself for the second time in as many minutes.  The pounding in his head doesn’t help at all with his mood and Sam may have finally found the reason to quit drinking altogether.  Waking up with strangers in bed is definitely something that is part of his twenties, not to be done when he’s staring at the front steps of forty.

Sam curses the fact that he is the first one to wake up and debates whether or not moving will wake his bedmate.  His memories of the night before are patchy at best and the more he tries to piece together his time at the hotel, the more alarmed he becomes.

-------------------------------------

It was the one year anniversary of the battle against Thanos and Sam would rather have been anywhere else.  The country was not as accepting of Sam as they had been of Steve. Sam didn’t want to think too closely about why exactly that was (because it was way too easy to get angry and what would that solve?), but there were days that he just wished his detractors would say what they really meant, and not use their carefully-coded acrimonious checklists on why Sam would never be Steven Grant Rogers.  Every single decision Sam made was examined under a microscope in the media. /r/notmycap can’t go a week without some viral thread castigating him and slightly less often, Bucky (It’s always the ‘Winter Soldier’ or ‘The Asset’ though, they seem determined to remind the world that Bucky had a violent and unsavoury past).

If the bad press wasn’t enough, the list of full time Avengers was embarrassingly short.  The Defenders did their own thing, as did Reed’s little group. It almost wasn’t worth anyone’s time trying to talk to Charles Xavier unless the subject was mutant rights (not that there was a problem with that, Sam definitely knew how stupid people could be around anything they perceived as 'different').  No one wanted to work with the reformed psychopathic (his words, Sam wasn’t convinced) mercenary, well, Peter was trying to tell everyone that he wasn’t so bad but Sam wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole.  Sam, Bucky, Rhodes, and Wanda were all that was left of the Avengers Initiative.  Sure they had emergency and consulting members, but the fact was, Sam was barely captain of anyone.

Sam’s cheerless thoughts had him spending his time at the bar, after quickly making the initial rounds to greet everyone.  He had to admit, Pepper knew how to throw a party.  While there weren’t a lot of full-time Avengers, Thanos had united the entire world against him, and so the rented ballroom (in the most fashionable of hotels) was full-to-bursting.  He scanned his eyes across the room taking in the small groups that didn’t quite mesh together. Thor and his new traveling companions, the Guardians of the Galaxy stood in a loose circle laughing entirely too loudly.  Thor finally found a group who also lacked inside voices, Sam was happy for him. He looked better than he did that day.  That too-long day that Sam went to battle in the fields Wakanda and ended the fight on the remains of their battered home in New York five years and mere seconds later.  

Sam was glad he wasn’t around to see Thor's slow slide into misery.  He had heard Steve (over the phone, Sam still can't quite look at his wrinkled face) tell him the stories of Thor’s grief at losing his father, brother, best friend, and planet within a week only to lose half of existence the very next day.  Sam couldn’t imagine that pain.

Sam dealt with a different sort of grief.  He had missed five years. Five years of his mother's life, five years of his niece’s life.  Unfortunately so had her mother, his sister.  Sam would never understand how his mother dealt with losing both of her children for five years, believing them gone for good.  His house and belongings were all long gone, leaving him and Bucky to scramble to find an apartment together in the aftermath on the ‘Unsnappening’ (fucking twitter called it that and unfortunately it seemed to be stuck).  He refused to put any more stress on his mom by moving back in when Kayla had to get used to her mother being back.  Besides, it was just easier to live with Barnes. He didn’t have any memories of those five years, as far as he could tell no one did, but he couldn’t help but feel it in his bones that he had spent the time with Bucky.

Shaking his head to dispel that line of thought, Sam looked for his best friend.  They had arrived together, as usual, but Bucky was quickly called over by Yo-Yo and Shaw, both of them eager to hang out with the soldier (he’d taken to being a SHIELD operative surprisingly well, all things considered, he even had work friends, Sam was proud of him).

Turning back to the bartender, Sam ordered an old fashioned.  He had recently discovered that between the two of them somehow Sam was the hipster, even though Bucky had refused to give up his ridiculous (fucking beautiful, if Sam was being honest) man bun.  Sam refused to listen to modern music (unless it was Beyonce, but really, it’s Beyonce it goes without saying) and read his paper at the table instead of staring at his phone all the time.  Sam couldn’t help it, he was an old soul and he had endured Bucky’s teasing goodnaturedly.  He absolutely drew the line at handlebar moustaches and penny-farthings though.

“Birdman number two!”  Clint said in what he probably thought was an acceptable volume, clapping Sam on the back.

Sam startled and grinned as he saw his fellow bird-themed hero.  “Barton! How is life treating you?”

“Can’t complain.”  He said with a cheeky smile as he leaned toward Sam and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “If I do, Laura will give me the old boot.  But I’d deserve it because she is the world’s greatest wife.”

“Damn right I am.”  Said Laura as she appeared next to her husband.

Sam sipped his drink and watched them bicker gently.  He loved that in a couple. Sure the schmoopy ones were cute and all, but life is always better with laughter and it was clear the Barton’s were full of laughter.  They excused themselves after two rounds, Laura saying that she was tired and Sam was once again left to his thoughts.

Before he could sink into them too deeply, his eyes landed on Bucky standing next to a scowling Valkyrie and taking a swig out of Thor’s comically enormous flask (Just because he was doing better didn’t mean that he wasn’t still struggling).  Sam smiled slowly at the blush that spread across Bucky’s face after his second long pull. Seems like Thor brought the good stuff.

Sam, armed with his bourbon and a liquid loss of inhibitions, (after the second old-fashioned, Sam wondered why he was even pretending to do anything other than get hammered and stopped bothering with anything more complicated) pushed away from the bar and headed in Bucky’s direction.  

“Hey there my good people.”  Sam smiled lightly as he reached Bucky, Thor, and Valkyrie.  “Is this the 5000 proof section?”

Bucky rolled his eyes fondly after his last pull and passed the flask to Val, Thor letting out a brief sad noise in his throat, knowing he wasn’t going to get another swig any time soon.  “Sure is, pigeon. This is the cool kids table and you can’t sit with us!”

“Ten points to Hufflepuff for correct use of Gretchen Wieners.”  Sam said as Bucky looked confused. Belatedly, Sam realized that they hadn’t gotten to the Harry Potter series yet, Bucky picking both Star Wars and Star Trek (every single iteration, Bucky was obsessed) instead.

“Friend Falcon-Captain!  It feels good to have a night of revelry with all of my shield-broth-”  Thor stopped, his smile faltering slightly. “My shield-mates! Let us toast!”

Sam tossed back the last few drops of his bourbon while Thor waited for Valkyrie to pass him the flask.  Bucky just snorted at Thor’s naivete and headed towards the bar to grab a less alien drink. He reappeared a minute later with three glasses and handed two to Sam and Thor respectively.  They clinked their glasses and drained half of their short tumblers as Valkyrie finally drained the flask.

Bucky and Valkyrie let out loud (and surprisingly deep) twin belches sending Thor and Sam into a fit of giggles.  Bucky joined in their laughter while Val just rolled her eyes and walked off in the direction of the bar, no doubt in search of a bottle or two to occupy her hands.

“What’s so funny?”  Shaw asked, coming up behind Sam and throwing his arm around Sam’s shoulder and resting his chin on the other one.  Yo-Yo circled around to bump robotic shoulders with Bucky causing Sam an immediate sharp flare of jealousy in his gut. Yo-Yo and Bucky shared too many similarities for Sam to not see her as a potential threat for Bucky’s time and affection.  

“Bucky was just showing us how to play the tummy pipes.”  Sam said, his words slightly slurred.  His laughter stopped abruptly.

Sam’s smile fell away and Bucky noticed immediately.  He glanced briefly to Shaw draped over Sam before he was somber as well, leaving Thor confused as to what exactly was happening.

“Oh-kaaaay.” Shaw drawled as he picked his head off of Sam’s shoulder, leaving his arm curled around Sam's neck.  Sam was confused, Shaw was Bucky’s friend, they’d met maybe 4 times total, but if Sam were to guess, he’d bet he was less intimidating to use as a prop than the once-king of Asgard or a super soldier.

Yo-Yo raised an eyebrow.  “It seems like we need to catch up with you guys.  I could smell you from a foot away.”

Shaw hummed in agreement even though he was clearly ahead of Yo-Yo too if his inability to stand up straight was any indication.  “Valkyrie went off for more, but I fear that she does not intend to share anything she finds.” Thor said, sounding vaguely disappointed.  “So I must go and fetch us another round!” He looked very proud of himself for thinking of that as he turned and strode away.

“He is amazing.”  Shaw sighed, “What’s his deal anyway?  Why doesn’t he stay here full-time?”

Bucky glared at Shaw and Sam watched on in confusion.  So now it’s not just Yo-Yo he has to worry about, now Bucky has a thing for Thor?  Sam (not for the first time) thinks sadly, that he’s just a man.  He’s no Inhuman, he has no enhancements, he’s from plain old Harlem, not some mythical planet, and he can’t call lightning with a thought.  He’s just Sam and maybe all he would do is slow Bucky down. So zoned out, Sam jerked when Shaw and Bucky laughed, making the room wobble unpleasantly. His obvious distraction just caused them to laugh harder while Yo-Yo’s lips curled into a small smile.

Sam, who realized he was the butt of some joke, flipped them off, making Shaw start all over again, finally taking his arm off Sam’s shoulder to cradle his midsection as he bent forward, cackling madly.

Thor returned with a tray full of shot glasses.  “Let us drink!”

“Damn big guy, you do not mess around, do you?”  Shaw sounded awestruck as he straightened up and Sam was not at all bitter about everyone’s obsessions with Thor.

Yo-Yo and Bucky grabbed two apiece, taking them in rapid succession just a hint of redness on their cheeks indicating that they were drinking anything other than water.

Shaw grabbed two shots, holding one out to Sam smiling wide, “Us normies gotta stick to our singles.  I can’t believe we’re more meat and no tech and still manage to be the lightweights.”

Sam laughed at Shaw’s dig, even as he seethed inside at Bucky leaning down to murmur something to Yo-Yo, eyes on Sam the whole time.  Thor ignored all of them in favor of knocking two shots back one-handed, looking disappointed at their flavor.

Sam, now unable to remember exactly how much he had already had, felt that being upright was overrated and sat down, hard.  Bucky glanced at him in concern, opening his mouth to ask if Sam was alright, but Sam glared back insolently and Bucky’s jaw snapped shut and he turned back to Yo-Yo who had been watching them in amusement.

Shaw grabbed two of the last four shots and again passed one down to Sam, shrugging.  “To bad choices!”  

Sam quickly echoed the toast and gulped the offered drink before clumsily getting off the floor, not finding it comfortable craning his neck up at everyone.  Yo-Yo ambled away, tray in hand, clearly off to refill it. Sam saw Bucky moving out of his peripheral vision, but by the time he turned his head to get a proper look, Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

---------------------------------------

Sam squeezes his eyes shut as he realizes that the last person he can remember talking to was that irksome weirdo, Deke Shaw.  Bucky had left him at the party alone with Shaw, clearly chasing after Yo-Yo. Sam is gripped by a combination of self-loathing and envy that almost chokes the air from him. He will never forgive himself if he has tumbled into bed with that asshole.  This whole situation is entirely backwards. He’s pining after a grumpy, nerdy, absolutely gorgeous white boy from the past, not a strange, trouble-magnet from god-knows-when in the weird-ass future.  

Sam knows who he wishes it was behind him.  Every day he tries his hardest to be the best friend (who is he kidding, he’s doing a great boyfriend audition and has been for months) to Bucky.  After living together for almost a year, they have a certain bond, but not quite the type Sam wants.  He thinks Bucky wants it too, most of the time, but Sam knows better than to try and rush something before its’ time.  Sam’s father always told him that anything worth having was worth waiting for if necessary and James Barnes was definitely worth having.

The person behind him snores loudly once, before Sam feels a hand reach around his middle, drawing him back into a firm torso.  Sam freezes immediately, afraid to look down and finally solve the mystery. The body he's trapped against is mostly warm. Mostly, because Sam can definitely feel the not-quite-cool smoothness of what Sam will bet everything he owns is vibranium against his shoulder blade.

Sam relaxes and very slowly, smiles.  All of the hatred at himself for possibly ending up with anyone else leaves him as almost quickly as it came.  He can't wait for Bucky to tell him everything.  Or Thor.  Or even Yo-Yo, even though Sam will make Bucky do all the talking if that's the route they have to go.  Sam is willing to bet he has some interesting message on his phone if he bothered to check it (If it was even still on at this point, who knows how late in the day it is).  Knowing that he’s lying here with Bucky surrounding him makes the not remembering much easier. He has no regrets other than not committing every single detail of the previous night to memory to constantly replay over and over and over again.

Satisfied that it is indeed Bucky he’s woken up with (Sam breathes in deep and could slap himself, how did he not smell the traces of his own body wash?  Bucky is always stealing it instead of using his boring bar of soap and smelling himself on Bucky drives Sam crazy) makes it easy to let his eyes fall shut and let the hangover pass. His best friend (and maybe, hopefully, probably, finally more) is curled around him keeping out the noise and light of the world and Sam needs to sleep this hangover off.  He smiles to himself as he focuses on the soft snores and drifts into a peaceful sleep. Sam knows that everything is going to be just dandy.

[chchanging]

This isn’t the one I talked about writing-- that’s still a wip--but this is the one that comes before it so yay more content

Mc: Rossi Mayhew, Queen of Big Dumbass Energy 

Rossi knows Jax’s hand is pressed against her back, but she doesn’t feel it. She knows the others are offering Lily their final goodbyes, but she doesn’t hear them.

There’s an aching chasm deep in her chest and as much as it hurts, focusing on it helps her block out their words. It helps her shut out the world in which Lily is no longer present. It’s not a world she’s sure she can live in—certainly not one she wants to.

Lily hadn’t just been her friend—she’d been her sister. Finding her wounded and bleeding out on their apartment floor had remained the worst feeling Rossi had ever experienced. The fear, the helplessness. Her only hope had been Adrian, and the blood that ran through his veins. The only thing that could’ve saved her. The waiting, the worrying, had been the worst thing she’d ever had to do.

The worst...until now.

There is no hope now; no coming back from the dead a second time. Rossi’s heart cries out for its other half once more, and now it always will. The only thing she can do is retreat into herself and hope when she comes to everything will have blown over.

“—ossi...Rossi!”

Jax’s gentle voice eases her back into reality. Everyone is looking at her. It seems they have all said their piece. It is her turn.

“You were closer to her than any of us could’ve hoped to be...would you like to say some words?”

Rossi lets herself meet Kamilah’s eyes. She realizes that tears are streaming down her cheeks, even though her breathing is even and no sobs accompany them like one might expect. It’s like her body mourns even when her mind is numb—a passive act that she truly has no power over.

“What does it matter?” She asks softly, voice clear. “What could I say? She isn’t here to hear it.”

“Rossi...” Jax murmurs again.

“I can’t...” she whispers, eyes falling closed as she attempts to stop the flow for at least a moment. Just a tiny reprieve. “I just...I can’t right now. If I try—“

She almost chokes on her words, and takes it as a sign to stop while she’s ahead. Kamilah nods solemnly, understanding.

“We won’t force you,” She reassures, with a single hand reaching to squeeze the young woman’s shoulder. “She would understand.”

Rossi presses a palm to her lips, squeezing her eyes tight as she fights for composure. With a nod, she breathes a shuddering breath. Jax takes her free hand and squeezes it, and she returns the gesture gratefully.

When she opens her eyes again, they are wet but no more tears fall. She clears her throat.

“There’s still one more thing left to do, and then we can all rest.” Adrian assures her softly. Everyone turns to the entrance of the ruins, their eyes coming to rest on a lone figure who hangs a good ways back.

Gaius looks mournful, truly, and when his eyes meet Rossi’s she can see that there is something he wishes to say.

“What happens now?” She wonders aloud.

“We discussed it.” Kamilah replies, eyes still locked on Gaius. “We think you should be the one to have the final say.”

“Me?” Rossi turns to look at her incredulously.

“You know where Jax and I stand.” She gives a little humorless smirk. “Adrian, however...”

“Many have died tonight.” Adrian continues for her, drawing Rossi’s attention to himself again. “It might have been unavoidable, but...well, I tell myself that they meant to do harm. Once, I would’ve said the same of Gaius.”

“But, now?” Rossi prompts.

“Now, I’m not so sure...” He frowns thoughtfully, gazing off into the distance. “I think I would be...willing to see what the future holds. But I can’t be the only one to feel that way. We’ve decided to trust your judgement. Kamilah and I may know who Gaius was, but, Rossi, you’ve been inside his mind. I think you know better than anyone what should be done with him.”

Rossi feels her chest swell.

After everything that had gone down, tonight—it meant the world to know they still trusted her.

And Adrian was right. She knows what she has to do.

Slowly, almost tentatively, her feet carry her across the room and to his side. Gaius tracks her every movement with his gaze, intense as ever. She feels the familiar tingle it sends through her. It should unsettle her, how he always studies her so closely. She wonders absently why it never has.

His eyes linger on the tear-tracks she’d neglected to wipe away.

“I had hoped the circumstances would be a touch more favorable.” He speaks lowly, sincerely. “I am...truly sorry about your friend. If I had moved faster...if I hadn’t let Rheya get the best of me...”

Surprising both of them, she reaches out to take one of his hands in her own.

“There’s only one person I blame for this, and he’s already dead.”

His skin is soft and warm against her own. She feels his thumb glide fleetingly over her knuckles.

“Lula’s okay because of you.” She adds softly, “I can’t thank you for that enough.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, his hand falls from hers. “It isn’t much compared to all The harm I’ve done. But I’m glad.” He tacks it on the end like an afterthought, and she finds herself almost smiling when he looks off to the side.

“One of these days you’ll learn to just say ‘you’re welcome’.”

His lips twitch upward, but the smile fades fast. They stand in heavy silence. Everyone is waiting for her to pass judgment. Everyone wants to know what punishment she feels befits his crimes.

“You better, like...write my a postcard or something from wherever it is you go after this, Y’know.” She reaches out and makes a show of straightening that terrible cape of his, ignoring the look of surprise on his face. “If you drop off the face of the earth after all this I’mma be pissed.”

Gaius blinks. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure.

His eyes flick back towards the group of friends she’d left behind, gauging their reactions, visibly wondering if they’d really let him walk out of here just because she said so. He breathes a shuddering sigh, somewhere close to a laugh but not quite.

“Are you a touch insane?”

Even with the gaping hole in her chest still fresh, she finds it in her to give him a wide, genuine smile.

“Jury’s still out.”

Swallowing hard, Gaius watches her as if waiting for her to change her mind. When she doesn’t, there’s a strange look deep in his eyes. Like she’s given him a gift he couldn’t possibly repay.

“There’s not a chance in hell I deserve this.” Is all he says.

“Yeah, well, ‘deserve’ is a shitty word people throw around when they want to justify how they treat someone. If you don’t think you deserve a second chance,” She steps closer, almost challengingly, “then go out there and work on becoming someone who does. You do more good making up for what you’ve done than as a pile of ashes. Fuck what you ‘deserve’.”

For a moment, he drops his head and stares at the ground. He’s contemplating what she said, but there’s something in the way he does it that makes it seem almost as if he is bowing it in respect. When he looks up again, his eyes are clearer than she’s ever seen them and they sparkle with amusement. He’s smiling ever-so slightly.

“Eloquent as ever.”

“I do my best.”

He gives her one last meaningful look before turning away. Towards Kamilah.

“You said back in Japan...that one good deed doesn’t undo all the horror I’ve caused.” He pauses, jaw working. “How many do you think it would take...to call me friend.”

For a long time, she doesn’t say anything. She stands, impassive, with a hand on her hip, and gazes at him like a goddess passing judgment. Her face doesn’t change when she speaks—save for a nearly microscopic quirk of her painted lips, and the even less noticeable softening of her eyes. “Find me again in a thousand years. We’ll talk about it then.”

The tension Gaius wears like armor slowly seeps out of his shoulders. He chuckles, lowly, under his breath. “A thousand years,” He says in an easy tone, “I suppose I can give that a try.”

Jax steps forward before anyone can say anything else. His eyes are hard as stone, jaw set. “You saved Lula—I won’t forget that.” They lock eyes and Gaius waits as if he knows what comes next. “That being said: make sure we never cross paths again.”

“With pleasure.”

They nod once, in understanding.

Jax turns to leave, then, with his back straight and his eyes ahead. When he passes Rossi, he makes sure to give her shoulder one last squeeze. She smiles sadly after him.

Adrian clears his throat. This seems difficult for him—for a moment Rossi can see how deep his regret runs. How much he wishes things could be different. “I’ll take it upon myself to scour the edges of the world for you if necessary.” He says, tone dutiful, but there’s a pleading look deeper in his eyes. “See that it doesn’t come to that.”

Gaius’ lips twitch upward, only for a moment, before he nods. “You have my word.”

There’s a moment of stillness, of heavy silence. The goodbye doesn’t require a verbal acknowledgment. Rossi looks on as Gaius exchanges looks with the two of them for what she’s sure is the last time for a very long while.

He looks...proud.

And then he turns, taking one deep breath before looking at her once more.

She wants to say something, but she isn’t sure what. Thinking back to that night on the boat—the way he’d made her stomach flutter strangely—it wouldn’t feel right to leave him with nothing. She opens her mouth, but no words come. So she closes it.

It shouldn’t be this hard, she tells herself.

He watches the uncertainty ripple across her face and a tenderness catches hold of him. It’s something he hasn’t felt in quite some time.

“Don’t forget about me, out there.”

It seems with those words she has even surprised herself. She gives an awkward little smile and casts her eyes downward.

“I doubt there’s anyone in the world who has forgotten meeting you.” He chuckles. And then he steps forward...and brushes his lips against her forehead. “I don’t take this lightly. I’ll do you proud.”

He’d thought so little of her when they’d first met. Just some air headed tart his progeny had grown too attached to. Strange, now, to realize she’d become something of a guiding light.

Rossi, struck speechless for perhaps the first time in her life, flounders for something clever to say and comes up blank.

A bit of payback for a night he won’t soon forget, he thinks, and strides towards the door.

He doesn’t see the tear that rolls down her cheek as she watches him leave, but maybe that’s for the best.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp?, Part 17. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you.

A/N: We will be wrapping up soon, folks. Let's have two last chapters and were done!

Warnings: Reader being a paranoid silly dummydumdum and angst and angst and fluffiness. I have u guys, alright?

Word count: 3.1 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95, @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six Part seven  Part eight  Part nine  Part ten  Part eleven  Part twelve  Part thirteen  Part fourteen  Part fifteen  Part sixteen

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

Four months after the last chapter:

You sat on the toilette for what seemed like forever, in a complete shock, gasping for your dear breath. You felt as you were crying, sobbing, being a hot pile of mess. Pete was sitting next to your small cabin on the ground, hugging his knees, listening to your heartbreaking sobs.

You and Steve were together just for a few months, four and a half to be exact and you couldn't think of anything more perfect. When he was at home, he was literally the sweetest guy around.

He knew his way around with cooking and preparing just the best baths, nobody was able to make the bed like him. Every time he cleaned up the place, you couldn't recognize it. And you didn't know if he used some forties tricks when it was his turn doing the laundry, but it smelled so good every damn time he hung the clothes.

It was more than fair to say that Steve Rogers was living at your place basically. He moved his clothes there, so you could basically wear them as yours, he was buying the groceries and taking care of the flat.

Your relationship grew stronger and stronger, but with that, you needed to count on the paparazzi sniffing around your private life. They exposed you and Steve many times and you only giggled when you read the articles out loud to Steve when he was in the shower. Sometimes you were reading it with Peter when Steve was out of touch.

You were making fun of that, but Steve got fed up after a while. He was under the public microscope for a long time at that moment when your relationship started, so he talked with Tony (IT WAS TONY STARK HIMSELF, YOU LITERALLY FREAKED OUT WHEN STEVE SAID THAT IT'S JUST 'TONY') and Tony made some steps to keep the newest Avenger lovebirds out of the public eye.

Everything was awesome... Until that one evening.

How to put it right? Let's just say it how it was - you both absolutely loved sex, let's be honest here. Steve adored and loved your soul, but your body was just gorgeous for him. He was a boy from the eighties who didn't have a proper lovemaking session for seventy years, maybe even never.

So, naturally, when Steve got home after three weeks lasting mission, you took a day off at work, just to be with him at home all day, basically not leaving bed all day. That was maybe the day you just got... Pregnant.

Yep. That's right. A baby was inside growing inside of you and your heart was beating loudly at that moment. What the hell should you do? What were your options? Your brain couldn't exactly think when you were a crying mess sitting on the toilette.

Steve told you one time that the family man who lived in the forties died inside of him when he got out of the ice.

So you were worried that Steve will not take it too happily, even though you knew that you were seriously paranoid.

"Is everything ok out there? You're freaking me the hell out." - Pete knocked on your cab lightly, which actually reminded you of his presence. You weakly pulled yourself together, dried your cheeks and stood up. When you opened the cab, he almost jumped right into your face. - "You're not pregnant, right? That's why you're crying."

You didn't answer, just gave him the test and leaned your hands to the sink to watch your face in the mirror.

A mom. You'll be a mom. Was that even real? Were you even ready for that? You had a small bean inside of you. Your mind was splitting into two different people - one of them was optimistic and the second one was depressed like hell.

A strange warm feeling surrounded your heart and you smiled at yourself. Hormones were making you a bit crazy, like riding on a rollercoaster. The fear of telling him was sitting on the back of your head all the time, but for a moment you focused on happiness.

"You'll be a mom." - Peter whispered. He was in shock, but you could feel that happiness is written down in his voice. - "That's great! I will be his or her uncle and we will be best pals... Y/N, what's wrong?" - Peter asked worriedly and hugged you, nursing you slowly. His lips kissed your temple gently and his fingers smoothed your hair.

"I'm just so fucking afraid, Peter. What if he tells me that he doesn't want it anymore? He's at least a hundred years old. He doesn't have a much stable life, his job is dangerous and... I don't know." - You cried out to his shoulder and hugged him even tighter. You had a grip of a tiger or a bear that surprised Peter.

"Are you even listening to what you're saying, you weirdo?" - Peter took your face to his palms and smiled at you. A fifteen-year-old boy was nursing you because you were afraid of a baby. Your own baby. You were going to be a mom. You were acting like Ana in Fifty shades said, you had a little bean somewhere out there.

"Steve will be out of his mind when he's gonna find out. That man was designed by God to be a dad. Whether it will be a boy or a girl, you will be great parents. And May and I will be the best uncle and aunt duo." - He kissed your temple again, but someone interrupted you. It was Deena. She screamed, put her hand on her heart and closed the door with a loud bang. Then she opened the door again, looking at you, crying your eyes out and Peter, with his arms, circling around your shoulders. You both watched her, Peter with a big smile and you with your eyes hurting a bit.

"Okay, you two. I know you have a strangely friendly relationship, but this is fucking wild. What the fuck is going on?" - She just strode there, putting her hands on her hips, frowning at you and Pete. She had a primadonna attitude until Pete turned towards her with a pregnancy test in his palms.

"Oh my fucking God. You cheated on Steve with... Don't you fucking tell me." - She tried to tell a joke, but a small smile appeared on her lips. Her face was gentle all of a sudden as she watched the positive stick in her hands. You would never say that Deena could be a family type, but that situation totally wrecked her family-cold facade. She looked at you with a graceful smile, and ten hugged you. Then, she put her palm on your belly, slowly caressing you with his fingers.

"Hey, little baby. We know about you, honey. Oh my god, Y/N." - Deena looked into your face with a loving gaze. - "I think I'm gonna cry. Jesus fucking Christ, what have you done to me?" - She smiled and winked at you to get the tears away. - "Steve will be so happy. And Buck will probably cry. He's a sensitive pussy these days."

"But how the fuck am I supposed to tell him?" - You stared to the side, leaning your ass to the sink, watching both of them. - "I'm so afraid now."

"What are you thinking about, dummy?" - Deena looked at you with an ironic face, laughing. - "Just tell him. He's an honest man and he will most probably explode with euphoria. You know what? I have an idea." - Her palms held your shoulders, so she couldn't look away from her.

"You'll try it on Bucky, the whole telling thingy. Hell. He'll order you his fucking plum diet. Just be cool, you'll tell him, test it out. Buck will not tell Steve a single word if you ask him to. And now, get the fuck out. Both of you. I need to pee." - She smiled and kissed your cheek in a motherly mode. You could feel that she's so proud at that moment, so proud she couldn't even express it.

"Hey. Heads up. You'll do great. Wow. A baby. That's wonderful. In a few months, you'll be so big. Like, I mean, a big tummy, there will be a baby and I can chat with them." - Peter was so excited that it made you smile. Yeah. You'll be big. You'll be huge. Like a balloon. And you'll fart a lot. But that will be alright. Cause there will be a baby inside of you. - "You can't even guess how proud and happy I am."

"Yeah. Stop grinning so much, dummy. The whole office doesn't need to know that I'm pregnant the first day I found out that. So shush." - You shoved the little stick into the back pocket of your jeans and went there with a big smile.

Bucky was already in the office, leaning next to Val's shoulder and watched some video. Suzie watched you with her silent stare, feeling that something's off about you. But she just nodded and didn't ask. You loved that Suzie was the silent friend. She didn't ask unnecessary questions at all. But just as Suzie knew instantly that something happened, May could feel it in the air.

"Okay, you moron. Don't furrow at me like that and just tell me. What's wrong?" - May leaned her ass into your desk and looked at you with her motherly state. She had warm eyes and a kind smile, soothing the back of your head. But you just wiggled your head and decided on not telling her, not just now.

"You're like another child to me, baby. Just as protesting as Peter at the start of his puberty." - She leaned down and kissed your forehead. - "Remember that whatever happened, it's going to be good. When you feel like telling me, you'll. I larb you so, so much." - And then she left. You looked at Peter with a surprised face and he shrugged his shoulders. You were so glad that you may don't turn her NCIA attitude on just left it be. But then you saw Deena, looking like a little devil, leading Bucky to you. He looked really scared and surprised.

"Okay. She told me that you have something to tell me. And I'm not going to lie, I am a bit afraid what the hell is going on because she was deadly serious." - Buck said in a guessing tone. Deena frowned at him.

"Who the hell is some 'she', Mr. Burnes?" - She put her arms on her chest. Deena was just joking, but her face was deadly serious.

"She is my lovely girlfriend who is the best in the whole world, miss Green." - Bucky smiled, leaned onto her body, kissing her from her cheeks down to her collar bones, making her laugh. - "But let's talk, miss Y/L/N, soon to be Mrs. Rogers." - Bucky told you and take you away from the rest of your coworkers.

"That's not too far fetched." - You whispered back and Buck opened up his mouth with a surprise before turning his expression to a big smile.

"So that little jackass wants to marry you? I know that he's really in love with you, but this is a pleasant surprise." - He leaned into one of the windows, watching you nervously biting his lower lip.

"No! No! We're not having a wedding, Jesus. We're only for not even five months, Buck. You're crazy. I need to tell you something different." - You leaned next to him and put your head on Buck's shoulder.

"Okay. What's it, baby girl? You can tell me anything. I'm your and Steve's friend. I'm curious about what has happened." - Buck hugged your shoulder with his arms, bringing you closer to him. He was just the greatest friend, he made you feel safe and fooled to tell him almost everything. So you felt as you relaxed when the little, quiet sentence just got out of your lips.

"We're going to have a baby." - You whispered and looked at Buck with an innocent look.

"Doll, are you serious?" - He asked silently and his face leaned down to look at you.

"Yeah, my magical assistant Peter helped me to do three to four tests this morning. All of them were positive." - You smiled at Buck. His reaction nicely surprised you and made you feel sure about having a baby with Steve. Your emotions and hormones told you that it's going to be all right. Buck was a bit tougher Steve from what you could tell. And his reaction was like someone has lit up a fire inside of him, his smile felt warmer and lighter, his eyes shined with excitement. - "But I'm a bit worried about Steve's reaction. Like... He told he ain't that family man anymore. So..."

"Okay. So I'm an experiment. You think he's going to freak out, or that he'll be rude or he's going to pack his things and leave?" - Buck asked you honestly, he exhaled out loud, ending it with a giggle in the end. - "My pal would never. He'll be out of his mind, I swear in the name of God. It will make him love you even more. Hey. Let me tell the thing like this: every man, especially the two of us, want to have some small princess or a tough small pirate. It's a dream we think we can't reach. But you're the example of fulfilling that dream."

"What dream are you two talking about? Can I join the discussion?" - Steve's voice freaked the living hell out of you. Bucky felt how your body began to tremble, so he smoothed your back calmly. Steve took you to his arms and hugged you, kissing you tenderly on your lips, making you smile. - "You've been crying, sweetheart. Something's wrong?" He held you in his hug and you hugged him even tighter. Steve could sense that something's up, he could tell every time you cried or felt down. It was just like his sixth sense.

"I brought you some tea for your sickness, I heard that it helps a lot. Also, I have some food from the restaurant you like, some tomato soup and some lasagna." - He showed you a travel teacup and a bag in his hand, smiling excitedly. - "You told me that you will not have enough time today, so I took you something good to eat, doll. I will not let my girl starve, will I?" - Steve played with your hair and kissed the back of your head. Bucky disappeared in the meantime, leaving you two in a loving bliss moment.

"What would I do without my big guy, right?" - You tiptoed and kissed his lips. But then sickness took hold on your belly as you began to realize that you should tell him before you'll lose your courage completely. He wasn't blind, so he could do the math when the time came, seeing your growing belly and tired attitude. - "We, like you and me, have to talk. Right now and right here otherwise I would not tell you." - You left his side and left the bag on the floor under the window.

"Doll. Before you'll tell me anything else, just let me tell you that I love you and if you want to leave me..." - Steve played with your fingers and he looked like he's about to cry. You immediately took his face to your palm, shushing him with a passionate kiss.

"Shut up for a minute, you dummy. This is stressing me the hell out and I really want you to know." - You smoothed his wide shoulders with your nails and you still held him close. - "Especially when you and I need to go through all of this together."

"Is something wrong? Are you sick? What happened?" - Steve was smoothing your face with his thumbs gently and lovingly and his face was really looking like a lovesick puppy. Before he could guess any other option, you burst out.

"I'm pregnant. I'm... Pregnant." - You said twice, slowly and more scared for the second time. You couldn't even believe what you were telling him. Your face was pale and scared, you looked tired and sick. Steve just froze in one place, his mouth shut and his gaze was piercing through you, his arms around your shoulder.

"And are you... Sure? Like deadly sure? Seriously?" - Steve asked in a low, emotionless voice. You trembled in his arms, beginning to cry and your lower lip curled. You slowly nodded and first tear left your eye, falling down on your face.

"So... A baby. Wow." - Steve said with his expression slowly lighting up. - "We are going to have a baby." - All of a sudden, why you still cried, he was crying too with a sweet smile on his lips. He took you, carefully, at your waist, hugged you and carefully twirled you around. - "Y/N, I'm doing to be a dad." - He exclaimed with the happiness of a little boy.

"So you're not angry with me?" - You beeped quietly and looked at your boyfriend crying and you started to cry even more after that. You both stood there and cried like little children, hugging each other.

"Are you serious? Y/N, this is most probably the best day of my whole life." - Steve dropped on his knees, put his palms on your tummy and kissed it with a loving expression. Your fingers ran through his hair as he spoke directly to the baby. The tone of his voice was sweet and loving, he was mumbling and he held your waist in his hands.

How could you be so terrified? Why were you so paranoid? Steve took it the best way he actually could, he really was out of his mind completely, shining like a star. You loved to see him like that. A proud daddy-to-be. You could feel that he's happy, happier than ever before.

"Isn't it a bit too soon for you?" - You whispered after a long, sweet make our session. Steve was passionate and he was showing you all the love he had inside.

"It could happen a bit later, that's true. I'm amazed and surprised because this is a serious miracle. But I know you, you're my best girl, my loving and supporting girlfriend no matter what I decide to do. So we have two things on our list now, what do you say?" - He hummed in a pleased tone, being all-loving and caring for you.

"Two things?" - You opened your mouth, being surprised.

"First things first, we will prepare our home for this little angel." - He whispered and stole another kiss from you. - "But we can't bring him to a world where their parents aren't married. And I'm serious about that."

[ashthecrazy1]

The reasons why I love Taylor Swift

I haven’t written in a long while, and miss it. I guess being busy with work and my personal life took a toll on me, and I’m slowly losing myself day by day.

I recently started listening to my favorite artist everyday. Not many people understand why she is my favorite or why she inspires me to do better. They just see her as just any other pop star, and in their minds she’s just doing what she can to become as popular as she can be, but I know she cares. She cares about her fans, and does what she can to make them happy. She endorsed the equality act which would make me, and many others, safe from discrimination in many aspects of our lives. I would be able to love who I love without feeling unsafe for doing so when looking for a job, or a place to live in the future.

Her songs also relate to me in every single way. When her album reputation came out, I felt every single emotion of every song when people would call me names behind my back or say that I was just messing around when i went from one failed relationship to another failed relationship. I watched my reputation go down when I felt like no one would except me for being gay; when no one understood why I went from relationship to relationship; and when no one can understand what I am feeling on any day to day basis. Reputation was here for that, and in a way it was almost as if Taylor was listening to what I’m going through even though she has no idea who i am or what my situation is fully.

The Reputation era also reminds me of when I fully started to realize that I’m gay, since that was the tour my first ever girlfriend and I went to and I realized then the extent of my feelings for her. Taylor went to introduce “Delicate” on her tour, and I felt like she was basically talking to me when she basically said to go tell who you love how you’re feeling even if it scares you. Even though my friends took care of that for me, if it weren’t for Taylor, I wouldn’t of realized how much i really liked this girl and I wouldn’t of taken that leap of faith to give her a shot in being with me. Even though it didn’t work out, I still consider it an important stepping stone in finding out who i really am, since i thought I was bisexual before the girl I liked and Taylor. They both helped me to realize that I’m definitely not into guys as I am with girls, and that my future is supposed to be spent with a girl.

And i know my favorite artist supports me with her new era Lover, the album that makes me feel like love is possible, even though I am super single and living at my parents house. “You Need To Calm Down” is literally a representation of what i wish i can yell on a daily basis to my loved ones who aren’t as supportive of who I am. And even though I’m scared to do it myself, i know that i can turn on the song and imagine Taylor being there for me as we are both yelling at unsupportive people to calm down, and try to educate them as to why it’s ok for me to be who i am.

Also, her fishbowl representation in the Lover music video made me realize just how much my life is a fishbowl too, not in a famous every single person is watching me type of way. But I feel like there are times where people closest to me watch every action of mine in a little microscope, waiting for me to mess up even a little bit so they can call me out for not doing better. And when I try to escape the fishbowl, something always fall through and I become forever trapped with no where to go. I know eventually one day I’ll get out of this tiny little fishbowl, but for now I’m swimming aimlessly trying to figure a way out as I wait for my lover to come... eventually lol.

And don’t even get me started on her previous albums. I was in elementary school when I first became a fan of her, my best friend at the time basically forced me to listen to her and I instantly became inspired. Even though I had no idea what love felt like at the time, I danced aimlessly in my room memorizing every lyric to her debut album, Fearless, and Speak Now. She inspired me then to be myself and to write my own music which I keep in my notebook, shut out from the rest of the world. I hope that one day though, I can unlock my secrets from my pages I wrote and show the world the songs that I am proud of writing, even if it’s about personal events in my life, like my sexuality, and terrifies me to no end of disappointing people I am closest to.

And then as I got older in high school, Red and 1989 came out. Red will forever be my favorite album, since it strikes me more emotionally with “I Almost Do” and “All Too Well” when I went through countless relationships just to have them fall apart and wondering what I was doing wrong when I couldn’t fall as hard as the men were falling for me. 1989 is still relatable today when I shake off people’s opinions of me for opening up, just to get shut out time and time again.

Taylor has been there for me since day one, ever since I was in elementary school. She made me realize what I really want for my dream career, even though I’m scared shitless of making my diary public. She made me realize more of what my standards for a lover are and how to cope with that with her music. She reassured me it was ok to be who I am with her support of the equality act and her song. I’m so incredibly proud of her for winning two awards last night at the VMAs for that music video. She makes me realize that even though I feel like I’m trapped in a fish bowl and my reputation’s a mess, that I can get through any obstacle life will throw at me. I have been listening to her new album Lover on repeat, since I have been down lately and it instantly cheers me up, making me realize that Taylor is there for me no matter what. And I got two merch items from her and Stella McCartney’s collection so I know she’s there supporting me no matter what.

To me, Taylor is no ordinary pop star. She is there for her fans when they need her, and makes every effort she can to meet every single fan she has with secret sessions, lovers lounge, her secret autograph sessions at tours. and her pop up shop in NYC for her Stella McCartney collection. I really hope that I get to meet her one day and see just how amazing she is in person, while I give her a huge hug and thank her for being there for me when it felt like no one else was. She will always be someone I look up to, and Taylor if you’re reading this, I love you. <3

@taylorswift

[kakosindustries]

in which you get some wiser words to ponder over, you consider the nature of texture issues, you think about beastly appendages, you step in a puddle of Dana, and Red Renton “wins” the Ruin-A-Life Drawing. Do Evil Better.

Transcription:

Kakos Industries is ad-free. To help keep it that way, please visit KakosIndustries.com/Patreon, that’s p-a-t-r-e-o-n, and consider a pledge of a dollar or more a month.

Intro: What you are about to hear may inspire you to create your own new political party.

Hello and welcome to the Kakos Industries corporate shareholder announcements. At Kakos Industries, we help our clients and every single living thing down to the microscoping level to Do Evil Better. I am Corin Deeth III, and I am CEO of Kakos Industries. I am now back at my full capabilities, and I have returned to all of my job tasks. This includes testing the monster meat, determining which naked photographs will do the most harm when put on the Internet, stepping on employees that can only be motivated to work when their submissive fantasies are fulfilled, and looking at an enormous number of reports and formulating where the company should go to maximize both profits, and general nastiness throughout the world. I am also, for whatever reason, consulted any time the carpet needs to be replaced, which is relatively often. And not just when that carpet is in my recording studio and stained with my blood after my closest ally shoots me. After seeing how capable Junior is, we gave him a few new responsibilities. We put him on certain divisions as a consultant. He does have good ideas and he does know Evil, even if he is a bit strange at times. He has helped the Division of Automata to create a new android servant, that, by my estimation, is just a fancy sex toy. He helped the Division of Hygiene to invent a hose attachment that, when the hose is turned on, will pretty much clean anyone or anything that water hits. He also helped the Division of Tactile Textiles to make an even smoother fabric. He has some texture issues. And most recently, he has locked himself in his cave because he hates working. He wanted responsibility, but then it was too much effort, I guess.

Soundman Steven is back to his former stature. You see, new shareholders out there, when we built this fine facility where we record and transmit my voice to you via whatever strange and high concept device you have received, he was so impressed with the gear that his heart grew three sizes, and he became quite erect. This erection was first viewed as a nuisance by anyone   who had to work with him or otherwise accidentally bumped into it. But once we all learned that it meant us no harm, we became inspired by it. It became a mascot. Look, people would say, at what Evil has produced. An unyielding, ever present icon of what Evil can do. People would work harder after seeing it. Posters of it were created by adoring fans and posted around the building to inspire all of us to be at our best. And then, I shot it. I needed some quick Evil, and I was desperate and perhaps a bit myopic, and my aim isn’t very good, so I shot it. We gave him a new one, but it seemed that the bond of trust he and I had developed was broken, and without it, the erection could not return. Until Soundman shot me. Not in the dick, just in the leg, but I’m told I could have died. The memory of that violence has been keeping him strong and proud, and most importantly erect. No, Soundman, I’m not going to mention the shame that you feel. I have forgiven you. So we have him back. And that is quite possibly the most important thing.

Today’s broadcast is coming to you from the particularly pungent aroma from a permanent marker we mailed you. No, we didn’t expect you to inhale it on purpose. It is strong enough that when you opened it to see what was inside or how it might write, you caught a sufficient whiff to let us get into your head. This chemicals are very sensitive to radio frequencies, and by modulation them very carefully, we can change what your mind is perceiving as far as sound goes. You are almost certainly completely blind at the moment, but that should pass, assuming you were sighted before. I would recommend not trying to get up to do anything, and I do apologize if you were driving. The Internet tells me that this might be a decent time for your to try to beat Punch Out. This product comes to us from a collaboration between our Division of The Cheapest Thrills, and Marker Island, a company that only makes markers, and never pens. If you are not a shareholder, then it is possible that your mind is not fully calibrated to resist the allure of smelling even more of this marker. The broadcast will then grow much louder inside your head, ultimately resulting in serious damage to your brain. Shareholders will of course know their limits by now and cap up the marker for the time being.

The Division of Figuring Out What All of These Keys Go To has unlocked another Kakos Industries rule book. Well, I shouldn’t call it a rule book. It say The Kakos Industries Book of Proverbs, and is then followed by two diamonds. I have no idea if these diamonds are just a decoration, or maybe an indication that this is volume two. According to Grace Rule, our contracts master, this book tastes quite official, and we must take it seriously. The trouble is that the proverbs have been encrypted. Or they are in a character set we do not understand just yet. It is taking us some time to translate the proverbs, but I have the first completed on here. It reads “It is better to be a two-headed bear feasting on wolves than to be a coyote eating a cottontail rabbit.” Grace was unable to tell me exactly what this meant and what we should do about it, but it gives us something to think about. I will be sure to give you updates as I get them.

The Shareholders’ Ball, as always, was a blast. It was a great way to celebrate having been CEO here at Kakos Industries for the past five years. There was one snag, though. When it came time for the blood orgy, I found myself surrounded by interesting and beautiful people. That’s not a bad start at all. I was ready. But I have a bit of trouble just diving in without getting to know people a little bit. It’s far more interesting to be romantically involved with someone you know and perhaps care a little about. It adds something extra to what can otherwise seem kind of mechanical. And the issue was, they all had the same name. Or similar names, I suppose. If you’ve been following along with my personal stories during these broadcasts, then you probably know what I’m about to say. There was Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabbs, Tabbi, Tabby, Tubs, Tiber, and maybe a few others. Now, it seemed to me as though the basement ballroom started to run away from me, bringing the exit door ever closer, but I think in hindsight I have to admit that I was probably just fleeing on foot. Once I found a place to hide and catch my breath, I had some time to clear my head and think. This has been too many coincidences. This has been too strange. But it can’t be something big and scary. I thought back to the people that Bernice Largo, the head of my support staff, must have hired to see to my sexual needs. What if they have all taken on a name to signify their goals? But I have to say that, if this is true, Bernice has made a terrible mistake. I have missed out on more opportunities due to this fear and frustration than I would have for any other reason. Unless that is actually the point. Perhaps I was supposed to be freaked out. Perhaps it has nothing to do with my sexual needs, but instead what makes me the most Evil. I will need to do some looking into this. It may be true that this makes me more Evil than anything else. But it may also be true that knowing this has ruined the experiment. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Bernice. It seems that she has been out of the office. For a while. Like, a really long time.

The Chili Cook Off didn’t go according to plan. There was some sort of hang up and most regular attendees were late. Something to do with our transit network. Junior was not late, and he had finished almost all of the Chili by the time anybody else got there. On the plus side, we did get to enjoy the remaining aroma in each of the pots. Some were quite spicy, and definitely Evil.

We are now making preparations for the Celebration of Affirmation, which is ordinarily the celebration where we say nice and reaffirming things to one another. While this is fine, I gave the Division of Dionysia a challenge. I said, what if we affirm ourselves through actions instead of words? The head of the division scratched his chin and thought for a moment before going off to start working on some ideas. We shall see what comes of this.

We are also preparing for the Big Black Hole celebration. It is usually a good time to remind ourselves what Evil can do when we don’t apply it carefully and thoughtfully. It reminds us that an experiment can go wrong, destroy a whole branch of the company, and create a wormhole to Costa Rica. Or wherever the hole goes now. The dirt was grape flavored, but it is now strawberry flavored. And, you know, dirt flavored.

I have just received word that they have translated and/or decrypted another proverb. “The wind is best when it dries your enemy’s skin. Best to invest in emollients.” Huh. That one seems pretty straightforward, but perhaps I am missing something.

Last time, Junior discussed Dana Govern in great detail. She is the woman who was given a staggering number of genetic modifications, and we have just sort of been waiting to see what would happen. Most of the time, she just seems to be a woman. Late thirties. Average figure. Generally attractive, but not in an unusual way. We have had some strange reports. One person claims they saw her grab her lunch from the fridge using one of her many tentacles. She does not have any tentacles. Another person reported seeing her cook a meal by setting her hand on fire. She has no severe burns. Another person claims to have stepped in a puddle, but then there was only Dana on the ground. This is all very exciting, though we have yet to catch any of it on video. So far, our most reliable way of finding her at any given moment is using Junior’s nose. I’m not sure how he finds her, but he always finds her.

Kimzzzzzzzzzzz has eased up on the dyed hair thing. I think she just got bored of it, because we’ve been refusing to pay her off. Now, the only thing that matters about you is how glamorous your nails are. Your face doesn’t matter, your hair doesn’t matter, your hygiene doesn’t matter. It’s only your nails. Long nails with fine decorations and intricate artwork are the best. I do not like having anything on my nails. It’s a texture thing. So I’m really unappealing right now. Except to people named Tabitha, apparently.

We now know that Meredith Gorgoro is alive. For those of you who are new, Meredith Gorgoro was in charge of the labor camp we built in a huge cavern we dug once looking for the biblical Hell. We caught her on camera again. But where she lost her left arm, she has now replaced it through some sort of field surgery with the arm of one of the monsters she has slain. It is an enormous and powerful arm, covered in white fur, and the skin underneath appears to be green. And from what we caught on the drone footage, it would appear that she can control it incredibly precisely. I probably don’t have to tell you this, shareholders, but an attachment like that would require meticulous and excruciating work attaching all of the nerves to their new destinations. But there she is. With a monster arm. I’m a little jealous, but I don’t know exactly why. It looks really cool. It would be hard to type with it, but I think I would get my way in meetings a lot more often if I would just whip that baby out any time someone questions me. Oh, you don’t think lemon skin is inedible, well, fuck you. Monster arm. Wait, maybe we should market monster arms. That would be sick.

I walked in on a heated argument between Jasmine Aashna and Dr. Dunkelwissen, head of the Division of Erotic Experiences and rogue scientist respectfully. I got the impression what they were arguing about wasn’t what they were really arguing about. They are still trying to answer the question “What is most sex?” but it doesn’t seem to be going very well. From what I could gather, they are having a hard time narrowing down any physical activities that can be said to always be sex, or super sexy sex. Yet the mental and emotional stuff lacks a certain edge necessary to be the most sex of all sex. They turned to look at me. I gently waved and saw myself out. For what it’s worth, on their whiteboard, they had the phrase “really long nails?” written and underlined several times. I can’t know for certain what that means out of context, but I felt like passing it along anyway.

They say that Evil once released a hundred thousand balloons, each destroying the drive and ambition in someone nearby when it fell to the Earth. This is Things We’re Taking Credit for Now. Today, we are taking credit for social media celebrities, an undying desire to be adored, and butt bleach. Now, you might be thinking, that seems a little unreasonable. With the exception of butt bleach, those other two things seem like they probably come about on their own. Well, you should stop right there. Stop thinking like that. Because thinking like that gets your butt extra bleached. And nobody needs that. We did these things. We made them. They’re ours. And extra butt bleaching kills.

Red Renton has won today’s Ruin-A-Life Drawing. As a result, Raz Razelton, the selected target of Red Renton, will have his life ruined. We gave the Wheel of Misery a nice pep talk, and then a mean spin. It landed on the space for Undecipherable. From this day forward, or as soon as the Damnation and Ruination Squad can get it done, Raz Razelton will be 97% more undecipherable, feeling the need to speak in ways where his meaning cannot be easily detected or understood. This will get annoying fast. For Evil measure, Red Renton will speak 22% more plainly, losing a little bit of tact in the process. Congratulations on the win and best of luck.

This brings us to the end of our broadcast. In a few minutes you will be permitted to destroy this marker. I will say it is excellent for writing your handle on toilet seats or bathroom mirrors, but you might go blind again in the process. Kind of hard to get away when that happens. Anyone who wasn’t a shareholder is almost certainly dead by now. The numbers are next.

18

22

23

44

56

73

122

199

337

338

449

567

3

Don’t cut the feed yet, Soundman. I just got another proverb. It says when the star Burgeron is closest to the Dark Planet, and the moon is at its highest point near Fuffeni, and a cool mist sweeps across the land, it shall be time to party hard. Let me just take a peek out of the window here. Wait, that one must be Burgeron, and… yes, Fuffeni, the dark planet, and the moon is so close! Call the Division of Dionysia! There’s not much time! We need to party! We have to party! It has been foretold. Or proverbed. There is no time to waste!

Credits: Kakos Industries is written and produced by Conrad Miszuk, who is also the voice of Corin Deeth, and the composer of the music. The introduction is read by Kim Aiello, and the credits are read by Kelsey Kemmer, know detangler extraordinaire. Please visit KakosIndustries.com for news, extras, and more episodes. There are also transcriptions on the website if you’d like to read along with the Kakos Industries announcements. That’s K-A-K-O-S-I-N-D-U-S-T-R-I-E-S dot com. Please visit store.KakosIndustries.com for merchandise and special offers and get wonderful benefits by becoming a subscription donor at kakosindustries.com/patreon. Questions, comments, or a strong desire to collaborate? Drop us a line at inquiries@kakosindustries.com. If you like Kakos Industries, be sure to rate and review us on your favorite podcasting service, and connect with us on YouTube (YouTube.com/KakosIndustries), Facebook (facebook.com/kakosindustries), Tumblr (kakosindustries.tumblr.com), and Twitter (@KakosIndustries). We encourage fan art and listener participation on all our social media platforms. Please visit our website for cast details and the credits for all of our social media contributors.

Special thanks to our esteemed shareholders Iain Croall, Dan Shumway, William Brandon, Floyd Singh Power, and Jack Attack. Also thanks to honored employee Dorkpool Dorkuss, who made sure to distribute valentines to everyone who wasn’t going to get one otherwise, and Chris Leclerc, who reorganized the DVD collection after they all catastrophically fell from the shelves. And thanks to our division heads Britney Garcia, head of The Division of Beanies, Booties, and Construction Projects That Are Probably Too Large for Yarn, Valerie Koop, Director of the Division of Inappropriate Games to Play in Public, Patrick Green, head of The Division of Oceanic Micro-Cryptozoology, Carl H, Director of the Division of Unanswered Messages, Xavier Jarman, Director of The Division of We Know Magic Doesn’t Exist But We’re Going to Keep on Trying, and Craig Czyz, director of the Division of Obscure Vintage Technology. The Division of Beanies, Booties, and Construction Projects That Are Probably Too Large for Yarn has begun designing a ferris wheel. It sounds even scarier than normal ferris wheels.  The Division of Inappropriate Games to Play in Public has introduced The Real Life Drinking Game. Whenever your boss says something passive aggressive, take a shot! The Division of Oceanic Micro-Cryptozoology has lost the puddle-cabra, and are now much more focused on the unicorn actinopod. It uses its horn to gather food. The Division of Unanswered Messages has ignored their morning alarm for sixteen months. In that time, they’ve gotten up and went to work, but the whole time, their alarm has been going off, annoying many. The Division of We Know Magic Doesn’t Exist But We’re Going to Keep on Trying has begun using a Divining Rod to look for wells all around Kakos Industries. So far, there are no new wells, but many new holes. The Division of Obscure Vintage Technology has dragged out the old crate of 78s. The crate is only the finest pressings of people’s last words. They are truly haunting. Our esteemed shareholders, honored employees, division heads, and other Patreon patrons are the best. If you want a thank you in the credits, your own division, or other great rewards that help to keep this show running, please head to Kakosindustries.com/patreon. That’s Patreon: p-a-t-r-e-o-n.

Kakos Industries can be heavy sometimes. Try flipping off a wild animal to bring about catharsis.

[virmillion]

The Sun is Running Late

in celebration of finishing my big bang fic (!!!!!), have some self-indulgent not-quite-angst

Warnings - death mention, implied suicide, the entire thing centers on the end of the world, first person POV (its roman), let me know if you need anything else tagged

Words - 3400

You know what? Everyone always has a different view of how the apocalypse will come about, what they’d do, how they’d survive it. Even in more common situations, like school and workplaces, I guarantee you everyone in that building has, at one point or another, figured out their plan for when they met their end. So many different notions for the same situation, whether it’s to defend everyone around you, to run for cover, to go on the offense, but no one can really know what they would do until they’re put in that situation.

    I guess that’s why I was so accepting of my own complacency with my looming demise—I had planned to stand up and fight back all along, so proving myself wrong was less of a reality check and more of an inevitable surrender.

    As it stands, waking up to a sunrise isn’t the worst way to spend my last day alive, I suppose. If you wanted to get into the specifics of how bad a nine am sunrise is, more power to you, but I’d rather take the streaking pinks and melting oranges than contemplate how deadly such a beautiful sight is. Even with the sky in tatters, shot through with angry reds and blinding yellows, it’s a welcome view in an otherwise empty town. After everyone left, there wasn’t a whole lot to do besides admire, so I’ll take what I can get, thank you very much.

    Okay, so I didn’t technically see the sun rising, but I did get to see the residue of it in the shards of mirror beside my mattress. Atop a pile of blankets, all intentionally familiar smells, I could just barely see the sun demanding my attention, of which I have a surplus. Naturally, I took the most logical step to follow and tumbled my way onto the hardwood floor. With the cold resistance serving as a reminder that I still had a life to live, I made my way outside.

    Awesome. All caught up. I’m facing my last day, the town is empty, the sun is running late, and the world is silent.

    With the smallest of grimaces at the quickly rising heat, I turn back to check everything in the building—okay, the shack, if we’re being honest, but I’m trying to be polite here. That photo of them still hangs proud over the door, the edges tattered and burnt. We all looked so happy when we took that, it almost feels like a mockery to look back on the memory with fondness. The mattress stolen from a warehouse down the street remains where it always has, and where I suspect it always will—I’m sure I won’t make it through the day, but I’ll be damned if that mattress ever disappears.

    Speaking of not making it through the day, I glance up once more. The sky—it used to be blue, I remember, just like his eyes, but not anymore. Now nothing would dare come between the sun and the planet, nothing would dare try to put out the small fires littering the street. Beside me, a stray old newspaper rolls away, burning like an ant under a microscope. Above it all, the sun, glowing yellow and orange and proud. It’s the center of that ball of fire, truthfully, that makes me so certain of my looming demise. The sun has never been purple in the center before.

    The funniest thing, though, is that this isn’t too different from normal anymore. Yeah, I still feel a pang in my chest when I think about them, and I know I’ll be making the daily trek out to the cemetery like always, and I know it’s always been my fault, but that doesn’t mean I can change it. It just means that I’ve gone numb to the pain. Would’ve been better if I’d been the one to go instead of Thomas, but what can you do, right?

    Finally content with the inevitable, I reach down to grab the red water pitcher. I’m not quite clear on how its contents haven’t evaporated under the relentless heat, but I’m not about to question convenience, either. Every flower, every tree, and every little weed gets a splash of water on my way down to the main road, leaving the shack behind me as I go. By the time the pitcher runs dry, the neighborhood animals have all started coming out of the woodwork.

    I offer each of them the usual bits of food from my pockets, careful to lure the shy ones further away to prevent fights. A fruitless endeavour, I know, since they’ll all be gone tomorrow, but it’s nice to feel like I’m making just a small difference, just for a little while, you know?

    Even the birds flock to me, demanding food I don’t have, attention I can’t give. I have one task to carry out today, one more apology to make, and they aren’t involved in it.

    A single bead of sweat trickling down my back turns into a torrent as the sun rises still, drawing closer to me with every step. Weaving between the cars, all abandoned in everyone’s haste to escape, I duck to avoid seeing the side mirrors. I haven’t seen my face in two years, and I’m not about to start now. I looked perfectly fine in that picture with them, and even if they’re gone now, I’d rather pretend I haven’t changed.

    A cough wrenches its way from my throat, reminding me why, exactly, they left me here. I hate it, the remembering of why they left me, of the hurt in Virgil’s eyes, of the cold acceptance in Logan’s. Once he knew I wouldn’t make it, he severed all ties as if we hadn’t been friends for years at that point. It’s understandable, I guess—no one wants to take an asthmatic off the planet, especially not one prone to illness. Much easier to lose one life than risk thousands.

    Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but I see his point.

    I flinch away as a car beeps loudly at me, still unused to the curious animals that have taken up residence in the unlocked vehicles. Granted, they’ve inhabited several more than they would have, had I not smashed in the windows to create new homes, but still. Just pretend that I did it so there were less opportunities for me to see my own face. Humor a dying man’s last wish, won’t you? Or, well, no, don’t do that, I guess. Can’t really honor the wish if I’m already gone, huh? Ha, yeah, that’s a little more logical. That’s what Logan, would say, anyway.

    I wish he were here.

    I shake the thought from my mind, continuing on my way. The path is treacherous, to say the least, what with the drastic climate changes lately. Warped roads and new hills appear at every turn, intent on blocking me off from my destination. One thing I will say in the sun’s favor—its refusal to submit has certainly forced me to be more physically fit. As much as I can be, at least.

    Another car rolls down a hill, missing me by mere inches as I hop onto the curb. That was Patton’s car, I remember. It crunches over some loose limbs before bumping to a stop, evidently not high enough in the momentum department to outdo a complete body. Stoppable force, meet dead object. I believe you two have interacted before, but reconciling with old acquaintances is always fun.

    Oh, right. I might’ve forgotten to mention how many lives we lost trying to escape. Mostly skin and bones at this point, all separated and unidentifiable after so long in the sun. I wonder if they all knew it was the end. Maybe no one did. Logan knew, that’s for sure. He knew exactly what he was doing when he left me here, and he knew exactly what Thomas would do when he found out.

    That doesn’t mean this is Logan’s fault, don’t get me wrong. This is just because of my faulty genetics. Logan was acting to preserve humanity, regardless of what planet that would happen on.

    I finger at the red sash roped over my shoulder, rubbing my thumb over the stump where my shoulder ends. Yeah, burying my old friends was a little difficult to do with one arm, but someone had to do it. The only reason their bodies still litter the streets is that the graveyard ran out of room. Probably would’ve been able to find a new burial ground if it weren’t for the bum leg, either.

    I suspect you’re starting to get a better picture of why they left me behind.

    Somewhere overhead, a bell tolls—the only real sound I’ve heard in the last two years. There’ve been hallucinations and everything, sure, but those are just in my head. This ringing bell, this is what reminds me that I am, in fact, still alive, no matter how much I might hate that reality. It chimes off nine more times—ten am, if I’m to believe that matters in any way. It doesn’t, really, so much as it means the sun is lurking ever closer, a deadly beam of unstoppable heat that’s probably going to kill me where I stand without me even noticing. I’ll be gone before I know what happened.

    Wishful thinking.

    I think it’s right about here, dear reader, that everything sort of hit me. You know how that happens? How all at once, you realize just how awful everything is? Yeah. Yeah, right here, as I remember the pain in Virgil’s eyes as Logan dragged him away, as I reflect on the resigned acceptance as Patton turned away, didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t even give me one last hug because it would’ve killed us right then and there, neither of us would’ve made it, I would’ve held on too tight and never let go and the sun would’ve obliterated everything and still I wouldn’t have let go—

    Yeah.

    Yeah, that’s right now.

    I feel my legs give out beneath me, collapsing to the pavement and leaning up against a blue car. It might’ve been Logan’s, maybe not, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. He’s gone, and I’m certainly not about to drive it. I can hear the animals calling in the distance, bemoaning the rising temperatures, and I can even see the steam hovering low over the black concrete, but it doesn’t really matter by now. I’ve accepted it, so I shouldn’t be so upset about what’s coming.

    People always talk about how they don’t realize they’re crying until someone else points it out, how they don’t notice the tears until their sleeves are stained with snot and salt. A nice sentiment, that your mind removes the sadness before you can notice, but it’s not me. I feel it all the way in my gut, that same stabbing ache as my eyes burn, as I press the heel of my hand against them. The world turns black behind the safety of my makeshift blindfold, spots popping up that vanish when I try to see them. Everything has vanished, including my will to stop crying, because what’s the point? No one’s going to see me, and certainly no one will care that my last moments were spent in tears.

    By the time a sizable puddle builds up beneath me, I’ve gathered the sense to press my head between my knees. I don’t know whether this helps at all, but it certainly can’t do anything to diminish my bravery—I never had enough of that, anyway.

    Running, though. Running, I can do. Running, I can do quite well, because I can focus on the burn in my chest instead of the burn behind my eyes. Encouraged by this smallest of sentiments, I rise on annoyingly shaky legs, taking off and letting my legs do the work. I’m sure the rubber of the soles is nearly melted through with every slap against the pavement, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? No one else is going to be using these shoes.

    This might be about where you ask what’s going on here. Why didn’t you off yourself after everyone left? Why are you running when there’s nowhere to run to? Why are you crying out of nowhere? Why are you avoiding how truly terrified you are of the world ending?

    This might also be where I would give you some answers, if I thought you deserved them. Do you? Have you earned the right to see the final thoughts of a dead man? How do you measure that, even? Did you think to yourself, oh, I wouldn’t have left him behind, so surely I’m a good person? Did you think that? Maybe you did, and maybe it’s true, but that’s just what you want to think. You weren’t there, not when they were. You weren’t there to see Logan’s sleepless nights, where he was so determined to find a way to bring me along. You weren’t there to see Virgil’s rage, when he started shattering glass and lighting buildings on fire, because there was nothing else to do. You weren’t there to see Patton’s desperation, to see him curled up in a corner, his face expressionless because he didn’t want anyone to know just how much he was hurting—no, he wanted to comfort me in our last hours together. You weren’t there to see that. You’re walking in on my story in the final pages, and you assume you know what the author was thinking from chapter one.

    Well, I have some news for you.

    You don’t know what the author was thinking.

    I’m the author of this doomed story, and I don’t like knowing how it ends.

    So maybe you’ll lend me your ear, just a little longer, before I run out of ink.

    Sorry.

    Sorry for going off on you like that. I know it’s hard, and I know I have no excuse, but seeing my splintered reflection in shattered car mirrors is apparently more than I can take. I pause in the middle of the road, entranced by my own eyes, ringed in red, soaked in hate. They stare back at me, and I hate to think they’re mine. I hate to think what manner of empty husk I’ve become by now, just how awful of a person I must have been to get here. I’m not trying to play the victim game, but maybe you’ll forgive me for it—you are, after all, reading this, after I’ve been long gone. It’s probably been thousands of years for you to have gotten this far. I hope the future is nicer than the now.

    Up ahead stands the cemetery I unintentionally overstocked with people I barely knew. At the farthest point from the entrance, nestled among the sprawling roots of an oak tree, is that slab of concrete. I will admit that I never learned how to engrave, so the sharpie ink is streaking down, but I like to think that makes it look more unique. Thomas always wanted a cooler name, but I was the one creating the headstone, so I got to pick what went on it. Even now, his name looks painfully beautiful in the careful calligraphy.

    This is the part where a normal person might talk aloud, voice their feelings to the indifferent sky. I don’t do that. I haven’t heard my voice since they left, since I swallowed the goodbye and merely waved from the mattress. You would think I could conjure up the willpower to talk to Thomas one last time, to apologize for not noticing, to apologize for not getting there in time, to apologize for not knowing the way to the bridge, to apologize for not paying enough attention to him, to apologize for watching Patton instead of looking out for him, to apologize for—

    Yeah. Yeah, you would think I’d be humane enough to talk to my own dead brother, but no. I can’t make myself do it. Maybe it’s out of solidarity, that my last words to Thomas were my last words ever, but there’s no real way to say for sure. In all likelihood, this won’t affect you in any way once you lose interest in my story, but thinking what I can’t say is the only closure I’ve ever had. I love you, I thought to Thomas, but I never said it. I’m sorry, I thought to Thomas, but I never said it. Please come back, I thought to Thomas, but there never would have been a way for him to hear it. In a world melting down by its own source of life, his headstone is the only thing cold anymore.

    You know, this started as a way for me to chronicle my last days before the end of the world. I don’t even know if you found the volumes preceding this one. I’ve always had so much to say, but what are the odds a stranger will pick up a random set of a few thousand words and care about them? Not very high, I suspect, but again, you’re reading this, so what do I know?

    The way back to that stupid mattress is relatively clear, save for the usual bodies and cars. I sidestep them like any other day, readily ignoring the glaring light that just won’t go away. By the time I make it back to the shack, almost everything is gone. Far more stray animals litter the path, well into their stages of rigor mortis, and I’d like to say I don’t shed a tear at the loss. It wouldn’t be true, but I’d still like to say it.

    More streaks of red pierce the sky, a much angrier pink than before as the backdrop. The yellow has all but vanished, and the orange is on its last legs as the red takes over. That same purple pinpoint, right in the center of the sun, is far too close for comfort. I can see the door to the shack now, burning away like little more than paper. I know it’s guaranteed death, but I also know I have to do this. Even as the sun sinks lower, even as everything takes on a pinkish red sheen, I know I have to see that picture again. It’ll be the last thing I do, that much is certain, but it matters.

    To me, it matters.

    I almost wish I were gone already, that the world had taken me at Thomas’s side. I wish I weren’t here anymore, because then I wouldn’t have to fear never seeing them again, I wouldn’t even have time to worry about it. It’s because the sun is running late, it wasn’t here on time this morning, and it’s just dragging out my end.

    The screen of red is nearly blinding now, shutting out almost everything in sight as I force my way through the smoking front door. The picture is right where it should be, all five of us grinning out as if nothing was wrong. That was back when they were convinced I could come, when no one knew anything was wrong with Thomas, when Logan hadn’t given up on me.

    With a blistering hand, my palm cracking, I take down the picture and admire my smile. Still had a full set of arms then, too. Such is life, I guess, that part of me left before the rest of me could follow. How insensitive of my own limb, to abandon me like this. Downright rude, is what that is.

    My vision is but a pinhole now. My head aches, I can’t feel my legs, and my tears are evaporating faster than they can fall. I can feel my eyes drying themselves out, but that doesn’t mean I can make them stop. Even my lungs are giving up, protesting against the suffocating air.

    If I focus, I can just barely make out the edges of the photo, curling in as they blacken in my hand. The world tunnels as the sun becomes fully blinding, only the smallest pinprick of sight left.

    As the picture falls from my stiff hand, already in ashes before it hits the floor, the last thing I catch a glimpse of is Thomas, grinning bright and wide.

    A similar smile adorns my own face.

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[a-cat-who-likes-stars]

29th December, 2021

Today, I woke up at 4am and willed myself to get up and study. I didn’t. I continued sleeping until 8am, which was then I willed myself to get up and take deep breaths on my bed sitting up.

After a shower and making my cereal/milk powder combo, I poured hot water to the dry loads and a bowl of breakfast was born. As I chugged the whole thing down my throat in ardent willingness to catch up on fleeting time, I cleared my mind again in attempt to gather positivity on my way to class.

Going downstairs I had the convenience of hitch-hiking my friends car in transit to our medical faculty.

Here I was, a studious, priveleged student handling a workscope of not all could manage. Often times these days I notice how lucky I am, defined by my own steps through life in grades to successfully enter medical school and be trained.

Peeps around me are second thought. I have had enough of mingling in anyone else’s businesses. I figured this is my life. If I can put time to improve, upgrade and elevate myself, so more the better.

Striding towards the faculty basked in warm sunshine. Wind with heat blew towards my direction, I really preferred rainy days. Or at the least, cloudy and cold. Always liking the cold side, maybe because I’m the warm one.

I loved the lecturer who spoke using a British accent, it was entertaining to have made the acquaintance of speaking with a sophisticated tone because it brightens up my day by adding colour.

Next, using the lift. Being docked usually at the ground floor, one would expect it to reach a designated floor with demand faster the lower the floor is. Ignoring people going to the 3rd floor from the backdoor, I took the front exit, pressed gently on a button for “UP”, and the lift arrived on the 1st floor with its mechanical grace. I stepped in and then ignored people gasping with exasperation on the 2nd floor, concentration of mine towards reaching the 7th floor of labs.

It was a urine dipstick lab session with microscopes provided for our convenience of viewing samples.

I didn’t like my group member who doesn’t take care of her hair. You could literally smell the oil from her scalp although her thick indian hair was braided hastly. it stunk in observation. Being early to finish my goals in lab, I can’t wait to leave the place.

To cheer my spirits up, I ordered food and a soda fruit slushie. The sequel included studying fat metabolism. function of the liver and disorders of acid-base balance.

Really, they require such a dedicated time period to engulf the knowledge in. I can’t help to feel stressed just thinking how, relatively, the amount of notes required to be prepared in 2 days’ time. Obviously, it is more healthily possible if we extrapolate the timespan to perhaps 2 weeks. Well, such is the life of a medical student. Behind all glory there is pain, suffering and training. I know this is for the long term, hence, taking time off as of now.

Oftentimes I notice how much information I do process in 1 single day and that is 1 feat to be proud of, every living second of my life.

I’ll pat myself on the shoulder and I’ll be my own shoulder to cry on.

I’m feeling okay now, contented with nice food that contained creativity from the cook. Drowsy from sped-up lecture recordings and perhaps added on carbohydrate from the thai fried rice I ordered online from Grab, here I am, now lounging on my bed with Peaches instrumental on loop, figuring always that I have to manage my time wisely to the second.

Since then, people’s opinions no longer matter, and their self-consciousness will rub on to somebody else, and definitely not me. Because when you have secured your goal and the pathway to it, you walk the walk like a confident runway supermodel with a smile on her face.

:)

-let’s hope this isn’t my last entry of 2021. 

[summerinsacramento-blog1]

Seeing the forest when you’re stuck in the trees

One week later, I feel rationally better. My heart hasn’t caught on, but I don’t feel the deep sting I felt before. Now, it’s a numb little tingling that I can ignore. Every day, it’ll sting less and less, but its probably gonna be a point of sadness I hold for years when I remember what 22 felt like. And that’s fine. I have years to heal and move on. I turn 23 in 27 days. That can be the night I officially start a new chapter. One without my last love, but a year where hopefully I feel self-love that I never felt before.

With that said, I am writing this while listening to The Weeknd’s new album about how hes heartbroken for the umpteenth time, so we’ll see how this goes. My friend said I should actually listen to this now, as its what I need. Ricky if youre reading this and I hate myself after this, it’s on you.

This is the story of a young boy who is processing heartbreak in a new city, new career, and a new frame of mind. This is the story of what I have learned in the last week, when my life was pulled out from under me in what I believe will be the best possible way. It sucks now, but I’ve learned something, tangentially related to the relationship.

The title

In order to understand this, I want to start by letting you see who I am. I graduated from college in 2017. It hasn’t even been a year since I stopped living my life in terms of “you have 3 months to prove yourself, go.” Until today, I never realized just how much that had affected the way of life I was living.

My mentor today totally slapped the shit out of me with this one: “Stop thinking in the now. Do what will make you happy 10 years from now. Everything is else is just experience. Not everything has to work.”

That man met me 4 hours ago as I type this, and he’s managed to being me back from a stage of confusion to clarity.

He then hit me with this one: youre not playing with the same rules anymore as when you were in college.  You’ve been living on 3 month blocks of time. You need to learn to work towards a deep future, which you do not have the vision for now.

It hit me immediately that he’s right. For the 5 years since I left home, I have essentially lived my life in such a microscopic scale that I never learned how to see past the tree I was currently on. I lived life climbing a tree, seeing what was coming, and walking to that… but that means that I followed a track. I went from class to class, job to job, woman to woman, hoping to get what I wanted, but the thing is

You can only see trees that are in your field of vision that way, and this is incredibly slow.

Also,

this assumes you want to stay in the forest.

I’ve been thinking about this all day, because I need to learn how to think that way and get off the trees and start walking. I need to go to town and make friends that will last years here. I know I have the same feelings in Phoenix (more on that down the road), but I can’t leave myself with no options in Sacramento. I don’t even mean romantically here. What if I still don’t know what I want? What if I make a Friend in Sacramento with a haircut business and he trains me to be his recruiter? What if I meet a young couple in Sacramento, and they pass me all of their furniture because they’re leaving the city to start a new life? What if I meet a kid in Sacramento who needs a mentor and I commit to making his life better? What if I meet a woman in Roseville who runs a night club and she wants to pay me to be a stripper?  What if I what if I what if I what if I get out of the house and find out.

Both he and my trainer have pointed out to me that I cannot rely on my job to bring me happiness, I have to make it on my own, and I have every intention to. I will be leaving my apartment in 3 weeks and moving to the city. Density is the greatest asset of a city; the only finite resource you have is time. So Im starting a journey of self discovery. I’m joining the sister chapter to the club I loved the most while at Arizona State. I joined a volleyball league. I’m going to every work social from here out for young people – I refuse to wallow in the sadness anymore. I already told the girl I loved all the good and the bad. Everything from here on out is overkill. I won’t be sad, as itll sully the memories of the times we weren’t. Don’t be fooled, I am hurt, but I am taking it as a good hurt instead of sinking to the dark place I was in 2016.

 Speaking of 2016: The Dark Descent of Drunk Depressed Jairo

(For the sake of the other people in this story, I am changing names. If you are my friend and know, cool, but I don’t want to breach their privacy as I share mine)

This story actually starts in 2015, and I sat on it for a long time. It was during an event I ran. Three powerful figures that still mar my self-conscious were there. Girl 1 was texting me throughout the day. Girl 2 and 3 were there. I don’t want to drop too many details, but I remember thinking “Girl 3 is super nice, but I shouldn’t hit on her because she won’t appreciate it.” I had been trying to get at Girl 2 for weeks. Girl 1 was dumb as all hell for being interested in me and getting me first down the line.

I dated Girl 1 for a year. The second half of that year was the most miserable point of my existence. I remember I asked my friends if I should leave at month 5. They said I needed to give her time, and I suffered for 6 more. All this time, I kept having constant desires to leave her for Girl 2 (I NEVER acted on these. It was more of a “why does this girl treat me better than the one who claims to love me?), and she was jealous of Girl 2. I can’t blame her. My 21st bday was during that time, and after ending things I started being a degenerate in plain view of everyone. I am not proud.

But it was okay, I was on a high tree and I knew the kind of tree that I would climb. Drunk me wanted to climb, and there are entire weeks of my life where I drank every day.

Give it like 2 months, and I was starting to talk to this girl, I’ll call her girl 4. I thought that was the tree I would climb next – and boy did I try. We even agreed to go on a date. It never happened though, because in the days in between, I definitely linked up with Girl 2, sort of fast. Just as fast things ended.

Anyway I managed to fall from two trees in like 3 weeks, and I was going nuts for 6 months after. This is where the spiral took off. My grades took damage and I lost interest in most things, and I was so hurt that my search for my future was taking so long, and I kept getting hurt while trying. Why was this forest so thorny? I gained like 20 pounds in liquor weight, which I barely got rid of recently.

That is, until I linked up with Girl 3 once again in 2017 and this time by accident. We were together for what are the happiest days of my life so far. There will be better days, but I haven’t seen them yet. At least not so concentrated. Whatever it was though, I loved her for who she was for a year, and I want to believe she genuinely loved me back.  It did hurt, however, that I always told her the above story, and I would say that I finally picked the right girl. I was on the right tree.

As of last week we know that isn’t true. She cut off the tree under me, but she did it at the right time. And actually, it was on the 3rd anniversary of the day those three girls flowed together into my life.

I was sad because I was on the ground. Tired of climbing and thinking I finally climbed the tallest tree in the forest and found the best spot, only to tumble.

But there was another force at play that I never saw coming. Her name is Girl 0. There is no romance there, we are just good friends, or rather, were. Eight years ago – she was my best friend in 8th grade before we drifted apart. She came back into my life to make sure I was okay, and in the past 6 days we’ve rapidly realized that were good friends still. That gave me so much perspective. Time moves on for everyone, but my best friend from middle school and I collabed for another album ten years later, and with no resentment. She’s coming to my 23rd birthday and that’s exciting!

I also realized that I no longer have resentment for G1 ort G2 since almost 2 years have passed, and I won’t resent G3 at some point. Well, I don’t resent her the same, but one day I’ll either stop missing her, or will feel differently than now – I can freely admit she was the most special girl of my life, and she’ll be a tough act to follow. I kind of wish me moving 800 miles didn’t drive us apart, but I’m also glad it did because now I have to force myself to walk along this forest, no matter how scared I am. I will grow from this. G4 is engaged now, to the boy that she would link up with after me. I’m happy for her, genuinely.

  Regardless, that was the lesson I needed. I need to step down from the trees. Its time I start walking and stop looking for anything in particular short term. I can’t go through this forest one tree at a time. I need to pick a direction and walk it. That’s scary because I don’t know the future, but it was scary before, and I made little progress. Maybe this scary time is what I need. Maybe I need to just keep going and remember that the first 18 years didn’t count, the next 4 were a trial period, and the most recent 1 was me playing with the rules that no longer worked. I got X amount of years left, and I gotta make them count.

 On a similar note, I would like to thank every single person who came out in support of me. You guys are the best, and your friendships, some way old and some way young, have helped me remember that I am loved, and that I am never truly alone.

On another note: The Weeknd’s album was okay and did not make me feel sad. The man almost gave Selena Gomez a kidney though, so maybe he was in deeper love than I was.

On another nother note: If you take the height of the 8 girls I consider exes and plot it, it makes a sine wave with an average around 5’4”. If the pattern holds, the next girl I date has to be taller than me. We’ll see, but maybe I’ll start climbing again, just differently now.

[utanoprincendymion]

Sailor Rare Pair Day 4: AU

Pairing: Setsuna x Usagi

AU: Single Parents

"I love you, sweetie, have a great day," Setsuna said, kissing Hotaru on both cheeks before the little girl ran off to find Chibiusa.

"Love you, Mama!" Hotaru called over her shoulder.

"I'll see you tonight!" Setsuna called from the doorway, her voice trailing off into a sigh.

Usagi giggled, stepping out onto the porch with Setsuna. "They grow up so fast, huh?"

The older woman sighed again, straightening her pencil skirt as she stood. "Don't remind me. It still feels like yesterday that Chibiusa was born."

"Well, technically it's next week," Usagi teased. When Setsuna leveled her with a flat look, she continued. "But yeah, I can't believe it's been three years." Usagi's voice grew quieter, and her gaze became distant.

Setsuna put a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "He would be proud, Usagi. She's a wonderful, precious little girl. And you... you're the best mother I know."

Usagi smiled weakly. "Thanks, Setsuna." After a moment, her smile grew genuine as she nudged her friend's shoulder. "But give yourself more credit. I may stay home with the kids, but you go out there every day and work hard in that lab, and you still raise Hotaru. I'm sure Dr. Tomoe would be happy you adopted Hotaru."

Setsuna smiled fondly at the thought of her mentor. "He was a good man. And Hotaru is an angel."

"Chibiusa is a little devil, I'll tell you," Usagi complained, knowing she and Setsuna might otherwise spend all day stuck in their memories. "Just last night, she got past the babylock on the pantry and ate a whole sleeve of cookies." Usagi sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Poor thing made herself sick."

Setsuna laughed. "I'll see about picking up more cookies on the way back from work." Setsuna brushed a strand of hair back over her shoulder, smiling fondly at Usagi. "Do you need any art supplies?"

"Well..." Usagi began with a light blush, "I am running low on black ink and screentone. And if you could pick up a kneaded eraser..."

Setsuna smiled. "Of course." She bent down and scooped up her briefcase. "I'll see you for dinner?"

"Yep!" Usagi beamed. "Mako-chan taught me how to make a new dish."

"What dish?"

Usagi's smile grew into a playful smirk. "I guess you'll have to wait and see."

Setsuna chuckled, her eyes soft. "Very well. I'll see you tonight."

"See you then," Usagi called, waving as she watched Setsuna return to the car. She continued to wave as her gaze followed the silver car as far as her eyes could see. When the car was out of sight, Usagi sighed peacefully, her smile as soft as the pink haze of the morning sky.

When she turned back to the house, she groaned, running her hands down her face. "Get it together, Usa," she told herself. "You've got kids to feed and a deadline to meet. No time for wishful thinking."

She took off for the kitchen and pulled the pancake batter out of the fridge. A few minutes and a full plate of pancakes later, she called, "Who wants pancakes?"

Almost instantly, she heard Chibiusa and Hotaru shouting, "Me!" as little feet came running. Usagi set the plates and sippy-cups on the table, giggling.

....

Setsuna stared into the microscope and sighed for what felt like the 30th time that morning. Now was not the time for her feelings to be resurfacing. Her team was in the middle of what could be the most promising breakthrough of their careers.

"But Usagi looked so cute in that apron," her brain interjected. Setsuna pushed back from the microscope and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was never going to get her work done at this rate. She was too gay for this.

Reika frowned at her co-worker. "Setsuna-san, is something bothering you?"

Setsuna blinked, plastering a calm smile on her face as she leaned her chair forward again. "No, I'm perfectly well, thank you."

....

Usagi was in the process of marking the pages for her assistants to ink when she heard a loud crash that made her drop the pencil instantly.

The crash was followed by a loud wail that belonged to Chibiusa.

She jumped from her desk before the pencil even hit the paper, her feet already headed toward the playroom across the hall.

"Chibiusa? Hotaru?" She burst into the room, her gaze frantic. She spotted the pair of them sitting in a field of shattered glass.

"Mama!" Chibiusa's eyes watered as she held up her cut palms.

Usagi's eyes widened, and she turned to Hotaru, who had a cut on her cheek and was staring at her palms blankly.

Usagi swore under her breath. It figures they would find the one dangerous thing in the entire room. "Don't move!" she ordered. She carefully made her way to the girls, picking her way around the glass, and thankful for her house slippers.

When she was crouched in front of them, she quickly brushed the glass off of Chibiusa, knowing her daughter was more likely to injure herself again. As soon as she finished, she scooped Chibiusa up and settled her on her hip before turning to Hotaru.

Wide purple eyes blinked up at her, possibly in shock. Moments after Usagi turned her attention on Hotaru, the little girl began crying, the shock having worn off. "It hurts!"

"I know, I'm sorry, Baby. Let me just get this glass off of you and then I can fix it. Okay? You'll be just fine, Hotaru. I'm here. You're okay."

Hotaru sniffled, reaching up eagerly once Usagi had gotten the glass off of her.

Usagi lifted her and settled her on her right hip. Gently bouncing the crying girls as she made her way to Chibiusa's bathroom.

Once she had cleaned and bandaged Chibiusa's hands, she did the same for Hotaru. She finished up by placing a Hello Kitty bandage on Hotaru's cheek.

"See? All better," Usagi said, patting Hotaru's head.

Hotaru looked down at the floor from where she sat on the counter, her little feet kicking against the cabinet. "Thank you, Mama."

"You're welco-" Usagi froze, her brain registering the word. She almost corrected Hotaru, but at the last second, she changed her mind. "You're welcome, Hotaru."

She lifted Hotaru and set her back on the floor. "Come on, let's get you guys down for a nap." She took Hotaru and Chibiusa by the hands and led them over to the toddler bed.

Chibiusa climbed into her usual spot and pulled the bunny blanket around herself. Hotaru took up the remaining space, and Usagi pulled her star patterned blanket off of the dresser as she wrapped it around Hotaru.

She gave each girl a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you guys soon, okay?"

"No!" Chibiusa whined despite her yawns.

"Why not?" Usagi asked, humoring Chibiusa.

"Helios!" Chibiusa demanded, pointing a chubby finger at the plushie on her dresser.

Usagi laughed. "Right, right. Sorry, Sweetie," she said as she brought the pegasus plush to her daughter. She then straightened out their blankets and gave them each another kiss. "All good now?"

"Mhmm," Chibiusa hummed, rolling over and wrapping Helios in her arms.

Hotaru nuzzled close to Chibiusa. "Yeah. Night-night, Mama."

Usagi smiled as she turned on the white noise machine. She then made her way to the door, flicked the lights off, and closed the door behind herself.

She quietly padded back to the playroom, staring at her slippers where she had left them at the edge of the playroom. She pulled her phone out, sent Setsuna a quick text, and the grabbed the vacuum cleaner. She was going to be behind on her deadline for sure now.

....

Setsuna was on her lunch break when the text came.

-Usagi: Everyone's safe, but Chibiusa and Hotaru broke the playroom light. A few cuts, all cleaned and bandaged.

Setsuna swore under her breath. She was relieved they were all okay, but she felt bad for Usagi having to deal with that alone. Not for the first time, she felt guilty about leaving Usagi to watch Hotaru during the week. When Setsuna had first started working, she had let her other friends babysit, but once Haruka and Michiru's careers began taking off, Usagi was the only one Hotaru would allow to watch her.

Usagi always said it was no trouble, but Setsuna knew that wasn't true. Usagi often had to pull all-nighters before her deadlines. And she was often alone in cleaning up after the girls. Setsuna tried to pay her back by running errands after work. Fetching more ink or screen tone, or whatever Usagi needed. But it never felt like an even exchange, regardless of whether Setsuna put food on the table half the time.

"Trouble at home?" Michiru asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Setsuna was far less amused. "The kids broke a light and got cut. They are fine. But now Usagi has to clean up and she's got a deadline tomorrow."

Michiru's smile faded and she sighed. "Poor Usagi. If I didn't have to be at the concert hall in an hour, I'd go help." She glanced down at her phone.

"Do you think I have time to run over there and help her?" Setsuna asked, rubbing her palms against her closed eyes.

"By the time you get there, she'll have everything under control and your help wouldn't be necessary. Besides the fact that you would miss work." Michiru casually stabbed a tomato in her salad and brought it to her lips. "The best thing you can do for her is to help out when you get there for dinner. Stay late. Watch Chibiusa. But don't worry about right now. I've already sent Haruka on her way to help Usagi for today."

Setsuna sighed, finally picking up her chopticks. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" Michiru asked with a small smile. "Oh, and Setsuna, a word of advice..."

"Yes?"

"Just ask her out already."

....

Usagi was inking her pages when she got the text from Setsuna saying that she was just leaving the art supply store.

"Shit," Usagi groaned, standing and stretching her neck, back, and wrist. "Dinner won't be ready when she gets home." Usagi paused in her stretching. "Here. Gets here," she corrected. She sighed. "Just a friend. Just a really, really good, really pretty friend."

On her way to the kitchen, she poked her head into the play room to find Haruka asleep with the kids sleeping on top of her. She giggled and tiptoed down the hallway.

Thirty minutes later, as Usagi stood at the stove, she felt a weight atop her head.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she teased as Haruka rested her chin between Usagi's buns. "The kids wore you out?"

Haruka yawned. "I don't know how you do it everyday, Koneko-chan. Those kids have boundless energy. Did you feed them nothing but sugar for lunch?" she teased.

"No way. That would be a nightmare," Usagi said with a shudder. "That's just what happens when toddlers get up from a nap."

Haruka chuckled, wrapping her arms loosely around Usagi's shoulders. "Dinner smells good. I wish I could stay."

Usagi turned around with a pout. "You're not staying? I made extra."

"Unfortunately not. Michi and I have dinner reservations tonight. It's our anniversary."

"Oh wow! I totally forgot! Happy anniversary!" Usagi said hurriedly. "Oh geez, and you spent your day here?"

Haruka patted one odango gently. "Don't worry about it. That's what godmothers are for. You and Setsuna aren't alone. You've got me, Michiru, Rei, Minako, Makoto, and Ami." Haruka pulled her into a hug. "I know it's hard with the anniversary coming up soon, but we're here for you. We are all here for you; whatever you need."

Usagi looked away, her eyes watery. "Thanks. I'll uh, try to keep that in mind." She quickly wiped at her eyes and slid out of Haruka's arms. "Well, I'd better get back to this before the food burns."

Haruka kissed the top of her head before walking to the doorway. "I'd better head out. Remember what I said, Koneko-chan. We're here for you."

"I know. I couldn't do it without you guys," Usagi admitted, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes both warm and sad. "I definitely couldn't do it without her."

Haruka sighed, running a hand through her bangs. "Usagi, you should tell her how you feel. You know she feels the same way. You two have been raising Chibiusa-chan and Hotaru-chan together for two years now."

Usagi turned off the stove, removed the pot from the burner, and turned around with a long sigh. "Haruka, you know I can't do that."

"Why not?" Haruka narrowed her gaze. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm afraid of losing her." The sentence was blunt. "I love you guys, but Setsuna is something else. I could live a thousand years just as we are now if that meant she would stay with me. I can't lose her, Haruka. She means too much to me." Usagi retrieved some dishes from the cabinet. " I'd rather stay friends forever than confess my love and risk losing her," she explained urgently.

Haruka opened her mouth, but the words died as soon as she and Usagi heard the bags hit the table.

They both whirled. Usagi paled when they found Setsuna standing at the dining room table in shock.

Setsuna and Usagi stared at each other in dead silence.

Haruka backed out of the room quietly. "Well, I'll leave you to this."

Setsuna cleared her throat, her cheeks dark with blush. "I apologize. I did not intend to eavesdrop."

Usagi looked away and groaned. "I don't suppose there was any way you didn't hear all of that?"

"I heard enough."

Usagi buried her face in her hands as she crumpled against the counter. "Oh god. Shit."

Setsuna closed the distance between them, gently pulling Usagi's hands into her own. "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean-? I- uh-" Usagi sighed, looking away. "Yes. I meant it. I never thought I could fall in love again, but you proved me wrong. You proved me very, very wrong, and very quickly, at that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Setsuna used one finger to carefully tilt Usagi's head up to meet her gaze, a warm smile tugging at her lips. "I happen to love you too."

A fervent blush spread across Usagi's cheeks. "Y-you do?"

Setsuna's smile grew wider as she leaned down and placed a quick kiss on Usagi's cheek. "I really, really do."

"Oh. Oh wow. Hahah." Usagi's hand came up to cradle the kissed cheek. "Am I dreaming?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Setsuna replied, letting out a little chuckle in disbelief.

Usagi looked up at Setsuna. "So what do we do now?"

Setsuna laughed. "How about dinner for now, and then next week I take you out on a date."

Usagi smiled, draping her arms over Setsuna's shoulders and edging up on her tiptoes. "Oh, such a romantic. What about the kids?"

Setsuna's arms wrapped around Usagi's waist as she began to dip her head down toward Usagi's ear. "I just so happened to hear from Michiru that they are off next week with nothing to do. Sounds like the perfect time to go see that movie you were talking about and maybe go out to Mako-chan's new restaurant."

Usagi shivered as Setsuna's lips brushed her ear. "My, my. Sounds like you really know how to show a girl a good time." She tilted her head, easing her lips toward Setsuna's.

Their lips came close enough for Setsuna to feel Usagi's gentle sigh as her eyes drifted closed.

Just as they were about to kiss, Chibiusa's crying caused them to startle apart.

"Mama!" The cries grew louder from the nursery, and Hotaru's cries followed.

"Coming!" Usagi and Setsuna called at the same time.

They looked at each other and giggled.

"I'll go get them," Setsuna offered.

"I'll put dinner out."

Setsuna turned to go, but just before she could, Usagi grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

Setsuna raised one eyebrow, her garnet gaze curious.

Wordlessly, Usagi reached a hand up to pull Setsuna down for a quick kiss. When she pulled back leaving a dazed Setsuna frozen in place, she giggled and licked her lips. "How was it?"

Finally shaking off her surprise, Setsuna smiled. "Amazing."

[plutomeetsgenius]

A Cinderella Story: Isadora Smackle and the Glass Beaker.

Authors Note: Hi everyone! Hazel here. I am a sucker for Fairytale AU’s and College AU’s so I decided to reimagine Cinderella at Princeton staring Zay and Smackle. I hope you all enjoy!

On most sunny days at Princeton, the students would be lounging on the quad or playing competitive games of chess outside the dining hall. Instead of engaging either of those activities, Isadora Smackle stood by the sink in the back of the science lab, washing chemistry equipment for Professor Tremaine. It wasn’t like Smackle had a choice really, even with a partial scholarship to Princeton she was struggling to make ends meet, and Professor Tremaine paid her ten cents per beaker that she cleaned.

Smackle looked at her watch which read 4:19. She liked the number 419 as it was a prime number. Prime numbers were stubborn and couldn’t be divided by any number other than one. As Smackle reached for the thermometer a strand of dark hair fell into her eyes. Removing a bobby pin from her bun, she pinned the hair back into place. The other students often made fun of her bun, telling her she looked like an old lady, but Smackle had gotten used to the teasing. She knew she could beat any of her provokers in a debate tournament.

Smackle continued working through the piles of lab equipment, making sure every beaker was spotless. It was monotonous work but she knew Professor Tremaine would deduct pay if anything was less than perfect. Smackle was just finishing up the last few beakers when she heard the lab door open. She turned around to see Zay, the captain of the Princeton dance team, and her former high school friend. He strode into the lab confidently, gracefully encircling the microscopes and making his way back to the lab sink where Smackle worked.

“Hey,” he grinned, his voice as smooth as milk chocolate. Smackle was confused by Zay’s forwardness, but found that a giggle escaped her lips.

“Stupid emotions” she mumbled to herself, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Smackle was a woman of science and emotions never had made sense to her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly. The words must have come out harsher than she intended because Zay recoiled, backing himself into a cabinet. Smackle took a deep breath and began again.

“Not that I mind your presence, Zay,” Smackle clarified. “It’s just that we haven’t talked since we went to Abigail Adams High School. I know you aren’t here to help me clean lab equipment, so as far as I can deduce your presence is totally illogical.”

“We haven’t talked since High School?” Zay asked, running his fingers through his curly black hair. Smackle studied his arms. Something about them was different. They seemed more sturdy than she last remembered. Well it had been two years since she had seen him last at high school graduation. She thought she would have seen Zay more because they were at the same college, but she should have known that wouldn’t be the case. Zay was the captain of the dance team and a flamboyant theater major, and she was a Science major and an a member of Speech and Debate. She sometimes wondered how they even became friends in the first place because their interests were so different. She was such a nerd, and he, she looked at his biceps again, he was anything but.

“Is something wrong Izzie?” he asked, calling her by the nickname only he was allowed to use. A smile crept up in the corner of her mouth. She liked it when people called her Smackle, but being called something else was nice too.

“No, everything is fine. So why are you in the lab on such a sunny afternoon?”

“Well, I started taking an intro to Chemistry course, and it turned out, Chemistry is really hard for me.”

“Chemistry is simple,” Smackle scoffed, grimacing as she saw Zay’s reaction. Knowing she had hurt Zay’s feelings she followed with “I can help you. What unit of Chemistry are you struggling with?”

“I don’t understand how complex carbohydrates work,” Zay admitted, looking at the ground. Smackle nodded and pulled a pearl necklace out from her pocket. Although she didn’t generally like jewelry, there was something about pearls that made her feel sophisticated. When she wasn’t in lab, Smackle wore her pearl necklace all the time.

“Nice necklace,” Zay commented, rubbing his neck. Smackle knew from their time together in high school that Zay rubbed his neck whenever he was confused.

“This is part of the lesson,” Smackle reassured him “Complex carbohydrates are like a strand of pearls. Complex carbohydrates are polymers of sugars, often glucose.”

“Wait, slow down, Izzie,” Zay laughed a deep rumbling laugh “Let me get a notebook so I can write all of this down.” As Zay rummaged around in his backpack, Smackle checked her reflection in the mirror above the sink. To her surprise she found her cheeks were flushed pink.

“That’s funny,” she whispered, “They haven’t been this color pink since I had a crush on Farkle back in middle school.” Zay tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her out of her thoughts.

“You were talking about sugar polymers?”

“Yes,” Smackle stammered, regaining her composure. “They digest much more slowly than pure glucose because of their large size and composition. Visually, a complex carbohydrate is like a string of pearls and a glucose is like a single pearl earring. To get a sense of how this size difference affects blood glucose levels; If you drop a 30 pearl necklace on the floor, the necklace stays in one piece.” Smackle dropped the pearl necklace on the floor to demonstrate. Just before it touched the ground, Zay swooped down and saved it. He ran his narrow fingers over the pearls admiring their iridescent qualities.

“I don’t know why you’d drop such a beautiful necklace,” he mused. Carefully, he passed the necklace towards Smackle, and for a second their fingers touched. The pink in Smackle’s cheeks only deepened.

“Now imagine dropping 30 pearl earrings on the floor,” she continued, focusing her eyes on the strand of pearls in the hopes that her blush would subside. “The 30 earrings would explode over a wide area. This is what’s occurring in your blood when you are constantly eating high-glycemic index foods like cake and cookies. There is a constant explosion of glucose into your blood that stresses your pancreas to produce insulin to lower your glucose levels.”

After she finished her explanation, Smackle tilted her head up to meet Zay in the eyes. He had truly amazing eyes, they were a rich dark brown, so dark that the iris and the pupil combined. Looking into his eyes was like staring into a glass of rich hot chocolate, and Smackle felt like a marshmallow melting in his gaze. Likewise, his skin was a rich caramel brown, and against her better judgement, Smackle reached out to touch his arm. Soon, Zay and Smackle were in a tight embrace. As Smackle finally pulled away, Zay asked softly

“Izzie, has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“Beauty is skin deep,” Smackle replied crossing her arms in a defensive stance. Smackle felt ashamed for hugging him so freely, she didn’t know this new Zay. Maybe he was just trying to take advantage of her. Noticing she still had a beaker left to clean, Smackle turned away from Zay and turned on the faucet. As she began working, Zay continued talking.

“Your tutoring session has reminded me just how beautiful you are. I love the way your coffee brown eyes light up when you talk about science. I love that little face you do when you are trying to figure something out. I love your dark hair which you always pile into a little librarian bun on top of your head. Izzie, will you go to the Spring Ball with me?”

Smackle froze remembering that the Spring Ball, Princeton’s famous formal event, was that night. Why would such a talented dancer like Zay want to bring a nerd like her?  Could Zay possibly have feelings for her as well? Smackle pushed those thoughts aside. There was no way such a handsome person could have a crush on her, so it was probably just a trick. She had to get out of the lab fast. As the clock tower struck five, Smackle dropped the glass beaker she was cleaning and ran out of the lab.

Smackle kept running, not stopping until she reached her dorm. She ran down the hallways of the science building, sprinted across the quad, until she finally came to the brick steps of her dorm. Inserting her key into the lock she opened her building and let out a sigh of relief.

“That was close,” Smackle sighed to herself “I almost fell for Zay.”

As she entered her dorm room, she found a strange package nestled between the pillows on her bed. She opened a package to find a letter from her mother.

“Dear Isadora,” Smackle read aloud “I am very proud of all the hard work you have put into your studies at Princeton, but I hope you consider having fun once and awhile. I know you avoided the Spring Ball last year but I hope this present will change your mind. I hope you are willing to take a risk and put yourself out there. Who knows, maybe you’ll find true love, my little Isadora. Please send me a picture of you in the dress when you attend the spring ball. Much Love, Mother.”

Smackle ripped open the brown paper packaging to find the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. The strapless bodice was a warm rose gold color that glowed in the late afternoon light. As Smackle unfolded the dress she found it had a full ball gown skirt composed of ruffled pink tulle that reminded her of a cloud.

Smackle quickly slipped the dress on. The gown was lined with the softest silk lining, so it was just as comfortable as it was beautiful. Smackle looked at herself in the mirror. She was surprised to see a radiant goddess staring back at her. Her golden limbs, which she usually viewed as gawky and skinny, had transformed into appendages fit for a ballerina. The rose gold color of the dress brought out the pink in her cheeks and the chestnut highlights in her hair. She smiled at the girl in the mirror, admiring how her visage appeared to be lit from within. Enjoying the newfound confidence the dress provided her, Smackle realized that she was worthy of Zay’s love. After finding a pair of shoes to match the dress, and putting on a little makeup, Smackle set out across the quad eager to claim her prince.

At the edge of the Spring Ball, Zay stood in a midnight blue suit, a glass beaker resting in his hands. Although, many ladies had asked him to dance, he had turned down all of them. His heart belonged to the one who had dropped the glass beaker that his impatient fingers now fidgeted with. Suddenly, the most radiant woman he had ever seen raced across the quad. She was dressed in a rose blooming at sunset, and her skin glowed with the radiance of the setting sun.

“Excuse me, my fair princess, I have sworn to devote myself to the one who dropped this glass beaker. Do you have any idea where she could be?”

“I believe that would be me, your highness,” Smackle smiled coyly.

“Am I permitted to hug you Izzie?” Zay asked shyly. Smackle wrapped her arms around Zay’s torso, admiring the way he smelled of lemon grass and cedar. She stared up into his warm face, admiring the way his deep brown skin glowed against his midnight blue suit. Soon she found herself staring at his full dark lips that seemed to be drawing her in by a gravity she couldn’t explain. Her mother’s words “maybe you’ll find true love” echoed over and over again in her brain as she pulled his face closer to hers. Soon, their mouths touched in a soft, gentle kiss. Their kiss was as warm as the flickering light of a candle and as soft as a down pillow. As the sun went down, a relationship ignited between the unlikeliest of couples, and it was all due to the power of a glass beaker.

[sarahburness]

How I Escaped the Negative Thought Loop That Kept Me Down and Stuck

“You will never be free until you free yourself from the prison of your own false thoughts.” ~Philip Arnold

Do you ever doubt yourself?

As if no matter how hard you try, it’s never enough. Do you always tell yourself that you could do more? Or that somebody else is doing more, so why aren’t you on their level?

I’m not good enough.

Do you keep your thoughts to yourself because you feel as though your opinion doesn’t matter?

I’m not smart enough.

Or how about when you’re casually scrolling through social media? You see beautiful people taking such awesome photos and they look so happy.

I’m not attractive enough.

These rapid-fire negative thoughts incessantly remind us of our faults and flaws. These negative thought loops are like water to fish. We’re swimming through them. Every day. All the time.

This year I was practically drowning in negative thought loops. My grandmother died. Shortly after, I navigated my parents through a draining divorce process. Post-divorce, my fiancé and I moved back in with my mom to support her. Money was scarce.

I downward-spiraled into negative thought loops, constantly blaming myself for being a disappointing grandson, son, and partner, and an overall disappointment.

I didn’t like myself, and you needed more than a powerful microscope to find an inkling of self-esteem within me.

Negative thoughts that loop on replay are dangerous because when you say something over and over again, you believe it.

And if you’re like me, these beliefs can be paralyzing.

The Comparison Trap

In today’s age of technology and social media, scrolling is second nature to us.

Is it really surprising?

After all, you get to see all the awesome things that other people are doing. Incredible photos and videos taken by beautiful people doing amazing things.

I wish that were me.

That awe instantly transforms into envy, and suddenly you feel like your life is lacking.

But we keep doing it. Every day, we scroll, seeking out our next hit of dopamine and envy—which social media offers in abundance.

I did this every single day, multiple times a day, and mostly as an escape.

I immersed myself in somebody else’s carefully curated life to distract myself from mourning my grandmother or quenching the fires of my parents’ divorce.

From waking up in the morning to going to bed at night, I would scroll endlessly, comparing my life to the lives of others.

I had fallen into the comparison trap. Like a moth to fire, I was hopelessly addicted and in awe of the lives that other people lead.

Why can’t I be happy like that person?

It’s a terrible thought loop to replay in your mind. To believe that your life is lacking simply because your life is different from somebody else’s life—it’s an awful way to live.

Struggling to See the Positive

What’s difficult about negative thought loops is that sometimes you don’t feel like you’re deserving of your victories.

This year I graduated college, but I didn’t attend my walking ceremony because I didn’t feel proud of myself.

I don’t deserve this.

Also, I started working for a law firm, the first of many steps in building my career, but I never celebrated when I got the job because I didn’t feel worthy of it.

I’m not good enough.

It is just so sad that I was unable to celebrate my blessings simply because my mind was flooded with sorrow and disillusionment from tending to my family.

Instead, I sunk into a miserable slump.

I think the best way to describe this feeling is like walking through life in haze. Everywhere you look is foggy and distorted. I was unable to realize my victories or be grateful for my blessings because a veil of negativity was draped over my eyes.

It wasn’t until a conversation with an old friend that the haze cleared and I could see life with clarity.

Learned Helplessness

We met for lunch and she shared with me something she’d learned in class.

Psychologist Carol Dweck performed an experiment in which a fifth-grade classroom was split into two groups to solve a given problem.

The twist was that one group of students were given a set of unsolvable problems. No matter how hard these students tried, they were unable to succeed at the task.

In the next round, when they were given a set of easy problems, many students either took longer than the average or gave up entirely.

What happened?

The earlier round with unsolvable problems caused the students to equate trying with failing. Helplessness became a learned behavior.

I think a lot of times we do this to ourselves with our thoughts.

I would tell myself repeatedly I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. And when it was my turn to bat, I’d run away and quit because I knew that I’d strike out anyway.

I was entrapped in a fixed mindset.

I convinced myself that no matter what I did, I would always be destined for failure. That my life would never amount to anything meaningful and I would never be happy.

It wasn’t long before my frustrations with myself transformed into anger over the unfairness of it all.

My job performance declined. My relationships suffered. I was at a loss. My moods swung back and forth between flatlined indifference and anxiety-wracked mania.

I needed to shift from a fixed mindset to a growth mindset—to understand that the past doesn’t have to repeat itself, and that I have a say in what happens if I choose to learn and grow. But I didn’t know that then.

At this point I realized it was time to seek therapy. This was one of the best choices I made this year because it opened a gateway to the wonders of mindfulness and gratitude.

Finding Gratitude

Who knew something as small as practicing gratitude could transform my thought process entirely?

Too often we allow our negative thought loops to overwhelm and consume us. And it’s because we allow ourselves to be our thoughts.

However, we are not our thoughts. They’re just thoughts!

Practicing gratitude helps you escape the negative thought loop because it encourages you to seek out what is good and right and beautiful in your life.

With each day I counted my blessings, I was slowly releasing myself from the negativity that had shackled me for several months.

Life will always be riddled with hardships. It’s inevitable. But to still summon the resilience to tell yourself that everything is okay, things will get better, I have people who love me, I know that I’m strong; and most importantly, to truly believe that you have the courage and ability to create a positive shift in your life because you can still practice gratitude despite your struggles… it’s beyond empowering.

Surround Yourself with Positive People

“You cannot change the people around you, but you can change the people you choose to be around.” ~Unknown

I recently discovered this quote while listening to a podcast, and it resonated with me.

You really can’t change the people around you.

If you try, you’ll end up disappointed. How other people behave, how they feel, what they think—these things are all beyond your control.

But you can control who you surround yourself with.

It has been said that you’re the average of the five people you spend the most time with.

If you’re mostly around people who complain a lot then, chances are, that you will complain a lot.

I was exactly this type of person. And these were the type of people I surrounded myself with.

I would always be moody. I was a true pessimist. I would combat every silver lining with criticism and some statement about how unfair life is.

And to tell you the truth, being negative sucks. It’s exhausting.

After hearing this quote, I tried something outside my comfort zone: I met new people.

Being highly introverted and shy, this was difficult for me. But I did it. I joined clubs at school. I met positive and ambitious people with dreams and goals.

I am convinced that positivity is contagious. The warm aura gained by practicing gratitude and welcoming abundance in your life touches the people around you. And this gratitude and abundance mindset slowly replaces those negative thought loops.

I didn’t want to be in a slump anymore. I wanted to be driven, motivated, and well… happy. I learned that the key to achieving this is to seek out other people who want the same things you do.

A Better Headspace

It is reaching the end of the year and I am faring far better than I did at the beginning. If I had to name one thing that I think you and everybody should do more of, it’s this:

Be kind to yourself.

There’s a lot of truth to whoever said that we are our own worst critics.

That is why I advocate that we also be our own best fans.

Every time you criticize yourself, remember to also praise yourself. Practice gratitude and remember the countless blessings in your life. And realize the past doesn’t have to repeat itself. You can learn, you can grow, and you can do more than you think.

Reflecting on this year, I now see that I am beyond blessed. I have a college degree. I’m soon to be married to the love of my life. I’m steadily working on my career.

There are so many things in my life that are going so beautifully right.

The same is likely true for you. You just need to remember them.

About Dan Recio

Dan Recio loves sharing actionable tips on achieving your goals at Motivationalist so that you can build the life you want.  Set yourself up for a productive week with his free guide: 7 Sunday Habits to Conquer the Week.

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/how-i-escaped-the-negative-thought-loop-that-kept-me-down-and-stuck/

[thomasgmcelwain]

Genesis 9

Genesis 9

1 So Ælohim blessed Noah and

His sons, and made them understand:

"Be fruitful then and multiply,

And fill the earth too by and by.

2 "The fear of you, your dread as well,

Shall be on earthly beast, compel

The birds to flight in air, the cattle

To move upon the earth for battle,

And even fish within the sea

Are in your hand, not to be free.

3 "And every moving thing among

The clean beasts from the ark is strung

Up for you to be food. All these

I give, as green leaf herbs, to please.

4 "But you shall not eat any meat

Containing blood, its life, replete.

The gate of earth, the gate of truth gave me

Dominion to eat fruit from every tree.

The gate of fire a-burning in my breast

Gave tree of life, and made of me the guest

Of every diet but the fruit of knowing

For me myself the right and wrong of going.

The gate of water gave to humankind

The thorn and thistle with the leaf and rind.

And now the gate of air, if all else fails

Gives pounds of flesh to eat upon the scales.

I flee toward earth to satisfy the pain

Of hunger in the soul, in truth I gain

A nutmeat sweeter than I dreamed in air

To find You, my Beloved, abiding there.

5 "Surely for your lifeblood I will

Demand a reckoning, and still

From every beast I shall require it,

And from the hand of man desire it.

And from the brother of each one

I shall require the life when done.

6 "Whoever sheds man's blood, by man

His blood shall be shed if one can,

For in image of Ælohim

He made man both to be and dream.

7 And as for you, be fruitful and

Become abundantly a band

Upon the earth and multiply

Until you fill earth by and by."

Beloved, require the vengeance of my life

That I have lost in this illusion's strife.

Must I eat meat and thus lift hand to kill

While there is oxen's grass enough to fill

Both oxen's bellies and the paunch of man?

I shall eat green grass if that's all I can.

But why should I eat grass when there is fruit,

And nuts abound, and ripened grain to boot?

Give me rightful dominion on this earth

And I shall crack the nut for all it's worth.

But if I find the wilderness of flood

I shall tread water and not drink the blood,

Nor slay the unclean thing to quench my thirst

And eat the roasted lamb until I burst.

8 Ælohim told Noah and sons

With him, saying 9 "And as for Me,

Indeed, I form, and without guns,

My pact with you, your progeny,

10 "And every living creature here:

The birds, the cattle, every beast

That walks the earth or does appear,

That go out of the ark from least

To greatest, every single beast.

11 "Thus I make my pact with you now,

I shall not cut off anyhow

All flesh again by means of flood

Of water, rain or hail or mud,

Never again shall there be such

A thing to do the earth so much."

The church of God is made of men and their

Descendants, born and yet unborn. Despair

Not every living creature, woman too,

And beast and cattle, creeping things that do

Not mind the pinch of pew. The birds that fly

Above the transept also qualify.

The million congregation of this day

May be those tiny ones in sand and clay

Beneath the feet of this one man in prayer.

The ethnocentric vision sees but one,

While all the others, being microscopic,

Are also in the verse, chapter, and topic,

And sing their hymns to You, the Great and Fair

Until the liturgy of flooding's done.

12 Ælohim said "This is the sign

Of My pact that I shall align

Between myself and you and all

The living creatures on the ball,

As long as time shall peregrine.

13 "I set My rainbow in the cloud,

A sign that speaks as though aloud

Of covenant twixt earth and Me.

14 "It shall be always there to see

When I bring clouds over the land,

The rainbow makes you understand,

And shall be seen there in the cloud.

15 "And I shall bring to mind my pact

Between Myself and you, in fact,

With every living creature here,

That waters shall no more appear

A flood destroying all things dear,

A flood destroying all things dear.

16 "The rainbow shall be in the cloud,

And I shall look on it allowed

To keep in mind the covenant

Between Ælohim and all living,

And every creature that is meant

To walk the places earth is giving."

17 And Ælohim told Noah then,

"This is the sign of covenant

Which I've established and I've sent

Between Me and all flesh that moves

Upon the earth as it behoves."

Do You remember, my Beloved, again

The rainbow that You set against the rain?

You are the only lover on the earth

Who makes a promise of eternal worth

And yet demands no sign of love in turn,

Such love is Yours that it must always yearn

And yearn still though no sign is ever seen

That any loves You in the hours between.

You set the bow though every eye turns back

And looks for satisfaction in the lack.

Your constant whispered memory goes on

Creating rainbows through the night till dawn.

Without conditions You come bearing love

Such as my simple soul fails dreaming of.

18 Now Noah's sons who came out of

The ark were Shem and, hand in glove,

Both Ham and Japheth. Ham's son's name

Was Canaan. 19 These three true sons came

And from these the whole world were born.

20 And Noah then began to be

A man of the ground, could mean farmer

Or then religious chief alarmer.

He planted there a vineyard or

Believing congregation for

Himself and family. 21 Then he drank

The wine perhaps of ecstasy

And having drunk the wine he sank

Down in a state where you could see

Him, and as the passing there went,

Lie naked or as it may be

Vulnerable within his tent.

I found You, my Beloved, within the tent

Pitched for gods made by hands, pitched where I went.

And yet I did not dream that You accept

Prostration there, where jealously You wept.

I found You in the tavern and the bar

Where men drink deeply and the slatterns are.

And yet I do not dream Your thirst is quenched

When I'm well-wined and dined and better wenched.

I found You at the altar in the choir

That praised the Trinity beyond desire.

And though all praise is Yours I never dreamed

That You rose up and took the place that seemed

To human hearts to be Lord God's Almighty.

Your jealous heart's too tender and too flighty.

22 And Ham, the father of Canaan,

Saw in the tent a naked man

Or vulnerable and would deride

His father and told them outside,

Two brothers in whom to confide.

23 But Shem and Japheth took a cloak

Laid on their shoulders lest he woke

And went backward and covered there

The naked father, not aware,

They came with faces turned away

And did not see their father's shame

And so those two were not to blame.

I whirl with face to sun and moon and lack

A glance for priestly hands stabbing my back.

I have no guard but You alone, my Love,

And brazenly step out with sky above

And earth beneath my wildly dancing feet,

As I pour in my mouth the sherbet sweet,

To give myself a naked offering here

In a brave gallows without faith or fear.

My ecstasy mounts up as I take sip

Of swirling sherbet sweet and sour and dip

And cast my cloak in my own blood, as I

Fall down to earth when all my senses die.

Naked and vulnerable I lie upon

The gallows floor unconscious of the dawn.

24 So Noah woke from ecstasy

Or wine and knew who had made free

With him: his son, the youngest one.

25 Then he said "Cursed be Canaan, son

Of Ham, a servants' servant may

He be, his brothers' without pay."

26 And then he said "Blessed be YHWH, God

Of Shem, may Canaan live to plod

His days in service to him. 27 May

Ælohim enlarge Japheth, may

He live in Shem's tents and there may

Canaan serve them from day to day."

A servant, slave is what I am to be.

Curse me again, for all the hope I've got.

Until I die not once shall I be free.

Rise star, set hope, and let my free soul rot.

Sometime, somewhere, will any human know,

Efficiently recording histories

Of how the proud and great and strong got so,

None but the innocent are cursed with ease?

Can anyone tell me to do my best

And let God right the wrong? The wrong's not right,

Not long as I must work and have no rest.

All cursed ones go into eternal night.

Alone the innocent are cursed and tried.

None but the innocent are crucified.

28 And Noah lived after the flood

Three hundred fifty years by blood.

29 So all the days of Noah were

Nine hundred fifty years astir

And then he died, new world in bud.

[goldeagleprice]

Letters to the Editor (Dec. 19, 2017)

Membership decline means end for San Francisco club

It is with heavy heart and sad sorrow to report to the greater hobby and organized numismatics that the San Francisco (California) Coin Club has ceased.

Burdened with a steadily declining membership and even worse attendance, this once proud presence in California organized numismatics came to an end. A club, which once had attendance in excess of a hundred, ended with three present at its final meeting. A club that hosted several California State Numismatic Association (CSNA) conventions and claimed membership of several Krause Publication Numismatic Ambassadors simply could not continue.

A steady decline in membership, a tiny membership at the end was composed of more members living outside of San Francisco than within, the switch in meeting locations, plus the burden falling upon one individual to sustain the club, all these compelled the end.

I cannot deny that greater effort upon my part might have aided it. However, one individual should not have the sole responsibility.

The club died because it lost members and members who were willing to step forward. A lifeboat requires rowers and a helmsman. The club lacked both.

The San Francisco Coin Club bequeaths to the hobby a legacy of a standard of what an active and avid local coin club should be, whether hosting CSNA conventions, holding its annual Coin Fairs, issuing the multi-page monthly Two Cents’ Worth, frequent speakers and programs, wood issues and much enjoyed annual socials.

I came later in service with the club. At the end, yours truly held all the positions, a burden too much. The lesson here is simple: not one person should carry the load.

The club, for half a century-plus, was a proud presence, and its heritage shall remain.

On a personal note, I am proud to have been a member and to have served the club in its final years.

To all those before, to former members, and to our hobby and fellow hobbyists, please accept my and the club’s final message: Always enjoy our hobby and serve it well.

Michael S. Turrini Last SFCC President Vallejo, Calif.

  Reader might have 1982-D copper cent rarity

Unless my eyes have deceived me I think I may have one of these missing LaRues. Sorry, “MouseHunt” movie quote. 1982-D small date copper cent weighing 3.1 grams.

Unfortunately my digital microscope broke and no pictures to prove it. As with your other discoverer, mine also has some blue-green crap around the rim like someone tried to clean it with copper cleaner. But the “D” is not straight, so stay tuned because I just got an eye loupe mag 14. Should be clear later tonight .

John J. Dolan III Address withheld

Editor’s note: We will await further word from you.

  Rolling up coins yields Doubled Die cent find

I am recently retired. Since I had the time, I offered to roll up the change in my sister’s coin jar. I always check for new National Park quarters, 2017 coins and any items of interest. I check the cents for major errors. I always look for 1972, 1995 doubled die obverses and the 1983 reverse doubled die. I found the latest Parks quarter, 2017-P nickel and a 1917-P cent. But the big prize was near the end of the process.

I found, after 34 years of searching, a 1983 Doubled Die Reverse cent in AU condition! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought they were just tired from rolling up over $100 in change. But the coin magnifying glass verified my find. My favorite dealer also confirmed it. It is not a copper 1982-D small date (I checked for those too) but it is the best I have found in a long time!

I recently got this 1983 DD reverse cent back from NGC. Conservation removed the spot on the back and certified the coin as an AU-58. How is that for a circulation find that was in the system for 34 years? It must have been in several coin jars for a long time.

Rich Vatovec Birmingham, Ala.

Editor’s note: Congratulations. Thanks for sharing news of your find with us.

  Space limitations reason for Mint Statistics hiatus

I have noticed that the “Mint Statistics” page is not in my issue, not even listed in the table of contents.

I hope this is just an oversight for this issue only. Advise if Numismatic News will continue the Mint Stats in future printed issues. Gerald d’Aquin Address withheld

Editor’s note: We have had some very tight issues recently that made us leave out some material. Mint Statistics got the short end of the stick. But it is back this week. Thanks for proving your interest by writing.

  No 2017-P cents have turned up in change thus far

I have yet to see a single new 2017-P penny in circulation. And I always check my change. Seems strange.

Karl Hinds Fowler, Ill.

  Could double strikes be next big thing in errors?

I hear constantly that there are no collectibles in today’s change. I disagree to a point.

I’m a product of the 1950s. I could find Barbers, Walkers, Standing Liberties Buffaloes etc., but at the time whoever cared about error coins? I was 15 in 1955. There were some great coin stores in Boston.

In the window of one, there was a pile of brand new shiny Lincoln cents. The pile had a handwritten sign that read “A curiosity $1.” I went in and looked at some ’55 doubled die cents, but who cared? There was no space in my album, besides I had a 1955 cent.

At that time there was no Cherry Pickers guide, “Red Book,” Numismatic News that listed errors. Not many error coins were collected at that time (only by some smart people that looked into the future).

This brings me back to now. There are books dedicated to this subject. But hold on. I’ve got a dirty little secret; I hope nobody is listening. I would be shot down if I brought some to coin shows.

How about strike doubles?

There I said it out loud. I hope dealers and readers are not offended. My grandson has been looking for them for a couple years.

It has renewed his interest in today’s coins. Who knows, maybe some smart people already are watching their change?

Art Leslie Scituate, Mass.

  Should more be done today to verse children on coins?

Several weeks ago, the electronic version asked the question whether children should use cash for purchases so they could make “change” in commerce later. I think everyone should use cash – at least every so often – when making purchases. That way, they’ll know what coin is what and if they’ve gotten back the correct amount of change in their purchase.

The U.S. has become dumb in using coins in purchases. Today is not like it was years back when I was a young boy. The elementary school I went to had a “banking day” every week. It was observed by a local bank teller and classroom teacher. The young “tellers” of the school were 6th grade students who accepted money (mostly small change) from younger students to be put in that person’s savings account. We tellers got to know each different coin – cent through dollar – and how much our “customer/depositor” was depositing.

The years progressed and “school banking” was discontinued. So-called progress developed the change machine and computer, telling how much change is to be returned. All is good? Maybe, maybe not. Does the cashier know which coin is which and its face value? Perhaps. On the other hand, when a customer (like me at times) pays cash in coins (not bills), will that cashier know how much I’m giving her/him? Depends on the age of the cashier.

I’ve gone to stores where young cashiers are employed and have used Eisenhower dollars and Kennedy half dollars and have been asked “don’t you have American money?” Or, I’ve been told, “I’ll have to call my manager about these.” Even the use of a golden dollar will cause concern whether the cashier has been given “real” money. Had that young cashier paid cash for his/her purchases during his/her younger years, that cashier probably would know what was given and how much change should be returned – without looking at the register’s computer screen. Bill Tuttle, Cleveland, Ohio

  This article was originally printed in Numismatic News. >> Subscribe today.

  More Collecting Resources

• The Standard Catalog of World Coins, 1601-1700 is your guide to images, prices and information on coins from so long ago.

• Download The Metal Mania Seminar with David Harper to learn more about the metals market.

The post Letters to the Editor (Dec. 19, 2017) appeared first on Numismatic News.

[latinosbelike]

A Mix of Home and Away

By Oscar Mancinas

…didn’t know [music] would be what would begin to tell her what she remembers.

-Ofelia Zepeda

        I have the (mis)fortune of belonging to a diaspora. My parents left their homeland and have yet to return—and probably won’t. Meanwhile, ever since I had a say, I’ve done very little to return to any homeland, imagined or otherwise; in fact, I’ve done the opposite and taken almost every opportunity I can to travel, to move, to resist calling anyplace “home.” However, I’m about to return, for a long-term stay, to the land that birthed and raised me, and, this return—the first time I’ll be back home for an extended stay in roughly a decade—brings with it a reflective mood. Channeling this mood into recollection, I decided, would be the best way to go about things. To that end, I’ve compiled my own “mixtape for diaspora,” made up of songs that have followed me—songs that evoke sharp, unmistakable moments but also transcend and take shape in new contexts.

        Choosing music as the backdrop felt obvious. Music is memory. It’s personal yet communal; it connects and divides us, makes us feel when we’re numb, tells things about ourselves we don’t know, or don’t want to know, and, most of all, music tells us where we’ve been and what we’ve done. I divided my selections—or tried, at least—roughly into eras. To be clear, though, by no means do these songs fall along a clean chronology because: a) that’s boring, and b) if you’re part of a diaspora, you know time, history, and memory are anything but linear; rather, these three beats ebb and explode, seemingly at random, as though triggered by something said or left unsaid.

I. Early Fragile Nights

        In my family, there are many of us, and when I was a kid, we took any excuse we could to gather at someone’s house, grill carne asada, and play the night away. The kids would chase each other around until we were too tired to do little else but sit and watch our parents dance and sway to music from their home. Always, the music opening the night was upbeat, a celebration of life and family. Those of us present were to bounce and cheer—nothing’s promised when you leave home, especially when you do so for another country, so vamos a bailar!

1.“El Noa Noa” - Juan Gabriel

(Note: Of course we start with El Divo de Juárez)

        As the night went on, though, the songs slowed and became melancholic. My parents, aunts, and uncles—all firmly entrenched in their respective marriages—swayed and crooned to lyrics of intense heartbreak and loss, like they were the protagonists in each song. Night blended with tender futility, and every grown up moved in their own space like only they knew, truly, the depth of the singer’s yearning. Separated from those nights by more than a few thousand miles and two decades—maybe this says more about me than them, but—I’m tempted to say, for the adults moving slowly through the summer night, the missing beloved in each song was their lost homeland. The pain, I imagine, came from how the land of their birth—present in music, food, and family, nonetheless—was utterly irretrievable.

2. “Como te voy olvidar” – Ángeles Azules

3. “Golpes en el corazón” – Los Tigres del Norte

(Note: A lyric from this song inspired the first poem I ever published in print, which you can also read here)

II. Boppin’ Around the Barrio

        When we were old enough to realize we were different from our parents—but still too young to appreciate what those differences meant—we were restless. The songs of lost love or describing the beauty of another land didn’t always resonate. What, after all, did those singers know about the hood? What could they tell us about being brown but speaking a mixed Spanish? These kinds of questions stirred within us, and we ran around hoping to find answers. Worse still, as we got older, and teachers took notice of me and didn’t take notice of many of my peers—at least not for positive reasons—it became clear that soon I’d have other questions to answer on my own. If I sound melodramatic or nostalgic, it’s probably because I am. Aside from the comradery of shared struggle, little is to be missed from adolescence in the ghetto—and, yet, it’s still home.

        So, before we get too far ahead, we need to stop and appreciate what it was to be on the West Coast(ish), as hip hop from Los Angeles and Oakland became the soundtrack to every scene on a sun-drenched day on the streets. Kickin’ it in the park, cruisin’ down the street, or just chillin’ on somebody’s porch, when Chicano and Mexican artists got their hands on hip hop, it finally felt like somebody knew who we were and what we were going through.

4. “On a Sunday Afternoon” – A Lighter Shade of Brown

(Note: A Lighter Shade of Brown introduced me to the phrase “Brown and Proud”)

5. “Comprendes Mendes” – Control Machete

(Note: ¡El Cerro de la Silla presente!)

        Still, try as we might to shake off some of the old country’s cultura, we couldn’t deny its power. Being a Southwestern Latinx, especially, means also being tuned into Norteño Latinx flavor—that border can’t do anything to stop culture from crossing both ways. Tejas, then, and Tejano music was never more than a track or two away, and even though we didn’t know her for very long Selena made all of us dance like we belonged. 

6. “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom” – Selena

(Note: I won’t fault any reader for pausing the article to go down any number of youtube/spotify rabbit holes, but I especially can’t discourage anyone from watching every single Selena video out there. She’s majestically singular.)

III. Foreigner in a Familiar Land

        Then I went away. In a very white place, in a very white school, I was severed from everything I knew. Never was I more distant, yet hyperaware, of my Latinidad than when I went to college. I tried, nonetheless, to make do. Like a lot of my classmates, who also felt their own brands of disaffection, I relied on emotionally-drenched indie folk and pop music to try to work out where I fit in this suddenly-isolating world, and it helped, a little. 

        At times, though, the new music on which I depended for survival and guidance felt like using a blunt instrument to self-examine almost microscopic wounds. I could relate to artists and bands singing in English, but they couldn’t always relate to me, not all of me, at least. Uncared for went the parts of me that speak almost exclusively in Spanish whenever I’m on the phone with my folks, or shares a joke with complete strangers in a bodega, barbershop, or bus stop, or sits somewhere and reads Reinaldo Arenas or Guillermo Rosales or Elena Poniatowska or Federico García Lorca, or…you get it. Anyway, I craved something and didn’t realize it until it smacked me upside the head and said: “¡O’e we’on, ya p’e, deja de joder!”

        In the colonial capital of Lima, Perú, I had my horribly-belated introduction to Rock Latino. I met, and fell in love with what it meant to be young, Latinx, and frustrated. Thanks to the friends and family I made in Perú, I found the sounds of resistance and desire in my mother tongue. These artists sang of longing, alienation, and primal anger with how, still, the world was not better for us or our people. Intoxicated by it all, I became, momentarily, a howl—freed from a mouth normally forced shut. Time bent and compressed as though I’d snapped back into an existence I was meant to be leading all along, and suddenly it felt like loved ones I’d lost or left behind could join the loved ones who’d found me, and we could have it all. Nights in bars, friends’ houses, clubs, cafes, and parks crashed into and caressed us like the Pacific does Lima’s coast, and I swore I never wanted it to end.

7. “Las Torres” – Los Nosequién y Los Nosecuantos

8. “De música ligera” – Soda Stereo

9. “Lamento Boliviano” – Los Enanitos Verdes

       I imagine, or I hope, everyone feels something like this in this in their early 20s. For me these songs, and the memories of that momentary liberation—or belonging—still bring me a small, quiet peace. For once, diaspora and I could dance, almost, in harmony.

10. “Bicicleta” – Kanaku & El Tigre

(Note: On Kanaku & El Tigre: I saw them open for Andrew Bird in a bar in Lima at 2 am, so don’t ever try to step to me or my indie cred, fool.)

11. “Cinema Pasión” – Turbopótamos

IV. Bring It All Home

      Back in the country of my birth, I’ve learned to carry these songs, and the feelings they conjure, wherever I go. Being, once again, back in an overwhelmingly white space—as many grad schoolers can relate—I have a newfound sense of belonging and focus. Doubt inevitably creeps in, but I know for whom I do the work I do. I know I have a pueblo—several, in fact—out there who hunger like I hunger, and I delight in our chances to connect and give each other a knowing nod when our colors are flourishing in full force.

12. “Latinoamérica” – Calle 13

      As I said before, I’m preparing to end my self-imposed exile and get back to the land from whence I came. A mixture of angst and relief accompanies me, so I’ll resist trying to tie this all together because, honestly, I’m all over place. This is all so personal—as music should be, I think—and I want to believe my journey is nowhere near finished. Instead, then, I’ll encourage whoever reads this to reflect on, recover, and share the music that’s propelled them. I’m always down to learn about the songs people hold close, and how they push and protect you, especially when it seems like loneliness and pain are around the next corner. What keeps us going? Maybe the answer will find us in the next song.

13. “Pick Up Folks” – Los Vikingos del Norte

(¡Viva Chihuahua!)

14. “Leña de pirul” -  La Santa Cecilia

If you want the mix in its entirety, you can find it here. Hasta pronto.