#i keep spending money i don’t have on books instead of paying my tuition

[whattfamidoingwithmylife]

when im stressed out or sad i look at moonsrarebooks.official on instagram and it makes me feel better i love books and reading and being able to see someone take care of such old books in wonderful condition with a soothing voice makes me feel better

[strongestseed]

Arnolds 77 Lessons

1. Everything starts with vision. You have to see it before you can achieve it. You will never regret the time you spend to develop a very clear vision. When I say clear, I mean so clear that it plays in your mind like a movie. Before I stepped on a bodybuilding stage, I saw myself standing on the podium holding the trophy. It was like a memory — one that just hadn’t happened yet.

2. Put down your phone. Let your mind wander. I had all the time in the world. We didn’t have a television. We didn’t even have a telephone. My only escape from boredom was disappearing into my own thoughts and dreams. I was lucky. You aren’t. You have a machine in your pocket that can tell you everything about the world. Put it down. Don’t let it tell you who you want to be. Let your mind do that.

3. If you don’t see your vision right away, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. It’s normal. You need to explore, try new things, read, meet new mentors, learn. You need to…

4. Be curious. Read books. Read magazines. Watch documentaries. Find a subject that gets you going and dive in as deep as you can. If your vision isn’t clear, curiosity is your best bet. Even when it becomes clear, never stop learning.

5. Decide who — not what — you want to be. Make your vision a part of your identity. Don’t say, “I want to be fit.” Say, “I want to be the type of person who can keep up with my kids and grandkids,” or “I want to be the person who everyone looks at on the beach.”

6. Don’t worry about your motivation sounding silly. When I talk to people in the gym, I hear all kinds of motivations. Some people get motivated to prove their naysayers wrong. Some people get motivated to look good for potential partners. Nothing that keeps you moving forward is too silly.

7. Make sure you know the why behind your next move. I hear from people all the time, “I’m finishing college, and I don’t know what I want to do yet, so I’m going to law school or graduate school.” There are fantastic reasons to go into debt for law school or grad school, but you better know who you want to be. If you want to be the next great constitutional lawyer protecting democracy in front of the Supreme Court, or if you want to fight for justice for underserved people, I could go on and on. If you know why you want to continue your education, your tuition becomes an investment. But if you don’t have the “why” yet, suddenly, that debt isn’t an investment but a burden. Instead of doing something that fulfills you, you’ll spend your life doing whatever it takes just to pay those bills.

8. I hear from a lot of people in their 40s and 50s who have a great family and have found success in their profession, but they still feel that they are missing something. They always ask me if it’s time to look for a new vision. I tell them before they leave behind their job, spend some time giving back. Volunteer to coach kid’s sports. Tutor at an after-school program. Feed people at a homeless shelter. Find some way to give back. I think that 40 to 50-year-old itch isn’t always a sign that you need to change your life completely. Often, I think it’s your mind realizing that you’ve become successful, and you have a responsibility to help others because…

9. None of us make it alone. I am not a self-made man, even though I came to America without any money. Claiming I made it on my own would mean disrespecting my parents, the mentors and early coaches, the training partners and friends like Franco, and every single person who reached out and gave me a hand when I needed it. No matter who you are, someone helped you or laid the groundwork for you along the way. Once you accept that, you can see the tremendous responsibility that comes with it. You have a duty to help the next generation.

10. Your vision will grow and change throughout your life. I love the story of Sir Edmund Hillary, the first person to climb Mount Everest. The press asked him about the view at the top, and he told them that he saw another peak he’d never seen before and started planning how he’d climb that mountain. When you find success, more doors will open. You can find yourself passionate about something you would have never imagined 20 years earlier. Because the truth is…

11. The joy is not in the victory or in standing at the top of the mountain. The joy is the work that gets you there. If you think that the success you envision is the key to happiness, you’re going to be very disappointed when you achieve it. Once you learn to love the work, you’ll never have to worry about being happy or fulfilled because there is always work to be done.

12. Reps, reps, reps. You might think you only do reps in the gym, but repetitions are the key to life. Whether you want to improve at speaking in public or reading books or just eating better, you will need to do reps. Whatever you work at, it becomes easier and less uncomfortable with every rep you do.

13. Discomfort isn’t a sign to stop, it’s a sign to keep going. Being uncomfortable means you are growing. In the gym, your muscles and strength don’t grow from the first 10 easy, fast reps. They grow from the last 2-3 hard and slow reps. It’s the same with everything in life. Learning something new isn’t supposed to be easy. Doing something you’ve never done before will always be hard.

14. If you can make discomfort your friend, you will find that most limits you’ve placed on yourself or others have placed on you are totally fake.

15. Start small. Do one rep of something that takes you out of your comfort zone every day. The more reps you do, the easier it will become to be comfortable being uncomfortable.

16. There is nothing more comfortable than sitting on the couch watching some great TV. But nobody ever changed their life or changed the world from their couch.

17. Train your mind and your body. The Romans had a saying: Mens sana in corpore sano. A healthy mind in a healthy body. One of my earliest mentors, the first person to really encourage my weightlifting dreams, was a local politician named Fredi Gerstl. Fredi supported our weightlifting club and helped us get the equipment that we needed. All he asked for in return was that we train our minds as much as we trained our bodies. He gave us the classic Greek and Roman texts and talked through them with us. Since he encouraged our physical training, we were more than willing to train our minds with him. There is also a lesson in that…

20. If you don’t love failure, how can you love success? It’s the failures and the struggles that give our success meaning. Why would you care about winning if you didn’t know what it felt like to lose?

21. Many people overestimate the risk of failure and let their fear hold them back. In most cases, if you really assess the risk, you’ll see that your fear is overblown. If you fail to get the promotion you want, you won’t be homeless. You’ll just be right where you are right now. If the furthest you can fall is your current status quo, what are you afraid of?

22. Your mind will also exaggerate the embarrassment of failure. It’s important to be honest with yourself about this. First, very few people will know you failed. Second, anyone who knows you failed and takes joy in it — schadenfreude — wasn’t going to cheer for your success anyway, so why do you care what they think?

23. There will always be people who doubt you, who root against you. Let them. You have your vision, and you know the work it will take to bring the vision from your mind into the real world. So ignore the naysayers.

24. Or, if it helps you, use them as fuel. Do the work to prove them wrong.

25. You will find out throughout your life that your own mind can be your greatest enemy. It can be your biggest naysayer. Learning to

30. Don’t bottle anything up. When you feel grief, let it out. When you feel love, let it out. Anything you hold in and bottle up will eventually find a way out, and the longer you wait, the bigger the pressure becomes. Don’t let it become an explosion.

31. Tell people what they mean to you now. I’ve always hated that everybody stands up at a funeral and gives a beautiful eulogy but they didn’t share those thoughts when the person could hear them! I started a new tradition. You might not know this, but every newspaper pre-writes the obituaries for well-known people. Some newspapers have even asked to interview me for my own obituary! It sounds morbid, but it gave me an idea. When one of my dear friends was facing terminal cancer, I knew that I would write a eulogy. Instead of waiting, I did it early. I was able to share it with her before she left us. It was so meaningful that I’ve done the same thing for friends and mentors who are getting older. Trust me — tell them what they mean to you now, and you won’t regret it. Don’t save your thoughts until it’s too late for them to hear them.

32. One thing you learn as you get older is that none of us will get to live forever. It sucks. The older you get, the more death you see. Parents, siblings, friends, mentors. It can seem cruel that the reward for living a long life is outliving so many people that made your life what it is. But I’ve always found comfort in realizing that none of the people who die are gone. They’re with us every day. I once heard a pastor at a church say that they’re like ships sailing out of the harbor. Yes, at some point, as they get past the horizon, we can’t see them anymore. But that doesn’t mean they’re gone. I don’t think we ever lose the people who pass away. They stay with us every day, in our memories, but also in the way they shaped our lives. call it Mickey Mouse. But, I was always willing to try it out. I remember Vince Gironda, who owned one of the biggest bodybuilding gyms in LA, showed me this side-lying deltoid exercise with a light dumbbell. Of course, I called it Mickey Mouse, but then I did a bunch of sets to test it for myself. The next day, I couldn’t move my arms. They were so sore that the Mickey Mouse exercise became a staple for me. It is very easy to look at someone who thinks differently or does things differently than you and just decide they’re wrong. That’s the comfortable path. Why not just try their way? What’s the worst that can happen? If you act like you’re a scientist doing an experiment instead of like a televangelist who knows it all, then you’ll confirm some of your beliefs, but you’ll also challenge others and learn new ones.

35. Surround yourself with people who think differently than you. In the age of social media, it’s easier than ever to build your own chamber and protect yourself from ideas you don’t agree with. Don’t do it. When I became Governor, I appointed almost as many Democrats as Republicans to be part of my administration. Some of the Republicans I appointed were much more conservative than I was. I appointed more women than any Governor before me and more minorities. I didn’t do that so people would praise me. I did that because I know how a white Republican man thinks. I don’t need people to tell me that. I need people around me to fill in my blind spots because the job isn’t to be the Governor of all the white Republican men in California. The job was to be the Governor for 40 million Californians who all think differently and come from different backgrounds. Having people who thought differently than me around the table helped create lively debates, and those debates resulted in out-of-the-box ideas to serve the people. If you’re only talking to people who agree with you, you’re missing out on at least 50% of the brainpower available.

36. Don’t fall for the “Yes Man” trap. The more successful you become, the more people will want to massage your ego. Your true friends and mentors and advisors will be willing to push back. Encourage it. Every big decision can benefit from debate. In fact…

37. Do a “murder board” before your big decisions. I do this for any big interview, press tour, or appearance. You can do it before job interviews or presentations. Get together a couple of people you trust. Tell them to ask you every single question they can possibly imagine. Hard questions, crazy questions. Answer them. When you have trouble with one, talk through it with them, and then try it again. This way, when it’s time for the real thing, nothing can take you by surprise. I told you: reps, reps, reps.

38. Sometimes, everything matters. My team sometimes makes fun of me because I will notice little things like one light bulb out of a hundred that needs to be changed or a spot on the carpet. I believe that getting the little things right is the low-hanging fruit, and if you don’t do it, you risk getting sloppy and taking shortcuts when it really does matter. When you can control something, it doesn’t matter how small it is. It matters because you have the power to change it. And every time you change something when you have the power, that’s a rep to remind yourself you can create change. It’s a rep to remind yourself the shortcuts just cheat you. It’s a rep to remind yourself to get the basics right.

39. Sometimes, nothing fckin’ matters. There are other times that my team makes fun of me because I am so relaxed. We will come to someone else’s event where I’m supposed to speak, and they’ll tell me they’re sorry, but we don’t know when I’ll be on stage. I say, “It doesn’t fckin matter.” Because it doesn’t. We don’t have control. Trying to control something we can’t will only make all of us stressed out, and that won’t help anybody.

40. In fact, most of the time, nothing matters. Focus on the basics. Focus on what you can control. Nothing else matters. I will have people who have never worked out in their life come up to me and ask, “Should I do a push-pull split, or a bodybuilding split, or full body workouts?” I say, “It doesn’t matter. Anything is more than you’re doing now. Just do something.” People will ask about supplements to help their diet when all they eat is processed food. It doesn’t matter. Get the basics right!

41. Don’t major in the minor. There are so many people who worry about the last 5% so much that they never start working on the first 95%. Which supplements should I take? Which workout is optimal? Which diet is best? If you haven’t gotten the basics in order — training routinely and eating mostly real food — you’re wasting your time. Approximately 95% of your results will come from a basic foundation of training and good food. 

42. Don’t optimize. Just start. Stop your research. It’s how you procrastinate. Most of the time, we all know what we need to do. This is where our brains become our enemies. Instead of just starting, our brains tell us we need to research and find the perfect plan, so instead of doing some squats and pushups and drinking a protein shake, we can sit in front of a screen reading about the perfect diet while eating a donut.

43. Don’t let perfect be the enemy of progress. I know a lot of people who will start a workout plan that’s supposed to be every other day, and then as soon as something comes up and they miss a day, they give up. You’re never going to be perfect. None of us are. Just accept it. Progress is about moving forward. So you can only do two workout days this week instead of three? That’s still progress compared to zero workouts. Just keep moving forward.

44. Show up—for yourself, for others, just show up. The biggest difference between successful people and everyone else is that successful people get up over and over again when they fall and just keep showing up. Giving up has killed more dreams than failure ever will.

45. Follow through. Don’t start things you don’t finish. Follow through to the end, and then follow through and make sure everything worked. When I was Governor, there were horrible fires in San Diego, and thousands of people had to be evacuated to their football stadium. Everyone immediately felt the echoes of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, so even though I had total faith in my team, I got down to San Diego immediately. I went to the stadium and the other evacuation site at the fairgrounds, and I asked the people on the ground what they needed. Baby formula, diapers, cots, dialysis machines. I got on the phone and called the grocery stores and the military bases and hospitals to marshal supplies all night. The next morning, before I went to sleep, I came back, and the people who had told me what they needed were surprised to see me. I needed to hear from them that the supplies they needed had arrived. I needed to follow through. Don’t assume things are finished. Make damn sure they are.

46. Don’t do half-reps. It hurts me every time I see someone in the gym doing a lat pulldown or a curl or a bench press halfway. Sure, they can do a lot of reps. But if they half-ass their basic exercises, what else are they half-assing? When you cheat an exercise, you only cheat yourself. Whatever you do, go all out. Otherwise, you’ll always have to wonder what would have happened if you gave it a full effort.

47. There is no magic pill. Believe me. I’ve been around the fitness industry for 60 years of trends and fads and shortcuts.

48. The only shortcut is doing something the right way the first time so that you don’t waste any time on the shortcuts.

49. Sell, sell, sell. No matter what you do in life, you need to learn to sell. Whether you have a product or whether you are the product, we all have to sell something. Become comfortable with selling.

50. Like it or not, EVERYONE has to sell, People tell me, “Arnold, I’m a teacher, I don’t need to sell anything.” Bullshit! You need to sell those students on why they should listen to you. You have to sell the principal on why they should hire you.

51. The first step in sales isn’t talking. It’s listening. You need to know your customer. What are their needs? What are their dreams? Learn to ask questions and then really, truly listen to the answers. That’s how you find the message that will connect.

52. Speak to their heart first, not their mind. If you can develop an emotional connection with someone and understand their feelings, you are already a step ahead of the person who is going to bombard them with logic. There is a time for the logic, but first, get into the heart so the brain is ready to hear your arguments.

53. Even when you aren’t selling, listening is a superpower. I love that old adage that God gave us two ears and one mouth, so we should listen twice as much as we talk. So many people just want to feel like someone cares. And you never know what you can learn. When I’m working on a movie set, I try to listen to all of the different crew members. I once learned all the challenges of

58. Develop a sense of humor. People love to laugh. They like being around funny people. You might think you’re either funny or you’re not. That’s not true. Like everything, you can get better with reps. When I wanted to get into Hollywood, I became friends with a very famous comedian, Milton Berle. I asked him to help me with comedy. Milton would write jokes for me, and then he would critique my timing. (He wasn’t very gentle about it, I remember a few, “Schwarzenegger, you Nazi, you fucked it up!”) The more I practiced, by getting in a joke in every TV appearance, the better I became.

59. Develop a sense of humor about yourself, too. The more you can laugh at yourself, the happier you’ll be. When you fail a lift or you screw something up, practice laughing at yourself instead of beating yourself up. We all can take ourselves too seriously. One way to stress just a little less about life is to laugh at yourself instead of beating yourself up.

60. Seriously, don’t beat yourself up, ever. You need a lot of energy to chase a vision. Don’t waste any of your energy being negative to yourself.

61. But be brutally honest with yourself. When I say, “Don’t beat yourself up,” I don’t mean that if your goal is to lose 20 pounds and you’re stuck that you should ignore that you’re eating dessert every day. You need to be honest with yourself without any negativity. Talk to yourself how you would talk to a friend you’re concerned about. Honesty allows you to figure out a plan to move on from failures. Abusing yourself over it just burns the energy for planning and moving on.

62. If you ever feel stuck, pick three small things you can focus on. Make them so small it’s impossible for you to fail. If your goals are to learn a new language, get in shape, and read more, write all three things on a notecard, and write “5 minutes a day.” When you wake up, do 5 minutes of reading, 5 minutes of pushups and squats, and 5 minutes of language practice before you brush your teeth. Make a tally for each habit on the notecard, and keep it on your nightstand. No matter what, you get that tally every day. Even if you’re about to climb into bed and you realize you didn’t do all three things, you do it and then go to sleep.

63. Slowly grow your goals. Progressive resistance works in the gym and in life, right? After a month, take one of your goals and make it 10 minutes a day.

64. Just to show you the compounding power of progressive resistance in life, if you started in January with 5-minute workouts and added 5 minutes each month, by June, you’d be training a half hour a day. It sure beats those New Year’s resolutions where you commit to training 30 minutes a day and then quit after three weeks, right?

65. Harness the power of small wins. The reason I say to start with small goals is that you need to learn the value of any wins. If you can start your day with three, 5-minute wins, then you’re going to feel that you accomplished something. And you did! Celebrate those little wins. Because here is the reality: you need fuel. Celebrating the little wins teaches you that those little wins compound and build up.

66. You need momentum, not motivation. No matter how fired up you are, motivation will run out. Believe me. I’ve been training for 62 years. There is no motivation that lasts that long. There are going to be days — probably soon — when you don’t want to get out of bed. Those are the days when you need momentum, not motivation. You need a routine. It is going to suck. Just do it.

67. You need patience. It takes time for little wins to build. When you look at someone successful, it’s easy to imagine it happening overnight, but it’s almost never true. They just kept moving forward, sometimes with big jumps, sometimes with tiny steps, and I guarantee there were days they went backward or stayed still. But the trend went upward. I see this all the time in our app. People will say, “I lost 20 pounds in the last 4 months, thank you,” and other members respond, “Wow! Unbelievable!” But at the same time, you’ll see people say, “I only lost a pound this week, what am I doing wrong?” Do the math. 4 months is about 18 weeks. The big transformation looks huge, but it’s

1. 1 pounds per month. Most people won’t get excited about progress that slow — until they see what it means over 4 or 6 or 12 months. In a year, that would be 57 pounds of weight loss. Sadly, most people will never see that success because they’ll be too impatient to see how small wins can build up into huge success. Be patient.

68. Find joy, not happiness. I think one of the nicest things anybody ever said about me came from Jim Lorimer. He said, “If I needed one word to describe Arnold, it’s ‘joy.’ When he’s working, there is joy, when he’s with his friends, there is joy, when he’s with his family, there is joy. I’ve never seen someone have joy in everything they do.” Now, I believe joy is different than happiness. Joy is deeper. People chase happiness, but I think they should chase joy. Happiness is fleeting. You can feel joy when you’re struggling. You can feel joy when you’re grieving the loss of a dear friend. Joy, to me, is having a sense of purpose. It’s what gives meaning to life.

69. We don’t have to be alike to inspire each other. You don’t need to want to be the greatest bodybuilder of all time, a movie star, or the Governor of California to learn from me. You can use these lessons to be the best mom or dad of all time, and I’m inspired daily by all of your stories. If we all took a little more time to focus on how many people there are to potentially inspire us, we’d all realize…

70. The world isn’t as broken as your phone makes it seem. Read your social media feed. Now imagine going to a gym, or a bar, or church, and hearing people talk like that. You’d say, “It’s enough already — stop fucking whining.” But that’s normal on social media! Get out there in the real world as often as you can. Talk to real people, not avatars. You will not find joy on social media.

71. On those days when you feel really hopeless about the world, just go and do something for someone else. Buy a sandwich for a homeless person. Trust me, the second you bring a little positivity into someone’s life, you’ll feel it in your own life. And you’ll prove to yourself that you do have the power to make things better, even if it’s for one person for a few minutes.

72. When you feel down, a quick walk can always get your brain moving. Some days, I wake up, and it feels like the world is a black-and-white movie. It sucks. But when I get moving, even just a little bit, it starts to turn to color. Movement is medicine, and a 5-minute walk can save you a lot of heartache.

73. They have a rule on airplanes that applies to life. You’re supposed to put your oxygen mask on before you help anyone else. Even your kid. It sounds crazy. But I (naturally) asked about it. If you don’t put yours on first, you can pass out before you can help your kid, and then everybody’s screwed. When people tell me they feel selfish working on themselves, whether it’s mentally or physically, I remind them of this. The more you do for yourself, the more you can help others.

74. When I say train your mind as much as your body, I mean in every way. If you injured your leg, you would go to an ortho and a PT and get the help you need. If you feel lost, depressed, or anxious, get the help you need. That isn’t weakness. It’s strength. It’s being honest with yourself and doing the work to get better every day.

75. I need to mention finding a vision one more time because it is that important. It is the real secret to a life of joy. You need a purpose, a reason to live. Take the time.

76. If you take nothing else from this list, please listen to this: leave the world better than you found it. That’s it. If every one of us tries to live up to that simple rule, imagine the world we’ll leave to our grandkids.

77. Put your phone down. Seriously, this was a really long list because I’m so old. Go look around. Take a walk. Find some joy. It’s out there.

[lovelybkg]

protective | t.s.

pairing : todoroki shoto x gn!reader

request by @pocky-writes​ : how about a soft yandere todoroki who likes to spoil his sweetheart, and at first they don't like it until he scolds them and tells them that if they don't accept the spoils, he won't give them anything else. smuggle in some praise from him at the end too?? <33

note : wanted to write protective shoto, and i thought the request kinda fit so i decided to add it ! sorry if it isn’t the main story D:

warnings : very protective behavior, reader is kinda childish and sensitive, slight manipulation

you woke up to an empty bed, devoid of the usual gucci and other designer brands packages shoto left for you. you let out a sigh of relief, thinking he finally listened to you and stopped sending you so much expensive stuff. surely, you didn’t need all those gowns and designer bags. hell, you don’t even go out! were you supposed to wear those fancy clothes in your small apartment? upon telling him about this, he offered to let you move in with him in his penthouse. as if. 

you love him, you really do. but he just has to listen to you sometimes! you don’t want him wasting so much money on you! he’s already paying for your college tuitions, that’s already too much. whenever you tried to tell him to stop, he just shuts you up with a chuckle and a kiss on your forehead, telling you not to worry about it. 

opening your phone, the 27 unread messages from him didn’t even phase you. he did have the tendency to send you a lot of text, most of them to check up on you. you knew how much it bothered him not being able to meet you often because of hero work, that’s why you were so understanding of his protectiveness and clinginess. he’s just worried, after all. you sent him a good morning text, proceeding to answer all of his questions as to avoid making him worry. he does get fussy when you don’t reply to his texts quickly. 

then you remember the plan you made with your friends to go out later that afternoon. you knew there was no way shoto would let you go, he doesn’t really allow you to go out much anymore. you understand though, he just wants to keep you safe! but maybe he’ll let you this time? before you can carefully plan how you’ll ask for permission, your phone flashes with an incoming phone call from him.

his deep voice greets you as soon as you answer the call, “good morning, my love”

“good morning, sho! are you at the agency?” he couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic way you greeted him. you were just so cute! he feels all his stress melting away by just hearing your voice.

the conversation went on for about an hour. he tells you about how stressful his morning was, with the new interns messing up during patrol and how dynamight couldn’t control his temper in front of the media again, which ended with him having to take care of everything with the agency’s pr department. you wanted to know more about his day, but he quickly changed the subject, instead asking you about how your sleep was. were the new pillows he bought you comfortable? how about the cotton silk pajamas? did you wear them? upon answering yes, he asked you for a picture. you quickly sent him one, fixing your hair before doing so.

“you look adorable, baby. do you like them? i’ll buy you more once i have the time” before you could protest, he changed the subject again as if he knew you were going to refuse. 

“what are your plans for today? i don’t think i can visit you today, it’s quite busy here at the agency. maybe you could read the new books i bought you, or just rest and take naps for the whole day. also, don’t forget to take care of yourself. i left my credit card there so you can order food, okay?” suddenly being reminded of your plans by his question, you braced yourself for what you were going to say next. 

softly calling out his name, he hums as if asking you to go on. what were you so nervous about? he knows you get quiet when you want to ask him for something, he just wishes you would stop being so shy. after all, he would give you anything your little heart desired. 

“can i go out with my friends tonight? please? i promise i’ll be home by ten!” you practically squeaked out with how nervous you were. it’s as if you could hear your heart beating out of your chest with the silence that followed your question. why isn’t he talking? is he upset at you?

“no” his voice was cold now, quickly replacing the doting tone he was speaking to you in earlier.

“w- why? it’s safe! there’ll be six of us so there’s no way i’ll get hurt! please, sho, just this once? i haven’t seen my friends in so long” your voice started to crack, a sign you were close to crying. 

“i said no, baby. so stop arguing, alright?” you started crying now, all he could hear from the phone was your soft sniffles before you hang up on him. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you woke up with a headache and a strong arm wrapped around your waist. as you begin to panic, you realize it’s just shoto next to you due to the scent of mint and expensive cologne that practically engulfed your room. 

remembering what happened a few hours ago, you felt tears well up in your eyes again. you didn’t even notice you fell asleep. you hugged him tightly and buried your face in his chest, startling him. 

“im sorry sho!” you blurted out. you snuggled further into his chest, refusing to look at him. you didn’t wanna see his face! he’s so scary when he’s angry!

quickly recovering from his shock, he started rubbing your back softly as he reassured you that he wasn’t upset at all. he readjusted your position, forcing you to look up “im not mad at you baby, but i am glad you know what you did was wrong. i just want to protect you, you understand right?”

you nodded your head yes as you tell him you love him too. of course you did, shoto took good care of you. he does everything for you, the least you could do is listen to what he says! after all, he knows what’s best for you.

he gives you a kiss on your forehead before smiling softly at you, “you were crying, weren’t you? i’m sorry baby, but i’ll make it up to you. we’ll go shopping later, alright? i’ll buy you whatever you want”

you whined out a no, puffing out your cheeks like a child. he seriously needs to stop spending money on you, you didn’t deserve it! 

as if reading your thoughts, he rushed to reassure you “why not? baby, let me spoil you. you deserve it,” you know you don’t deserve it. you’re already so lucky, being able to date him, knowing millions of other people wish they were in your place. what can you even give him in return?

“shouuuu” you whined, “you already give me so much! and i can’t even give you anything in return. i dont deserve you” you pouted, showing your clear displeasure of his insistence on spoiling you.

he let out a light chuckle, face laced with amusement from what you said. his naive baby, why can’t you understand that he wants to do this? he loves you, you’re his sweetheart, and he’s going to take care of you. he’ll give you the entire world if he could, it’s what you deserve.

“i don’t expect anything in return, my love. and i’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. you’re the sweetest baby anyone could ask for, i’m very lucky to be able to call you mine”

the writing is kinda choppy, especially the conversations dhshs im sorry! D:

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dead, broke

Of all the moving, wrenching accounts of death during the pandemic, Molly McGhee’s “America’s Dead Souls,” for The Paris Review stands out: haunting, furious and sad, an rude awakening of the status quo that denies any possibility of inaction.

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

I’ve known McGhee a long time, since she worked on my book INFORMATION DOESN’T WANT TO BE FREE from McSweeneys, a professional association we renewed when she landed at Tor.

During the pandemic crisis, I’ve had two different connections to her: on the one hand, the consummate professionalism of her emails as we published my novel ATTACK SURFACE in the middle of the lockdown.

On the other hand, I knew her through her wrenching and deeply personal Twitter account of the personal tragedies she’s endured over the same period. Her Paris Review essay brings those tragedies into sharp focus and uses them to pin a huge and heretofore ill-defined feeling.

McGhee’s mother died during the crisis, but the death was the culmination of years of hardship: “[earning] less than $10,000 a year. Suffering from debilitating depression while caring for her aging parents…chronically unemployed, undermedicated, and overstressed.”

Her mother’s debts were on public display through searchable databases, and her life was haunted by both con artists and bill collectors who carpet-bombed her with calls, letters and emails.

She was too poor to fight back: her wages were garnished by the IRS “for back taxes calculated from a years-old misfiling they refused to correct.” McGhee sent her months of her salary, but it wasn’t enough.

She had no answer for her mother’s rhetorical questions, “Why are these people harassing me? What good does it do them?”

Because the answer is obvious and insufficient: “The people in power don’t care if we live or die, as long as they get paid.”

It only took two days after McGhee’s mother died for her creditors to begin harassing her for her mother’s debts. The state of Tennessee seized the house, but Wells Fargo expected her to make good on the mortgage.

The hospital where McGhee’s mother died wanted a quarter of a million dollars. McGhee, not even 26, was staring down the barrel of the weapon that had been trained on her mother, the inheritor of nothing but debt.

The debt-machine is efficient. Bill collectors found out about McGhee’s mother’s death before McGhee’s own family got word. And they’re remorseless, immune to McGhee’s “pleading, bargaining, reasoning, denying, uploading, scanning, begging, faxing, and crying.”

McGhee compares it to Gogol’s “Dead Souls,” a surreal tale of a grifter named Chichikov who buys dead serfs’ souls to sell for profit.

It’s only surreal if you’ve never been in the debt system’s crosshairs, “where one day of lost wages can compound into houselessness.”

We live in a system of winners and losers. The winners’ winnings come from debt, shielded from the system’s cruelty by “professionalism and bureaucracy” that insulate them — and their functionaries — from “feelings of culpability, not to mention empathy or curiosity.”

Poor people have less money, but the system is firmly focused poor people, because people with money can defend themselves. When McGhee went into debt to hire a lawyer, a single letter on official letterhead instantly reduced all that debt by 90% — more than $250k, poof.

It’s expensive to be poor. Take Community Health Systems, one of the largest hospital chains in America. It sues the shit out of poor people. When those people can afford lawyers, CHS loses, because it is chasing debts it is not entitled to collect.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/18/unhealthy-balance-sheet/#health-usury

CHS itself owes $7.6 billion. It turned its first profit in 2020, thanks to hundreds of millions of dollars in state and federal subsidies, and its executives pocketed millions in “performance bonuses” for a performance that consisted of getting bailed out by the public.

The Trump stimulus handed trillions to the richest people and biggest companies in America. Those companies “leveraged up” their handouts to raise trillions more and went on spending sprees, buying up struggling businesses.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

They loaded these companies up with debt, declared “divi recaps” (where you take out a loan on a company you bought on credit and put that money in your own pocket as a “special dividend”) and crashed the companies, destroying jobs and communities.

Plutes know there are three kinds of debt: workers’ debts (which must be repaid), owners’ debts (to be “restructured” away) and government debt (not debt at all, but still handy for terrifying normies with stories of “mortgaging our kids’ futures”).

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/17/disgracenote/#false-consciousness

Forty years of this approach has turned the economy into a shambling zombie, dependent on the fiction that “consumer” debts — repackaged as bonds through financialization — will be repaid, somehow.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

As an ever-larger share of the world’s wealth has shifted from the workers’ side of the balance sheet to the owners’, the ability of workers to buy things to keep businesses afloat as vehicles for debt-leveraging has only declined.

Wage-theft and stagnation, unions in retreat, monopoly, monopsony, tax-preferencing for home-owners over renters, for capital gains over wages, spiraling housing, health and education costs, worker misclassification — wages are annihilated before they’re even deposited.

With no wages left over to fund consumption, there’s only debt, and as Michael Hudson says, “Debts that can’t be repaid, won’t be repaid.” CHS can comfortably carry billions in debts, but the sick people it sues for $201 have to choose between rent and medical debt.

Every loan-shark knows how this works. The chump with $500 who owes you $500 and owes the bank $500 needs an incentive to pay you ahead of the bank. To assert the primacy of your claims, you need an arm-breaker.

The digital world has given us all kinds of fantastic new arm-breakers: digital repo men who can brick your car or your phone. It’s automated the once rare practice of evictions, creating eviction mills that run with devastating efficiency.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Creating a debt-instrument — a bond grounded in the payments from other peoples’ debts — requires that you convince investors and bond-rating agencies that your arm-breaker will terrorize the debtors into paying you instead of child-support or grocery bills.

“The cruelty is the point” isn’t ideology, it’s pure description. The system — an artificial life-form constituted as immortal colony organism that uses us as gut flora — runs on competing claims to your debt, and victory consists of terrorizing you more than any rival.

The financiers who practice leveraged buyouts destroy real businesses, ruin lives and hollow out communities. They are feted as “job creators.” The workers who must borrow to close the gap they leave are “deadbeats.” Leveraged buyouts are back, baby.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

If you fret that forgiving student loans and making college free will “saddle our kids with debt,” then you’ve been suckered.

Look. Replacing a system that starts all but the richest children with unserviceable debt with one that doesn’t is liberation, not bondage.

Since Reagan, we’ve been hiking tuition, killing deductions for interest, and shielding student debt from bankruptcy.That’s how you can borrow $79k, pay $190k, still owe $236k, and have 25% taken from every paycheck AND Social Security until you die.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/04/kawaski-trawick/#strike-debt

Debts that can’t be paid, won’t be paid. Student debts do get forgiven, but only for those highly educated, (potentially) highly productive people who can prove that they have been so thoroughly destroyed by debt that they have no future.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/20/sovkitsch/#student-debt

And as McGhee reminds us, the tragedy isn’t merely that we educate people on the pretense of betting on America’s future, but really, the principle use that the system makes of the educated is as collateral for securitized loans.

If the arm-breakers who chased her mother wanted to understand that woman’s humanity, McGhee says they should start here:

“Her humor and her rage were unmatched. In the evenings, against the setting Tennessee sun, she liked to drink red can Cokes in the garden while snuffing cigarettes out against the yard’s ant colonies. She could reckon with anyone just by looking them in the eye. Men were terrified of her, rightfully so. She was sweet. In the last week of her life, when she couldn’t understand where she was or who she was talking to, she greeted everyone the same: ‘Hi, pal. Hope you’re doing okay. When can you come pick me up?’”

Take a second. Re-read that.

[statticscribbles]

Strongest Pt 2

Summary: Sweet Pea/Reader Request: Pt 2 to Strongest

“Listen I don’t want to cause anything; but is everything okay between you and Sweet Pea?” You turn confused to Betty who sits next to you. “As far as I know it is; why? Is he saying something?” “No it’s just; Jughead’s been seeming more stressed lately and it seems to constantly lead back to Sweet Pea.” “I mean maybe its cause he’s been trying to actually take paying work? Since I’m taking any shifts I can at Pop’s but even then it’s not much; or near enough when it comes to being able to have any sort of savings.” Betty nods chewing her lip.

“I know it’s probably a bit late to be talking about this; but are you going to keep it?” You nod. “Yeah; I mean I thought about you know; just getting rid of it; and then about what happened to Polly; going to the sister’s giving it up for adoption but I just; I got scared. Like the thought of this kid just getting rejected right from the get go; like all the Southsider’s deal with shit, we’ve all been rejected or overlooked but the though of having abandoned it; just; I couldn’t do it.” “Well I think it’s really good that Sweet Pea’s stepping up to actually help. I was pretty surprised when he told us he got another job to help support you. It’s sweet.” “Surprised?” You furrow your brow.

“Well yeah I mean Southsider’s aren’t known for their parenting skills. I mean you’ve heard what happened to my mom.” “Like father like son.” You mutter chuckling to yourself freezing when Betty glares at you. “I can’t believe you’d imply that Jughead would do something like that to me! That’s horrible of you; just because you don’t have the mind to be safe about these things.” She snaps and you can’t help the red you see; you thankfully have the excuse to blame hormones for now. Although even as you’re saying it you’re regretting it. “It’s not an implication; it’s fact; who do you think he was slumming it with when you threw a fit and broke it off with him?” “He what?” You swallow shaking your head. “Nothing it was a low dig I didn’t- Betty wait! Fuck.” You hold your face in your hands.

“Y/N? You okay?” “I just fucked everything up. I’m gonna die.” You look up to see Toni and Cheryl standing in front of you. “Betty knows.” “Oh; well shit. I mean that’s not really your problem; it’s Jughead’s. Don’t stress about it.” Toni awkwardly pats your shoulder. “How about something to cheer you up?” “Cheryl I don’t think anything can cheer me up; why are you handing me your credit card.”

“Because yesterday Fangs told me you were stressing about clothes because you’ve been spending most of the pay checks you’ve been earning on practical things like diapers and food; like hell if I’m letting my god child be dressed in rags.” “Cheryl you don’t have to, really it’s fine.” “So I am a god-parent.” She smirks and Toni raises an eyebrow. “Well yeah, both you and Toni are like live savers for me right now and-“ “Cheryl calm down. People are staring.” Toni sighs smiling at you as Cheryl untangles herself from the hug she’s given you. ————————————————

You look confused to where Sweet Pea sits half asleep half holding a book. “What’re you doing?” “Reading?” “Sweets you just got home from a double shift you can read whatever it is later; you need to rest.” “You’re upset at me cause I’m reading?” “I don’t care about the books; just rest please.” “No not about the books; something else then.” He hums when you nod sinking onto the couch. “Betty knows; I fucked up and let it slip and now she knows and she hates me and Jughead is gonna kick me outta the serpents and-“ “Whoa hey babe, no he’s not; no he’s not; come here love. It’s okay; it’ll work out.” He moves over pulling you onto his lap instead of where you’d settled on the couch. “Did you know-“

“Babe please, please don’t tell me any weird or scary pregnancy facts” “I was just going to say I love you.” “Oh.” your face flushes and he beams. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed you know that right?” “I’m not; I’m awful and-“ “Please don’t finish that sentence or I’m going to have to start learning poetry to combat your self hatred. I love you; no matter what you look like; even if you’re gonna go all stereotypical and complain how fat and horrible you think you look, I don’t think that and nothing you can do will change my mind.” ———————————————————————————-

“Listen Y/N; I know I’ve been a huge asshole lately but I want to try to help.” “Is this cause Betty threatened to break up with you again?” “No, Betty has nothing to do with this.” “So you already broke up then?” “Will you listen? Christ I’m trying to be helpful and here you are acting like-“ “Like what Jones? You have something else to say to make her cry? Or anything to add to her stress levels? You really want to ‘just talk’ I mean it’s obvious how Betty’s not talking to you again.” “Sweet Pea this doesn’t concern you it’s between me and Y/N” Jughead snaps and you watch slightly amused as you remember the last confrontation you’d heard.

“Its about my girl so it concerns me; about my family too.” “Don’t pull that shit we both know it’s not your kid.” “Oh; so everyone knows you’re just like your dad? Abandoning your kid before they even realize what’s happening? I’ve told you before Jones; you don’t get to be involved unless Y/N needs something; does she need you?” “Well obviously I’m the actual dad.” “Did you ask her?” You sink in your seat and can feel Toni nudging you. “Stress is bad. You want to bounce?” “It is kind of fun to see them awkwardly try to fight. Does everyone really know about Sweet Pea?”

“No I think Jughead’s just trying to rile him up; FP knows though; apparently he’s livid so I’m sure Jughead is stressed from that.” “FP knows?” You laugh a little and Toni looks confused. You pull your phone out scrolling through your photos. “After that little shopping spree Cheryl dragged us on; I was putting stuff away and assumed I must have gotten it as a joke; but I guess FP snuck it in.” Toni snorts smiling and nodding. “Please you have to put the kid in that. Please.” You nod laughing looking up when you hear a cough. “Put him in what?”

“My dad got you something?” You shrug showing the picture to Sweet Pea who grins laughing. “Your dad has good taste Jughead; I’ll give him that.” Jughead rolls his eyes at the tiny leather jacket. “I don’t see why you didn’t bother finding out the gender; it would make the whole clothes shopping easier you know.” “And what would you know about that?” You shake your head at him and he shrugs. “Well if you let me help;” “You just want to get back in your dad and Betty’s good books.” “Speaking of Betty.”Toni mumbles and you turn when she walks up.

“Hey Y/N can we talk; alone.” She glares at Jughead and you nod following her out of everyone’s earshot. “I’m sorry about how I reacted earlier. I shouldn’t have been so upset at you.” Her hand brushes your shoulder. “I mean you had a right to be; you’d found out your boyfriend slept around and then knocked up one of the people he was sleeping around with.” “It doesn’t mean I should take my anger out on you.” You shrug. “You didn’t really.”

“Toni and Cheryl told me how it was stressing you out and-“ “Betty; a lot of things are stressing me out; I’m becoming a southside statistic; I’m working any chance I get at Pop’s or the Wyrm when Sweet’s doesn’t notice. He’s pulling double shifts. We’re trying to get something saved up for hospital bills; not to mention just regular baby stuff; so you being a little bitter cause your boyfriend caused all this is okay. I am also a little bitter.” “If it makes you feel better FP is making him use part of his tuition money.” “For what?” “Whatever you need according to how pissed FP was.” “I should talk to him.” “Jughead?” “No FP.” Betty nods. “Do you want company?” ———————————————————————-

You tap at the trailer door. Waiting until FP opens it. “Jughead isn’t home; but I’m guessing that’s why you’re here. Come in.” “You don’t need to make him use his money on-“ “Y/N calm down; I’m not making him; I strongly suggested it and then explained why it was the best idea; if he puts money towards the kid now; you’ll be less likely to wreak havoc later; not saying you would but just in case. Besides the rest of the Serpent’s are already pitching in and- Don’t you dare say no; we’re you’re family, and family take care of there own; besides you know what they say about baby rattlesnakes right?” “Is this another famous snake fact?”

“Yes, yes it is; baby rattlesnakes are more venomous than the adults. That kid is going to be so protected bubble wrap will be out of a job.” You laugh and FP smiles. “Seriously Y/N just cause my son doesn’t want anything to do with his kid doesn’t mean I want the same thing.” “I dunno you, being a grandfather? I can’t see it.” “I’m already retired, besides I heard your mom kicked you out; you’ll need someone to babysit who has experience.” “You heard about that?”

“Yeah, apparently you told Sweet Pea not to tell anyone? Like I said, we’re family; we’re here to take care of you. You’re a kid; you need help; please ask for it. Please.” You nod sighing. “Come here.” You lean into FP as he hugs you. “I’m sorry you’re in this mess; I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Jug; I’m sorry I can’t do more to help.”You nod wiping your eyes. “It’s okay dad don’t sweat it.” You can tell he lets the slip up go. “I won’t. I just have one request..” “I’m not naming him Forsythe if he’s a boy.” “I was going to say to not get me any of those ‘worlds best grandpa things’ but that too.” “Well now that’s all your getting.” FP glares but you can tell he doesn’t mean it. ————————————————

You frown when you see your mom sitting on the couch. She dangles the spare key in front of you before setting it on the table as she stands to hug you. “Y/N I’m so-“ “Don’t.” You cringe back and she sighs. “Honestly this entire mess can still be resolved if you just go to the sisters or-“ “Mom. Please stop.” “No you’re going to throw your entire future away for some child that the father doesn’t even want; you’re slumming it with some lesser Serpent cause he said whatever he did to get in your good books so he can sleep with you; you know that right? Whoever he is doesn’t actually care about you or the child; nobody cares about it besides you sweetheart; it would be better to just get rid of it.” “Mom just, please leave I get you think I’m making a mistake but it’s my choice and-“

“Exactly, it’s your choice you’re just a child; you can’t make a decision like this and expect to pick the right answer. Until you change your mind; until you make the right choice, the only choice I can’t be a part of this.” “I never expected you to be. It’s why I left; why I came here with-“ “Y/N I don’t care anymore. You’re free to ruin your life without me. I just came to let you know is all.” “You came to rub it in my face you’ve kicked me out of the house?” “Not to rub it in your face just to say goodbye for now; until you reevaluate your life.” She smiles as she leaves patting your shoulder. ———————————————————

You try your best not to wake Sweet Pea but when you shift over and sniffle slightly too loudly his hand twitches and he mumbles sleepily. “It’s okay Sweets; it’s nothing.” You assure him; you know you probably sound a little panicky a by product of the nightmare you’d just had. You swallow shifting backwards in the bed hoping he can’t feel you shaking. “You sure? Is Peanut okay?” “Peanut?” You watch as his face pulls back sheepishly. “Been calling him peanut in my head, easier that saying it, or the kid every time. I can stop if-“ You kiss him softly and he pulls you into his arms sighing. “It’s not peanut; just had a nightmare.” “You want to talk about it?”

“You weren’t there. I don’t know why but you just couldn’t make it and no one else was there and I was alone and-“ “Hey; hey baby it’s okay. I’ll be there I promise.” “Don’t say that.” “Well I did; and I’m going to. Can you sleep more right now its only four am.” “No I can’t.” You grumble and he smiles kissing you on the forehead. “We should probably figure out what to do whenever peanut decides to come out huh?” “Yeah I guess.” “You guess? You expect he’s just going to ask us if it’s convenient? Send us a letter or something?” You laugh shaking your head. “Just pack a bag and go to the hospital; like normal people.”

“You could always schedule it; it’d cost more but probably better in the long run.” “Oh yeah let me just call Peanut and see when he’s free.” “No babe; like a c-section. You can-“ “I don’t think that’s safe.”You shrug and Sweet Pea frowns. “ Did you know-“ “If you tell me any scary pregnancy facts I’ll cry.” “Babe… It’s just numbers about teen pregnancy; which you are, sort of. Most teen pregnancy births end in c-sections; it’s safer for everyone involved. You can’t just pretend nothing bad is ever going to happen.” “I can and I will, denial is my best friend right now.” “Y/N; what’s actually going on? It’s not just the nightmare is it.”

“My mom came over earlier.” “What did she say love?” You shake your head hiding your face in his chest. “I’m gonna end up like her and you’re going to leave; peanut won’t have his dad around and he’ll hate me.” “That’s not going to happen; you have me. I’m here; no matter what.” He kisses you and you smile into it. “I know; I love you.” “I love you too; but back to the Peanut issue. A C-section might-“ “No. That’s surgery; that’s too expensive we can’t afford that.” “Cheryl-“ “No I’m not asking anyone else to do shit for me and-“ His hand runs through your hair.

“Y/N; she almost strangled me when I told her and Betty you didn’t want a baby shower; she keeps tipping me fifties when Toni lets me take her shifts. Just ask, that’s all I’m asking.” You chew your lip. “It would make sure I could be there; you wouldn’t be in pain.” “Like FP won’t let you take off for you own kid being born…” You glare at him and he laughs. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” He coughs and you frown. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “Sweet Pea; I can tell something just happened.”

“It’s nothing.” You watch as he snuggles closer to you, you can feel him smiling into your hair. “Sweets. Come on; I just had a nightmare. I’m having your kid; tell me what made you happy.” “That.” He grins and you look confused at him. “I had a nightmare?” “No, that’s horrible; I meant the thing you said about peanut.”

“What about him?” You chew your lip thinking back to everything you’ve said. “Is it about the C-section?” “No it’s just; don’t make me say it.” “No I legit don’t understand what’s got you so happy?” “You said he’s mine.” You nod dumbly at him. “Yes? That’s kind of a fact? Why is that making you happy?” “It’s nice to hear you say it.” You nod still slightly confused. “I mean you are his dad? You’re the one taking care of me and him.” “Or her.” He corrects grinning and you roll your eyes. “Or her; you’re the one who’s got me saying him; I think Fangs is the only one still on the ‘it’s a girl train.’ Cheryl was but Toni somehow convinced her.” ——————————————————————

You glare at Sweet Pea when he walks in. “What’s wrong?” “Cheryl agreed.” “To what? There’s a lot of things I asked her for in the- I’m joking babe, I’m joking! I didn’t ask her for anything. Besides that fancy ass crib she- IT’S A JOKE Y/N.” “The 15th at 9 am. That’s only a week early. I called FP already so he knows; so you have two weeks after that off.” “Oh, oh shit!” You watch his face and laugh when it clicks. “Yeah.” “Holy fuck we’re going to be parents.” “Yes? We’ve known for months?” “Well yeah there’s a date, and time now. It’s serious; like real, really real. Holy fuck.” He mumbles walking over to lean over to kiss you.

——————————————————-

“I expect you to be more stressed.” Sweet pea shrugs and you arch an eyebrow. “One, I can’t feel anything from my waist down; two since this is all scheduled I’m pretty much waiting for them to call me back.” “Surgery’s kind of a big deal.” He reaches for your hand and you squeeze it. “Didn’t you read all sorts of statistics about teen pregnancy and c-sections in the books you got?” “Well yeah; but it’s different seeing it on paper and it being you.” “How is that different?” “Well I love you; I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” “It won’t. If you start listing all the thing that can go wrong; I won’t; let you hold peanut.” “You can’t make me not hold my own kid Y/N that’s the dumbest threat I’ve ever heard.” “But it’s still a threat.” “A real threat would be putting Jones’ name on the birth certificate.” “Isn’t that what she’s doing?” Fangs question and you laugh as he drags a parade of balloons into the room. “Cheryl made me get both.”

“I get the pink and blue cause we kept it a secret but uh, why are there four; it’s not twins.” “From her and then from Toni I guess.” Fangs shrugs. “Is that a toy snake?” “Yeah, gotta make sure she loves snakes duh.” Fangs grins and you shake your head laughing. “You have to tell us the name!” Toni interrupts; Cheryl following her. “No I’ve already told you we’re not revealing that or the gender until they’re born.” “Killjoys.” Cheryl laughs smiling at you. —————————————————–

You wake up to the room being empty save for Sweet Pea curled on the chair; you watch him for a moment debating alerting him you’re awake before you can he turns back towards where you can hear the beginning of crying. “Hey whoa, no, no need to get so upset; come on you have to let mom sleep a bit; she can’t take you home unless she’s slept; I know you miss her it’s okay I do to. Now, we have- don’t look at me like that I need your help. Yeah exactly.” You watch Sweet Pea nodding as he looks down at your son, you can see his hand waving, he must have gotten it free while he was sleeping.

“Okay business time and then we can wake mom up yeah? Good; now, black or green? I was thinking green cause you know Serpents but blacks traditional. What do you think? No I’ll show you it in a second you have to help me choose, it’s a family thing after all. So; black or green.” He grins and you only hear laughter in response, you shift pretending to wake up and Sweet Pea grins. “Shit.” You hear him mumble shoving whatever he was holding into his jacket pocket, you can hear it clank and try your best not to get excited about the idea of him giving you your own key.

“Look it’s mom!” You can’t help but smile, Sweet Pea handing him over and you laugh when he cries. “Aw do you miss dad? It’s okay he’s like not even a foot away. You’re just unable to tell, you’ll get your object permanence soon.” “Hey you read some of the books!” Sweet Pea grins and you laugh nodding. “Of course; I was pregnant; I sort of had to.” Sweet Pea nods. “Hey listen this is kinda silly but can I take you out to dinner soon; like a proper date?”

“Yeah? They said I need like six weeks to heal from this; movement wise at least; but I don’t see why we can’t go to Pop’s or somewhere else later in the week when we’re a bit more coherent.” “So you mean when you’re not so drugged up you can’t feel your toes.” “Basically yes; why? We went on a date the other day.” “Yeah but I want to go on a date as a family, well like us; you know celebrating we’re a family.” You can see how his face changes, how he stutters and you can tell he’s nervous about whatever he’s planning. You laugh. “What?” His face falls as you grin. “I heard you, well the tail end of your very important conversation.” Sweet Pea’s face pales. “You did?”

“Yes, if you’re going to give me a key you know I don’t care about the colour.” Sweet Pea nods and hides his face. “Aw come on it’s not that hard to figure it out Pea.” “I know just I wanted to surprise you.” “It’s okay I’ll probably forget half of this by tomorrow.” He nods grinning.

“Hopefully.” He winks as the nurse explains you can go home, he helps you into the wheelchair and when you shiver he drapes his jacket over you. He’s distracted with loading everything into the car when you slide your hands into the pockets confused to feel an open box. You fish your hand around deeper trying to figure out where the key meant for you is instead finding a ring catching on your finger.

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[pillowfluffs]

Room Renovations | Hyunwoo, Minhyuk

Pairing: Hyunwoo X Reader (gender neutral) and Minhyuk X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: simple fluff, fun ig 

Author’s Note: inspired by me currently redoing my room too tehe

Hyunwoo: 

The room was so hot, all your clothes and things were scattered into messy organized piles all over the floor, and you couldn’t move your dressers that were right in the center of the room

Everything was so heavy and you couldn’t move anything on your own but most of all you were so hungry

Your room looked like a complete disaster- specifically the floor and this was only the beginning

You were in the process of clearing out your little apartment so you could return it to the landlord and move in with Hyunwoo

But now clearing it, you didn’t realize you had so much stuff

Your bed was completely covered by your wardrobe from your closet and dressers and you needed to pack them into suitcases but you also needed to get rid of stuff and put things into storage, give stuff away, etc

You actually liked to pack things and such but this was a bit more than you initially thought

It was pretty stressful since it all was a time crunch

But right now you couldn’t think straight or focus on something too much- all you wanted was food in your tummy. The heat didn’t help at all- you just wanted the air conditioning to come back on and for Hyunwoo to return

You currently moved to your book case and grabbed two empty boxes- one for donations and others for keeping

You only had one shelf and a looking at the books, almost half of them were bought on a whim since you thought you would like to read it but you were wrong

You fanned yourself with a small magazine, frustratedly stacking books into both boxes, averting your gaze from everything else in the room

This was how you were whenever you packed your room: you got a little too excited about things and you did this thing where you jumped form one thing to another, not finishing the first thing

It was a bad habit and this time, it proved to be the worst habit you could have while packing your entire room

But not looking at your things could only help so much. It was like a mosquito bite or a thorn in your side, but in this case, there were multiple things of either or

Your clothes still needed to be folded and you were a fraction of the way through but you also needed to clear your desk and sort your supplies into the desk box… however, your bookshelf was one of the few things left untouched and you just had to sort these books right now

Your body felt so drained and tired spending the last couple days packing your entire apartment and your bedroom was one of the worst since you had so much

Birds chirped, bees buzzed, life went on as if nothing was wrong or stressful in life but you were going through the complete opposite and it really sucked right now

“I’m back,” the sound of the most glorious man in your life right now. Hyunwoo. Was. Back

You threw the book in your hand into the donations box and practically sprinted out of the humid bedroom, the socks you wore on your feet made you slip and almost fall as you approached him

“Foooddd!” you exaggerated, raising your voice a little towards the end to emphasize your hunger and little crankiness to which he playfully raised the take out bags up in the air in his hands

“Wooo,” he slipped out of his sneakers, setting the bags onto your kitchen counter

You had boxes stacked on top one another in your living room near the shelves and around the side of the couches with your belongings inside

You wasted no time zipping between the piles of boxes like it was an obstacle course and washed your hands with soap before you reached for plates and utensils

Hyunwoo wore a fitted b lack t-shirt with black joggers. You set yours and his plate on the counter next to the plastic containers containing the pasta and sides of beef and veggies in smaller ones

You danced about behind him, singing along to a random song, your hands tapping and lightly slapping his toned back as he plated yours and his foods

The aroma of the pasta wafted through the kitchen in the area around you two and it made your mouth salivate. Your stomach practically screamed in hunger

You wrapped your hands around his slim waist, peeking around him from behind

“Here you go,” he pushed your plate to the side so you could take and you happily did, letting out a joyous wheeze screech, making his eye smiles appear on his face

After parting his own, he put the covers over the containers and left it there in case you wanted seconds

You plopped yourself on the light brown leather couch in the center of your living room, tapping your utensils as you looked to him, waiting for him to join you

But it didn’t take him long. Hyunwoo was hungry too and you already knew he could most likely devour this entire order by himself

When he sat down, it was when the two of you began eating

Tasting the first mouthful of pasta on your tastebuds was almost enough to bring tears to your eyes. It was either that good or you were just hungry

“Mmm, thank you so much,” you bumped your head to his arm, taking another bite into your mouth

“No problem. How far did you get while I was gone?” He asked, shoveling a mouthful of pasta and stuffing a few pieces of the side order of meat into his mouth

“I don’t even think I made any. I was hungry and hot and it made me annoyed with everything,” you took a bite of a veggie, tasting it. “But you’re here and food is here, so things should be a lot better. I can think now.”

And you were right

The two of you had seconds with little to no leftovers left and got back to work as the sun set outside, the last bits of the day painted beautifully into the early evening sky

Hyunwoo helped you move your dressers into the hall so one of them could be donated and the other could be brought to your parents’ house to be reused

The room opened up but now the main things were the piles on the ground but that was all that was left

You focused yourself and got to folding your clothes as Hyunwoo finished where you left on your bookshelf. He listed out titles for you to tell him whether to keep it or not as you folded and packed your clothes into suitcases

When he finished clearing your bookshelf, he moved your boxed books out to make even more room so it didn’t feel as stuffy

Everything really was better after food and the temperature going down

When those were out of the way, he started your desk for you. Here, he didn’t have to ask you too much so the two of you talked about whatever

You filled your big suitcase and all you had left that would fit into your smaller suitcase. As Hyunwoo cleared your desk and supplies, including your office supplies, you didn’t realize how much stuff you didn’t want until he asked you about it

The trash bag you had for anything in general was filling up fast but things were clearing and the more things were being cleared, the more it felt like the weight was lifting off of you

When your clothes were finally done and folded, Hyunwoo took the suitcases out for you and now the living room was organized with stacks of your boxes

It was a bit after midnight when your room was finally cleared and now all you had left to do was move your boxes, take out the trash of stuff you didn’t want, bring your boxes of donated things to their respectful places and do a clean down before returning your keys to your landlord

But the cleaning day would have to be for another day- most likely the day after tomorrow  

When the final box was packed, you had never seen your room so clear

You could feel the small bags forming beneath your eyes as you yawned for the nth time

You stood before Hyunwoo and leaned into him, wrapping your hands around his neck, giving him a tired hug

‘Thank you for everything,” your voice was silky in his ears

He leaned down, bringing his face to your shoulder, kissing your jaw and neck, his hands traveling down the sides of your body

“It’s nothing,” he smiled against your skin, the tips of his ears turning red

Minhyuk: 

Upbeat music played from your bluetooth speaker that was connected to Minhyuk’s phone, the song echoing off your high walls

The two of you were currently in your rented room in the house you shared with three other roommates

The house itself was pretty old but it you weren’t surprised since it was one of many other houses that lined the edge of your university campus. You’ve lived here since your first year, renewing your lease every year

It was pretty convenient for you as a uni student since you didn’t have to pay the expensive housing and meal plan feels as part of your tuition but you also didn’t have to waste gas by driving to campus and struggle to find a parking spot while you were at classes

You didn’t have to waste money or struggle to find a spot. Instead, you walked to school to your classes almost everyday but since it was your last year, you didn’t have too many challenging classes since you had almost all your credits

This year was just the final stretch and it was almost over

But before the year ends, you began to pack your room so you could bring them back to your parents’ house to live there in the mean time before the year ended

And since your room was one of the biggest, you also had the most stuff so you didn’t have to go back and forth between your place and your parents’ house for your things

It had only been a few hours since you started and the two of you had only managed to clear your dresser but you still had your closet and desk and bed and decorations

Today was going to be longggg. You could already tell

The biggest challenge you could see was your closet as you scanned your room and Minhyuk spread himself out all over your bed, humming along to the song, occasionally letting his voice shine

But you didn’t mind and no one else did either since one of your roommates was out for their classes for the day, the other was back at home already, and the last one was just out and about

You two had the house completely to yourselves

“Can we order pizza?” Minhyuk asked as you pushed your two remaining jumbo sized suitcases into your little walk in closet

“Yeah, order on my laptop and then get in here,” you called, your voice raised since the room muffled sound. It was pretty cozy and to be quite honest, you knew you were going to miss this space when you were back home

Some nights when all the sounds of traffic or parties were going on, you brought your pillow and blanket to your closet, focusing in there since it was much quieter

You opened your first big suitcase and got to it. You piled your t-shirts and folded sweatshirts and pants from the built in shelves on the wall into your suitcase which filled about a third of it. The rest were all hung in hangers, which you also had boxes for to bring back with you since they were still good

You picked a section and started there, responding to Minhyuk as he called out possible toppings you would want, adding them to the pizza before it would come

It was nice since it would arrive most likely while the two of you cleaned out your closet so it would be a nice little treat

“Do you want a side of fries?” He called out

“Can you get seasoned?” You called out, pausing from your folding

“Yeah,” he responded, his voice quiet. He made the payment putting in his card info and then he joined you inside your closet

He got to work and brought in your speaker that was still playing music, turning the volume down in the small room

Light rain tapped on the little window in your closet but it was nothing you two could hear over the music

He sand along horrifically, getting you to laugh, being a source of entertainment and sunshine on this gloomy day

He folded clothes as he took them off the hanger and left them dangling on the metal rod as you took your time to take them individually off the hanger off the rod, discarding them

But while going through your wardrobe, you noticed a few articles you didn’t even want anymore and articles you never even more. You left and brought back a bag to donate your clothes

This made it somehow more fun to pack everything since you knew not everything in here was going to go into your suitcases and who knows? Maybe clearing out your closet would go by a lot faster than you thought

About an hour passed and the bag was 2/3 of the way full and your current suitcase was roughly the same 2/3 full. The two of you were making good time, getting through halfway through the closet

With the music going loud, it was suddenly interrupted from the call of the pizza deliverer. It was at this time you realized how much worse the storm had gotten, how much darker it was outside, the tree in the front yard swaying harshly in the wind

It was a sight to see and it made you stop where you were mid fold of one of your shirts

The sound of his steps thudded louder as he approached the top, the smell of pizza filling your room as he brought it to the main empty area

You folded your final shirt and went out to join him, the two of you washing hands side by side in the shared bathroom that you no longer had to share with your roommates

The pizza smelled delicious but what really got your mouth watering was the seasoned fries with garlic spice and parmesan cheese

The two of you ate your fill, leaving about three slices left before getting back to work

Instead of listening to music this time, you connected your laptop to the speaker and played a movie the two of you didn’t care about too much, acting as a background sound while the two of you commented about how cheesy the lines were and about how poor the acting skills of the cast were

By the time the movie was about a quarter of the way through, the two of you were able to finish packing your closet in a breeze. You got rid of a lot of old clothes you brought from home, packing the newer ones you had bought

You still had your second suitcase which was perfect cause now you could pack your bedding and save a few more boxes for your desk supplies and decorations

You sat at your desk with a box empty at your side, neatly organizing things into it as Minhyuk climbed a little step ladder you borrowed from downstairs to take down your string lights that were weaved around the wooden support beams

Fortunately, you didn’t have too much/ you didn’t bring too much things for your desk, mostly a couple books and a few textbooks since almost everything was online

He neatly placed your lights into your box as you packed your notebooks, flipping through them, seeing the familiar notes you had to take with your rushed handwriting

The day was going by a bit slow but things were getting done in a non-stressful environment and it was pretty nice

The movie played on your laptop still on your bed

Looking around, it felt weird to see it so empty. You could remember the days you moved in, you and your parents helping you bring up your desk and curtains, helping you set up your room

Now you were seeing it all go away and being cleared. It was like you were creeping toward the end of a chapter you didn’t think would be near so soon

The desk and decorations did not take as long as you thought as possible. You honestly felt like you had a lot more but seeing it all boxed up and in suitcases made it feel like you really didn’t bring that much

The bed was the final thing you two had to do but it was time for a break

There wasn’t too much of a rush since it wasn’t like you two were going to be leaving with all your things as soon as the bedding was packed

The storm was still brewing, it was rush hour so the streets were packed too and no one was here to bother you or anything

There really was no rush at all. The two of you laid in your bed beneath your plush comforters, laid and surrounded by all your fluffy pillows

He placed the laptop on his stomach to watch the movie despite how.. not good it was and you laid beside him, legs tangled with his between the sheets

You rested your head on his chest. One arm around your, his fingers rubbing circles into your arm while the other rested behind his head

At the comfiness all around you, you yawned into him, using your blanket to wipe away the tears that formed in your eyes

“Nap time?” He nudged your arm

“Maybe…” you said a bit more tiredly than you thought you were, your eyes getting heavy

~~~~~ Masterlist for more! Thank you for reading!

[lausterholes]

Sugar daddy Hcs | Giorno, Diavolo, Risotto

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Sorry for my thirst for Sugar daddy things. I aged up everyone into the current time’s age. (Giorno is 35, Diavolo is around 52? and Risotto is 47) I just really have something for older men asfadfdaf. 

Warning: not sfw/ (a lot of) age gap/ sugar daddy-baby relationship.

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Sugar Daddy!Giorno Giovanna (35)

▀  After he became the don of the greatest mafia in Italy. Giorno just stressed out with many things he had to deal with. It’s not that he’s going to toss his work away anyway, it’s a part of his life now. He has been fulfilling his role as the boss perfectly for nineteen years. Everything went faultlessly within those hands.

▀ Except for only one thing, lover. Basically, Giorno never cares about having any girl by his side. But this makes Mista genuinely feels that his don may get too stressed. He talked about this to Giorno sometimes, but the don just brushed it off.

▀ Until one day, the new problem happens in Naples. The gangsters that he had been caught his eyes on for so long caused huge trouble to the tourist. Giorno may let them go this time, but the problem is- they hurt one family that just happens to be the innocent, they tried to help and call the police, but end up beaten instead.

▀ Giorno annoyed by their unreasonable antics. Not just that- the gangsters pretend to be victims and claim for damage. Okay, that’s too much. Giorno had to step in, already decides to have someone dead. They were suspected to be traitors anyway.

▀ You, the child of the said family, are unpleasant about this. You have to pay so much for your parents’ treatment and yet- you have to pay for those bastards too, you almost get harassed, so you fight back. But you ended up looking like a culprit instead.

▀ When Giorno learned about you, he just gave a visit to the hospital right after he eliminates those scumbags. When he saw you, frowning at him- he just introduces himself and apologizes. You tried to ignore him, but Giorno catches the sadness and uneasiness in your eyes. He knew that you have struggled with the state you’re in- you lost a lot of money for these, but you have to pay for tuition too.

▀ Giorno genuinely felt bad for you, he offers to pay all of your parents’ medical treatment cost. When you denied him dismally. Giorno change the offer, he said that he will help you, but if you work with him. You hesitated but agree anyway. You just can’t let him help you for free, you don’t want to pay him back later.

▀ It started with simple tasks, such as arranging the documents, make Giorno a cup of coffee, or maybe just help him take care of his garden. Giorno didn’t expect any kind of bond, but he sure is enjoying your company. And so do you.

▀ Then, he started to spend more time with you- talking about so many things, taking you to his favorite restaurant, having a deep conversation. Giorno didn’t know what to do, you’re so young compared to him, he’s almost middle age while you’re only a college student.

▀ Unexpectedly, you confessed your idea of being his sugar baby first. And Giorno just stays silent for a bit- only for you to almost cry of shame. He just started to tease you, doesn’t he?

▀ That’s when your relationship starts. Giorno pays a lot of money on you, including your tuition cost. Or maybe just after getting intimacy with you, he inserts money in your undergarment.

▀ Always nagging you when you want to buy something you like. But purchase it anyway. Maybe he uses this against you for punishment in the bedroom.

▀ On the bed, he’s eager and not so vanilla. But your feelings have to come first- he makes sure you feel good and always reach your climax. Extra point if you call him daddy, this man will ram into you and will spoil you rotten the next day.

▀ Sometimes he bought you a pair of lingerie that seems to fit you. If you decided to wear it someday. Giorno definitely will treat you like daddy’s little princess and reward you what you deserve.

▀ 10 out of 10 sugar daddy.

▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀

Diavolo (52)

▀ Even for someone who’s fifty-two years old, he’s still hot like his old day.

▀ Diavolo is a very cautious man. He always deletes his traits and identity. Almost being fully anonymous. But is it wrong for a man who wants to be unknown to have a desire? No, of course. Diavolo still craving for touch as a human being.

▀ But he had to choose wisely for someone to being his mistress, his possession. Someone that he could truly trust, or else he had to kill right after he finished. 

▀ And his eyes caught on you, a young girl that enters passione to find extra money to pay off her own tuition cost. One day, you started your normal routine like ever. But this day, when you spot a pink-haired man in front of your college’s gate, he just approached you and said that he wants to talk to you about something in passione, his name was Doppio, he told you.

▀ You agree to come along with him. This guy looks too innocent to be one of the boss’s reliable allies. But you guess that it won’t hurt if you heard him what’s the matter he wants to talk about.

▀ Of course, Diavolo only sees you as a way to relieve himself. But more and more the conversation between Doppio and you go on, Diavolo sparked some interest. Not only because you seem devoted to what you believe and really good at keeping secret, but because you have lesser power than him, he could easily manage this.

▀ Doppio finally touches the base. He told you that his boss wants to meet you in person. You questioned why, Doppio a little embarrassed to say it- so Diavolo takes a place instead, then said. “He wants your company, maybe tomorrow, .”

▀ When you arrived at the location where Doppio hand you. You weren’t sure about this- you didn’t know anything about your boss. Did you do something wrong? Did he trick you into this? You weren’t sure for real.

▀ The security was safest of the safe, if there’s disaster outside, you assured that he’ll be totally fine. You nervously entered his room. The room was dark and really cold. Even you embrace yourself, you couldn’t warm up.

▀ You heard his voice aloud in the deepest corner, demand you come closer. You were afraid of what might happen, but it’ll be better to listen to your boss.

▀ He started a conversation with you, making you feel as comfortable as he can. While the conversation goes on, Diavolo crept closer to you, showing his longing feeling that you must be the one to fulfill it. He knew that you have some trouble with your tuition fees and needs in your life you couldn’t afford, he might help you. That’s why you agree.

▀ You were loyal like a dog, keeping secret deep in your mind. The mysterious relationship with the most cautious mafia boss is something you never expected to have. Diavolo really pleased with you, he never played favorite before, but now he is.

▀ Diavolo is rough and such a selfish bastard. He treated you like he owns you as his personal fuck toy. All the nights you spend are nothing more than rough sex. Once he finished- he may lead you to a pillow talk or just leave you on his bed and go bathing.

▀ Diavolo likes the idea of dressing you up as he pleased, feeling completely own you.

▀ When you’re underneath him, call him daddy, and you’ll get the best orgasm you’d had. Maybe sometime, he might get carried away and end up driving you into the oblivion.

▀ Spoiled you rotten, but he’s rough and you feel quite awkward. 7/10

▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀ ▀

Risotto Nero (47)

▀ Oh boy. The best sugar daddy is here. Even compare to the other two, he still a little broke. But trust me, he is better for your mental health.

▀ Imagine about Risotto’s ideal wife. Usually, this man doesn’t specific his type of girl. At this age, Risotto started to think about retirement and family. He wants to go back to Sicily and lived a normal life he could ever have since he was eighteen.

▀ Maybe Risotto just really hoped that he could really find someone.

▀ While some of his teammates retired and got replaced by the new ones, he’s still there, being a capo every now and then. Leading the team as he always did in the past. But really? His path couldn’t be changed, but he can retire anytime he wants though.

▀ Then, he met you. The newest member of passione, so young, but mature and free. He wants to treat you like any other, but you’re so attractive in his eyes. He’s a little guilty of that. You seem like you haven’t finished your college yet. He doesn’t even know other than being awkward when you two are alone. Such a big himbo.

▀ Risotto is not a guy you could read like an open book, that’s why you always keep your professionalism with him all the time. But when you learned a glimpse of his fonding toward you, you shall be the one that opens your heart first.

▀ You spend more time with your capo, he’s much older than you, yes, but that’s not making him less attractive. But that’s how it starts, awkward tea time and a little conversation.

▀ One day, Risotto said that he’ll afford you anything you’d like to have. Even you could pay with your own money, Risotto suggests that you should save it for good. He even let you use his credit card, you really appreciate this- but isn’t he too generous for you?

▀ Once he gets comfortable with you more, Risotto started being like himself again. All cool and discreet. Risotto at this age is someone you would head over heels with. Not just his attractive older figure, but also his personality that even more sensible. You just couldn’t enough of him.

▀ He is a busy man but can meet you several times a month. The meeting doesn’t always end up with sex, maybe just a conversation with a good dinner.

▀ Risotto expected you to call him daddy during the intercourse, he doesn’t react with his words, neither with his expression. Looks like he doesn’t care, but his movement said otherwise, Risotto would actually break you along with the bedpost that keeps slamming onto the wall. He loves it.

▀ He might let you queening him as a reward for being a good girl. His tongue feels like heaven, each stroke driving you insane. And you wouldn’t dare to be naughty with him, would you? Or else you’ll be roughly fucked your brain out.

▀ The aftercare with Risotto is the best, he’ll do anything to please you. Drink? check. Food? check. Comfy bed? check. Bath? check. All the things you need are already prepared by him.

▀ As soon as you okay with it, maybe Risotto might make you a real wife of his, then he can peacefully retire and live the rest of his life with you.

▀ 10/10 recommend.

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[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 16

Previous: How Cricket Got Her Name 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader/OFC/You

Genre: Secret AgentAU, AgentAU, Government Agent AU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.04K

Warnings: Swearing 

Summary: Our lovely P.I. goes on the search for Min Yoongi, and stumbles into the identity of the mystery man with Taehyung. 

(this is... rough? did not expect it to be so long...) 

Missing Min Yoongi

Present Day

           My sister always tells me she’s given me all she can, that she can’t help me past my one favor a year. It’s a ploy, a deception, a boldfaced lie she tells at work or anytime we’re in earshot of anyone else. Does she misuse her government clearance? Yes. Does she defy laws and challenge the ethical code? Yes. Has she ever gotten caught? No. You’d think the government would put more tabs on her, considering her sister is a registered and licensed PI, but no, no one seems to bat an eye.

           Min Yoongi, Park Yoongi, Yoongi, is nonexistent. I barely understand what he did at Lee Enterprises, let alone how he ended up bedding Euna. He supposedly comes from no money, no name to build off of, nothing. His grades were fine, his college experience came and went with nary a note of youthful rebellion. Now, now that he’s no longer at Enterprises, I cannot fucking find him. Nothing on the web, nothing in the statewide system, nothing in the national system. No death certificates, no marriage licenses, nothing.

           All I’ve got are his charges, well, Euna’s charges against him.

           Cheating in the 1st degree, no proof, no photos or receipts or basic evidence of his behavior. She had nothing but her recollection of the fight they had, and minimal information on what led to the break up. From her manifesto, it seems that Yoongi was pulling away and she clung to him, claws drawing blood, trying to get him to stay. He didn’t, clearly. With only that to go off of, it’s no wonder I can’t find Min Yoongi, and I’m beginning to think that just maybe, Min Yoongi doesn’t exist. He’s her Snuffleupagus, and I’m starting to not believe.

           While I’m unsure if Yoongi exists, I do know a person who does.

           The man with Taehyung.

           Spectacled and broad shouldered, quaffed hair and arms the size of tree trunks, this man exists. He goes to the gym regularly, religiously, makes his coffee at home, and frequents his local nursery. The man is obsessed with plants, it seems unhealthy. Multiple days a week he’s carrying one, or more, I have photos of him watering them, speaking to them… He tends to them with such care, such love, it’s mesmerizing. He goes to work, some corporation, and once a week meets Taehyung. They’re clearly pals, best friends, brothers. They laugh and eat and enjoy one another. It’s cute, their friendship date. Once in a while, Jimin joins them. The three laugh uproariously and often draw attention for their volume. The unidentified man doesn’t seem to understand how loud he is, his baritone resonating enough for me to hear.

           I haven’t intentionally bumped into the three of them, yet, but I’ve stationed myself near enough to hear bits and pieces of their conversations. They never discuss work, only music they’re listening to, books they’re reading, podcasts, plants, general culture. Have I written down a few of the artists and podcasts they listen to? Yes. Do I feel dirty about it? Yes.

           But it’s the job, and I tail them for a month before a package arrives. A package with my name on it, waiting outside my apartment door. It’s not addressed, no stamps or packing label. It’s new, not reused as a shipping box or gifted for the umpteenth time, no dingy tape sticking to its brown coating. The box is sitting, like it’s appeared out of thin air. A secure building is only as secure as the tenants make it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the owner snuck in behind some dummy who didn’t see the harm in letting a potential rapist, stalker, murder, into the building. Taking the package inside, and as my blood continues to cool and chills run down my spine, I delicately open it.

           I know, it could be a bomb. However, the only thought calming me down is the knowledge that my life has never once been a Shonda Rhimes production and thus, I’m not really worried this package is a bomb. Frankly, that’s far more sophisticated than any of the people I’ve worked for and gives them too much credit.

           Inside, there are copious amounts of surveillance photos and a note, written in a script that I’ve seen before.

           “That was your last warning / The line has been drawn and you’re bleeding / Next time, face to face is how we’ll be meeting”  

           Whoever heard of a stalker rhyming?

           I bag the evidence to toss under my bed so Jungkook won’t find it and pull out my list of potential threats.

Check It Once, Check It Twice

William Daniels

Cheated on his wife of 5 years with a stewardess who flew almost exclusively on his flights (big shock)

Threatened to ban me from American Airlines -  Jokes on him, I don’t fly American

Photos in the act & audio recordings

Wife divorced him immediately

He has to pay alimony out the nose

Lives in the area

Allanah McMahon

Arrested and tried for insider trading and embezzlement

Discovered who I was when I was subpoenaed to testify

Still in jail

My testimony added a few years to her sentence … oops

Cassie Harrington

Set up a Multi-Level Marketing scheme

Tried to hide out in Hawaii – but changed her Instagram to private after I’d already followed her

Ordered to pay back all the money she stole

On parole

Adam Gregory

Tried to run an illegal adoption agency for homosexual, non binary couples

Paid a fine and on parole – forbidden from creating any LLC’s or Incorporating

Brian Welch

Pissed that I found evidence of his partner cheating but turned him in on charges of possession of child pornography

In jail for kiddy porn and for threatening my life

His husband got everything despite the infidelity

           You acquire quite detailed list of people who want to threaten your life on the daily, but then again, wasn’t it Audre Lorde who said “I’m deliberate and afraid of nothing?” I can’t be afraid. If I’m afraid, they have the power. They have the power to intimidate me, to run my life for me, to make my decisions. I will not back down because they got caught. But I will protect myself, I will keep my license for my gun up and go to the shooting range often. I will strengthen the locks and security of my apartment, and I will ask Jungkook to stay over more, or sleep at his.

           I will not back down, not when Lee Euna has paid me what seems like the cost of tuition at Princeton for a year and wants answers. We signed a contract, didn’t we?

           And who am I if my word is no longer worth anything?

           Instead of harping on the sickening feeling that I’m being watched 24/7, I run through my plans for bumping into Taehyung and his friends. In the weeks that I’ve continued to follow him, he’s solidified Wednesday’s as his night for dinner with friends, and Thursdays as his cultural exploration. He goes to museum openings, concerts, movies, plays, clubs, all on Thursdays. While those nights are fun for me to watch and put on my expense account, it’s Wednesdays that I adore. I love following him from his house to the restaurants and am excited each week to see what he and his friends have chosen.

          This week, it’s an authentic Mexican restaurant. Slipping my coat on, I give them a few minutes before following in.

           The sound of mariachi welcomes me into the yellow painted restaurant. The furniture, dark mahogany against the vibrant walls, is full of people. I note the variety of sombreros, the different colors and patterns, the meanings hidden within the stitchwork. It’s not a large restaurant, but big enough to fit a few large groups of 7-10 people, and plenty of space for smaller groups such as the three men. The hostess asks if I want to sit at the bar, and I request a table near the men. Sitting a few feet away, I’m able to pick up their conversation easily. Instead of jotting it down, I hit record and let the metaphorical tape play.

           “Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” The mystery man says.

           “It was awful, Taehyungie couldn’t stop laughing, every time he hit the ball it went flying in the wrong direction,” Jimin says.

           “I was trying so hard!” Taehyung laughed.

           “That’s the problem, you were trying too hard,” The man tells him. “You’re too pure of heart.”

           “I am not,” Taehyung shook his head.

           “I know, you’ve experienced a lot, Tae,” Jimin says.

           “Joon, here’s the question,” Taehyung says, and I’m momentarily distracted by the utterance of the name, Joon. “You get to pick next week, we heading back to that barbeque place?”

           Jimin erupts in another fit of laughter, Taehyung following suit. It’s cute, watching them interact. I wonder if Jungkook has friends he does things like this with… those nights we aren’t together, if he has friends to spend his time with.

           I wait until they’ve left to take a glance at the signed bill on their table, Taehyung Kim is scribbled, no evidence of the other men, and I’m about to bag evidence when I hear my name.

           “Y/N?” Taehyung asks.

           “Taehyung! That was you!” I smile.

           “Have you been here the whole time?” Taehyung’s eyebrows express more than anyone’s I’ve ever seen.

           “I, yeah. I wasn’t sure it was you and Jimin. I didn’t want to interrupt,” I tell him.

           “Oh, you could’ve! Don’t worry about them, we’ve been friends a long time,” Taehyung smiles, it’s boxy and wide, the edges curling as his eyes soften.

           I’ve already started my dance, a waltz to an even tempo and I’ve got the next five paces planned. “Who was that new guy?”

           “Why, you single?” Taehyung smirks, his lips no longer joyful but devious.

           “I just was curious,” I reply, “And no, I’m not single, remember?”

           “Oh yes, yes, Jungkook,” Taehyung recalls with a nod.

           “You, Jimin and that other guy, go way back?” I lead him, it’s easy to lead Taehyung, he’s pure of heart, the most honest intentions in his eyes.

           “Mm, yes,” He continues smiling at me.

           “Your dinner looked fun, I’ll definitely be coming back to this place,” I tell him. It’s true, maybe I will bring Jungkook by one night when I know these three men won’t be around.

           “Yeah, we like it. We try a new restaurant every week. It’s a fun no work zone,” His arms are relaxed at his sides, one hand slipping slowly into his pocket, his cardigan open and glasses pressed close to his ebony eyes.

           “I like that, no work zone,” I agree, I wish I had one of those.

           “Yes, it helps clear the mind,” Taehyung tells me.

           “Do the three of you work together?” I inquire.

           “Kind of, we have a lot of the same shared interests,” he sidesteps.

           I nod, the final step in our dance presenting itself. “Very cool, well I don’t want to keep you from Jimin and –

           “Joon, yeah, very considerate of you. Maybe I’ll see you at the dog park again?” He asks.

           “Oh god, I hope not, Maisie is a nightmare,” I laugh.

           “Well have a good night, Y/N, take care!” He says as he walks out the door. I stand, watching, pretending to not notice how he gets in the car swiftly, not looking back.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           Joon.

           What kind of a name is Joon? If Taehyung and Jimin, and Jungkook, and Seokjin… and Yoongi, are all Korean, must Joon be short for something Korean?

           Glancing at my phone, it’s only 8:30PM, if I hurry, I can get in another few hours of work before I’m overcome with exhaustion and anxiety. But what will I find?

Oh Joon

Kim Joon

Lee Joon

Joon-Ho

Joon-Hee

Joon-Hyuk

Joon-Ki

Joon-Tae

Joon-Young

Byung-Joon

Ha-Joon

Hee-Joon

Hyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Jae-Joon

Kyung-Joon

Yong-Joon

Nam-Joon

Joon-Su

Ye-Joon

           Not to mention add in the top 5 Korean last names, and I’ve got hundreds of possibilities. Luckily, I can run the name against the address of the apartment building Taehyung picked Joon up from. Being a PI means I have access to the state databases, which gives me names and addresses. In the building, there’s one Joon, a Namjoon, Kim Namjoon. I pull the information before digging into my search.

           Unlike the seemingly nonexistence of Min Yoongi, Kim Namjoon is present. Every search result yields a perfectly manicured article dating anywhere from the year of his birth to age sixteen, and then, much like everyone else on this case, the trail begins to run cold. Whatever happened to him during high school, still radiates through his file. Whether he’s shaken it or not, that’s the question.

           No known career or job at all, his status as a prodigy in math, linguistics and rhetoric is astonishing. One of the highest IQ’s of recent memory, he’d mastered calculus by the time he was 8, besting PhD’s by 13, and then in a blaze of glory, disappearing by 16. He was studied, written about, documented, photographed, and somehow managed to be nominated for a Nobel Prize… how he accomplished all of that during puberty is beyond me. Not only does he accomplish that, but then, disappears completely, without a trace. How?

I’m ready to pack it in when someone steps into my office.

           “I saw the light on,” She says.

           “Ms. Lee, what do I owe this surprise visit?” I ask. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do tonight.

           “I wanted to, to talk to you,” She takes a few steps forward, pausing to ask for unspoken permission.

           “Please, sit. What did you want to talk to me about?” I lean back, hoping she can’t see the bags forming under my eyes or the tears from the yawn I’m stifling.

           “I wanted to tell you about, about why I need you to find Min Yoongi,” Euna informs me. She’s dressed in what can only be described as winter white, and only as a cashmere sweatsuit. Never have I ever seen such glamor in my dingy office. I feel bad that she’s risking the integrity of her outfit by being here.

           “Oh, okay,” I sit up and reach for a notebook. “Do you want me to write this down?”

           “No, you don’t need to. We can just talk between women, between friends,” Euna’s voice is soft. The slack in her jaw, the demur manner in which her hands are placed on her lap, it’s evident she doesn’t know how to be girlfriends. Raised by her family, groomed to take over, friends was never a word in her vocabulary.

           “I wanted you to know that I really saw a future with Yoongi,” She starts. “You know that place in your heart where you hold all your hopes?”

           “Yes,” I say hesitantly.

           Her eyes narrow in warning, “Do you have someone, someone who’s beginning to fill that space?”

           “Um, yeah,” I reply.

           “I thought that’s what Yoongi was. I thought we were, we were building something. Jun-Seo had Jimin, they thought they were building an illustrious future together, but one day he disappeared too.” She pinches the slight bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly to steady her nerves. “I don’t know what changed in our relationship. Yoongi didn’t want me anymore, he didn’t want to be around me, or with me at all. A switch flipped, like one day he realized he didn’t love me in the first place. I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why, but when your entire future is destroyed, do you stand back and watch it burn?”

           “Do you want me to answer that?” I ask.

           “Sure, what I did after that was terrible, but it was within reason. Everything I did was within reason. I tried to hold onto him, I did what I thought was right to get him to stay and he just, ran. Bolted, broke up with me on the phone like I’m Taylor Swift in 2012. Maybe I am,” Euna rolls her eyes, the comparison both too true and too terrifying. “At least Seokjin had the kindness to break up with me in person. But Yoongi? The coward! He knew I loved him. He knew I would carry his child, would marry him, would love him eternally and then some. I would’ve done anything for him. Even after he refused to go family dinners or go on trips with Seo and Jimin, after he started lying and cheating and stealing. He broke my heart, shattered it. If anyone is to blame for what happened after our relationship, it’s him.”

           Interested peaked, I inquire “What happened?”

           “It’s in my document,” She snaps.

           “The handwritten one?” I clarify.

           Rolling her delicate ebony irises, “Yes, of course.”

           “The abortion, the embezzlement, insider trading?” I try to rattle off the accusations she’d detailed. Somewhere I had a list and had sorted them by man, but damn, there were a lot of them.

           “Yes,” She snips.

           “That’s all true?” I ask again. The look she gives me is unwarranted, this is the first time in months, nearly a year, that she has sat down with me and discussed the charges. I am well within my right as her Private Investigator to ask clarifying questions.

           “Do you make a conscious decision to not believe your clients? Am I not paying you enough Y/N?” Euna snaps.

           “I’m sorry,” I respond.

           “I should go, I expect next week at our meeting you will have an update on the mystery man,” She stands.

           “Yes, yes, I will,”

           “Good, oh, there was a note under your door. I didn’t pick it up,” She turns and walks, stepping gingerly over the note. Scrambling behind her, I pick up the folded paper, and scrawled in crystal clear letters it reads:

           Cricket, was driving past when I saw the light on. Why are you working? Come to mine when you’re done, it’s been three restless nights without you.

          XO – Bunny 

           Fuck me, I love him.

Next: Cricket & Bunny Pt. 1 

[lyssismagical]

moments of gold and flashes of light

Parkner Week Day 3: “I am very small and I have no money.” / college au / no-powers au

(This is like a Rhodey/Tony!MIT Parkner AU)

(TW: Implied Child Abuse)

 Working at a café on the outskirts of a college campus meant good business, decent tips, and weird hours. A good job for Harley who needs to work weird hours to keep up with his classes, and he makes enough to afford essentials and to keep his head above water in the debt.

It also means he sees a lot of very tired students at those strange hours.

He gets an elbow in the ribs from his coworker, Cassie, who points across the café at an occupied table.

“An order?” Harley asks, forehead creasing. They don’t normally take orders from tables.

“No, we have a policy about sitting in here without ordering. I need you to ask him to either buy something or leave before our boss notices,” Cassie says. She glances down at her watch, frowning at the time. “There’s only a few hours until we’re done, anyways.”

Harley hates the policy. It makes sense why they have it, they’re going to lose a lot of business if the café is always full but nobody’s buying anything, but it doesn’t make it any easier to kick tired teenagers out in the middle of the night.

He sighs and lets Cassie take over the registers as he makes his way to the boy at the table, straightening his deep purple apron as he goes.

“Excuse me?” he says, wincing when his voice cracks.

The boy at the table’s head jerks up, eyes wide behind a thick pair of glasses. He looks young, younger than most people Harley sees coming into the café, but he’s hunched over a stack of textbooks and papers, what looks like a year three astrophysics textbook on top. There’s no way he’s old enough to be in his third year of university.

“Yeah?” the boy asks. He tips his head to the side in question, the light hitting his face and showing off the deep, dark bags under his eyes.

“We have a policy here, you have to buy something to stay.”

The boy winces, hands patting the pockets of his jeans. He pulls out an old wallet, faded Stark Industries logo on the back barely visible, and pops it open.

He rifles through the things in his wallet, dropping a few on the table including a library card, a Booster Juice loyalty card, and a Stark Industries ID. He finds a dollar bill, but otherwise comes up emptyhanded.

“Shit, sorry, I don’t have any money,” the boy says, eyes wide and glassy. He grabs his backpack from between his feet and starts going through the pockets, but they seem just as empty. “I’m so sorry, I guess I used the rest of my cash on rent, and I don’t- I’ll just pack up and head home, no worries-”

“You like coffee?” Harley blurts before he can stop himself. It’s not like he really has much leeway with his budget, but a couple dollars for an obviously stressed, very cute boy seems like a good investment. “I’ll cover it for you. Give me just a moment.”

As soon as he gets a confirming nod, he heads back to where Cassie’s working, and makes a quick coffee with extra caramel, and digs out his wallet to drop a few dollars in the register.

“You’re buying coffee for him?” she says, amused and shaking her head.

He shrugs, looking over his shoulder at where the boy is still watching him with his wide, doe eyes. “He had a third year astrophysics textbook. I felt bad.”

Cassie laughs, rolling her eyes at him. “The store’s pretty quiet anyways. You should make yourself one too, and take a fifteen.”

Harley’s not about to pass up that opportunity, so he moves quickly to make himself a matching coffee, and then he heads back over to the boy.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks, sliding one of the coffees over to the boy. “I’m in my second year at MIT, so maybe I could lend you a hand? Or at least be a nice distraction?”

The boy smiles, nodding and gesturing to the chair opposite him. “I’m Peter Parker. Third year at MIT.”

“You seem… young.”

Peter laughs, fingers curling around his coffee with a pleased hum. “Yeah, I’m eighteen. Graduated high school at fourteen, started here at fifteen.”

Harley’s jaw drops open in surprise. He’s nineteen, and in the year below Peter. It’s a bit of a shock. “You’re graduating university at nineteen? Isn’t that a bit scary?”

“I’ve got a job lined up at Stark Industries in New York. I’ve been an unpaid intern every summer for four years, so it’s not as scary as you’d think.” He looks down at his homework, textbooks and binders and loose papers, and frowns. “Stressful, for sure. But scary, not so much.”

As much as he wants to comment on a lot of that, especially about how he’s apparently been interning for SI since he was thirteen, he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries and he doesn’t have a lot of break left.

He sips at his drink, listening intently as Peter starts rambling about how annoying one of his profs had been the other day, the reason he’s up all night studying at the café. Peter’s pretty, especially when he gets passionate about something, eyes lighting up behind his thick frames, blush high on his cheeks, hands gesturing vaguely. Harley hasn’t made many friends since he left Tennessee, only Cassie and Kate from an off-campus extra-curricular. Peter seems like the kind of person Harley would really enjoy being friends with.

“Harley!” Cassie calls out, much too soon for his liking. “Your fifteen’s up.”

Peter frowns noticeably, finishing off his coffee. “I’ll probably stick around for a bit, if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, of course. And come back whenever, yeah?”

“I’m sure I’ll be back in no time, in need of quiet and caffeine.”

* Turns out, Peter’s not lying. He starts showing up every Thursday night and every few Wednesdays like clockwork, always with his old backpack filled with books and binders, and always with enough for a coffee to make sure he can stay.

Whenever Harley takes his fifteen, he spends it at Peter’s table, sitting across from him and chatting about anything and everything. They trade numbers after three weeks, texting every so often whenever they’ve got the chance. It’s nice to have finally made a friend outside of Gwen and Kate. (Especially a friend as kind and pretty and genius as Peter Parker.)

“Everything okay?” Harley can’t help but ask when Peter shows up, nearly two months after meeting.

Peter’s the same as he always is, backpack slung over one shoulder making his posture lopsided, eyes wide behind his pair of thick glasses, hands shoved into the pocket of his oversized MIT sweater, buying a coffee with extra caramel. Except his eyes are red-rimmed and his voice is thick and scratchy like he’d been crying.

Peter shrugs, shoulders hunched up around his ears. “Not really. When do you take your fifteen?”

“He’s taking it right now,” Cassie buts in, elbowing Harley in the ribs. She’s already got Peter’s coffee ready, sitting on the counter, and she’s pouring a second for him. “Take your thirty, I’ll cover for you.”

Harley won’t argue with that, wanting to comfort his new friend. He links their arms together and heads for one of the booths in the far corner instead of their usual table, worry squeezing his chest. It’s only been two months but he cares about Peter a lot. More than he thought possible.

“It’s stupid,” Peter says, but he clutches his drink close to his chest, eyes watery and hands trembling. “My parents want me home for Winter Break.”

“So?”

Harley would kill to be able to afford a flight home to Tennessee for Winter Break. He has to save up all year just to afford making it home for the summer, winter and spring breaks have to be spent on campus or with Gwen who has an apartment in the city. He misses his mom and sister like crazy when he’s away for so long.

Peter scoffs, glassy eyes rolling. “They suck. I’m sure you’ve heard of Richard and Mary Parker before. Yeah, they’re not about to get Parent of the Year awards.”

“Why not?” Harley asks. He certainly knows the two of them, they’re famous scientists, alumni from MIT as well. It’s hard not to know them. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“They don’t care, they never did. Most of my childhood was spent with nannies or babysitters while they were out for business or other things they wouldn’t tell me about. The only time they ever cared was when they were telling me off for blemishing their reputation, or to tell me I needed to work harder if I was ever going to be allowed to get their company.”

Harley frowns, trying to empathize with his pain. He’s never been in a situation like that. In Rose Hill, you could get away with doing pretty much anything, nobody had reputations at stake, consequences were few and far between. Harley once landed himself in jail for a stupid night with people who weren’t really friends. Nobody cared, Harley even became pretty good friends with one of the officers who arrested him. His mom didn’t even have to pay to get him out.

“That really sucks, I’m sorry,” Harley says.

Peter shrugs again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I got a B on a test in astrophysics a month ago.”

“I remember.”

“They’re going to kill me for that. A B is essentially an F in my house. To them, I failed.”

Harley’s frown deepens and he reaches across the table to grab Peter’s hand. “You studied so hard for that test, you were sleep-deprived and upset because of that argument with your roommate. That wasn’t your fault. And either way, a B’s still a good grade.”

“Not to my parents, it’s not.”

“Why does their opinion matter? You’re an adult, they don’t have to control you anymore.”

Peter lets out a humorless laugh, eyebrows furrowing as he tries not to cry. “I don’t have a choice. I have to go home for the holidays and I have to take over their company and I have to do what they tell me to do. They control my money, they pay for my tuition, they’re all I’ve got. I don’t have anything else.”

“I’m sorry,” Harley says again, he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say, doesn’t know how to make this any easier for him. “Well, if you need anything, feel free to call. I’ll be here all Winter, so I’ll be available to talk if you need to.”

“Thank you.” Peter’s voice breaks and he doesn’t catch the tear in time for Harley not to see it. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you. It probably looks like it, but I’m not just using you for coffee.”

Harley smiles, squeezing Peter’s hand. “And I promise I’m not using you for answers to future tests. You may be a genius, but I’m not a cheater.”

“Good because I have a proposition. I only leave on Saturday, and I need an extra set of hands to pack up my dorm room? My roommates already gone, so it’ll just be us and we could watch some movies afterwards? If not, don’t worry about it-”

Harley grins, finishing off his coffee. “I’d love to. Tomorrow afternoon? I have the day off work, but I’ve got a class until two, so I’ll come over after that?”

“Sounds perfect.”

* “I’m going to miss you,” Harley says, watching Peter make a little pile of the bags they’d packed the night before from his bed. Peter’s got a mid-afternoon flight, so he needs to be out by noon. “That’s three Thursday nights without you at the café.”

Peter smiles softly, turning from where he’d set down his backpack at the door. “I’m going to miss you too. Three weeks and I’ll be back to bothering you all the time.”

Despite knowing it’s a joke, Harley rolls his eyes. “You’re never a bother.”

“I’ll call you? I live out in California, so I’ll try to remember the time zone differences, but don’t hate me if I accidentally call you in the middle of the night.”

Harley turns his head into the pillow, smiling dopily at Peter. “I told you, call me whenever. I want to hear all the gossip about your stupid parents.”

“Well there will be plenty of gossip, so be careful what you wish for.”

There’s a pause as the reality of everything sets in. Three weeks without each other after only two months together seems unfair. Harley’s going to miss Peter a lot. He’s been ignoring the crush that’s been festering over the past couple weeks especially. He doesn’t want to hurt their very new, budding friendship, especially not when Peter’s under so much stress as is, but last night, watching movies on Peter’s bed together on his laptop, it really solidified the crush.

“I should get going,” Peter says miserably. He slings his backpack over his shoulder again, glasses askew on his nose, dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, hands shaking.

“You want me to drop you off instead of taking a cab? I wouldn’t mind driving. We probably even have time to stop for a quick coffee.”

Peter smiles brightly, big enough to show off his dimples and light up his eyes. Harley gets off the bed, taking off his red MIT sweater, leaving him in an old t-shirt from the diner his mom works at, and hands the sweater over to Peter.

He wants to say so you’ll remember me or a reminder you’re not alone but he can’t say it. Instead he says, “You look a bit cold.”

“Thanks,” Peter murmurs, flushing softly. Harley reaches out and straightens his glasses before slinging the duffel bag on the floor over his shoulder.

“Let’s get going then.”

Peter picks the music, old Disney movie soundtracks, and Harley drives, paying for coffees on the way to the Boston airport. They don’t say much, humming along to the music to keep from saying too much, but linking their hands together which says just as much.

When they get to the airport, Peter insists on Harley staying in the car.

“Three weeks,” Peter promises, blinking back tears.

Harley offers a smile, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Call me, it’ll feel like no time at all.”

The younger boy opens his car door and looks like he’s about to slip out of the car, but he turns back to Harley, eyes wide and glassy. He leans across the center of the car and kisses Harley hard.

“I’m sorry-”

Harley reaches over, cups Peter’s face and pulls him back in to kiss him again. “I really like you, like a crazy amount, I didn’t want to say anything because I love having you as a friend, but I do really like you.”

“I really like you too. I didn’t tell you but before you talked to me that one day, I was always going into your café just to see you but I didn’t think you noticed me.”

“You’re going to miss your flight,” Harley says, brushing his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone and frowning disappointedly.

Peter huffs out a breath, pushing open his door. “I’ll call you? We’ll talk about this?”

“Of course. Call me whenever,” Harley says, stealing one last kiss. “Go before you miss your flight.”

The younger boy grins so bright, finally slipping out of the car, backpack over one shoulder, leans back to blow a kiss, and then he’s gone.

Harley has to pause for a second, smiling up at the ceiling of his car, before he feels ready to leave the airport, and Peter, behind.

Three weeks.

* It takes a week and a half for Peter to call, and when he does, he’s crying.

“This sucks,” Peter starts, voice trembling and thick with emotion. “Being home sucks and missing you sucks and everything sucks.”

“Hi to you too, and merry belated Christmas.”

“Sorry, yeah, merry Christmas, happy holidays, hi, how are you, and all that. I wish I were in Boston so much.”

Harley lets out a short laugh, sprawling out on his bed, phone pressed against his ear. “I wish you were here too, if that helps. What happened?”

“My parents were totally pissed about my B like I knew they’d be. And when I tried to tell them about you because I was excited, they told me I’d find a nice girl to settle down with soon enough.” Peter chokes out a sob, voice tipping towards angry. “I know I’m bi, so maybe, but it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not fair. Some people are like that. I remember coming out as gay in a small town in Tennessee, it wasn’t received very well.”

Peter sighs sympathetically. “I just- I don’t even want their company, you know? I want to work at Stark Industries like how I’d been interning, but I don’t have a choice. I’m the heir, the papers were signed, it’s mine as soon as I graduate so they can retire.”

“You’re a genius, and legally an adult, find a way to un-sign them. Or when you get jurisdiction, terminate the company. There’s still options, there’s still ways you can get where you want to be.”

“I know, I just- I don’t know. I wanna go home. I want to see you.”

Harley smiles softly to himself, shaking his head. “I know, I miss you too. But you’re halfway done, you can do it, and I’ll be there at the airport for you when you get back.”

“I know we said we’d talk about it but I really don’t think I can handle-”

“No, no, of course.” Harley doesn’t mind. He’s kind of liking this in-between stage they’re living in. Not dating, no labels, but definitely something more than friends. “In case you needed a confidence boost, you’re a genius. You’re the smartest person I know and I know a lot of people. According to Gwen, you’re the nicest person too, and I agree. You’re very sweet and kind. Plus, have you seen yourself? You’ve got a lot going for you.”

Peter laughs quietly, tears finally fading. “You’re too nice to me. Maybe being around you is going to make my ego too big.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Harley says, lightening up. “You’re too humble for that. Oh, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but apparently, Gwen did notice you first, and she purposefully sent me over to your table that first day.”

“Really?”

“Yep. She thought I was getting too lonely, after spending over a year in Boston and only making two friends, and not seeing anybody, so she was hoping something would happen between us, which I guess it did, so I owe her one.”

Peter laughs again, then goes quiet for a moment. “I need to get going soon. Dad’s taking me to meetings all afternoon. I hate going, people only see me as a stupid kid or as competition.”

“Prove them wrong, stand up for yourself, or at least get me on the phone so I can stand up for you.”

Far away from the door there’s a shouted, “Get your ass out of bed! We leave in thirty and if you’re tie’s on wrong and I have to reteach you, I swear to god, it’ll be the last thing you do!”

“Was that your dad? Threatening you?” There’s already a protective edge to his voice like Harley will fly all the way to California just to stand between Peter and his dad.

“They’re normally empty threats,” Peter offers like it’s no big deal. “He prefers yelling more than anything. Mom says he’d probably do worse if it weren’t for the cameras on us all the time.”

Harley’s mouth falls open, anger flooding through his chest like a wildfire. “You should stay with me this Spring Break and Summer. There’s plenty of extra space in Gwen’s apartment and in my childhood home. I don’t want you back there.”

“You’d want me around for that long?”

He nearly chokes in surprise. “Of course I would. I want you always, whenever. I don’t want you home again if I can help it. It’s obvious it’s not good for you.”

Harley doesn’t know how their relationship will fare, how they’ll be in two months, in six, he doesn’t know if he could convince Peter to stay away knowing the anger it would cause, he doesn’t know if it’ll be enough to keep Peter safe. But he knows he’d do anything to try.

“I’ve gotta go before my dad’s head explodes. I’ll call you as soon as I can and we’ll talk more about these plans, ‘kay? I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Only another week and a half left.”

* Harley has to wait at the airport for three hours because of a flight delay and the longer he waits, the more he itches to see Peter. They still haven’t talked, so Harley isn’t even sure if greeting him with a kiss is allowed, but he doesn’t know how much he cares. He’s been thinking about it for three weeks, lord knows Gwen’s losing her mind with his constant rambles about Peter, and he’s pretty positive Peter will be just as desperate.

He sends another text to Peter, letting him know the area he’s waiting in, and waiting to see if it switches to delivered which would mean he’s landed. It does and Harley can barely contain an excited squeal.

If I run, I can be there in 3

Harley sends back a quick, please, which goes unanswered.

He keeps half his attention on his watch, slowly ticking down, and half on the people walking around him, waiting for the mop of brown curls to make their appearance.

At two minutes, thirty seconds, he sees Peter.

“Peter!” he calls out, ignoring some of the dirty looks people shoot him, and lifting a hand into the air.

Almost immediately, the boy starts running faster down the last stretch of hallway, dropping his duffel a few feet away, before launching into Harley’s awaiting arms.

Harley has to take a few steps to rebalance them, arms winding around Peter’s waist and kissing him hard. Peter’s legs are around his waist, hanging onto him like a lifeline, hands in his hair. Eventually, Peter’s smiling too wide to continue kissing, pulling back to let out a giddy laugh.

“I missed you so bad. I know it was only three weeks and I know we’ve only known each other for a few months, but I really like you, and I didn’t think I would miss you as much as I did, but every day without you felt like a marathon. I don’t want to skip the conversation, but I just want to know that this is real,” Peter rambles.

Stealing another kiss, Harley tightens his grip on the younger boy. “Yes, god yes, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day for the past three months, and I want this to be real too. I want to be your boyfriend, I don’t care how soon or crazy it is.”

“My boyfriend,” Peter echoes, lighting up in a smile. He kisses Harley again and then hides his face in the crook of Harley’s shoulder, nodding. “Yes please. I would love that.”

They hold each other for a while longer. Long enough for the majority of the baggage pick-up to clear out, long enough for Harley’s knees to start cramping and his cheeks to hurt with how wide he’s smiling.

“I’m not letting you go back there,” Harley says because it feels necessary. “I’ll find a way for you to stay until you graduate.”

Peter smiles pulling back enough to kiss his forehead. “Good, thank you, I didn’t want to go back.”

“Time to go home, boyfriend?” Saying it makes Harley giddy with pure joy.

His mama’s going to freak when she hears about Peter, she’s only ever wanted what’s best for Harley, and Peter’s that. He’s the best for Harley. It doesn’t get better than him. And he’s going to do everything in his power to be the best for Peter too.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed  @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[missmentelle]

Tips for cutting off toxic, manipulative, and abusive parents?

I recently wrote a guide to escaping from a toxic household if you are currently living with your parents, but to summarize, cutting them off basically boils down to two things: financial independence and emotional resolve. 

When you are cutting your parents out of your life permanently, the most important thing to do is to get yourself into a position where you no longer need them for anything financially. This doesn’t necessarily mean that you need to be debt-free or living a middle class lifestyle - you just need to be able to pay for all of your rent and expenses every month without any assistance from them. If you are still in school, you need to secure a way to pay for your remaining tuition - like a scholarship, needs-based financial aid or student loan - and make sure that you don’t need your parents’ signatures on anything to get that money. Needing any kind of money or material support from your parents gives them leverage over you; it’s something that they can hold over your head to maintain control of you. So long as you rely on them for room and board, tuition or financial support, cutting them off is not going to be a realistic option for you - once they have no financial hold over you anymore, they have no weapon to wield against you. 

Achieving financial independence is something that is obviously easier said than done, but as someone who has been financially independent since age 19 (not because my parents are abusive, but because they are flat broke) and financed two degrees by myself, there are a couple of tips that you can use to get there as quickly as possible:

Start saving money in a place where they can’t get it. Make sure that you have a bank account in your name only, so that your parents cannot take money out of your account or tell how much you have. 

Start building your credit. You will not have an “oops, mom, I’m short on rent this month, can you send me $200?” lifeline that your peers have. Your “in case of emergency” plan is your credit card. Get a basic credit card - even if it’s a “secured” card that makes you keep $500 in your bank account to get it - and start building your credit. Make one purchase with the card per month and pay it off right away to avoid interest. Be responsible with your card, and build a good credit score as quickly as you can - this will make it much easier for you to rent apartments, get loans and buy a house later down the line. 

Get a budgeting app or spreadsheet and learn to use it. Make sure you know exactly how much you earn, how much you spend, how much you’re saving, and how much money you need to have in order to be financially independent. Knowing where your money is going is an essential part of the process. 

If you’re in school, try to graduate on time. Make sure you are taking a full course load if you can, and make sure that you are taking the correct courses for graduation. Delaying graduation often means delaying your independence. 

Ask for help when you need it. If you are in school, ask your financial aid office or student advisor for information about scholarships, bursaries and grants. If you’re working, ask your boss about professional development and career advancement opportunities. 

Take on odd jobs if you need to. I have worked many odd jobs to keep myself afloat and build my savings - you can see if anyone needs babysitting, tutoring, help with yard work, dog walking, etc. I’ve done paid freelancing writing, taught English online, delivered flyers and taken on part-time jobs; sometimes you have to grind a little bit to give yourself a cushion of savings. 

Minimize your spending. It goes without saying, but it’s easier to be financially independent if you find ways to live on less money. Find roommates or rent a room in someone’s home instead of finding your own apartment. Try to minimize your subscription services and make sure you’re not paying for subscriptions you no longer use. Learn to cook and make as many meals at home as possible. 

The other important component of cutting off manipulative and abusive parents is to gather up your emotional resolve and commit to cutting them out of your life. Toxic and manipulative parents will use every tactic in the book to try to get back into your life - you know your parents best, but expect that they might beg, lie, threaten, make false promises, make appeals for sympathy, or use other underhanded tactics to try to regain control of you. They may drag other people that you care about into the situation and have those people plead on their behalf. Some do whatever they can to get you to drop your guard and let them in again. Start thinking about that possibility now, so that you can prepare for anything they might throw at you. Remember:

Don’t panic if your parents call the cops or report you missing. If you are an adult, you cannot be forced to go home to your parents, even if your parents report you missing. If law enforcement contacts you, answer their questions, explain that your parents are controlling, let them know that you don’t want any help and tell them that you don’t want your personal information released to your parents. Your family will only be told that you were located safe and that your case is closed. 

Lock down your social media and online presence. Block your parents from your phone, and make sure that they are blocked from all of your social media accounts so that they cannot get information on you. It may be a good idea to set your accounts to private for a while or change your handles and profile pictures so that they cannot find you. 

Prepare yourself for the possibility that you might have to cut off other family members too. When you cut off your parents, brace yourself for the possibility that other members of your family that you were on good terms with - aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, etc - may take your parents’ side, or may reach out to encourage you to forgive your parents “for the sake of the family” or “to keep the peace”. Being free of your parents sometimes means cutting ties with family members who won’t respect your decision. 

Remember the reasons that you decided to cut them off in the first place. Sometimes when you’ve been away from an abuser for a while, you will start to forget the abuse and become nostalgic for the good times that you had with that person. You might even decide that you “overreacted” by cutting them off and consider give them a second chance. Tread carefully with this. Remind yourself of the reasons you left.

The first few months after you leave may be difficult. Your parents may fight back against your decision as hard as they possibly can, and you may find that you have a lot of grieving to do - not because you miss your parents, necessarily, but because you have to come to terms with the fact that you will never have the loving and healthy relationship with your parents that you may have wanted. You will get through it. Seek out support from therapists or from other people who have cut off their parents. Focus on forming new, healthy relationships with the people in your life. Build a life free from abuse, a life that makes you happy and fulfilled. Stay strong, stay focused. Remember that you deserved better than your parents were willing to give.  Best of luck to you.  MM

[whattfamidoingwithmylife]

the chokehold dark romance books have on me is insane i just want that so badly i have literally read 19 books since may i cannot stop is this becoming a problem 100% and i refuse to stop

[eponymous-rose]

(I’d rather this not be reblogged, just in case!)

I’ve had a funny conversation a couple of times this week, once with my cousin and once with my physical therapist, so I thought it might be fun to go over this: when I mentioned I wasn’t teaching this quarter, they both stared at me in shock and said, “And you’re still getting paid?” To be fair, I absolutely would’ve asked the same question before I started. This job is so weird I never would’ve guessed what all falls under it! 

So here’s a little glimpse into what goes on in this particular professorship:

So, hey, there are different ranks of professor. I’m an “assistant professor”, which is about as junior as it’s possible to get, but I won the dang lottery and somehow finagled my way into getting the words “tenure-track” tacked on before that. This means that over the next six years, everything I do will be scrutinized (culminating in a "summary” of several thousand pages reporting on every single aspect of my job performance), and at the end of it, after about nine months of progressively higher-ranked people in the university voting and deliberating, I have a chance to be granted tenure, which comes with a promotion to associate professor rank and Extreme Job Security. The criteria here are basically being able to prove that I’m one of the foremost experts in my field in the country and hitting research/service/teaching goals, and I’ll talk a bit about that in a second here. Promotion (often many years later) to full professor requires proof of being one of the foremost experts in the field on the planet.

Also, if you don’t get tenure, you get fired after that six-year period. Some universities are dicks and hire three or four assistant professors for every tenured position they want to fill and just fire the spares after getting six years of work out of them. My university has an extremely high tenure rate (mainly because anyone who seems unlikely to make tenure will either have some sort of intervention on their behalf, be granted an extra year to make up the difference, or will be asked to quietly resign before deliberations start), and my department hasn’t denied anyone tenure in decades.

So! What the hell do I do? Well, universities in the U.S. that are particularly research-heavy are referred to as “R1 universities”, which is the situation I’m in here. This means that the majority (often the vast majority) of my time is not spent teaching: it’s all about doing research, to the point where I will not be teaching more than one class simultaneously. In my field, that research can look like a lot of different things:

There are indeed people who work with beakers and range hoods and snazzy lab coats: these researchers in my field might be doing stuff like growing snowflakes in the lab and using that information to figure out the conditions under which different kinds of snow can form. Also there’s chemistry? I don’t know this side of it too well. Professors’ roles here, apart from the science, include ordering the right equipment (which includes getting quotes from various suppliers) and hiring lab technicians and folks to keep the equipment up and running.

Some folks do intense numerical modeling: if you’re studying the atmosphere, you can’t just try your experiment on one Earth and compare how it’s different on another Earth, since we only have the one, so what we do instead is use the most powerful supercomputers on the planet to create simulations. These can be as detailed as looking at the flow of dust in the millimeters above the ground, or as broad as simulating the whole atmosphere of the entire planet (or other planets!). On top of the science, these professors often have to negotiate for supercomputer time (a precious commodity), purchase massive computational resources (e.g., a server room hosted locally), and sometimes hire dedicated I.T. support just for their research.

I work a lot with large datasets: if we have information about the conditions under which tornadoes happened over the past 15 years, what patterns can we pick up that forecasters might be able to use? What is physically, fundamentally different about tornadoes that happen in different places? This kind of stuff really just needs a decently specced desktop machine and some know-how, and a lot of research in our field involves sitting and thinking. Also in this category is the pure math and physics work in the field, where people bury themselves in impossible-to-solve equations to try to figure the best way to wrench them into things we can solve. This is probably the closest to what most people think of when they hear “research”.

Fieldwork. Think Twister. Coordinating large numbers of people, who may be on the ground, driving, in the air, in the ocean. Also, coordinating instruments that might be stationary or might be buoys or drones or something else. We’re a public university; we don’t have the cash to buy our own airplanes, so profs in this scenario have to rent time on research aircraft owned by organizations like NASA or NOAA, or rent time on boats, or hire folks to develop and build new instruments. Massive amounts of organization goes into this, and all stages from inception to execution are generally overseen and organized by the professor.

When any or all of these approaches come up with groundbreaking results (you’re expected to have that kind of result happen a couple times a year), it’s time to write a paper and get it published in a prestigious academic journal. That process can take between four months and a year, depending on a bunch of different factors, so often a professor is juggling a few different projects in different states of done-ness.

What you’ll notice in all this is that professors generally have to come up with the money to do this stuff. New profs generally get a starting budget to get them off the ground, but most of that winds up wrapped up in personnel and start-up costs (e.g., buying computing resources or space for a lab). For the rest of it? Grants.

Grants in my field right now are a bit of a mess: it takes months to put a proposal together, it’s chaotic and complicated as hell, and there’s only about a 10-15% success rate, so you can do the math on that one. In my field, grants range from “small” ones supporting a few years of the pure-science stuff (typically a few hundred thousand dollars that mainly goes toward paying several people’s salaries over several years, but also covers things like journal publication fees - it costs several thousand dollars to publish one paper in an academic journal) to much larger ones supporting field campaigns or long-term projects (rarely, several tens of millions of dollars if you’re talking projects with multiple aircraft and such). I get paid for nine months of the year, and have to come up with the remaining three months’ salary on my own. 

The other thing, though, that grants pay for is graduate student salaries! My department pays students quite well (more than enough to afford the rent on an apartment here, which is saying a lot), and also provides full benefits and a complete tuition waiver. Grad students in my field are essentially in an apprenticeship situation: they pick an advisor and work with that person for typically about seven years. During that time, they have to hit certain milestones (nine months of classes, plus a few courses sprinkled throughout the remaining six years, giving presentations, passing exams, doing a defense, writing a dissertation---essentially a book of their research results), and if you’re thinking this is putting a horrifying amount of power in the advisor’s hands, you’re absolutely correct. The imperfect but step-in-the-right-direction solution my department’s adopted has been to give each student a committee of professors, where one leads the research but the others are always available for new ideas or to resolve problems or speak up on behalf of the student. Students are also strongly encouraged to take a year or two off from their main research project to work with another professor, either here or elsewhere, and explore new research ideas.

Professors are responsible for teaching their students what they need to succeed, and our department has famously exceptional graduate students and graduate student mentorship: profs teach students how to do research (often guiding them through a Master’s project, then letting them take the reins and backing off to an advisory role for the remaining years of the PhD), which includes having them publish their results as the lead authors of their own scientific journal articles. Profs also pay to send students to conferences to showcase their research and introduce them to the people who’ll help them in their future career (one of the reasons I traveled a bunch this quarter was to meet some folks who might be good contacts for students who don’t want to just shoot for a job in the US). Some students will get to go on field campaigns, flying on research aircraft or, I dunno, driving tanks into tornadoes. Some will be more interested in non-academia pursuits and might spend some time shadowing insurance analysts or taking extra entrepreneurial classes in the business school or working hands-on with forecasters during the height of severe weather season. It’s our jobs as professors to know the job market, to know the right people, and to know our students well enough to help them get where they’re going. This department takes this Very Seriously, to the point where it eclipses research as our Top Priority, and the general understanding is that getting a grad student position here sets you up for life.

So! Part of my job this time of year is recruiting graduate students based on my budget. For some folks, that means actively advertising wherever possible and getting super involved in the visiting student weekends (we fly prospective grad students out here to visit before they make their decision, and there’s always a fair number of students who haven’t settled on an advisor yet). Some folks are absurdly lucky and study fields that are considered particularly cool and interesting, and the top students actively seek them out and will cold-call or send e-mails or introduce themselves at conferences (look, turns out it’s hilariously easy to sell someone on “come study tornadoes!” and even a newbie like me has to choose between several particularly strong candidates). Either way, the graduate student hiring process involves a lot of internal debate---we’re not a huge department, so we typically can only send offers to a little under 10% of the folks who apply each year---that mainly centers around making sure each student has a supportive research “home” waiting for them here, based on funding and how much time each faculty member might have. Professors need to coordinate grant budgets (or startup funds, or stopgap funds in the increasingly common situation where no grant money could be secured for a given year) to make sure students have any equipment they might need (cool stuff like supercomputer time, servers, equipment to take to the field, accessibility aids, but also mundane stuff like office space and desks). We also have to coordinate with the university to make sure international students can get here and stay here under the correct visa status.

Right now, I only have one graduate student, and he’s currently undergoing the barrage of first-year coursework, but we meet weekly and he’s started playing around with some data analysis and reading some of the big papers in the field (he’s coming in from mechanical engineering, so the math is familiar but the vocabulary is funky). I’ve developed short- and long-term learning goals for him, culminating in putting together a proposal for his master’s research in June, then converting his early results to a scientific journal article to help him hit the ground running, because he’s brilliant and he’d be able to pull it off without breaking a sweat. 

I’m also on the committees of two second-year Master’s students, so my responsibilities there include reviewing their proposals and, in one case, helping her put together an application for a major fellowship that would put $100,000 toward her education, which means she wouldn’t be beholden to any given research grant and could study any topic she liked. I’m also co-advising a postdoctoral researcher---his primary advisor is a specialist on snow, which is his area of interest, but I’m a specialist on some of the methods he uses to study snow, so I’m consulting with him on that side of things. I’m also working with a couple of particularly motivated final-year PhD students who want to run a multi-day Python and machine learning workshop for the department. Heck yeah.

Apart from research and advising, another facet of being a professor is the nebulous category often just referred to as “service”. Volunteer work, essentially. Right now, I’m reviewing scientific journal articles, typically 2-4 at a time (down to one right now, although I anticipate a flood right before the holidays). This is all done as volunteer work, but it’s honestly the easiest way for me to keep up with the latest literature, because yeah, you can’t just sit in a room and think if you don’t know what everyone else is thinking about. And when even a small field has a dozen or so major academic journals putting out a couple dozen articles each a month that you have to stay on top of... reviewing can be a great way to get the highlights. Sometimes I also get to review other people’s grant proposals, which is really helpful! Still, I wish journals would pay us for this work---someone did a poll on Twitter and found that folks in our field spend on average about 6 hours per review. That adds up!

I also tend to help out with conferences, either doing logistical stuff like deciding what the major topics are, and who gets to speak when (and who probably shouldn’t be given a microphone...) or coordinating the judging of awards for student presentations. That sometimes involves weird event planning stuff like trying to find a venue and speakers and transportation for a formal dinner, or hiring caterers and dealing with competing hotel quotes for room blocks, or cold-calling reasonably famous people and asking them to volunteer their time (or offering them an honorarium) to Skype in to a room full of people.

I’m also on a few national committees that are working to define the priorities of some of the big professional organizations: mainly I work in my particular subdiscipline, but also with diversity/equity/inclusion and early-career support. Some of that is as simple as running social media accounts or helping to design surveys. I’ve recently been assigned to help audit a major organization’s commitment to diversity, which could be pretty interesting. It all sounds like a lot, and a lot of it’s coming to a head lately just because of conference timing, but it usually slows down to one or two hours a week of work in the off-season. I like this kind of stuff because it’s a relatively low-effort way to meet scientists all over the world that I wouldn’t have encountered otherwise.

We’re also hiring a new faculty member right now, which is... hilariously complex. Every aspect is basically done by committee and the entire department has to agree on who to interview and, eventually, who to hire, because hiring someone for this position is potentially choosing your coworker for the next 30+ years. Interviews are two-day endurance training for the poor candidates, who get face-to-face meetings with every member of the faculty, on top of more specialized interviews. We’ve had about 120 competitive applications thus far. It’s... a lot.

And just because I’m not teaching actively right now doesn’t mean teaching isn’t eating a lot of time: there’s some fun logistical set-up to do! For instance, the class I’m co-teaching starting in January features a lab where we take all the students over to the engineering buildings to set up some instruments in a wind tunnel. Gotta make sure we’ve timed it right so they can actually give us the wind tunnel! We’re also coordinating the timing and the schedule so that both instructors are actually around for the parts of the class they’re teaching. For three of the five weeks I’ll be teaching, I have the previous instructor’s materials to work with, but the other two weeks are all new material (and a lot of ad-lib based on how students do with the first chunk of the class). I also haven’t done anything related to this class since I took a comparable class over a decade ago, so, uh. Better study up.

In the spring, I’ll be teaching an entirely new class that’s never been offered by the department before. That involves building a syllabus, figuring out what each lecture will be about, coming up with contingencies in case some lectures get cancelled, writing exams and assignments and lectures and (since it’s a programming class) making sure everyone has access to the necessary hardware and software and data for the big final project. And, because I’m me, I’ll also be coordinating the whole thing with a special office in the university that does long-term testing of teaching effectiveness---they’ll send someone over to spend a few minutes chatting with the students midway through the quarter, then work with me on recommendations and improvement. I figure it’s a new class being offered for the first time, so we might as well get in on the ground floor of longitudinal pedagogical study. Also, I don’t actually know this programming language yet. Little more studying to do, there.

So... yeah. This job is absurd. It’s a million different jobs, the vast majority of which I’ve had no training for. And I adore it. Nobody cares where I am or what I’m doing at any given time, as long as I get results and as long as my students are succeeding. As someone who loves nothing more than bland, repetitive tasks repeated over and over again, it’s not exactly in my wheelhouse... but I love how hard it makes me think, and I adore being pushed this far out of my comfort zone and knowing I actually have the resources and the know-how to succeed. Every single day is something completely new and exciting and bizarre. Hell, every hour. It’s pretty fantastic, and utterly terrifying.

[headtothecoast]

high school au where geralt and jaskier were neighbors in elementary/primary school. vesemir adopted geralt lambert and eskel because he had been friends with their parents and they all died in some sort of accident that vesemir barely survived. he took them all in but as a result geralt was quieter than most young kids. jaskier doesn’t know any of this but when he moves in next to geralt he sees eskel and lambert wrestling while geralt is sitting by himself on the sidelines and goes to talk to him. jaskier talks enough for the both of them and geralt is annoyed but the more he sees jaskier the more glad he is for not feeling so alone.

at some point in elementary school jaskiers family moves away and he goes to tell geralt crying (at this point definitely friends with lambert and eskel but in that way where if siblings tease your friend you stand up to them) and geralt can’t understand him through tears so he hugs him and jaskier cries harder because geralt doesn’t say much but he does say “i’ll miss you” and jaskier will miss his best friend who would always sit with him at lunch and go along with his monster hunting games at recess even if he tried to sing to all the monsters while geralt would occasionally point out monsters weren’t very nice and geralt will miss having someone who didn’t need him to talk constantly because his words seemed to have left with his parents who he doesn’t remember well but now he just can’t seem to voice things but jaskier never cared and always talked about so many things and jaskier asks his parents if geralt can spend the night one last time before they move and they do and in the morning geralt cries when jaskier leaves with his parents but they promise to write each other

jaskier of course sends dozens of letters constantly all filled with the new people he’s meeting and the classes and who he likes and who he doesn’t and that he misses geralt but geralts letters don’t have much in them because once jaskier leaves he finds no one in class really wanted to talk to the nice kids quiet and kinda scary looking friend so he’s mostly by himself. his letters are sparse in that he mostly talks about different projects that he lambert and eskel get up to, like building a treehouse or vesemir getting them wooden swords that they practice fighting with in the back yard and maybe geralt writes about all the books he reads about wildlife and fauna because he loves the outdoors but something happens to jaskier and he doesn’t write geralt back for a week and he doesn’t think anything of it but a week turns to months and geralt is sad, sad that his only friend stopped writing him wonders if he said something in a letter or they were too boring or maybe jaskier just got with the program like the rest of geralts classmates and decided he wasn’t worth talking to anymore

the year before geralt starts high school vesemir decides to move the boys to his uncles ranch instead of selling it when he passes. there geralt meets roach and learns the ways of taking care of everything on the ranch and vesemir homeschools then for a year so they can get acclimated to life on the ranch and the work necessary to take care of animals. when geralt starts high school he assumes it’ll be like his last school experience and so he sorta keeps his head down but some kid in the hallway bumps into him and when he looks up it’s jaskier and jaskiers not bumping into him he’s hugging him and saying “oh my god geralt it is you it’s been so long i didn’t think i’d see you again” and geralt is confused and people are staring but jaskier doesn’t seem to care and geralt hugs him back and jaskier asks if he can come to his place after school because he has so many things to tell him and geralt agrees because vesemir had always like jaskier who had been a cheery sort of loud in a very grief filled house. so when vesemir comes to pick them all up jaskier has hugged lambert and eskel and all of the other students are completely baffled by the school’s lead band and theater nerd hugging these really tall and quiet and intimidating new kids but vesemir lets him in the car and it’s a little awkward because he remembers geralt being broken up that he stopped writing him and tells jaskier as much and jaskier is crying because he’s so sorry but his parents got really strict when the moved (they liked being in-the-know in parent circles and wanted their kid to be worth bragging about) so they signed jaskier up for piano and guitar and violin and it was so many hours of playing that his fingers hurt so bad by the end of the day he couldn’t write but his parents didn’t let up so jaskier tucked the letters away and geralt stopped writing too so he thought maybe geralt forgot about him and he’s sitting in the backseat of his friends dads car crying his eyes out and geralt wraps and arm around him and vesemir’s heart breaks for the kid and suddenly geralt has the high school experience he never thought he would because jaskier knows everyone (isn’t liked by everyone because he’s constantly first chair and lead in school plays/musicals - take that valdo marx) but now the kids that had bullied him in middle school see that he has three giant protectors and all of jaskiers friends quickly realize how absolutely soft the brothers are and sort of adopt them and the mascots of the music department. and maybe the brothers sign up for backstage help for jaskiers musicals because they’re good at constructing things like sets or strong enough to pull ropes when jaskier plays peter pan but he also talks them into going out for sports and they turn out to be amazing at wrestling and fencing or something.

and with all the dances that take place in high school jaskier of course goes to all of them and makes sure geralt and lambert and eskel go to and they have a great time because lambert and eskel are really good at dancing and geralt smiles while jaskier absolutely nails every note even as his voice gets hoarse by the end of the night (but also keeps his eye out for people spiking jaskier’s drink or girls drinks because he heard someone in the locker room say something and so he kinda becomes the protector at school dances who makes sure that people who say no still get to have a good time) but when prom rolls around geralt is starting to realize that he likes jaskier as more than just a friend and jaskier came out to him as bi like 6 months into freshman year and knows that jaskier dated like, more than half their grade in middle school so geralt thinks that jaskier won’t want them to all go as a group to prom because he’ll actually want a date so he resigns himself to just not going because he wouldn’t want to watch jaskier dancing with someone all night.

but then jaskier gets together all of the letters that geralt wrote to him in elementary school and wraps them up and leaves them on geralts desk and geralt reads through them and recognizes them and had thought jaskier joking when he said he kept them (geralt kept his of course but jaskier looses things constantly) and when geralt gets to the end of the stack of letters he sees one he doesn’t recognize because that’s not his handwriting it’s jaskier’s asking him to be his date to prom but also his boyfriend and jaskier was grateful he did this in a music room during lunch and not in the lunch room because geralt is crying but doesn’t realize it and he’s hugging jaskier saying yes of course i’ll go with you and they go to prom and jaskier looks gorgeous and geralt looks handsome and it goes great but jaskier maybe has one too many spiked fruit punches and tells geralt he loves him and geralt is blown away that this gorgeous and kind human being loves him and just kisses jaskier like an earthquake. of course he loves jaskier - more than anyone.

so jaskier gets accepted to juilliard or something for college and geralt isn’t exactly sure what he wants to do so he follows jaskier and gets a job taking care of horses while jaskier completes college and they live together and geralt helps pay for jaskiers tuition and they make it work and jaskier forms a theater company or joins one or something maybe writes a hit musical i don’t know but he’s famous and geralt travels with him to all his shows (and i wasn’t sure how to write yennifer into this) but she’s one of jaskier’s troupe who is sarcastic and geralt likes her because she’s talented and jaskier is jealous but she becomes geralts first friend that stays that isn’t jaskier and of course jaskier stops being jealous when yennifer admits to dating this cute nurse back home (tissia) and evening less jealous when geralt finally proposes (after much hounding from yen) and with jaskiers money they buy a home together and geralt takes care of animals and runs essentially an animal sanctuary while jaskier travels around performing or writing but they’re happy and geralt couldn’t have asked for more but yennifer and tissia decide they want to have a daughter and name her ciri and declare them both her uncles, if not sort of dads because she’ll really have like 4 parents given how often she stays with geralt when yen and jaskier perform shows around the world and they offer to watch he when yen and tissia have date night so they’re more like a really large extended family and yen and tissia don’t really have family on their side so when christmas rolls around and vesemir and lambert and eskel meet yen and tissia and ciri it’s a huge fucking circus but geralt and jaskier have more than enough space and geralt can’t believe how lucky he is but then neither can jaskier

[simonxriley]

Keep Your Degtyaryov By Your Side! 1/2

Pairing: Alexsandr “Tachanka” Senaviev & Skylar “Phoenix” Jackson (Platonic, I know..shocking) 

Other Characters: Timur “Glaz” Glazkov, Seamus “Sledge” Cowden 

Words: 2,404

Warnings: None

Summary: Skylar and Glaz concoct an April fools joke that might just send the one and only Tachanka into a panic. But things go a little south. 

A/N: This was going to be one long-ish one-shot but then I decided to split it into 2 parts. The first in Skylar’s POV and the other in Tachanka’s up until a certain part. 

Ao3

April first, the one day where it was acceptable to prank people, and so far the base has been fairly quiet. Then again it was still morning and there was plenty of time throughout the day for more people to get pranked. Skylar already expected Thermite, Smoke and Bandit to have something up their sleeves, and felt sorry for those poor unfortunate souls who will get the other end of it. She just hopes she isn’t one of them.

As she made her way to meet Glaz in his room, she couldn’t help but have a little skip in her step. For someone who doesn’t really like pranking people, her and Glaz came up with a fun filled prank, for the one and only Tachanka. Though they were treading on dangerous territory, no one was allowed to touch his beloved Degtyaryov and they were about to take it straight out of his room and have her place it on the roof.

She knocked on Glaz’s door and impatiently waited for him to open it, not like it took him all of three seconds to do so. He moved aside letting her in and shut the door behind her. “What’s the plan again?”

She let out a small laugh and shook her head, it wasn’t like they went over this plan last night via text message. “We go and grab Alex to have breakfast with us hopefully, I pretend to get a text from someone and leave for a bit. You keep Alex occupied while I move his Degtyaryov to the roof.”

He nodded his head. “Okay, what if I can’t keep him occupied? You know how stubborn he can be.”

“Then keep him occupied long enough for me to grab the gun and make it to the roof, so like five minutes.”

“Okay.” A small mischievous smile started to spread across his face. “You ready?”

“Oh yeah.”

They both headed for his room, knowing he would be done with training right about now. Skylar trying to make herself not smile as she makes her way to his room with Glaz, knowing full well that Tachanka would know something was up because of how giddy she was. And she couldn’t have that.

By the time they came to his door, she took a deep breath to calm her excitement, face going neutral as she watched the door open.

Tachanka looked between both of them and leaned against the doorway. “Isn’t this a nice surprise? Two people who didn’t show up for training standing right in front of my door.”

Confusion etched on both Glaz and Skylar’s face and they glanced between one another.

“We did train, it’s Wednesday, remember?” said Skylar. She watched as he contemplated her words and realized she was right. Her and Glaz always trained on Mondays and Wednesdays. “Wow, already forgetting what day it is.”

“Shush!” She chuckled in reply, making him cross his arms. “So what is it?”

“Skylar and I were wondering if you wanted to get breakfast?”

He uncrossed his arms and sighed through his nose, glancing between them once again. “Sure, I haven’t eaten yet anyways.”

“Great! We’ll wait out here until you’re ready.”

Tachanka looked her over, seeing the cheeky smile spread across her face. He knew what day it was and was a little skeptical about this whole ordeal. Glaz wasn’t one to prank people, that wasn’t his thing. Neither was Skylar’s as far as he knows. She never pranked anyone on base that he knows of, but that cheeky smile did make him curious.

“Give me a few minutes I still need to get dressed.”

They both nodded their heads as he shut his door, Skylar letting out a breath and looked over at Glaz. “I think he’s onto us.”

Her voice was just above a whisper, soft enough for only him to know what she said. “Don’t worry about it, he won’t suspect a thing.”

“I think I’m gonna go to breakfast with you guys and act like I got a message there instead of when we’re walking to the mess-hall. Be a bit more believable.”

“I agree.”

Tachanka came out of his room seconds later in more casual clothing than his training fatigues. He turned around after shutting his door to lock it, which sent Glaz into a small panic. She glanced over at him mouthing the words ‘don’t worry I got this’ and he nodded in reply.

“So how was training?” asked Skylar “Did the FBI win like we always do?”

She momentarily forgot that the FBI and Spetsnaz were joint training today, minus her and Glaz, unfortunately due to their sniper training. And ninety-five percent of the time the FBI wins.

He let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. “Da, they did.”

“You Russians need to learn how to work better as a team.” She held her hands up in defense after seeing the offended looks on their faces. “I’m not saying this as a bad thing, I like you guys..well four out of five of you. I’ve watched you guys in simulations, you all have talent, you just don’t know how to materialize that talent as a team.”

Tachanka looked over at Glaz who was rubbing his neck awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact with his fellow comrade. “You agree with her don’t you Timur?”

“Details is what I do, we plan as a team greatly. As soon as the simulations start, those plans seem to go out the window. Maxim roams a bit too much, Shuhrat doesn’t hold contact with the team. It’s not a coincidence the FBI can kill three out of five of us in a matter of seconds.”

He was quiet for a moment, a little too quiet, then his body relaxed and he exhaled a breath. “The more I think about it, the more you’re right.”

“Try what the FBI does, figure out your guys strengths and weaknesses and figure out how to work them as a team. It’ll take time, but maybe after a while half of your team won’t be wiped in the matter of seconds.”

Tachanka nodded his head, a small smile spreading across his face. “I’ll look into it….thanks kotyonok!”

“Just trying to help my fave Russians.” she laughed. “Now let’s go get something to eat. I'm starving.”

The mess-hall was pretty packed with the majority of the other operators already in there. Unfortunately Thermite was one of them, now she needed to glance around the room to figure out which ones of her friends weren’t in there. Luckily she didn’t see Castle, Ela or Jackal, now just to figure out which one to use to get away.

They all grabbed their breakfast and took a seat at the nearest available table. Skylar didn’t grab much since she knew she needed to leave in a bit. However she was craving a nice cup of tea that she couldn’t have yet.

“I’ve been wondering something about you Skylar.” said Tachanka after a moment. “You don’t seem like the military type..”

“So why did I join?”

“Da.”

“I graduated high school when I was sixteen, took a gap year afterwards to really search for the right college for me. During that gap year a hurricane struck Maine and completely destroyed the families brewery which was our main source of income. I didn’t want my parents to spend money that should go into the brewery on my tuition, so I opted to join the Marines to pay for it.”

“You never told me that.”

She looked over at Glaz and chuckled. “Truthfully it never crossed my mind.” She pretended to have her phone buzzing in her pocket, and picked it up to see who it was. “Looks like Castle needs me for something.”

“Maybe he’s going to prank you?”

“Perhaps.” She stood up, grabbing the little bit of food she grabbed. “I’ll see you guys later.”  

Skylar left the mess-hall after that and headed for her room to get her lock picks. She was secretly hoping he wouldn’t have locked his door when they went to breakfast, now she’s hoping no one walks down the hall while she picks his lock to get into his room.

She opened the door to her room and placed the food and water bottle onto her bed and went into her side table, grabbing her lock picks and put them into her pocket, and headed for Tachanka’s room.

As she came to his room, she slowed her pace down a bit, looking around her to see if she could see anyone around, thankfully no one was. She knelt down and took the lock picks out of her pocket and began to go to work. About a moment later she heard the door unlock, sighing in relief and slowly opened the door and went in.

She quietly shut the door behind her and pocketed her lock picks again. His room was fairly organized, and wasn't really shocked since he’s been in the military for a few decades, that stuff kinda sticks with you. As she walked over to his Degtyaryov, she glanced at his desk, seeing paperwork for his last mission, a few books on old soviet weaponry and a paper with her name on it.

That drew her attention more to it and she picked it up, now seeing it was a letter. Or a half written one to be exact. Her hazel eyes scanning the words and her heart skipped a beat. “What Timur said was true, he does like me.”

She shook her head when she realized she said that out loud and placed the letter back where she found it. Now was not the time to worry about their crushes, but to get his Degtyaryov to the roof. That can come later.

Up close his mounted Degtyaryov was pretty big, and most likely heavy. She went to grab it by the base of the mount and pick it up, groaning as she did. “Jesus this thing weighs a lot. No wonder a guy like him carries it.”

That’s when the light bulb in her head went off. She needed someone strong enough to carry it, the first person that came to her mind was Sledge. She reached for her phone and dialed his number, hoping he wasn’t busy or in the middle of training.

“Hello?”

“Hi Seamus I need your help.”

“Okay, what do ya need lass?”

She let out a small chuckle and placed her arm on the gun. “Uh Glaz and I are pranking Tachanka by moving his Degtyaryov to the roof and it’s too heavy for me to move on my own. Can you help?”

There was complete silence at his end and that made her a bit worried. “Lads gonna go mental over this. But hell yeah I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Thanks Seamus!”

“No problem!”

They both hung up the phone, Skylar putting it back into her pocket - she took a seat on his bed. Though the mattress was identical to hers, she liked the feel of his duvet under her fingers. It made her slightly think of what could possibly happen in the near future, that is if she can survive his onslaught.

Sledge finally walked through the door and she stood up. “Seriously Seamus thank you for doing this. I’m not sure a lot of people would do this considering who this gun belongs to.”

“Skylar you’re the only one brave enough to do this, everyone else would be afraid of his wrath.” He walked over and swung the gun over his shoulders with ease. “And truthfully? I can’t wait to see his reaction.”

“I know I’m walking on some mighty thin ice here, but he doesn’t scare me. However I am looking forward to his reaction when he finds out it was me.”

They began to make their way to the roof, thankfully Tachanka’s room was close to the door. She kept an eye and ear opened to make sure no one was coming near them.

“He’s never gonna see it coming, will most likely blame James or Dominic.”

Skylar laughed and agreed with him. Smoke and Bandit were known pranksters around base, so it would be the first place his brain would go when he finds out his Degtyaryov is gone. That Smoke or Bandit decided to misplace his beloved LMG.

“Poor Smoke and Bandit.”

Sledge laughed as they came to the door leading up to the roof. She opened it for him, letting him go in first and followed behind. With his free hand he opened the other door leading to the roof and stood to the side.

“Where do ya want it?”

She looked around, wanting a place where she knows he’ll be able to see it. “How about right there? It’s near the front door of the barracks, easy to see.”

Sledge placed it down and chuckled. “Please keep me updated on this.”

“I will.” She took one last glance over at the Degtyaryov before turning back to him. “Now I just need to re-lock his door and meet him and Timur back in the mess-hall..and act like nothing happened.”

“Good, this might be the only entertainment I get for the day.” He laughed.

“Probably the only entertainment a lot of us are gonna get.”

“Too right, lass.”

They left the roof after that and went their separate ways. Skylar went back to Tachanka’s room to quickly lock his door and then headed back to the mess-hall. When she got there, they were both still there and that made her sigh in relief.

“Miss me?”

“Terribly.” joked Tachanka

She glared over at him and huffed. “I know you did, don’t lie to me Alexsandr.”

“Someone’s feisty?” He took a sip of his coffee and looked over at her. “What did Miles want?”

“Well maybe you should stop making me feisty. It was nothing, he just misplaced something of his.”

“Ah.” He didn’t fully believe her, but wasn’t going to pry just yet. “I have a gun to clean and polish, so I will see you two later.”

Both Glaz and Skylar watched him get up and leave, and laughed among each other. He was about to get one rude awakening when he opens his door. Hopefully the base is ready for the wrath of Tachanka.

“Everything set?” asked Glaz

“Yup, now we wait and watch it unfold.”

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 94580/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12 // Ch 13 // Ch 14 // Ch 15 // Ch 16

Read on: Ao3

--

“Are you ready to go love?” Killian asks. He’s in the kitchen, drying the last of the plates from dinner.

Emma peers her head out of the bedroom, a smile on her face. 

“Almost, I just need shoes,” she says.

It’d been a week since Emma had made peace with the Queen. Killian is endlessly proud of her courage and wisdom. He knows for a fact that forgiveness isn’t easy. The fact that Emma was able to forgive the Queen so openly, well, he admires her for that.

It was earlier this week that Emma booked her flight home. Killian’s throat had caught as he looked at the date on the ticket- just a few days before Christmas. Less than two weeks away. He’s tried to imagine spending Christmas without this woman who had firmly planted herself in his life. The thought of Christmas with Ruby and Granny, which had previously been a comforting thought, now makes him feel empty.

It was from this anxiety that he’d suggested they take one last trip to the opera house together. Emma had admitted that she was uncomfortable asking the queen for tickets and Killian agreed. Instead, she’d gotten them from the international student center at the university. It was for a ballet and Killian thought it would be a nice goodbye to a place that had been part of their journey together.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as she walks out of the room a moment later with a smile on her face. She’s dressed in a knee-length black dress with long sleeves and a jeweled belt around her waist to accentuate her thin frame. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, curling over her shoulder. Killian’s eyes linger over her dark eyelashes and bright red lips.

“Do I look alright?” She whispers.

Killian swallows, thinking about how lovely she looks, and how little time they have. 

“Wonderful, love,” He manages, before offering her his arm.

Emma grabs her purse, opens the door, and leans on him as they walk out of the apartment. The path to the tram from Emma’s apartment is second nature to Killian now, as is the signature way they board the tram- Emma first with her card and Killian with his leap.

With the change of season, it gets darker now. The tram ride is a blur of light against the dark backdrop of the night sky. Killian weaves his arm around Emma and pulls her close. He cherishes each tiny moment of closeness they get. He wants to feel her for every moment they have left.

They get off at “Opèra” and make their way up to the opera house. The seats aren’t in the private box this time, but among the other International Students in the balcony. 

“Maybe we should have invested in opera glasses at this point,” Killian mutters, as he finds his seat. They are still velvet lined and comfortable.

“Nah, it’s nice to see the formations from here. Balcony is good for ballet,” Emma tells him. She glances down at her program. “It’s a guest performance by the Royal Ballet. I saw them do a different show in London. They were spectacular.”

Killian smiles at her, impressed that she’s become a ballet aficionado. Killian doesn’t even know what the show is. He reaches for Emma’s program.

“Anastasia?” He asks, looking at the font swirling on top of a grey background. It’s unfamiliar to him. 

“Didn’t you even see the animated movie growing up? With Meg Ryan?” She replies.

He shakes his head after racking his brain and coming up with nothing.

“It was a classic at one of the group homes I was at,” Emma says. “I’d watch it all the time.”

“Is it about the Romanov girl?” He asks, thinking to a history class he had in England.

She nods. “Yeah, well, the movie is like completely fairy tale. It’s about an orphan who discovers that she’s Princess Anastasia and for some reason she’s in Paris and Rasputin wants to kill her. The songs are great. And there is like this cute, little singing bat.”

Killian laughs, trying to picture it. “We’ll have to watch it sometime.”

Emma nods, “Anyway, weird that there is a ballet about it.”

Killian flips through the program, looking for more information. Emma folds her hands on his shoulder and rests her chin on them, peering at it. 

“But look, this ballet was made way before that kids’ movie,” she points out.

“What does that mean?”

But then the orchestra begins the overture and the lights dim. They both take their gaze from the program to the stage.

The first two acts are lively, full of pre-Revolution Imperial memories. It’s balls and family and ornate displays of royalty. It’s like the kind of vision that lives on the corners of Killian’s memory. 

When the third act comes, everything changes. The ballet is now set in a mental hospital in Berlin. The girl who believes she’s Anastasia is dancing madly across the stage. Her steps are crude and wild. Killian shivers, gooseflesh appearing on his arms. She’s delusional. She’s mad. It’s terrifying.

Beside him, he notices Emma gripping the armrest of her chair, her eyes glassy and distant. He reaches out and strokes her arm, then cards his finger through a few strands of her hair. She glances at him, stirred by his touch. Her eyes are haunted and tired. He’d hoped that his touch would soothe her, but she looks so tense.

He tries to understand what could have provoked this. She’d seemed fine at the interval. Then a realization dawns on Killian: she could be remembering. 

He’s kept his suspicion quiet for months, ever since Emma asked him not to mention it. He understands her request. No point getting your hopes up about something that might not ever happen. 

But he still thinks she might be the real deal. A bit of his soul starts to soar as he thinks of it. For a moment, he lets himself imagine Emma remembering everything and discovering that she is in fact the Lost Princess. He imagines her being fitted for gowns and going to balls, looking brilliant as always. He imagines her moving into a castle, being taken care of properly for once in her life. He imagines her finishing out her PhD here, writing her dissertation while balancing her royal duties. He lets himself dream of her life being here in Misthaven, instead of oceans away on a continent he’s never been to. He likes the certainty of her in this fantasy and perhaps that is the true fantasy of it. A life where Emma is firmly beside him for good.

The final bows are taken and curtain drops. Emma reaches for his hand.

“Can we hurry out? I really need some air,” She tells him.

He nods, squeezing her hand and following her down the aisle. They don’t linger in the lobby. He follows Emma’s lead and they go right to the door.

Once they are in the cool winter air, he watches her take huge gulping breaths. He pulls her towards him into a hug. She doesn’t resist him and she rests her head on his shoulder. He realizes she’s shaking a bit.

“Are you okay, love?” He asks.

She purses her lips and shakes her head. “Not really.”

He doesn’t want to ask her, but the fantasy, the hope of epiphany, can’t leave his mind.

“Have you, erm, remembered anything that’s disturbed you?” He asks softly, letting his head drip down to speak into her ear.

She looks up at him, her forehead wrinkling, “What do you mean, remembered anything?”

He frowns, not knowing how to keep from her from realizing what he thought. Before he can explain, she makes the realization.

She draws away.

“Oh my god, Killian. You can’t still possibly think that I’m Princess Emma. That can’t be further from the truth and you know that as well as I.”

He grimaces, upset that he triggered this reaction in her.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, love,” He says, as Emma takes a few steps back. “I just saw your face and you looked so disturbed. I hoped, foolishly hoped, that it was because you were having some sort of lovely epiphany.”

“Well, I’m did and I’m not,” Emma retorts.

“So what is on your mind?” He asks.

“Let’s go sit by the river,” Emma says. 

He knows she’s stalling some sort of conversation, but he follows her nonetheless. He’s pleased that Misthaven is having a small winter heat wave so that it’s tolerable to sit outside. They cross the love-lock bridge and sit along the quai, legs dangling over the water.

He thinks of their first night together at the opera, when they sat together in this same spot, sharing a bottle of champagne. That’s when he tried to kiss Emma for the first time and she shied away from his kiss. So much has changed since then. A wave of reassurance falls over him. If they can go from that embarrassing night to where they are now, they can surely overcome whatever is disturbing her now.

“I was just thinking about how that Anastasia, or I guess her name was Anna,” Emma says. “She had an excuse.”

“What do you mean an excuse?” Killian says.

“For what she was doing, all the pain she is causing,” Emma tells him.

“I don’t believe you’ve caused pain to anyone,” he says, perplexed. “If anything, you’ve made my life, the Queen’s life, much better.”

She shakes her head.

“I did have an epiphany during the show,” Emma says. “But not a good one.”

“Oh?” He questions, daring to reach out and stroke her hair again. She doesn’t draw away from his touch this time. He’s grateful for that.

“I was thinking about Alice,” she says. He can’t help but grimace at the name, a fresh wave of pain flooding over him. “And how disappointed you were that she wasn’t your daughter. You were so upset. I was too. It was like a true loss to realize that someone you thought was your daughter wasn’t.”

Killian nods, the grief still lingering in his bones.

“And I realized that it was exactly what we were doing to the queen,” Emma says. “We’re leading her on, celebrating our sabotage.”

Killian runs his hand down her back. “Emma, love, I don’t think that we’ve been trying to misinform her for a while. I think that she’s come to care for you regardless. Didn’t you say that she said that to you?”

“But it doesn’t matter if we’ve given up on it,” she protests. “That was our intention. We wanted to hurt her. We wanted to take advantage of her pain. We wanted to profit off of it.”

She looks up at him. “It’s despicable. I can’t imagine that we wanted to give that pain you went through to anyone else.”

“Oh Swan,” he says. “I know that was our intention, but can you accept that we’ve done more good than bad? You’ve made the queen so happy.”

“No, there’s no excuse,” Emma says sharply. “We aren’t crazy. We aren’t in a mental hospital, imagining that we are someone else. We were greedy. We were unable to see the Queen as a human person with emotions. It’s disgusting. I’m sorry I was a part of any of this.”

Killian frowns. “Sorry you’ve been with me?”

“No, no, Killian, never,” she says. “I just feel guilty.”

“I know,” he says.

He pulls her towards him. She rests her head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” she says softly.

He kisses her hair, “I love you too, darling.”

“What if we visited the Memorial Gardens tomorrow?” Emma asks.

“Of course, love. Your wish is my command.”

“I just feel like I need to make reparations with the real Princess Emma,” she says.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” he teases. “But for now, let’s go home, shall we Swan?”

--

The cobblestone path curves up the hill, flanked by rows of houses. The architecture of the houses match the castle in a way. Emma thinks it’s nice. She’s never been in this part of Misthaven before. It’s on the Old Town side of the river, up the hill from the Opera House and Saint Anne’s. 

The cobblestone path gives way to an elaborate iron archway made up of floral designs and patterns. A plaque against the wall next to it reads, “Misthaven Memorial Gardens.”

Emma swallows, thinking how bizarre it is that this path leads right to these gardens. It’s as if it’s always been leading her this way. It’s as if Misthaven itself in its fundamental architecture was leading her to these gardens. It’s funny then to think that she hasn’t been there yet. She’s been to art galleries and parks and mountainside hikes and to the opera house. Yet, she hasn’t been to the part of Misthaven that seems to truly lie at its heart. This place that has existed to capture and memorialize the pain of a nation. Emma’s engaged in that pain through stories, through personal testimonies, but she hasn’t let herself be fully immersed in it.

Until now. That’s why she’s here. She wants to feel it all. She wants to understand Princess Emma who was lost, who was murdered on this night. Maybe if she can make sense of it, she’ll stop feeling guilty for a crime she didn’t commit.

The gardens are wooded with the same lovely old trees that Emma noticed in their other forest walks and in the woods near the Du Bois house in Belgium. There isn’t any snow today, because of the unusually warm weather. Indian Summer is what Emma used to call it in America. She wonders if it has the same name here.

She reaches for Killian’s hand and leans on his shoulder. They walk through the forested path till they reach a clearing. It’s all neat gardens here, arranged in a European style with a long pool down the middle, flowering artfully arranged on either side. 

“There is a walled garden over there,” Killian says, pointing. “And a bog garden over in that part. There is even a Japanese garden in that area. The Royal Family put it in while I lived there.”

Emma sighs. “I want to know more about that.”

“About what?” Killian asks.

“I want to know what it was like when you lived here. When you left here, that night. Can you tell me?” Her voice is small, soft.

He nods and tugs on her hand. They walk around the castle. Her eyes are drawn to the high ramparts, the swirling towers of the castle in the imposing grey stone. In this back part of the castle a long meadow stretches out, forming a grassy plane that gives way to the forest.

Killian beckons her to a bench. They sit.

“I don’t remember it perfectly,” he says softly. “I was very young.”

She nods, scooching over so that their legs touch. His arm wraps around her back. The other points up at a tower.

“Do you see that? It’s the princess’s tower,” he says. “We knew it was coming for weeks, that there was a threat to the kingdom, a barbarian rebellion brewing deep in the town. There were preparations made. The King and Queen worked out a plan with Liam to make sure the Princess could escape. They knew that their fates were likely fixed, but they wanted Emma to have her best chance to live.”

Emma looks at the tiny tower at the top of the castle, imagining inside a little girl’s bedroom.

Killian continues, “Liam was posted to Princess Emma’s room and stayed there day and night with her till the threat passed or came to fruition. I was ordered to stay there with her as well, so I’d have a chance to escape under Liam’s protection. Liam was to go to America with the girl to seek asylum there. I wasn’t allowed to go, there was worry that one more child would make the thing so risky.”

Emma nods, watching the story dance across Killian’s face.

“Gods, Emma, I wish I could forget that night. It’s haunted me my whole life. Sometimes I still dream about it.”

Regret seeps through her. She’s asked too much of him. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You don’t have to keep going. I didn’t know-“

He shakes his head, before reaching out to stroke her hair. “Emma, I want you to know all my stories. Even the hard ones. The haunting ones.”

She reaches out to run a thumb over his eyebrow, then along his jawline.

“That night there were gunshots in the castle that awoke us and everything was put into motion. Liam smashed the window, the beautiful stained glass one in the Princess’s room. He had this repelling kit that was already ready to go. He had me hold onto his back and put the Princess flush against his chest. We repelled down and it was terrifying. We didn’t know if there were snipers in the woods. If there were, I’d be the first shot. There were arrows, no guns. It’s hard to get weapons inside of Misthaven, so we think now that they only gave those to insurgents. Anyway, the arrows flickered by my head and I wondered if I was going to die.”

Emma can’t imagine a boy so young dealing with such a terrifying realization. 

“When we were half way down, I heard the worst noise I’d ever heard. There was a gun shot, then a scream. I recognized as the Queen’s and I knew she’d been murdered. If she was dead, then surely so was the King. I remembered how kind they were, caring for me and Liam after everything we’d been through. They gave me a chance at an education, a chance to have a good home, to be well-fed even. And now they were gone.”

Emma gulps. She thinks of the woman she knows who is full of more compassion than she’s ever known. She suddenly sees a new side of Mary Margaret. The side that cared for Killian as a child. She might not be her mother, but she was something of that for Killian. Emma’s heart soars at the thought. She can picture Mary Margaret doting on a tiny Killian, reading him books and giving him bon bons. 

“My brother told me to run when we reached the ground. He told me I’d be safe at my grans. He took off in one direction with the Princess and I went in another. I didn’t know that’d be the last time I’d see him. I thought that maybe one day he’d return to me. Or he’d call or send for me. There was nothing. I ran through those woods on my own, my heart thumping in my chest, wondering if I’d get caught, if I’d be found. But I wasn’t. I made it to my grans’ safely. She was surprised to see me. She wasn’t particularly nurturing, too old to be as grandma-like as I’d hoped, but she provided for me.”

Emma senses his story ending and leans her head against his shoulder. 

“I’m shocked that the queen survived. I’m still upset, sometimes, that Liam didn’t. I used to lie in bed at night as a teenager, when I was in the young offender’s institution, and look at the ceiling and think about that scream. I used to be so angry at the Princess. She was off in America with my brother and here I was alone and betrayed. It’s sad now, I suppose. They both are dead. I was the one who was better off.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek. His arms wrap around her back and he pulls her to him.

She doesn’t realize that he’s teared up until he says in a choked-up voice, “You don’t know how much joy you’ve brought to my life, Emma. I was so sad. I was struggling for so long. And you’ve given me so much hope.”

“Oh Killian,” she replies. “You’ve given me so much too. I’m so grateful for you. Every day.”

There was a part of her that was fighting for so long; that was angry and walled up and hurt for so long. But Killian broke those walls down. Mary Margaret did too. Misthaven truly has been responsible for everything good in her life.

She wishes she could thank it. She wishes she could give something back to this place that has given everything to her.

Her eyes sweep across the field, as she imagines little Princess Emma running across it with Liam. It’s almost too real, too vivid before her eyes.

Where the field meets the forest, she sees something for a moment that she thinks is a figure. At first she shivers, thinking they’ve been watched this whole time. But the figure is too still to be real. There’s three figures. 

Oh.

“Is that a statue over there?” She asks Killian.

He nods.

“Let’s go see it,” she says.

They walk across the field slowly, hand clasped tight. The field is dotted with wild flowers, beautiful in the bright light of Indian Summer, but for a moment she imagines them as arrows. She can see the scene of horror, almost too vividly, almost too real, like a ghost of trauma that existed here. It’s like pain dwells so deeply in this space that she can see it before her, as if she was there.

They read the statue. It’s brass, shiny, showing how new the pain is. This isn’t the kind of revolution that happened years ago, but one that floods the memory of everyone in this small country. 

The statue is of a family, the Royal Family. She sees Mary Margaret at once. Her hair was longer then, wavy and young. She was so young. 

And the King. Emma’s not thought much about the King, as if he was just a side character to this story, but she sees him now, kind-faced and noble. She wonders if he played little games with Princess Emma. She wonders if Mary Margaret loved him as fiercely as Emma herself loves Killian. Yes, she thinks, she must have.

Her eyes finally find the Princess. Emma can’t help but take a step closer. The small girl, with ringlets and a familiar tiara. With a lurch in her gut, Emma knows why it looks familiar. It’s the same she saw in the pawn shop where they met the hooded man in August. It couldn’t be… but she knows it could.

She follows the little girl’s features, her wide eyes, so full of curiosity and hope for the future. Emma fills with rage at everything taken from her, that future ripped away from the small girl.

Emma’s gaze finally lands on her chin. Without thinking, Emma lifts her hand to let her thumb rub over the tiny dip in her chin, just as Killian has done many times to Emma herself. They’ve all been right. They are the same.

It’s so silly, she thinks now, that they wanted to plan this giant con based on blond hair, an accent, and a dimpled chin. It only makes her feel more stupid, more guilty. 

So guilty, in fact. It slams Emma in its enormity, tears springing unwillingly to her eyes. So much has been taken away from this family, from Queen Mary Margaret, and she was willing to continue that. Emma wanted to continue to hurt this woman who has been hurt more than anyone deserves in one lifetime. 

Emma feels nauseous, dizzy. She can’t be here. She can’t be part of this. In even planning out the impersonation, she participated in this violence against Misthaven. She’s perpetrated the same crime that has been carelessly carried out by greedy girls, by violent men, by rebels who sought to hurt the country that has given her everything.

“Emma,” Killian asks, grasping her arm as she begins to sway. “Are you alright, love?”

She doesn’t want his companionship right now. She’s struggling for breath and the only thing that can free her is admission of the truth. 

“I just need some space,” she says. “Do you mind if I walk a bit on my own? I need to clear my mind.”

“Yes, of course, Swan,” he says, dutiful as ever. “I’m going to read for a bit in the English gardens, just around the other side. Come find me when you need me.”

He presses a kiss to her cheek, as her eyes stay glued on the statue.

“Emma,” he whispers. “Look at me.”

She turns to him. He cups her face in his hands, his eyes sincere with concern.

“Don’t get lost in your thoughts, love. Don’t build higher walls.”

She tries to nod, but instead, he lurches forward to put a kiss on her lips. There is an edge of desperation to his lips, as if he is trying to keep her with him. As if he knows what’s on her mind and wants to keep her grounded, before chaos erupts. As if he knows they might only have now.

“I know,” she says, trying to give him a smile.

He squeezes her hand before he walks away.

Emma stays at the statue, her gaze meeting the Princess’s for a few moments as she watches Killian round the castle and out of sight. With her mind made up, she turns. She feels like she’s possessed by a force not of her own. It’s like her feet are willing her in the direction of castle, regardless of what her mind says is foolish or right.

She approaches from a side entrance. There are security guards there with metal detecting wands. They search her bag and let her enter. Inside, sits a desk with a receptionist. She’s struck by how tiny Misthaven is. If this was anywhere else, she wouldn’t even be able to get this far.

“Hi, I’m Emma Swan,” she says. “Is it possible I could speak with Prime Minister Mills? She knows who I am and I think she’d like to listen to me.”

The woman looks surprised, maybe at Emma’s accent or how forward she is, but she nods and picks up the phone. She speaks something in French for a few moments, before turning back to Emma. 

“The Prime Minister will be down in a few moments,” she says.

Emma nods, trying to stay calm. She looks around what she thought was a lobby, but now she recognizes it as an entrance hall to a castle. There are twin tapestries on each wall, ornate gold cross hatching across the roof.  A magnificent chandelier dangles in the middle of the ceiling.

She wanders closer to the wall, almost in a trance. She wants to reach out and touch the wall, feel the cold stone under her fingers. She feels like she’s lost in one of her old childhood dreams of castle corridors. She shivers as she pulls up the tendrils of memory from those dreams- being a Princess, waiting for someone to save her. She thinks again of social workers from her childhood. The ones who told her that her brain made up those stories, those dreams, to mask whatever truly horrible thing had happened to her as a child. She wonders if she and Princess Emma are akin in that way- having brunt trauma as a child. There’s that.

“Emma,” a voice interrupts.

She was expecting to hear the crisp tutting of, “Miss Swan,” from the Prime Minister. But instead, Emma turns to see the Queen. Her heart swoops.

“What are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asks.

Emma shakes her head, “I was looking to see the Prime Minister, but actually, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Oh?” The Queen says.

“I think we should talk,” Emma says.

“Yes, okay,” Mary Margaret replies. “There is a quiet sitting room in the center of the castle. I’ll tell Prime Minister Mills to meet us there when she can. I was just visiting her earlier today and I know she’s quite busy with errands today. Poor dear, on a Saturday too.”

Emma doesn’t have words to form, so she simply nods. Her stomach feels queasy again and dizziness floats through her. God, her hand is shaking.

Emma knows what she has to say. She knows what she has to do.

She follows the Queen through the hallways, until they approach an insignificant looking door. The queen pushes the door and it leads to a small chamber. It’s a bizarre place, with octagon walls and only two doors- one of the floor and one at the top of a tall staircase that curves around the room.

“There are only two entrances,” the Queen explains. “One from the ground floor and one from the Royal Offices, which is now the Prime Minister’s office.”

“Oh,” Emma says, looking up.

An octagonal piece of stained glass covers the ceiling, filling the chamber with colored light everywhere.

“Shall we sit?” Mary Margaret asks. “I can ring for some tea if you wish.”

“No tea,” Emma says. 

She feels weird being with the Queen not at her Summer Palace, or the Southern Palace. This space that feels so loaded with sad memories.

They sit in two armchairs in the room. There isn’t much in the chamber- an ornate rug, a fireplace, and a trunk being used a table. It’s so cramped in the small space, yet so much empty air hangs between them.

“I have to tell you everything,” Emma whispers.

“Tell me what, my dear?” The queen asks.

“I have to tell you about what we did, or tried to do,” Emma says. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Mary Margaret reaches for Emma’s hand.

She pulls it away. “Killian and I. We befriended you under selfish pretenses, awful pretenses. And I feel wretched about it.”

Emma feels the tears returning, sticking in her throat. “I think I’ll feel awful about it till the day I die.”

The queen frowns and nods Emma to continue.

“We both were in need of money. I needed, and still need, to fund my last semester of graduate school. Killian’s always wanted to open a bookshop. We both had these dreams that needed funding. Killian was approached by a man who wanted to offer us money for me to impersonate the Lost Princess. We were both uncomfortable with the situation and said no,” Emma pauses to sniffle, to breath, to force the words out. 

The Queen mistakes that for the end of her admission. “Thanks for telling me. You did the right thing.” 

Emma shakes her head. “We didn’t. The more we thought about it, the more we realized that I am very similar to how the lost Princess, your daughter, might be. I have an American accent. I have blond hair, green eyes-“ Emma looks up at the queen, at the bits of her face that mirror her own. “I have your chin. We both knew that you might believe that I am your daughter. We sought out your friendship in hopes that we might profit off it. It was selfish and greedy. We celebrated each time that you thought I might be your daughter.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret breathes. Her face is disappointed, as she should be.

“We kind of gave up on it over time. I think I realized that my friendship with you was enough. That I didn’t need to convince you to think I am your daughter for you to treat me with that same care. But if I really knew better, I’d have told you up front about our plan. I still deceived you.”

The queen swallows and frowns.

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, burning with shame. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to tell you. I’m sorry I got mad at you for keeping secrets when I was keeping secrets of my own.”

“What makes you tell me now?” The queen says.

“Ever since Killian found out that the child, Alice, wasn’t his, I’ve been realizing something” Emma murmurs. She realizes that there are tears on her face. “That same pain that Killian was going through, it was exactly what had happened to you time and time again. You’d gotten your hopes up. You thought you’d found a family, but you just were being tricked. And I was doing that to you too.”

There is a moment of silence between them, tension waivers in the air. Emma waits for her admonishment. Or a prison sentence. Or whatever she feels she need to tell Emma. 

But Emma is free now. The guilt that has clung to her grossly, sticking behind her knees, making her scratchy, is gone now. She wipes away the tears that linger the creases of her eyes. Whatever comes, she said what she needed to.

“I’m leaving in just a few weeks or so,” Emma says. “But I can leave sooner. Or if there is some other punishment, whatever it is. I’m sorry.”

The Queen’s assembles her visage, before closing her eyes and sighing. 

“Emma, this isn’t your fault,” Mary Margaret tells her. 

“But-” Emma starts, looking at her hands. She twists them awkwardly, too ashamed to look at the queen.

“I told you months ago. You are valuable to me. You matter to me,” The queen says. “I didn’t say that to you because I thought you were my daughter.”

Emma looks up.

“I said it because you are my friend, my mentee,” the queen said. “I do admit, I got my hopes up at first that maybe you were her. I wanted to share things I loved about her with you. I wanted you to fill her void. But that day, when Regina found us when we were riding, I realized that I cared about you Emma Swan, not Princess Emma. I connected with you. With the girls that came before you, they were fake in their interests. They weren’t lovers of literature, like you are. They didn’t care about opera or tea or intelligent conversation. You’re different, Emma. You’re authentic.”

The queen’s speech makes her feel dizzy. She doesn’t know if she should fall into her arms and together share a soulful cry, hearts joined in a combined lost-and-found reunion. Another part of Emma, the part of her that is instinctual and conditioned from a lifetime of loneliness, just wants to start running.

Before Emma’s internal conflict can come to fruition, a voice interrupts them.

“Your majesty, your highness,” A voice says from above.

Both of their heads turn to take in Prime Minister Mills walking down the stairs.

“Prime Minister,” Emma says.

“Regina,” Mary Margaret echoes.

“I thought I’d interrupt,” Regina says, midway down the staircase, “I hope you don’t mind. I heard you were looking for me, Miss Swan, and I am in fact, looking for you as well.”

Emma turns to face where Regina has curved around the room on the stairs. Her stilettos beat out a staccato against the steps.

“Oh right, sorry to bother you Prime Minister,” she mumbles. “I heard you are very busy today.”

“No, you were one of the people I needed to see today, so honestly it’s perfect timing,” Regina says, walking down the final curve. “I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, your Majesty, but I also believe that I am about to make an entrance at the perfect time as well.”

Emma and Mary Margaret exchange confused glances.

“This week, during our usual meeting, you mentioned that Emma had forgiven you and that you’d agreed to be friends again. As you both know, I’ve been concerned about your friendship for a while. While you both protested that there was no false hope between either of you, we both know that was a lie. You’ve both just said it yourself.”

Emma wants to protest, but she knows that the Prime Minister is right. They did just say it.

“So, I went ahead and did something a little wild. I hope you forgive me, but I am, in fact, Prime Minister. I had samples of DNA taken from each of your places of residence and tested. I must admit, I was a little impatient to get to the bottom of it and find out once and for all who this woman is.” 

She gives a vague wave at Emma.

“The lab tests came back this morning. Emma Swan, Your Royal Highness, you are Her Majesty’s daughter.”

The news slams into Emma. She grips a table to steady herself as the world seems to move around her. 

She’s the lost princess? She’s Princess Emma? 

But she can’t be. It must be a joke. A prank. It must be some sort of “get this little orphan’s hopes up and then crush them.” Because she can’t actually be the kind of person that anyone cares about this much. She’s a fake. She’s an impersonator. She’s the kind of person who has had to work her whole life to every tiny thing. She can’t be a princess.  

But yet, she looks up and Queen Mary Margaret’s eyes are full of love, tears rimming her eyes. 

“Yes, of course, she is,” Mary Margaret whispers.

Emma tries to think of Mary Margaret as her mother. She tries to apply the word mom to the elegant queen before her. But all she can think about is how small the room is, how oppressive the walls feel, and trapped she feels. She knows she’s not trapped. She knows that she finally has a family, which is honestly what she’s wanted her whole life. But all she wants is to run. 

“Sorry,” Emma says. “I just… I have to go.”

She doesn’t turn back to look at the shock on Mary Margaret or Regina’s face. She doesn’t try to process the tears in her own eyes or the fact that this lifelong instinct of running is kicking in. All she can think is that she has to get out.

--

Sorry for a long long delay on this chapter! Let me know if you read it so I can figure out if I should keep going on finishing it!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Wet Sugar [Part 7 of 30]

"Never understood how the trees gave us air

'Cause when you took my breath away

Trees were still there

I know that you're not in love with me

Which brings the ocean toward my eyes

Toward my eyes

See, we've all been there before

So don't you judge me

I'll never ask for more after this warning

My heart's in dumps for sure

But I'll keep on running for you, for you

So give me a pulse

Steady and deep

Now tell me the one thing you wanted from me…"

Leah Jenea – "Pulse"

Summary: Erik is in Africa and Yani deals with fall out...

A.N.: Hey all, had to split a chapter in two. My updates are averaging about 10,000 words (almost a 1/3 of a whole ass book each post, whew!]

Mature Content. NSFW. Y’all already know...

It felt different.

Sitting on the sand and running her fingers through the sugary soft grains, Yani couldn't quite figure out the sensation creeping over her spirit. Men had come and gone over the years through the compound. But Erik was the first she ever took an interest in…interacted with actually. Thinking back on it, she couldn't remember any of the men she had ever had a passing conversation with.

She touched the side of her neck. Trying her best to cover it with a cowrie shell choker, she could feel the tender bruise where Erik's lips and tongue had broken the small blood vessels there marking her skin with his love bite. Not just a hickey, but his actual teeth marks, those gold slugs digging into her flesh, the heat from his mouth branding her.

She had stood against the SUV expecting her Aunt to show up at any moment and catch that man hunched over her body like he was Vlad the Impaler turning her into a creature of the night. She gave her neck up to him wantonly, hungry for his mouth on her there and everywhere. When his fingers pinched her nipples, his tongue licked her ear and he whispered, "Your titties getting wet for me yet?"

She thought she would pass out from how gravelly his voice sounded. The possessive tone made her thighs shake and at that point, she pushed him back.

"Not in front of Sweet Pea," she gasped praying that her bra would control any leaking milk that could happen because of him.

"She needs to see her Mama getting some lovin'. Help her know what it looks like," he said trying to pull her back in his arms.

She held him back while peeking around his side looking out for Leona.

"Just one more kiss," he said.

"My Auntie will be here soon."

"Let me just hold you then."

His eyes seemed to be pleading with her.

"Okay—"

He lifted her up and placed her back on the backseat so that they were face to face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he leaned in to hold her. His body heat seeped into her dress and made her feel secure and protected. Her nose took in the scent of his cologne, and the scent of the almond smelling oil he used for his hair.

"Give me your number," he said when he pulled back from her. He had his cell out again.

She gave him her number but he didn't share his.

Leona returned and Yani kissed her daughter while fighting back the sorrow that was filling up her heart. Being with Killmonger felt normal. Natural. She watched him check the seatbelt securing Sydette, and when they drove away, she felt a dull pain grow in her chest and a few tears squeezed from her eyelids.

He was gone.

Yani allowed herself to fall back on the sand. She stared up at the pastel colors in the sky and tried to remember every inch of Killmonger. From his dark locs and thick neck to the curves on his strong thighs and the firm girth of that heaviness between his legs.

She couldn't ignore the urgent thumping from her clit and she pulled her bikini bottom off and spread her legs, not even caring about the sand digging into her backside.

"Ahhh…" she panted when her fingers pressed into her clit. It was already swollen, the delicate hood retracted revealing the tender pink bud. She pulled open her sticky inner labia and tried to imagine Killmonger slapping his dick on her, hitting her clit hard. He would be rough with her. She knew this. When he pulled his dick out of his pants the first time he touched her and let slip that he wanted to fuck her, the coarse edge in his voice let her know he was a man who broke pussy down. He was older, more experienced, and when he picked her up and slammed her on his dick to dry hump her, the strength she felt in his arms and legs made her feel weak. Delicate. He clearly had grown man dick. And that is what she wanted. Not sorry peen from the bum ass boys she ended up with.

Her thoughts drifted and she ruminated on when he kissed her pussy, could probably rub out a good orgasm re-imagining that night, but instead, her mind went to him yelling at her in his bedroom. For some reason, re-playing the hard and rough anger that came out of his throat got her so wet so fast. In the heat of the real moment she had been terrified, but lying on the warm sand with the new day's sun waiting for the first morning breath to carry it high above her, Yani fantasized about Erik yelling at her, barking orders at her, his lips curled in that mean scowl that was profoundly sexy to her in the safety of her imagination.

She pressed harder on the slick nub of her clit, her mind's eye replaying Erik's rough words, re-living the narrow lowering of his eyelids, his lips letting his gold teeth shine. And God, his hands lifting her up and pulling her onto his strong sculpted body… Yani's fingers flicked her clit with harder pressure re-imagining the rage on his face like he wanted to snatch her up and choke her within an inch of her life--

"I'll give you this wet pussy, Killmonger!" she squealed thinking of his juicy big lips and his turbulent-looking eyes. There was a storm lingering deep within those dark brown iris' of his.

Yani's three fingers sank down into her center and she pretended it was that man's thick brown dick hitting her walls and her stomach muscles clenched tight. She turned her head to the side feeling the sand scratch her cheek. She took the fingers of her other hand and pinched her clit as she wiggled her digits in her pussy. She wished she had her ruby anal plug, wanting that space filled so her sphincter could squeeze tight when she came.

She heard herself wailing with ecstasy as her pussy throbbed around her fingers. She would never have the chance to fuck him. She would never know how much time and tenderness it would take to fit him inside of her. There would be no more love marks. No more deep bites from golden canines. No more hands squeezing and pinching her nipples to make them weep.

Her release was total and complete.

Her limbs and torso felt abandoned by something it never had before. Probably never would. She might spend the rest of her life comparing imaginary fucking with a stranger to whomever she ended up with in life.

Her index and middle finger stirred around the inside of her vagina, the sloppy wetness there was profound. It dripped down her inner thighs and ass cheeks. The tears from her pleasure gathered down on her neck, but they soon turned to tears of sorrow.

"Him no come back," she said out loud, needing to hear it out in the open so she could accept it. For a brief moment, she thought she couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel her heart beating within her chest. She placed a warm hand against her neck. There was a pulse there. She was alive. Life would continue as it always had.

Flinging her bikini top on top of her clothes she picked herself up and waded out into the sea. She swam so far out that when she glanced back to look for her clothes, she could barely see the shadow of them on the sand.

Sinking down…

Her eyes searched below the surface for fish or sea turtles or anything that could distract her. When she allowed herself to float on her back, she remembered yelling at him when she first saw him. He floated in her waters and she wanted him gone, banished from her sanctuary. But now…all she wanted was for him to be floating on his back next to her, naked, his dimples flashing only for her and her baby.

She stayed in the water for as long as she could. When the sun began to shift, she dog-paddled toward shore, then body surfed all the way back.

She heard the cell alarm chime from her clothes and she knew it was time to finish up the work she had left at the compound. Once they were all gone, she and her Aunt would close down shop and wait for Klaue to return or not. She would have to collect a few more hours at the restaurant or at the Eco Tours to make ends meet again. Chez needed to come through with the money he owed her because she had to pay for tuition in another month.

Dressing quickly, Yani headed over to Klaue's. Pausing, she once more heard the stirring sound of Tahir's voice. The morning call to prayer.

She walked to where she could listen and watch him without disturbing his time. Tahir was in white again, his skull cap covering the wavy curls on top of his head. When he prostrated himself, Yani tried to hum the beginning parts of the prayer under breath. She had looked it up online on Kendall's laptop, finding a web page that gave a phonetic translation that she could follow.

"You need more of a nasal sound on that last part, Yani."

Startled, Yani glanced up and saw Tahir looking down at her.

"What?" she sputtered, confused as to how he knew she was there.

"Your voice…"

Confusion.

Oh, shit.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was singing out loud, I was humming it and then—" "It's alright, you sound wonderful."

She walked up to where he was and he stepped down from the veranda.

"Listen… Bismillaahir Rahmaanir Raheem. Alhamdu lillaahi Rabbil 'aalameen…"

Yani listened closely to his words and watched his lips and tongue move. He touched his throat.

"A little vibrato in there helps," he said, "bring it up through the diaphragm."

"Bismillaahir Rahmaanir Raheem. Alhamdu lillaahi Rabbil 'aalameen…" she sang. She could hear the difference right off.

"That was perfect, my Goddess."

Yani felt herself smile.

"Oh, there it is, at last. I was worried you had forgotten how to do that since Killmonger left," he said.

Her eyes darted away from his gaze and her smile faltered.

"I miss him too. He is my one true friend in this world and I barely know that much about him except that I miss his presence and his leadership. The prayers brought us closer together. He said that it gave him peace. Looks like it gives you peace too, yes?"

She nodded.

"I want to learn how to say them…the words," she said.

"For yourself?"

"Yes."

Tahir held out his hand.

"Come with me."

She hesitated.

"Up to the veranda. I will teach you."

She took his hand.

###

Tahir sat with Yani in the dining room of the front house. Leona was down in the apartment watching tv. It was their final hour with Klaue and his crew. Yani knew she was ready for a break from all the men. It was a hectic month of work for Leona and Yani knew her Aunt was ready to slow down and spend some time in her own home back in Red Hook.

She sipped the can of coke she drank with Tahir. He guzzled down two cans and Yani sized up his face.

"What does Killmonger do when you are not working for Klaue?" she asked.

"He travels."

Tahir kept his answers enigmatic when it came to Killmonger. Gave no specifics to where he traveled to. All of her questions asked for the last twenty minutes were answered without real answers.

"Does he have a woman?"

Tahir put down his drink.

"You should forget him, Yani."

His answer surprised her.

"I'm just curious—"

"No…you're not curious…"

Tahir's eyes were a solemn brown and they swept over her face.

"You are so young. Your life is in front of you. Killmonger is not a man to…he's not…"

Tahir's eyes broke away from hers and he took another drink from his soda can.

"Say it, man," she said feeling anxious watching him. She squirmed in her chair. She hated how cryptic he was being with her.

"He's a dangerous man. Much too dangerous for you to be mixed up with. Be happy that he is gone."

"It would be easier just to tell me he has a girlfriend," she said.

"He has many women. Whenever he wants. He had several while he was here. Where he is now, he will have some there if he wants. That's how life is in this work we do. There is not one woman. No girlfriend. We use women when we want to have sex or a good time. That is all."

Yani felt her face get hot from his words. So blunt.

"Will he come back here?"

Tahir shrugged. He glanced at his watch and stood up.

"Goddess, it was a pleasure knowing you. I must get some sleep now—"

Yani jumped up.

"Can you give me his number? An email?" she said.

"I won't do that. I can't."

"Please?"

"No. I'm sorry. It's safer if you leave him alone."

He crushed his cans of coke. His eyes were gentle regarding her face.

"I can pass one message to him, but that's it. One message."

"I want to give it to him myself."

"Sorry, Yani. We have rules."

Tahir was not going to budge. And she didn't want to pass on an intimate message through this man.

"Goodnight, Mr. Tahir," she said.

She walked down to her Aunt's apartment under the front house. Leona sat with her reading glasses on watching Wheel of Fortune.

"Why the sour face?" Leona asked.

"Just tired, Auntie. Can I have the car keys?"

"Inside the bowl," Leona said.

Yani walked over to the ceramic candy dish by the tv and grabbed the keys.

"You worked very well, Yani. I'll have your money for you tomorrow. You have enough for tuition now?"

Yani grinned.

"I'm going to pay for both of my first two semesters next week. All I have to do is get through the first year and my grades by this time next year should help me get a scholarship. Any word from Klaue?"

"He hasn't said anything to me yet. I'll let you know what he decides."

Yani nodded and walked out of the apartment. She went back to the front house to make sure things were locked up.

"Yani."

She froze when she saw Klaue standing out on the patio.

"Yes, Mr. Klaue."

"Let Kendall and the guys know that I won't need them here until the end of the month. Things can go a little wild while I'm gone."

"I will tell them."

"You and Our Lady did well."

"Thank you."

Klaue always made Yani feel insecure. He could be irascible toward anyone, his moods often shifted from moment to moment, and right now, he looked a little tipsy from the beer he drank with his dinner. He stepped past her and she couldn't resist asking him a question.

"Will you be coming back soon, Mr. Klaue?"

He turned back toward her, his bloodshot eyes looking curious. His lips pressed tighter together.

Shit. He probably thought she was prying.

"I'm starting nursing school in the fall. I just want to know if there will be work available any time soon before I attend my classes."

She gave him a tepid smile, not sure if she had offended him by asking about his schedule. She had never done that before.

"You're going to be a nurse?"

"Yes, Sir. I want to help women who are having babies."

"Ah, well, you have experience with your own daughter. Good for you. Education is important. You want to better yourself."

He wiped a hand across his jawline.

"I will let your Aunt know for sure, but I may need extra help later in the summer. Can't say for sure."

"This job really helped me save up money for school. I probably won't be able to work here as much when you come back."

"I see. Well, you will be missed. Perhaps you can do some things on the weekend instead of during the week."

She smiled at that.

"Goodnight," he said leaving her.

Late summer.

Maybe…maybe Killmonger would be with him.

###

Yani parked her Aunt's car and checked her cell. There was a missed call from Zachary. Her nerves kicked up. There was no text or voice message. She quickly checked Zachary's IG and snapchat feeds. His other social media timelines were pretty quiet, just postings of joke memes and few music vids. She slipped the thin phone into her back pocket again.

Running up the stairs she was surprised to see Chez sitting on the top step. Scowling, he stood up when he saw her.

"You brought me the money?" she said, a hopeful tinge to her voice.

Chez snatched her up by the front of her shirt and raised his hand up until the cotton material was pressing against her throat and her belly was naked to the world.

"You stupid Bitch!"

Her hands flailed out scratching his wrists, but he held onto her tight. He dragged her back down the steps, her feet tangling up trying to keep him from breaking her ankles. Once he had her down by the parking lot, he slammed her body onto the hood of her Aunt's car. The pain in her back flared up and she kept still while his eyes glared at her, his face close to hers, the smell of hard liquor on his breath offending her senses.

"Chez! Stop it! You're hurting me!"

"Why the fuck am I getting a call that you have some other nigga claiming my child? You crazy? You married now?"

Fucking Kim.

"It was a joke!"

"No, it wasn't! You were seen kissing all over him. He had his hands all over you in front of the baby! Fucking slut!"

He lifted her up and slammed her back down, knocking the breath out of her.

"Who the fuck is he?"

Yani tried to ease up from the hood, but Chez was too strong.

"My Aunt works for him," she gasped, "He was playing, I swear! He was just joking with my boss!"

"Is Sydette mine?"

Yani was scared, but she felt anger seeping into her veins. It strengthened her resolve. She slapped at his face, scratching him.

"How dare you ask me that! You fucking bastard! I never cheated on you. I was always with you and you know Sydette is yours! Fucker!"

Her arms did windmills, striking him in his face and chest.

"Yani!"

Twyla came running out from the apartment. She bounded down the steps and lunged at Chez, putting him into a headlock and lifting his neck up. Yani took advantage when he released his hands from her and proceeded to punch him in the face with her fists.

"Alright! Stop!" Chez yelled.

They all heard Sydette crying from the open apartment door. A few neighbors stuck heads out of windows to watch the wild scene unfolding before them. Chez broke away from Twyla and darted up the steps.

"Chez!" Yani shrieked, running behind him.

Chez ran into her bedroom and grabbed Sydette from her crib, pressing her screaming little body against his chest.

"Let her go, Chez!" Yani shouted.

Her entire body was shaking watching him hold her baby. Chez peered down into Sydette's face.

"Is she mine? Don't lie to me, Yani! Kim said that man had dimples like her and he was holding her like she was his—"

Chez dropped down to one knee, almost losing his balance and dropping Sydette.

Yani fell to her knees in front of him grabbing for her daughter. Chez shoved her flailing arms back.

"Let me have her, please! Let her go!"

Chez's eyes looked haunted. There was fear there. Yani wiped tears from her face and held her hands out to him.

"She's yours! Everyone knows she's yours. You can do a blood test if you want, I don't fucking care…let her go…!"

Twyla flew into the room ready to beat the shit out of Chez again, but Yani held her back. Twyla grabbed a baseball bat from behind the bedroom door and held it in position.

"People are talking shit, Yani. Saying you played me!"

Chez'z eyes swam with tears. Sydette kept screaming. Yani crawled closer to him and took Sydette from his rigid arms. She sat back on her backside and pulled up her shirt, releasing a breast from her bra. Sydette latched onto her nipple and it had an immediate calming effect on her. Yani breathed deep, her eyes watching Chez.

Her back muscles shot jolts of pain and she grimaced. Chez watched her feed his baby. His tear-streaked face broken.

"You tryna find a father for her?" he asked.

"You should just pay your child support on time, Chez and not worry about who Yani sees. You cheated on her and ruined your relationship. She nuh have to tell you nothin' 'bout her personal business. That baby is yours and you are a shitty faddah—"

"Twyla…"

Her cousin glared at her face. She closed her mouth when she realized Yani wasn't in the mood to have Chez lectured about his failings.

"Chez, I got into nursing school. I need Sydette's money now. I will be going to school full-time and I need you to help me."

She could feel herself tearing up again and she was upset about crying all the time. She was forever crying over some man. It was tiresome.

Chez crawled to sit next to her. He took a finger and stroked Sydette's cheek.

"I'll have your money soon. I promise."

A sharp biting pain pinched her lower back and she groaned a bit. Chez reached behind her and rubbed her back gently. She tensed up when he touched her.

"Easy," he said.

"Why would you do that to me?"

She was pouring waterfalls from her eyes and her free hand reached up to cover her eyes.

"I messed up…I messed up…" he whispered.

He pulled her in close to comfort her and Sydette clutched onto her other breast trying to hold Yani in place.

"You ever put your hands on my cousin again, I will bust your head open to the gray meat Chez. Don't test me! Sydette will visit your bum ass in the grave next time," Twyla hissed.

Yani gave her a look to try and calm her.

"Him make me so vex. I want to hit him right now, right in front of his daughter!"

Yani lifted Sydette up and pulled down her own shirt.

"Hey, Sweet Pea. Mommy is okay now."

She rubbed the baby's back trying to soothe the anxious bouncing in her daughter's legs.

"Time for you to go, Chez," Yani said.

She stood up and held Sydette securely against her and moved away from Chez. He picked himself up from the floor. Wiping his eyes, he glanced at Twyla still clutching the baseball bat in her hand.

"I'll call you in a couple of days with the money."

He leaned over and kissed Sydette on the cheek. When he tried to kiss Yani on her cheek, she pulled away from him

After he left the apartment, Yani flopped down on her bed and really let the waterworks go. Twyla put away the bat and took the baby from her arms.

"How bad is the pain?"

"Just get me some ibuprofen—"

"We should call the cops on his ass. File a police report—"

"And how would I get my money then?" Yani whimpered.

"Just take him to the courts, let them garnish his pay—"

"He don't work regular jobs like that—"

"Can you call Killmonger to whoop his ass again?"

The sound of Erik's name made Yani cry harder. Sydette wailed along with her.

###

Luanda.

The capital of Angola.

Erik could hear Portuguese and Kikongo spoken around him as he sat with Klaue eating a simple meal of muamba de galinha. It was a tasty aromatic chicken stew and the woman who brought them their plates was happy to see Erik eat like he was at home, not scared to lick his fingers and ask for more. The garlic and chili made the meat and sweet potatoes hit hard with the palm oil it was cooked in, and he ate until his belly was bursting at the seams. Homestyle foods with beer always made him happy, and he thanked the woman in Portuguese and English.

"Estava uma delícia," he said. The waiter smiled at him, and when she tried to converse with him further, Klaue gave her a look that made her leave the table quickly.

"Chill, man. She can talk to me," Erik said.

"We're not here as tourists. Do that on your own time," Klaue answered with a brusque voice.

"I done told you about your tone with me. I'm not one of your little minions, bruh."

Erik gave back what he was given with this man. Klaue seemed to respect that. He didn't allow the other men to come at him like that, and Erik knew it was because Klaue really and truly needed him more and more.

Erik swiped the last bit of bread on his plate through a smear of stew gravy and gobbled it up. Licking his fingers again, he wiped his hands on a napkin and reached for a small cigar in his shirt breast pocket.

"You got a light?" he asked Klaue.

Klaue reached into his vest pocket and tossed Erik a green lighter.

"I'll be out front."

Pushing away from the table, Erik glanced at the waiter.

"Make sure you tip her well," he said.

It was already hitting ninety degrees outside and it was already eight o'clock at night. He lit his cigar and savored the spicy tobacco taste on his tongue. A few people watched him as they walked past him. On a purely physical level, he fit right in among the locals, until they noticed his keloids. He did his best to take on the nuance of the Portuguese spoken there, but there were several linguistic differences in the Brazilian Portuguese he knew and the Angolan version surrounding him. He tried his best to catch onto local slang to help blend in, but once he spoke, people knew he was from some other place. Most thought he was Brazilian.

Things were incredibly expensive there. For a country with large oil reserves and heavy foreign investment, Erik could taste poverty in many places. There was no real development in infrastructure for the poorer citizens, and he felt his jaw get tight knowing that once again, so many people struggled for basic chances at life. Being on the continent made him incredibly angry. All the wealth in the world coming from this land, and yet…pockets of struggle life. And to be that close to Wakanda only infuriated him more. It would be so easy to slit Klaue's throat, bleed him out like a stuck pig, and drag his body before the Wakandan court. Take what was rightfully his and change the trajectory of the shitty world he saw around him.

His temples throbbed and he took another drag on his cigar. Pulling out his cell he checked Kendall's social media. His round-about way of checking in on that girl that had his nose wide open like some horny teenager.

Kendall's performance at Rush had gone viral weeks after performing there, and right along with his new-found clout, Yani's appearance there had generated some major heat. Both vids on Kendall's social media platform had over a million views which were impressive considering they came from a small island. The comments under Yani's vid had Erik cracking up until he started noticing men and a few women posting links to Yani's personal page. She had an open IG feed, and two other social media platforms that she used. They all had the same handle, Black Gyal Mermaid. Erik used a burner handle and an old Goku avatar to lurk on her pages.

Yani posted things like pictures of Sydette and her other family members, and Erik soon discovered lots of pictures of her at the beach in various swimsuits that did not hide the imagination. He scrolled through several and had to switch back to Kendall's page to keep himself from getting aroused. Kendall mentioned several times about being excited about performing for J'ouvert festivities and Erik made and note to find out what that was all about later. From what he could tell, things were okay for Yani back on the island. He saved a few pictures of Yani and Sydette on Kendall's page, his favorite being a solo shot of Sydette sitting on some sand wearing the outfit Erik bought her. It made him smile to know Yani had her wear it in a lot of photos.

He pulled up the picture that he had taken the last night he saw the two of them.

Sydette's little face giving Yani a toothless grin and Yani's round cheeks lifted in a beautiful reflection of her daughter. The other photo he took always centered him because Yani's face when it was just her eyes looking at him, those eyes held so much longing. He had to stop looking at it because it made him want to drop everything and jump on the next plane out of Luanda. He had a job to do and he couldn't afford the distraction of a woman and child that weren't really his.

"I gave her a big tip," Klaue said, joining Erik outside for a smoke. The robust odor of Klaue's cigar overwhelmed the pleasing aroma of his own. Typical.

"You set for Benin?" Klaue asked.

"Yeah."

"You sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"Just scouting man. Checking on some speculations."

"Just be back and ready to meet these Boko Haram clowns."

"Thought we were dealing with the Nigerian government first."

"Yeah, well the rebels are on the move and we have a short window to make the exchange and get out before the Big Dogs move in on them. Quick turnover and then we're off to Abuja. I'm serious, bru, do not miss your flight back."

Erik's cigar was burned down to the band. He took another drag. Selling arms to Boko Haram that could kill civilian Naija populations, while also providing arms to the government to attack Boko Haram, that might also end up killing civilian Naija populations. Erik shook his head at the fuckery he participated in.

"How soon can you start experimenting with the vibranium we already have?"

"I have some design mockups made…I just need some space, some privacy to work…"

"Our Lady's Manor…"

"What-?"

"The island compound. You transport the vibranium back to St. Thomas. Stay there. Take the time to perfect the weapons we need in complete privacy. Experiment there and also watch over some other goods I want transported back there."

"How much time you talking?" Erik took a long drag of his cigar and blew it out toward Klaue's face. With bated breath, he watched the man's expression. St. Thomas was the perfect spot. Isolated. Private. Tranquil.

Yani and Sweet Pea…

"We finish the Kabul job and you can have the summer."

He kept the smile fighting to break out on his face under control. A whole summer in paradise. Working at his own pace and his only real responsibility was protecting a small cache of vibranium and whatever else this man wanted hidden. Plenty of time to play too…

"Bet."

He stubbed the last of his cigar against the restaurant wall and tossed it in a public trash can.

###

Erik chartered a private light plane to take him into Benin.

He brought specific clothes and his fake glasses that made him look like a visiting academic. He kept his hair tied back the entire three days he spent there. He was happy to be away from the Luanda compound, the work there finally complete, the arms delivered on time and with few complications. Erik forced Klaue to cut half a dozen men loose from the crew that he felt were a hindrance. He suggested Hunstman, but Klaue was adamant on keeping the man and Erik eased up his pressure to bag the troublesome mercenary.

Erik sat in a café enjoying a honey-sweetened espresso and scrolling through a small computer tablet. Feeling secure where he was seated, Erik sent a poke to his play Aunt in London. He nibbled on some muffins and ordered another espresso from his server when his Aunt hit him up.

"JaJa!"

"Auntie Serah!"

Erik secured his earbuds so he could hear her privately.

"Let me look at you!" she said.

Erik held his tablet from different angles so she could see all of him. He missed the sound of her Cameroonian French accent.

"Nephew, you look so good! I spoke to Bakari last week and he said you haven't been back to D.C. for a long time. What's going on? Where are you?"

"Doing some business. Been busy this year."

"Clearly. Have you seen your grandfather? How is he?"

"Doing well. Aunt Rolita is staying with him now, so he's in good hands…"

"And Disǎ? Have you spoken to her?"

"No—"

"Tu es un imbécile!"

"She cut me off Auntie, what am I supposed to do? I'm not begging her to take me back again. She won't. Ever. So don't ask me about her…please. That's old news."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Auntie…c'mon. You sound like Auntie Shavonne and Soliel—"

"Fine, fine…I won't ask about her again…even though she was the perfect one for you—"

"Auntie—"

"Ça ne fait rein…you are too much like your father, stubborn…too arrogant to try and patch things up."

"But you used to like that about him when you were dating him back in the day."

"Ooh! Watch your tongue! You are grown, but I am still your elder."

"Okay, I hear you."

"She was a good woman."

"I can find another good woman."

"Oh, so you are open to—"

"Stop. How is Uncle?"

"Addae is well. You just missed him."

Serah's face studied him hard. Her aristocratic-looking face looked a bit disappointed. Her sharp cheekbones and slightly graying sculptured twists made her the Queen she was whenever he saw her.

"Where are you?" she asked again.

"About to step into The Royal Benin Museum."

"You actually flew there? What are you looking for now, JaJa?"

He grinned.

"There are some Benin sculptures and pre-colonial art I want to look at, but I need you to help me with some confirmation dates. For research purposes. The last collection you told me about never made it here. It's on hold."

"That sometimes happens with private collections. I told you that."

He swiped some tabs and sent her the data he needed clarification on. He watched her receive his file of pictures. He sipped on his fresh espresso while she looked over his attachments.

"These are pre-Dynastic artifacts, JaJa. East African—"

"Wakandan?"

"Possibly. There has been speculation that the reign of Queen Shuriyah of Wakanda allowed some pieces to get into the hands of the British and French through the black market."

"What dates should I be looking for to get me in the ballpark, Auntie?"

Serah lifted her index finger to her chin, her eyes downcast studying the photos.

"The ones you have here…"

She enlarged three pictures and threw them back on his screen.

"…Edo. Looks to be fifteenth century, sixteenth at the latest."

"Could they be mistaken for other tribes?"

"Sure. Ashanti. But for any chance of pieces being mislabeled Wakandan, you have to find some Fula artifacts. Anything between the seventh and eighth century. There are records of some contact between Wakanda and ancient Central Africa and parts of Western Africa."

Erik's eyes caught sight of his waiter and he waved him over to pay.

"I need to get over to the museum now."

"Call me when you have more free time."

"I will—"

"Don't say you will and don't. You do that to all of us a lot, JaJa."

"I promise—"

"JaJa…"

His Aunt's eyes gave him another once-over.

"Be careful," she said.

"I always am, Auntie."

"I worry about you. When will you come see me?"

"How about Christmas?"

Her eyes sparkled.

"I don't want a layover visit young man. You come and stay through New Year's."

"We'll talk about that later."

"I love you," she said. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

"Hey, c'mon now—"

Her hands fluttered around her face and she wiped her tears away with her index fingers.

"You cry every time you see me," he said.

"I can't help it. The older you get, the more I see them in you. I wish—"

"I know what you wish. I'll see you in December. No fly-by. A real visit."

"I'm holding you to that. I will let Addae know. When I see you, I can show you things that will help you track what you are looking for. Deal?"

"Deal. I love you too, Auntie. I don't say it enough, but I do."

Serah nodded and a few more tears pricked her eyes.

He swiped the screen and her face was gone. Sitting still he thought about what his life could've been. His father had dated Serah in grad school before he met Erik's mother. From what she told him, once his father met his mother it was a wrap. What he found interesting about that little history was that Serah became pals with his mother. He always wanted to know more about that turn of events, but it was often difficult to discuss his parents without Serah weeping about the past. If his father had stayed with her, she could've been his mother. He could be living a normal life in London with her. Maybe his father would've chosen a different path with her.

Or maybe, he would never have been born.

Erik paid his check and walked to the museum, keeping a close watch of his surroundings. His clothes were neat and he carried a gray crossbody bag with a fake passport as well as a tiny camera hidden within the lenses of his glasses. He stood in front of another café and pretended to glance over a menu posted in the window. He took a few test photos with the glasses. They worked fine when he checked his computer tab.

The museum was not a happening place in the middle of the week, and Erik explored freely without worry about being watched by too many eyes. There was a docent available, but he wandered aimlessly, admiring sculptures and paintings. He found the section he was interested in scoping out and his camera glasses uploaded pictures to a private network.

Surveying a few ironwood masks and some intricate copper weaponry from the past, Erik knew right away there was nothing there with vibranium. He didn't feel the itchy sensation on his inner lip where his vibram tattoo would alert him of the prized metal. Disappointing. However, he spent the rest of his visit mapping the layout of the entire museum and uploading it through his glasses.

Ninety-minutes passed and he approached the docent desk to ask a question.

A sharp-looking man wearing an elegant steel-gray suit greeted Erik. Although there was air-conditioning in the space, it wasn't strong enough to cool Erik down. Neither the docent.

"Quick question. I'm curious to know when you will be having other pre-dynasty collections in here."

The older man, his silver hair making his dark skin more dynamic, handed Erik a pamphlet.

"There is a collection returning here next Spring," the man said.

Erik surveyed the pamphlet.

"I was told before I left New York that there was a traveling global exhibit making the rounds."

"Ah, yes, in conjunction with the Museum of Great Britain. Unfortunately, young man, unless you plan on coming next fall, you will miss out."

"Do you know what that exhibit will have?"

"It is still being put together, but there is a website you can look up from the pamphlet that will give you some idea of what may be curated."

"Thank you for your help," Erik said.

He stopped by the small museum gift shop and bought his Aunt Serah a pink sweatshirt. He checked his watch. He debated staying the extra day he planned on, but it was better to get back to Klaue and have more time to flesh out his proposal of allowing Erik to stay in St. Thomas alone. He texted the charter pilot he hired to fly him in and changed his departure schedule.

Catching a cab to his hotel room, Erik bought a to-go meal for his dinner. The four-star hotel he stayed in was cooler and his skin drank in the coolness when he stripped off his clothes. He checked the room for surveillance bugs and found none. A notification clicked on his tablet and he peeped it.

Kendall had a new live-vid update on his timeline.

Erik stretched back on his bed and opened the vid.

Kendall wore flashy sunglasses as he frolicked in beach water.

"Yo, what's going down with my K-Town fans?"

Erik smirked at the posturing Kendall was doing in the vid.

"I'm here in Megan's Bay chillin'. Wanted to let you all know to download and stream the new single that just dropped today…"

A stream of water was splashed onto Kendall's head disrupting his live stream.

"Aye! Chill, Cuz!"

Erik felt his heart palpitate when he saw Yani running into view kicking up water. She wore a baseball shirt and cut-offs with sunglasses hiding her eyes too.

"Buy his single!" Yani yelled.

Kendall kicked water at her and she ran away. Erik felt a bit disgruntled when Kendall didn't move his cell to capture more footage of Yani.

"Do what she says, Fam. Get the new single, support ya boy and oh yeah, check out the cover for the new D.J. Junior compilation. My cousin Yani is on that cover so show her some love too! I've seen the comments, so I know it's fiyah! I'm out!"

The live stream ended. Bummed that there was no more footage of Yani, Erik swiped over to Yani's feed. Nothing new was posted. He googled the D.J. and pulled up a link that sent him to the album cover.

"Shit," Erik groaned when he saw it. He enlarged it.

Yani.

It was the type of shot that he could expect to see on a hip-hop compilation cover, or a thirst trap click-bait photo to garner page and streaming clicks.

The front cover was Yani simply sitting on the beach in a blue velvet bikini. She was facing away from the camera, looking off in the distance, her skin forever sun-kissed, but the bikini bottom…it was nearly a thong except for the tiny triangle that rested right over the crack of her…

Erik sat up so he could breathe a little better. He had seen this girl naked, but she looked more naked with a scrap of velvet clinging to her ass. And there was a big handprint made of sand on her right ass cheek. Her whole backside just sat there all juicy and fat, and…and whose fucking handprint was that? She leaned slightly forward and he could see sand clinging to the underside of her cheeks. All he could think of was her sitting on his lap like that.

His dick chubbed up right away. He flicked his fingers on the album cover and made it bigger.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Before he knew it, he had a full-blown erection on his hands and he wasn't ready for it. Not really. Not when she was thousands of miles away frolicking on a beach, hauling around a fatty that needed to be on his sack with a quickness.

He squeezed the photo back to thumbnail size so he could look at the back of the cover. A listing of artists was on the left side of the cover with Yani in another bathing suit, but this time a gun-metal colored one piece. She stood in some thigh-high water, her left hand resting on her left thigh, her eyes cast down, the fucking curves, the slight swell of her belly, pebbled nipples poking through…

He started reading the comments under the photos. They were full of water splashes, peaches, eggplants, eyeballs, and tongue emojis. Over five thousand comments and the album just dropped earlier on island time.

At first, the comments were amusing, the usual sexually-charged bravado that happened with pictures like that. But then there was a hashtag he saw trending with many of the later comments. The Big Nut Challenge. He clicked on some of the links and was struck by the boldness of some men and a lot of women who were sharing x-rated clips of themselves masturbating to Yani's pictures.

"Look at these wild mofos right here," he said out loud. He skipped many of the men and peeped the women who were openly sharing explicit vids of them playing with their pussy in front of Yani's picture.

Another notification chirped, this one from Yani's timeline and Erik wasted no finger time swiping open her avatar. It was another live stream.

"Lookie, I appreciate the love from so many fans of D.J. Junior, but man, I am shocked by this Big Nut Challenge."

Her eyes were glancing down at the live comments flooding her page. She took off her sunglasses and let her eyes look directly into her cell camera.

"Doing too much people!" She giggled and the angelic sound of her voice pulled him into her so quickly again.

"The comments are coming so fast…I'm trying to read them you guys…lemme see…Did you have fun taking the photos? Yes! I actually did. Those of you who follow me already know I post pictures of myself at the beach or showing off new swimsuits. I wasn't doing it for a while since I had my baby, but a girl is getting her snap back a little bit…"

She laughed and he closed his eyes, imagining holding her again, feeling the vibrations of her voice tickle his ears.

"Will you be out for J'ouvert? Of course! I wasn't able to go last year because I had my baby then, but I'm not missing this year. My cousin Kendall is performing so be sure to come out and support!"

She looked confident, sounded confident.

He sent her a message with his avatar. He knew she was a Goku fan, so there was no way she would ignore his avatar.

Sure enough, she read his question.

"What does your husband think of the album cover? Um, I'm not married…"

Her eyes scanned more questions as they peppered her timeline and she answered as many as she could.

I heard you were married.

"You heard wrong."

Do you have a boyfriend?

"I am very single."

The jovial expression on her face shifted to a cautious one. She read off more questions. Some were asking if she was on the album. Did she plan on doing more covers. Who cut her hair. Did she exercise...

Would you go out with me?

She ignored that one. He eased up realizing it came off creepy.

More comments and questions flew at her. Some really out of pocket ones popped up and he felt his teeth grit together. She started ignoring the comments and talked about her life.

"I got into nursing school, so I will be busy this fall, so you all need to enjoy my posts because I will be studying hard and not posting as much."

Congrats on nursing school.

"Thank you," she says reading his post.

Who will take care of Jerome while you are at school?

Her face froze for a second. Staring at the question, she swiped her cell and he knew she was dragging his question and avatar back down to read it again.

"Bye now!"

Her live stream went dark.

His computer made a chirping sound. His burner notification showed he had one new follower. His only follower. Yani's thumbnail picture stared at him. Ten seconds later she was in his DMs.

Killmonger? This you?

He jumped out of his feed.

He shouldn't have communicated with her like that. He was safe lurking on her timeline and Kendall's, but he blew it.

He couldn't help it. Hearing her talk, seeing her face..., he'd been gone a month and he couldn't wean himself from her like he thought he could once he had left.

He brought up the two pictures of her from the album cover again. Shit like that was titillating, and his dick was still thick between his legs. He reached down and gripped his shaft, stroking it harder than he meant to. He enlarged her photos, that ass of hers dragging him by the balls. His eyes flicked back and forth between the photos. He was beyond excited by them…but he was also feeling the tendrils of anger building up too. Irrational anger in a way, but the type of anger he had when he felt that something that belonged to him was taken away.

It was that damn Big Nut Challenge. That stupid social sharing that had his woman at the center of it. That was his woman niggas were jerking off to. Bitches were out there flicking their beans to his shit. The same fat ass he was beating his meat to also. His pre-cum coated his fingers while his eyes became half-lidded and burned with the image of her thick cheeks teasing the world. And that goddamned handprint on her ass. Who the fuck did that to his woman? He was the only one allowed to put a hand there. He imagined her in reverse cowgirl dropping that good weight on his heavy dick. He knew them cheeks would clap hella loud for him.

"Daddy is gon' be all in that shit, girl. You wait and see," he growled at the screen, still feeling a low-level rage in his belly knowing he wasn't the only man with their dick in his hand yanking hard on the stick. Only one big nut counted and it was his.

"Pound Daddy's dick, baby…fuck…!"

Hot ropes of cum shot out onto his screen, drenching Yani's photos.

"Yani…shit," he gasped, still feeling more ejaculate drip down from his slit onto the bed.

He fell back on his back panting hard and started laughing at himself.

"Girl, when I get back to that fucking island…I swear to God you in trouble."

He left the bed and padded over to the tiny bathroom and grabbed a hand towel. He cleaned himself up in the sink and grabbed another hand towel to clean up his tablet.

He was wiping the last of his cum off of the bed when a sudden knock on the door froze him in place.

He didn't order any room service.

And no one knew he was there except for Klaue.

With extreme stealth, Erik reached for his belt sitting on the hotel dresser. He slipped on his fake glasses. He wound the non-buckle part of his belt around his hand once and inched his way to the door. Staring at the door with the glasses from the side, he could see the heat signatures radiating behind the wood. Two people. Tall and wide. Men.

Uninvited.

[Part 8]

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