#and does her doctoral dissertation on it apparently

[mermaidsirennikita]

So there's this scene where Ilya is getting snarky with another player (not Shane) who calls him the f-slur, and he shrugs and is inwardly like "half-true; maybe 30% true" with like... very little inner turmoil. And I think it's interesting (and probably smart) that Rachel Reid made Ilya, who is Russian and has an emotionally abusive father, the one who only really stays closeted for practical reasons--he doesn't seem to have much inner conflict about being bi, and he's very aware that he can't be publicly, ESPECIALLY in Russia. But he's not like, nearly as conflicted about it as Shane is about being gay. At some point in the book he's just like "I'm bisexual", and when it's safe to do so will readily tell people... whereas Shane, who is Canadian (seen as a liberal country, though we know it's much more complicated than that) with loving parents who accept him, has a TON of internalized homophobia and struggle with his sexuality.

But ALSO... I must say that in many m/m books, especially those written by women, I've noticed a trend in which the bisexual hero (or heroes) is very... I don't know. Borderline misogynistic? Like, women are *fine*, but they don't *get him* the way the other guy does. He'll fuck them, but they're basically cum receptacles, referred to largely in relation to their body parts, and it like--definitely goes beyond the hero reading as bisexual and homoromantic. It's the author doing this (often internalized) misogyny dance where the guy's bisexuality basically exists as a plot device, or as a way of showing the reader (often presumed to be a woman, because let's be real, a lot of m/m romance readers are indeed women, speaking as a woman liveblogging her re-read of an m/m book lol) that the bi hero's connection with this guy is SOOOOO much more special than his connection with women, and really, he could get any woman he wants anyway, his love interest Is Different. Often, the bisexuality exists as a form of discovery--he never knew he was gay until he met This Guy. It's honestly, often less bisexuality than it is If It's You It's Okay.

Ilya, in contrast:

A) is the one who knows he isn't straight at the beginning of the book and has prior experience with guys, and continues to fuck guys after meeting Shane, as well as women (I think at one point he makes an offhand comment about fucking like... countless female hockey fans, and he probably isn't joking)

B) is so comfortable with being bi that even after he enters into a totally committed relationship with a man, will correct people who assume he's gay (Shane's dad) and clarify that his attraction to women is 100% real and valid... while also correcting people like Hayden, who think he's straight and somehow manipulating Shane or whatever.

C) has serious connections with women in many ways throughout both books--he's profoundly affected by the loss of his mother and identifies with her as he comes to terms with his own mental illness; he has a girlfriend that he actually thinks about marrying for convenience and because they get along and have good sex anyway, and he comes out to her in The Long Game well after they've broken up, happy to have a new friend; his therapist is a woman, and that's clearly keying into some mommy issues but also, his clear ability to open up with women more easily than men, to an extent; and speaking of mommy issues, his desire to connect with Yuna, Shane's mom, and basically get adopted by her, lol. Ilya clearly doesn't just love fucking women (when he wasn't committed to Shane) he also loves women as... people?

D) doesn't try to hide his attraction to women after he and Shane commit--he'd never cheat, Shane is IT for him, but like I said, he is very clear and vocal about being bi... and also makes it clear (in a "haha but seriously" way) that if Shane was AT ALL down for a threesome with Rose, he would be happy 2 do that shit.

Anyway, my point is, I really like the way Ilya's bisexuality is handled in this book. I think there are facets of Shane's sexuality that could have perhaps been explored further (and I'm not sure if Rachel Reid is white, so I don't want to assume that she could not? Have dipped into the potential conflict Shane could've felt as a mixed race closeted guy expected to be hypermasculine?) but overall, I think it is well done, especially compared to... some m/m books I've read. But Ilya's is surprisingly well done, considering his status as a bisexual hero in a m/m book.

I think it’s time to do a full reread of Heated Rivalry… for self care.

Truly, one of the best “fuck first feelings later” books I’ve read.

[yamayuandadu]

As it turns out, I was incorrect when I published my Zanmu article last year: the legend attributing immortality to her semi-historical namesake is actually discussed in some detail in at least one source in English, Sayoko Sakakibara's doctoral dissertation Domesticating Prince Shōtoku: Tokugawa Sacred Geography and the Construction of a National Landscape (pages 94-95). This doesn't seem to be the apparently most popular version, judging by the absence of references to Kaison, and as a matter of fact Zanmu's supernatural longevity is called into question here since it's an anti-Budhist polemic, but the point stands. It's worth noting proclaiming the need to maintain a specific diet, as Zanmu does here, is a common feature of immortality legends.

[kyanitesaphire]

Lightning In A Bottle chapter 3

Spencer could feel all eyes on him as he settled in at his desk the next day. His team wasn’t even subtle about it. He did his best to ignore them and not give in to their wordless curiosity. If they wanted to know something, they would have to ask for it themselves. Nearly twenty minutes of solid focused work had passed before Derek finally gave in to his burning curiosity and spoke up.

“Ok kid, spill it. How did it go last night with you and your mistress of the hunt.” Spencer furrowed his brows at Derek’s choice of nickname.

“It went well…Mistress of the hunt? Really?”

“Yeah. Her and her hounds. Were they as big as they sounded?”

“Bigger believe it or not.” Spencer boasted as he pulled out the photo printouts and held them up. Derek got up from his desk to inspect the images.

“Woah! Damn, you ain’t kidding. The one on your lap looks as big as a horse.” Derek exclaimed. “So which ones which?”

“That one’s Zeus and that’s Raijin.” Spencer distinguished while pointing them out in the photo. He drew Derek’s attention to the second photo. “And that is Éclair.”

“Alright, I see how it is. You like a foxy lady with a little spunk.” Derek teased gesturing to the blue streaks and trimming in her hair. Spencer tried and failed horribly to conceal his amusement with his comrades speculation. The other hyper vigilant members of the team who had been listening in all sprung from their desks upon hearing that there was a picture of this mysterious new woman in Spencer’s life, eager to get a glimpse for themselves. They all gushed over the pictures although Penelope’s focus was more on the dogs. “So tell me, when you say ‘it went well' how well are we talking?”

“Oh! Yes! Do tell, I want all of the details! Was it like a 90’s rom-com? Was there intense passion and romance?” Penelope inquired hastily.

“I’m not sure what kind of dog walks you go on that would include ‘intense passion and romance’ Garcia, but I can tell you this was not one of them.” Spencer said in a calm but concerned tone. “As to how well it went exactly, well, I’m supposed to go to her place for a movie night so long as we don’t get a case today.”

“Oh yeah? And how does this Lurch fella feel about that? And who is he by the way?” Derek asked.

“He's her guardian apparently. His job is to basically keep her in line and take care of her until she’s deemed fit to be on her own.” Spencer explained pulling out Éclair’s file from his bag and setting it on his desk. “And as to how he feels about my spending time with her, I believe his words were ‘you could bend her over the kitchen table and pound her ass like mochi for all I care.’” He added with slight disgust. Derek winced and chuckled at the unsolicited mental picture of Spencer doing exactly that. JJ and Penelope also seemed uncomfortable with the raunchy comment, mostly due to the jarring juxtaposition of such a statement being reiterated by the naïve and gentle doctor.

“Charming.” Derek retorted sarcastically as he made his way back to his own desk. To avoid Spencer going on one of his more than informative tangents, JJ quickly googled what mochi was on her phone and instantly regretted it as the already unsettling mental image she had became violently more so .

Between tasks, Spencer took it upon himself to do a bit of research into this Dr.Jericho person. Although this doctor did indeed have his own small clinic, his reputation still remained shrouded in obscurity. All he could ascertain from the limited publicly accessible resources , was the location of said clinic, and where Dr.Jericho’s expertise lie. There were no pages dedicated to any of his dissertations, the site for his clinic was bare bones at best, and he couldn’t find a single picture of the doc in question. This seemed suspicious to Spencer considering even hospitals plastered their walls and media with images of their medical and administrative staff in an attempt to put a human face to the corporate machine that is American healthcare. If Spencer wanted any concrete information on Jericho, he’d need a Garcia level search. At this point that seemed like a gross misuse of government resources.

Thinking back on the scans of Éclair’s brain reminded him of a case from about two years prior. Anton Harris had abducted a pair of students, one of which was his sister, and preformed lobotomies on them, rendering them incapable of speech and had implanted tiny cameras into their eyes. The memory of Dana Harris being lobotomized via live stream for the world to see still haunted him from time to time. There were certain uncomfortable similarities between the Harris case and Éclair’s. The vicious yet skillfully executed lobotomy, the targeting of an individual who wouldn’t be missed, the apparent escape/possible release. Unfortunately Éclair’s case lacked an obvious motive. What was to be gained from doing this to her, or anyone for that matter? There was one more alarming oversight from the Harris case that Spencer wasn’t going to make again; previous attempts, failed or otherwise. He compiled a series of notes and comparisons on how to proceed with an investigation should another victim be found and the case be appointed to them. Until then, this was as far as he dared to delve, not wanting to get Garcia in trouble. He slipped his notes into the folder with Éclair’s information and tucked it safely away into his drawer.

The day had passed uneventfully, with no cases coming up requiring their immediate attention. As Spencer packed up his things to leave, he whipped out his cell and called Éclair just as promised. The line trilled repeatedly and he waited patiently for someone to pick up.

“Hey doc. Éclair told me you’d call.” Lurch’s gruff voice came through. “Am I telling her you’re on your way?”

“Umm, yeah….” Spencer confirmed “why do you have her phone again?”

“I just hadn’t given it back yet after her appointment. Which, speaking of, must have been a rough one for her this time.” Lurch informed. “She’s still pretty out of it. Maybe you should do us all a favour and bring her some comfort food or something on your way over.”

“Ok, what exactly should I bring?” Spencer asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Lurch grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re her caretaker, you should know!” Spencer scolded.

“Look, all I know is when women get moody, they eat junk food and cry about their problems to their best friends.” Lurch explained. Spencer rolled his eyes at the rather sexist generalization. “So since she’s not talking yet, I figured we could ply her with whatever girls eat when they’re sad.”

“Oh yes, let’s just default to the more toxic coping methods, because nothing could possibly go wrong there.” Spencer groaned sarcastically. He pressed the elevator button firmly and stood back, waiting for the doors to open. “I’ll figure something out, but I need to head home and change first. I don’t feel like having my good clothes covered in fur again.” He let out an exasperated sigh and vigorously rubbed at his eye with his fingertips.

“Ha, I thought it was an improvement.” Lurch joked, to which Spencer replied with a mock laugh. ”Alright Dr.Loverboy, we’ll see you in a bit.” With that the call was disconnected.

“Dr.Loverboy?” Spencer muttered under his breath with a confused grimace as he boarded the elevator and pocketed his phone.

Spencer rang the doorbell while precariously balancing a hot chocolate on a box of Éclair's favoured namesake pastry. Unlike his previous visit, there was no barrage of barking from inside. He also didn’t hear the heavy footfalls of Lurch approaching the door. Instead the door swung open and an elegant raven haired woman with piercing violet eyes greeted him.

“Hey! You’re Éclair's friend, right? Spencer was it?” She asked as she stepped aside to allow him in.

“Yeah, hi!” He spat out, startled “Sorry, I was expecting Lurch to answer the door.” He stepped in and immediately kicked his shoes off.

“Herald is in the living room, I’m Yen by the way, Herald’s girlfriend.” Yen explained as she scooped up Spencer’s shoes and placed them on the rack for him. Lurch came around the corner and eyed the footwear his girlfriend was putting away.

“Good grief, please tell me you’re going shoe shopping tomorrow. Those things are an embarrassment.” Lurch mocked.

“Oh please babe, you’re one to talk. At least his shoes are clean, which is more than I can say you and your nasty Kodiaks .” Yen scolded.

“ You’re kidding right? They look like burgundy suede bowling shoes. Hardly appropriate for a man of his profession.” Lurch rebutted, cocky as usual.

“And those monstrosities are appropriate for a man of yours?” Yen said. “Honestly he’s better dressed than you, that’s for sure.” Lurch rolled his eyes and shook his head at the comment.

“Éclair’s upstairs in her room with the boys. The doors open.” Lurch gestured up the stairs before turning away and ushering Yen with him back into the living room.

“It was nice seeing you.” Yen called out over her shoulder before disappearing into the living room. Spencer nodded quietly in affirmation before ascending to the second floor.

He peered into Éclair’s room and tapped lightly on her open door, gaining the immediate attention of Zeus and Raijin. Both behemoths clamored off the enormous bed and rushed toward him, herding him toward Éclair who was still reclined on the bed. She laid there prone, exposed and she had an air of defeat about her. Garbed in only a black band tank top and black boyshort panties, her hair loose and splayed out over her pillow as she stared blankly up at the ceiling. He did his best not to stare too long at her strong bare legs as he was pushed closer and closer until his knees bumped the mattress. The jostling of the bed stirred her from her trance and she sat up, pulling out her ear buds.

“Hey, h-how are you?” Spencer stammered, clearing his throat. “I uh, I brought you a hot chocolate and some eclairs.” He held them out to her for her to accept. She gave the hot chocolate a vacant glance and slowly dragged her eyes up to meet Spencer’s. Once their eyes locked, a faint smile slowly spread across her lips and she reached up to take the cup from him.

“You remembered what I like? That’s so sweet.” She uttered softly, a hint of joy weaving through her voice. She brought the cup to her lips and imbibed a hefty swig of the warm beverage, letting out a relieved sigh afterwards.

“Um… I have to ask…but… why aren’t you wearing pants?” He asked nervously still trying to keep his gaze respectively off her exposed lower half. “Did…did Lurch not tell you I was coming?” Éclair cocked her head in confusion, then looked down at her half naked state.

“I’m sure I had pants… I know I did. Lurch told me you were coming over, Yen helped me draw a bath, and I set clothes aside for after…” She walked herself through the events before Spencer’s arrival, her eyes scanned the room as she did. Then she saw it. She did indeed set pajama pants aside to wear, but in her dissociative state she forgot to put them on, only getting half dressed. “…oops! There they are.” She got up from the bed, brushing up against Spencer as she passed. Although the notion of privacy had become a moot point, Spencer kept his back to her while she donned her bottoms. Zeus nudged Spencer’s arm with his nose, Éclair’s ribbon and bells hanging from his mouth, offering them up to him. He set the pastries down on the bed as he received the accessory from the canine comrade. He turned to offer it back to Éclair and found her all ready munching away on the sweet snacks, her fingers covered in the chocolatey confection. She patted the top of her head with her free hand when she caught a glimpse of the adornment in Spencer’s grasp.

“Would you like me to put this in for you?” Spencer offered and Éclair nodded her approval as she sucked the sugary residue off her fingers. He sat on the edge of her bed with his legs set apart for her to seat herself between them. Once she was situated, he went to work combing the top portion of her hair together with his fingers gently raking his nails along her scalp before wrapping the silky ribbon around the partitioned cluster of strands. “So, what movie did you want to watch tonight?”

“I have a few picked out. I don’t know what one to start with though.” She explained. She wrapped her arms around Spencer’s legs, hugging them closer to her as she relaxed under his touch. After he tied the bow, he gave the bells a light shake letting her know he was done and could stand up. When she rose to her feet she turned to face Spencer, placing her hands where his neck and shoulders met. As he gazed up into her eyes he could see a significant improvement in her mood but she still wasn’t her usual self.

“Well, why don’t we start with one that seems the most lighthearted. Something feel-good.” He suggested. She thought for a moment before making her decision and stepping away from Spencer to set up her selection. The Princess Bride.

“Ok, scoot over closer to the middle of the bed.” Éclair ordered as she grabbed the remote and climbed back into the bed next to Spencer. She leaned over him to turn of the bedside lamp, eliminating the glare on the television screen and hit the play button. Once the movie began both Zeus and Raijin jumped up into the bed on either side and laid out next to them facing the tv.

“And this is why I changed out of my nice clothes before coming here.” Spencer commented as he rested his arm on Zeus’s back like a sofa.

“ You’re telling me that sweater is part of your not nice clothing?” Éclair asked as she inspected the garment.

“More like it’s one I’m not particularly attached to. I haven’t worn it in nearly 9 years and I rarely wore it then. Plus most of the fur wont be noticeable against the white anyway.” He explained. Éclair reached over and ran her fingers over the ornate embroidered dragon.

“That’s a shame. I like it, and it looks good on you.” She confessed as she hunkered down to watch the film. The two of them discussed and commented on the various scenes rather than observe in silence.

“I can’t get over the eerie similarity between the Spaniard and my old mentor at the BAU.” Spencer said uncomfortably.

“ Like a doppelganger? They say everyone has one out there somewhere. I’m sure you have one too.” Éclair postulated.

“Oh yes, and then we come to find out my cinematic doppelganger appears in a film as an unfortunate and foulmouthed tradesman who gets swept up in a burglary and whirlwind killing spree by his psychotic and promiscuous girlfriend.” Spencer joked.

“Sounds like a good movie. I’d watch it. Especially with a lead actor that sexy.” She added, elbowing him playfully. Spencer tried to laugh off the compliment feeling his cheeks tingle with embarrassment. When the movie ended, Éclair rolled half onto Spencer to look up at him. “How bout we watch one more?”

“As you wish.” He responded trying to remain serious as he quoted the movie they just watched, but as they maintained eye contact both of them devolved into a fit of giggles. Éclair shuffled down to swap out the movies putting in Who Framed Roger Rabbit and crawling back into bed.

Neither one of them stayed awake till the end of the movie.

When Spencer awoke, there was a hefty weight bearing down on his chest and both his arms were immobilized by a chilling numbness. He looked down at his body to see that during the night Zeus had situated his front half over Spencer’s leg and Éclair had rolled over on top of his chest. This pinned one arm down and elevated the other greatly inhibiting blood flow to both extremities, painfully numbing them. His shifting roused his bedmates from their slumber. Both of the dogs jumped out of bed, leaving the room and Éclair sat up just enough to look at Spencer who winced as his incapacitate arm fell hard onto the bed.

“Morning, you alright?” Éclair asked, noticing his pained expression.

“Yeah, I can’t move though.” He groaned quietly as he tried to improve the circulation in his limbs. She watched him writhe helplessly, unable to gain control of his arms and a mischievous smirk crept across her lips.

“So are you telling me your essentially helpless and at my mercy?” she teased.

“ Uh oh…should I be worried?” he asked, his voice cracking nervously.

“I don’t know. That depends on how much you like me I guess.” She replied coyly, climbing over to straddle his waist.

“What if I said I like you a fair bit?” Spencer mused as he picked up on her implication. Éclair leaned forward, holding onto his biceps and massaging them with her fingertips.

“Well then, I think you’ll be quite excited.” With that she closed the gap between them, locking their lips in a sensuous kiss. At first, the taste and feel of her lips on his caused everything inside of him to freeze up as though an electrical current were coursing through him. Then the proverbial flood gates opened. His heart pounded in his chest and his lips lunged into action, reciprocating the kiss. Éclair ran her hand up and down Spencer’s arms sending a tide of pins and needles to ebb and flow through this fingers as he began to regain feeling in them. He willed his arms to move, bending his stiff elbows to reach up and haphazardly cup her jaw in his tingling hands while hers found purchase in his messy locks. It was in this moment that he realized exactly how intimately touch starved he really was. Like the first rain on the Mesa plains after a grueling drought, he drank in the heated passion and relished in the petrichor of this moment.

Unfortunately the moment was cut short by an unapologetic intrusion.

“You know, you’d think I never feed you with how voraciously you’re eating his face.” Lurch said as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Mnnn, just taking advantage of the moment.” Éclair purred more to Spencer than to Lurch.

“Yeah, well if you and the moment want to come down for breakfast, it’s time for you to take your meds.” Lurch retorted, pushing himself off the doorframe and down the hall. Spencer and Éclair both rolled their eyes as they looked back to each other.

“If I had full control of my fingers, I’d show him how many moments he could wait.” Spencer quipped

“Oh, dose it happen to be this many?” Éclair asked as she held his hand up and folded down his thumb, index, ring and pinky fingers.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He agreed with a laugh.

“ I was thinking the same thing.” She kissed him again before dismounting him and pulling him up to his feet. She quickly noticed the swell in his pants and pursed her lips before speaking again. “Now as much as I’d like the ego boost, I’m aware that that is not all me. Bathroom is just down the hall.” She pointed in the opposite direction Lurch went. Spencer cleared his throat and looked down at himself sheepishly, trying to decide if he should make the comment that was on his mind.

“I’d say it’s a bit more than 50/50 in your favour.” He clarified playfully before heading toward the lavatory.

By the time he had finished with the facilities, Éclair had gotten dressed for the day and fixed her hair. As she emerged from her room, her steps rang with the pleasant jingling he had quickly grown fond of.

“Ah! Perfect timing! Let’s get some breakfast before we get any more lip from snoopy downstairs.” She chirped, holding her hand out for Spencer to take. When they set foot into the kitchen/dining room, Yen greeted them with a warm smile as she set out a large bowl of scrambled eggs on the table.

“Morning you two. Did you have a nice evening last night?” Yen sang with a wink. “I saw you guys cuddled up together. You were so cute I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.” Spencer’s cheeks flushed at the remark but Éclair was unbothered by it.

“We watched Princess Bride and started watching Roger Rabbit when we passed out.” Éclair answered as she poured herself a drink.

“In flight peanuts, coming through.” Lurch called out, tossing a small pre sealed packet of pills to Éclair.

“Pharmaceutic-o's, an important part of this mentally balanced breakfast.” Éclair mimicked being on a cereal commercial, eliciting a laugh from Spencer and Yen. She downed the meds and grabbed a plate for her and Spencer to serve themselves up some food, discarding the now empty packaging from her pills onto the table. As she shoveled up a heaping scoop of eggs and dumped them on her plate, Lurch came up behind her and dispensed a generous helping of bacon next to them.

“Eat up. I’m not going easy on you today. I don’t want to hear the excuse ‘but I’m too hungry!’” He said whining the last part.

“yeah, yeah. I’m going for a run later though.” Éclair said waving him off as she split a piece of bacon, eating one half and feeding the other to Raijin.

“If you want, I can take you to the rink tonight. That is if you and Spencer here don’t already have plans.” Yen suggested with a sly wink.

“What do you say, Spencer? Wanna tag along?” Éclair exclaimed excitedly.

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’m not really one for athletics. I’ve never gone skating before either.” Spencer chuckled nervously as he shuffled the small mound of eggs around on his plate. “Besides, I should probably get home soon and catch up on some tidying. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance with how busy I get with work.”

“ Well there’s a first time for everything!” Éclair said nudging Spencer with her shoulder .

“Maybe you can join us another time.”

“Where do you live? We can drop you off on our way.” Lurch asked Spencer as he sat down to his own breakfast.

“Hoover street.” Spencer answered. “What are you two up to anyway?”

“Hand to hand combat training. I hope to teach her restraint when defending herself.” Lurch explained. Once Éclair finished her meal, she got up from the table and jogged up the stairs, her bells jingling behind her. Once she was out of ear shot he continued. “Its about the only thing I can teach her restraint in. Some girls will say ‘Let’s take things slow.’ I don’t think that’s something she has any concept of, so have fun on the Autobahn.” Spencer leaned away from Lurch and toward Yen, feigning discretion before speaking to her.

“If he’s always this much of a jerk, what do you see in him?”

“It’s all a façade, I assure you. He’s really just a big old papa bear"

[magicshopaholic]

Aspirin (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: You have a cold. Across the world, your loving boyfriend and spoiler king, Namjoon, is a dangerous combination of concerned and amused.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Established relationship; fluff

Rating: PG/15+

Word Count: 3.7 K

Warnings: mild sickness, long distance yearning, Namjoon is the dreamiest boyfriend on earth

A/N: This is set a few months prior to Industry Baby, and describes one of the "firsts" of Namjoon and Kaya's relationship. I wrote most of it on my phone in Bangkok airport and on Chaweng beach, so any typos are due to the vast amount of sand in my eyes.

Thank you so much to the wonderful @horanghoe and @meirkive who beta-ed this for me with tons of in-depth feedback and appropriate gushing <3

This is also part of my submission towards the Bangtan Bingo Spring Event by @bangtanwritingbingo, using my square “Sickfic”.

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment or ask :)

Listen to: "gotta have you" by the weepies

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

It's too high.

Kaya sighs, feeling her sinuses struggling to process even such a simple action. She debates vaguely which is worse: the cold that came out of nowhere, or the dissertation she's midway through reviewing that simply has to be done by Monday, come what may. Right now, she's leaning towards the former.

Correction: it's the bottle of Aspirin that's one shelf too high. 

She has absolutely no idea how it ended up there. If she can't reach the shelf to retrieve it, she definitely couldn't have placed it there in the first place. Her first thought is her friend Alex, who came over a few weeks ago and would have presumably helped herself to a couple of pills, as she usually does every time she's worked late. Her second thought is Namjoon, for whom the shelf is probably at eye level - but it’s been months since he’s been to her apartment so it’s highly unlikely that he would’ve inadvertently put her in this position.

Almost as though he knew she was thinking about him, her phone pings from where she’s left it on the dining table. Wincing at the sound, she shuffles out of the bathroom and across the kitchen of her studio apartment to check it.

Joon [15:10]

Hey, beautiful.

Kaya’s heart leaps weakly. She sinks into the chair, lowers the brightness of the screen and types out a reply.

Kaya [15:10]

Believe me, there’s nothing beautiful about me right now.

Joon [15:11]

Lies. How are you feeling?

She squints and begins replying, but her headache persists. Giving up, she calls him, setting the phone on speaker and walking over to the kitchen. He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey." 

She can hear the smile in his voice, and despite the horridness of her cold, it makes her feel slightly better.

"Sorry, I couldn't look at the screen any longer," she says thickly, placing it on the counter and retrieving a mug from a cabinet. "My head's pounding."

"Shit." In the background, she can hear the faint honking of a car. "It's that bad?"

"Remember how you pretended to pass out after I made you try that shrimp fried rice?”

“I remember crab and tuna being in there, too,” replies Namjoon calmly. “But that’s still pretty bad. Don’t you think you should go to a doctor?”

Kaya shakes her head immediately, wincing at the stinging pain in the middle of her forehead before she remembers that he can’t see her. “No, it’s not that bad. Yet,” she adds doubtfully. “And I don’t have the time for it, so I’m just making some green tea. Apparently it helps. Oh, and Aspirin.” When another honk emanates through the speaker, she frowns. “Are you driving?”

“No… I take my test next weekend,” he says sheepishly.

She chuckles. “I’m so proud,” she says, only partly joking. “Call me in case you need a pep talk?”

“I’m an expert at pep talks, I’ll have you know.”

“At giving them, maybe. These pep talks are different,” she informs him, tearing open a packet and shaking out the tea bag. “It’s a different kind of encouragement you need when you’re handling a machine that can actually kill a person.”

“Not helping,” he says. “I’m on my way to dinner. I’m super late and everyone’s already ordered…” He sighs heavily. “I really hope they haven’t got clams.”

“That’s rough, babe.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but she can hear the chuckle in his voice. “Do you have any Aspirin in the house?”

“Yeah,” she answers, mimicking his sigh, “I just have to figure out how to get to it. Either my super tall friend or my super tall boyfriend left it there the last time they came over,” she says deliberately, sniffling into the sleeve of her hoodie.

Namjoon chuckles again. “I swear, baby, your super tall boyfriend didn’t touch that Aspirin. Oh, and before you try it,” he says quickly, a mild panic in his voice, “please don’t try to climb on the bathroom counter? Especially when you’re sick.”

Kaya rolls her eyes, instantly feeling her head spin again. “Of course not." A notification pops up on her screen and she suddenly remembers something. "Okay, wait, I think Mark’s out today. Maybe I'll ask him to pick some on his way back," she mutters, typing out a message to him.

"And Mark is…"

"My neighbour. Blond hair, army jacket? Looks like Matt Damon from The Departed?" she prompts. "You met him, when we were on our way out to dinner."

"Right." There's a pause during which she can hear the faint sound of a car zoom by. "I was confusing him with Maxim. That's the guy who dropped you back from campus that night, right?"

"Yeah, the new TA," she answers absently, scrolling through her phone. "Okay, Mark isn't responding."

"Is there anyone else you can call?" The underlying concern creeps in, and she feels herself smile in spite of herself.

"I can take care of myself," she reasons calmly. "He'll respond eventually. Even if it's late. I just really need that Aspirin to work," she groans.

Namjoon doesn't follow the change of topic, though. "Are you sure it’s a good idea to let some guy into your apartment in the middle of the night?" he asks, and this time the concern is unmistakable. "Especially when you’re weak and sick?"

"I'm not weak and sick," she says, rolling her eyes and dipping the tea bag into the cup of hot water. "I mean, I'm feeling weak and I am sick…" He's silent and she can almost visualize him raising an eyebrow knowingly. "And it's just Mark. He helped me fix my router, too, remember?"

"Uh-huh."

"Joon?"

"Yeah?"

Kaya takes the phone off speaker and brings it to her ear, turning around to lean back against the kitchen counter. "Trust me, I won't be inviting anyone into this toxic petri dish of germs for a few days now."

She can hear his smile through the phone. "That's what I like to hear." There's a beep through the phone followed by a rustle before his voice comes back. "Kaya, can I call you later, baby? I'm getting a call from Sera."

"Wow. PR agent trumps girlfriend, I see."

"That is not true," he says immediately, sounding rather like he's rolling his eyes. "There’s just that interview tomorrow and it’s an English one so there will be a lot of briefing for the other members."

Kaya snickers, the first time she's felt like doing so all day. "I'm kidding, babe. Sick people can make jokes too, you know?"

"You're hilarious."

"Go on, then, music producer," she says, sighing and picking up her mug of tea and heading back to the dining table. "I should call Mark too."

"Alright, love you. Feel better, baby."

His last words sound like there's a hug to follow and for a moment, Kaya is immensely disappointed that she can't get one, not while she's in Amsterdam and he's in Seoul. She simply sighs, hating being sick all over again. "I’ll do my best," she mumbles, trying not to whine as he chuckles and hangs up 

Kaya is sick and Namjoon is in a hurry, and neither of them notice.

She tries to stick to her word, though. She never does manage to retrieve the Aspirin but she drinks a second cup of green tea and moves to her tiny balcony with her laptop, hoping the fresh air might help her some. The glare of the screen is still too much, though, especially since her work for the day involves reading through assignments handed in by her thesis advisor’s post grad students. It’s dull work, especially since this particular class seems to be filled with absolute idiots - or that’s the way it feels today. 

The wifi signal struggles to reach the balcony, too, and around late afternoon, once it starts raining, she gives up. Shuffling back into her apartment with her laptop in one hand and coffee mug clutched to her chest with the other, she gives it another go before she has to get on a call with her advisor and his junior TA, Maxim, which also comes to a close quite soon.

“Kaya, I can barely understand you.” Professor Lloyd clutches the bridge of his nose. Kaya, whose video is mercifully turned off, opens her mouth to speak but is swiftly cut off. “You sound like you’re talking through a wall, dear,” he adds kindly, and to that, she has no response.

“But -”

“Sleep it off, and you can get a download from Maxim tomorrow.” Without giving her a chance to reply, he logs her out of the meeting.

Stumped, Kaya slams the lid of her laptop shut. Too tired to get off the couch, however, she stays there, feeling as though every limb could fall off any moment. She doesn’t wake up until hours later, and even that’s only because Mark calls her, informing her that his girlfriend might come over later that evening and if she does, could Kaya please hand over his spare key?

“Sure,” she answers groggily, coughing into the sleeve of her hoodie. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, I feel like I could die, honestly.”

“What?” There’s a note of panic in his voice. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

“Nothing, it’s… it’s just a cold,” she mutters, feeling her face clog worse than ever. “Could you… pick me up some Aspirin or something on your way back?” she asks, realising only as she says it that her headache has indeed disappeared after her nap, but everything else hurts twofold. “You know what? Forget it.”

“Are you sure? I could get it."

She bites her lip. “That would be great, actually. No pressure. I’ll give Emma the key.”

“Okay, then. And thanks,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Kaya makes a non-committal noise before hanging up, feeling hideous. She attempts a shower where she wonders briefly if the fifteen minute window of hot water is enough for her to drown herself. That’s followed by a rather sad dinner of ramen - courtesy Namjoon, who’d insisted on having a box of ready–to-cook ramen in her apartment for emergencies - and whose only purpose is sustenance until she wakes up the next morning. 

The TV is a no-go, the volume either too low or too high. She even opens her laptop again but after reading the first email in her inbox (Hi Kaya, I just wanted to check if you’ve had a chance to go through my paper yet. I’ve quoted Ayn Rand in a couple of places and I was just wondering if Professor Lloyd would find that a bit too self-serving, given my main argument? If you could let me know what his reaction would be so I can change it, that would be fantastic. Regards, Matthew), she resists the urge to reply with a single “No”, and simply switches off her laptop.

It's a little after midnight when she finally resigns herself to bed, in the irritating position of being simultaneously exhausted yet wide awake. Wrapped in a blanket and a college hoodie, she props her phone up against the pillow next to hers, trying not to think about how it ought to be occupied by a certain someone now more than ever, and switches on an episode of Modern Family, hugging a box of tissues.

One and a half episodes in, the video gets cut off by an incoming call. Her annoyance lasts half a second before she realises who it is. Answering it with her knuckle, she snuggles further into her blanket, her heart flipping when she hears his voice.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

Kaya buries her face further into the pillow. "Like crap," she groans, voice muffled. "What are you doing up? Isn't it, like, the crack of dawn over there?"

"Um… no, it's almost seven-thirty."

"Perfect." She sniffles, emerging and wiping her nose with the crumpled tissue in her hand. "My brain is broken. I'm officially ill."

Namjoon snickers, and almost involuntarily, her heart skips a beat. "Baby, your brain is fine. Did you check if you have a fever? You look like you're sweating a bit."

"No, that's the VapoRub on my - wait how can you -" Kaya finally looks at her phone screen and gasps. "Oh, my God, you video called me?" She immediately hitches the blanket upto her nose. "What the hell, Namjoon?"

"What did I - you answered it!" he exclaims, eyes widening. 

Finally able to look at the screen without flinching, she takes note of her boyfriend; white long-sleeved t-shirt on, hair a soft brown and falling messily into his eyes. She leans slightly forward and squints.

"Are you at the studio? This early?" 

“Home studio,” he corrects her. “I have to make a few edits to this track and the rest of the day is going to be all about that interview.” He stifles a yawn into his hand. “Just waiting for my computer to turn on.”

Kaya groans again. “You can’t see me like this - I’m all gross and sick. Can’t we switch to regular call?”

“What? No! Kaya, you look fine. You’re -”

“Do not say I’m beautiful,” she interrupts him forcefully, hating and loving how comforting he looks with his bed head and broad chest. “I’m hideous,” she laments, burying her face into the blanket again.

Namjoon snorts. “This is a new side of you,” he comments, chuckling when she peeks out again in horror.

“It is. I’m ill,” she states dramatically, pushing her glasses up her nose. “And it’s too early in our relationship for you to see me like this, so I’m switching to -”

“No, Kaya - no.” He shakes his head, looking completely serious now. “Come on, I haven’t seen your face in three days, okay? I miss you.”

It’s the only thing that can give her pause. Sighing heavily, she tugs the blanket down to her chest. “I hate you. And I miss you, too.” When he grins, she can’t help but smile, too, even though she tries to suppress it. “I hate being sick,” she grumbles. “I look and feel like a troll.”

“You still have Disney princess eyes.”

“Like Cinderella before the fairy godmother?”

“You think she was in a ball gown and make-up for the rest of their lives?” He grimaces. “The prince would’ve been into her even in sweats and glasses.”

Kaya chuckles. “And you’re the prince in this scenario?”

“He wanted someone who could fit into the glass slipper, I wanted someone who could discuss Norwegian Wood with me without bringing up the movie.”

“High expectations, Mr Kim.”

“You fulfilled them all, Miss Madaan.” He smiles, making her heart do a backflip. “And more.”

Kaya bites her lip, suddenly wanting him here more than ever, despite her complaints. “I really hate being sick,” she murmurs, sniffling.

Resting his chin on his palm, he tosses his hair out of his eyes. “It’s uncomfortable, I know,” he says sympathetically.

“No, it’s not that. I just become this whining, bitching, moaning mess - which is so unlike me,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “And I fall into this spiral of self-pity and I cry at the dumbest things. Honestly, I miss you, but I’m kind of glad you aren’t around to see me in this state,” she tells him, dabbing at her nose with a tissue again.

“Well, it’s been three months into this relationship and I haven’t found a reason to break up with you yet,” he says seriously.

“I’d like to keep it that way.” Cracking a small smile, she tries to settle in a bit more comfortably. “How’d you sleep? You’re up early.”

“Yeah -” Namjoon leans back in his chair and stretches, and the momentary longing to be on his lap right then is intense. “There’s some construction that’s been going on here for, like, an hour. And the studio is soundproof, so…” He shrugs before looking up. “You remember, don’t you?” 

Despite the cold, she bites her lip at the memory, a warmth coursing up her neck. “I remember,” she says softly, nodding.

“Yeah, well. There’s some drilling going on somewhere and this is the only place where I can’t hear it.” He shakes his head. “It’s like a… like a sanctuary of my life’s work in the middle of the world’s most mundane events.”

Kaya stares. “Wow. That’s poetic, babe.”

“Nah, I can do better.” He waves a hand dismissively. “What about you? What did you do all day? Did you ever get that Aspirin?”

“Not yet, but I don’t have a headache anymore either,” she replies, tucking a greasy strand of hair behind her ear. “Now it’s just hot and cold flushes, along with the inability to breathe through my nose.” As if on cue, she sniffles. “It’s awesome.”

“Did you get any sleep? You know it’s important,” he says knowingly.

She narrows her eyes. “Such a hypocrite,” she mutters, and he grins bashfully. “Yeah, I did, actually. Right after I got kicked off a Skype call. Can you imagine?”

“You did what? What were you even doing on a Skype call when you’re sick, Kaya?” he demands, his tone part exasperated and part disapproving.

“I was working!” she exclaims. “Until Professor, uh… oh, what the fuck is his name?” she mutters, trailing off and shutting her eyes.

“I want to say Floyd?”

“Right. Lloyd.” She shakes her head. “He told me to sleep it off. Said I sounded like a truck or something.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “Really? He said that?”

“Well… not exactly those words. But it’s in the same ballpark.”

“Isn’t it a good thing he’s telling you to take the day off?”

“Well, sure, but my deadline isn’t getting pushed back at all.” She turns over onto her back and runs a hand over her face. “This cold has to get better by tomorrow or I’m going to be working all through the weekend. Doesn’t help that this set of assignments is handed in by absolute morons,” she adds unfairly.

“Weren’t you one of those morons? About a year ago?”

“Excuse me,” she declares coldly. “I never handed in assigments over WhatsApp. And I had the foresight to do a damn spell check and not misspell Nietzsche, like an imbecile.” She sighs. “I told you I’m a nightmare when I’m sick,” she mumbles, turning over onto her side again to face him. "It's incredibly unattractive."

He smiles adoringly, though, his dimple popping. “It’s alright. I love you even when you're a nightmare."

There's a pause before several things happen at once. The words click in her mind the same time that Namjoon's eyes widen before he sighs.

"Did you just -"

"Not how I was planning it, but…" He shrugs, looking far less horrified than she feels. 

"You - you can't -" Kaya kicks her blanket aside weakly as she struggles to straighten up a bit, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Joon, what did you do?" she groans.

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't say that for the first time when I'm like this!"

Namjoon's face relaxes. "It wasn't on purpose, but it's true," he reasons.

"Well… take it back!"

"What? No! I'm not going to take it back," he argues, rolling his eyes. "I meant it."

Trying to ignore how her heart leaps at his words, she groans again. "Come on, Joon, not like this!"

"Why not? Just because you have a cold, I can't tell you I love -"

"Stop! Oh, God!" Kaya covers her face, whining as she hears him laugh. "I hate you so much, Kim Namjoon."

"Not the sentiment I was going for, but I love you, Kaya Madaan."

"Shut up."

"Feel free to say it back, by the way."

"Absolutely not," she declares, dropping her hands and glaring at him. "I'm going to wait until you're at your absolute worst to say it back."

He snorts, laughing even harder now, looking more handsome than ever. "Really? What's that going to look like?"

"I don't know. Seokjin told me you fall down a lot, so maybe one of those times?"

"I used to fall down a lot," he corrects her. "I’m a lot more coordinated now. Wait, so does this mean I'm going to have to wait until we're physically together to hear it?"

"Probably," she says icily, adjusting her blankets with a vengeance now. "And you have no one but yourself to blame."

He considers it for a moment. "I don't regret it," he decides.

She rolls her eyes when the doorbell rings. "Oh, that must be Mark," she mutters, sitting up awkwardly and climbing off the bed.

"Now?" Namjoon frowns as she picks up the phone on her way out. He checks his watch, jaw clenching slightly. "It's really late, Kaya."

"Yeah, well, he got back late, I guess," she murmurs, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. "It's Aspirin, I'll need it." She stops before opening the door and looks back at the screen. "I'll talk to you later? Think I'll just knock myself out with a pill."

"Be careful." He sighs, leaning back in his chair. "I miss you."

Kaya bites her lip, leaning back similarly against her front door and holding the phone up. "I miss you, too. I'm coming to Seoul next month, though," she says lightly.

"For a week," he adds, before shaking his head. "Sorry. It's better than nothing."

"It is." 

"Feel better. I love you," he adds after a moment, smirking.

"Oh, God," she mutters, this time completely failing at hiding her smile as her stomach does a backflip and her mind begins wandering into dangerous territory, such as how it would feel to hear those words in person, possibly with his arms around her, maybe with his lips at her ear, deep voice saying it for no one but her.

Namjoon is still grinning, clearly amused by this unexpected reaction. "Nothing you want to say?"

"Aspirin," she says blankly, making a show of moving away from the door and placing her hand on the knob.

"Alright, then. Bye."

"Aspirin."

He tilts his head, dimple popping. "I love you."

She nods, swallowing. "Yeah... Aspirin," she tells him, softer this time, before hanging up.

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

Tagging: @kflixnet @k-radio @ggukkieland @bbl32

[jerzwriter]

I was reading your comments regarding the Ethan/Casey dynamic and its correlation to Taylor's 10M All Too Well. I know you have expressed concern over portraying a potentially toxic relationship between the two in Delaying the Inevitable. I am curious, do you feel their relationship was toxic from go? If so, why did you chose to write for the pairing? I hope this doesn't come across harsh, that isn't intended, I am truly interested to hear your opinion.

Hello, what a thought-filled question! Given my love for these characters, Taylor Swift lyrics, and pseudo-psychology, I could write a dissertation on this. But I will try to keep it brief (brief by my standards lol).

First let's be upfront: The name of the game is Choices and, as such, each of our character's relationships will be different, so there is no blanket statement that can be made. So as I go through examples for my HC of E/C, understand that they are mine and mine alone.

Second, I believe ATW exemplifies an extremely unhealthy short-lived relationship. I think the worst interpretation of the E/C relationship in canon does not come close to the toxicity described in the song.

With that said, did I get sucker-punched with "OMG, that's E/C" moments while listening? Yes. And here is why...

“And I was thinking on the drive down Any time now, he's gonna say it's love You never called it what it was”

My mind went to the time they drove Alan back to Providence, as well as the day they drove Louise to the rehab facility. (If mind serves, these were both diamond options, so again, this is not everyone's E/C.)

My MC is far more emotionally intelligent than our beloved Dr. Giraffe, so she sees and understands what is developing between them from the start. She is also aware of the impact their relationship could have on both of their careers, but she's willing to take the risk. She is not of the belief that it would destroy either of them, but she's smart enough to know that real love is a rare thing. She would have more regret throwing that away.

I also view Ethan's emotional immaturity and damage as the real barrier to their development. Truth be told, there would have been ways around everything else. Edenbrook was a large hospital. Did he have to be her attending? There were no other world-class doctors there? She could not have learned under anyone else? He had no clout? Spare me.

So I see my MC as pining, hoping, and scared throughout a good portion of Book 2 and 3. I could easily see her sitting on the ride home, longing for him to just admit it already. I can even see her genuinely believing it would happen on the Louise ride and being disappointed when it did not.

'Til we were dead and gone and buried Check the pulse and come back swearing, it's the same After three months in the grave And then you wonder where it went to As I reached for you, but all I felt was shame

After he returned from the Amazon... and this could have gone two ways. One, while he was gone, he realized he really loved her, and, perhaps, she moved on. Even if not permanently, the idea of Ethan coming home to MC involved with someone else or being single but no longer wanting him exists. (Leave the last line out for that analysis). The second is that he comes back, she still wants him, she kisses him at Donahue's, and she feels shame for doing so. Both scenarios work.

(As an FYI, in my HC, she kissed him and didn't feel too badly about it. It's almost a game, and she's showing him that she is winning; he's kidding himself.)

And there we are again when nobody had to know You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath Sacred prayer, and we'd swear To remember it all too well

This was the sucker punch. As an E/C writer, this is where I said, "ouch!" If Ethan is your chosen LI, it's pretty apparent that these two feel a lot for each other in Book 2. Again, my MC is willing to risk it, Ethan is not... but Ethan also does poorly to truly stop it. Sure, they are not carrying on a physical affair, but the looks, the touches, the occasional kisses... it's there, and it's only a secret because of one person. While I believe Casey was confident overall, she also had moments where this was crushing to her. It made her feel like no more than a dirty secret, and no matter how strong she is, that hurt like hell sometimes, and it made her doubt him.

And no one is convincing me otherwise. lol

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known

If you're familiar with my writing, you know that I do not think that Casey/Ethan had a guaranteed happy ending. Not by a long shot. In my official HC, they work out, they end up happy. Still, I'm keenly aware that in real life, this would be a very difficult (if not impossible) proposition given the challenges they faced, which were mostly his damage and lack of emotional growth.

If they did not work out, I could see it haunting him. It could also haunt Casey, but I think she'd get over it in time and move on. He'd be her "one that got away," but she'd find love again.

Ethan's stunted emotional growth would require one of two things in a potential partner to make it "work." One, someone who was such a doormat that they would accept things as they are. He would not have been able to be a good partner as things stood, and the doormat would have just taken whatever scraps he offered. For the record, that was never going to be Casey. She knew her worth and knew she deserved better. Two would be someone who would force him to step up and do the work that needed to be done to BE a good partner. That's a Casey. But if he had rejected her, if he had convinced her to leave Boston, I don't think he would have gotten another chance, and it would have haunted him.

Now, you say you were following conversations, so you may have seen this conversation (link) on @alwaysmychoices blog. I stand by this. With his emotional constipation, there is no way Ethan could have been a good boyfriend in the past. And I agree with the assertation that if his solution to coping with their situation was to go to a different continent and cut off all contact for two months, he honestly wasn't even very good friend material at that stage of his life.

So take Casey out of the equation and look at it from an ex's perspective as posited here? He would absolutely have an ex out there hearing this and saying "Oh, Ethan...", even if I don't think he was ever a horrible gaslighter.

As to why I write for them, well, I don't see them as a horribly toxic relationship. I see it as a flawed relationship with toxic traits (initially) that they are able to overcome. I have no problem writing that. In one-offs, if it is too toxic, they will move on from one another. I assure you.

But yes, in DTI have a lot of concerns, because even if Ethan can "get better", I think by this point Casey deserves better. He was absolutely toxic and left permanent damage in that story. To me, his happy ending is he improves and gets a second chance at love... with someone else. Because Casey has been too traumatized by him and she deserves to be with someone she can trust without that fear and doubt in her mind.

That's not giving the end of the story away, that's my honest opinion only. It's also why I'm losing sleep over the damn story. :)

God damn - the shit I spend my lunch hour doing.....

[liskantope]

I don’t mean this to be a full-blown thesis I’m defending or a fully-endorsed culture war take or anything, but today I got to thinking about the whole (very predictable) backlash to that very obnoxious “Is there a doctor in the White House?” article and the feminist issue of not treating men like the default gender.

Traditional sexism has historically been manifested in treating the default human as male while women show up as “human + gender characteristic” or “human + sexuality” (thus the only-recently-rejected norm of using male pronouns by default). I’ve become a lot more conscious of this issue in the past several years. Recently I was struck by Douglas Hofstadter’s apologetic discussion of why he used only male characters and pronouns in Gödel, Escher, Bach where he apparently thought that introducing female characters would inherently make them sexualized and so distract from the point he was trying to make. This is still kind of baked into our culture today to the extent that I consciously noticed only the last few years how many if not most people (including myself at the time) have a tendency to refer to an unknown particular person as “he” before knowing their gender. (To be fair, I noticed this in the context of discussing things happening in the math community, which is heavily male-skewed, but if anything that only means that more harm can come from this bad habit.) I would argue that phenomenon is one of those things that comes nowhere close to being neatly classified under “male privilege” but is insidious because anything that treats the genders very differently without justification is harmful.

Anyway, with the Dr. Jill Biden thing we have a writer who is completely dismissive of her credentials on the grounds that nobody should call themself doctor unless they practice medicine. He “supports” this by basically attempting to delegitimize the entire doctoral dissertation process at universities (in the good old days it was actually hard to get a doctorate, you see) but for some reason half the time he spends railing against non-medical people with the Dr. title is to sneer at honorary doctorates that universities give out to celebrities and wealthy donors (fun fact: the writer himself has one of those honorary doctorates! I had to look this up to believe it). He mostly names white men among the celebrities not deserving honorary PhDs but does slip in a few snide remarks about them being given to black women for political purposes -- he’s clearly very anti-PC but I have a feeling not many of the people outraged at his article know that about him or read that far into this particular piece.

Instead, all the outrage I’ve seen about this article is that its author, Epstein, has revealed himself to be a misogynist who wants to dismiss the credentials of a woman holder of an advanced degree. A lot of this outrage is coming from PhD-holders who don’t seem to mind that Epstein, you know, spent a bunch of paragraphs on his main thesis making out that advanced degrees nowadays are just a joke and shouldn’t be respected at all (mostly using men as examples). Not that titlism (looking down on non-PhD-holders) should be the alternative, of course, which ironically is what a couple of people seem to be emulating in their criticisms of him (actually referring to Epstein as just some loser who only has a BA). No, all that matters is that Jill Biden is a female doctorate-holder and so the whole article is an attack on women who use the title.

No, I don’t mean this as yet another “SJ is bad because it reinvents treating certain identities as relevant when we were trying to get past seeing them as relevant” because that whole take has pretty much been beaten to death as far as I’m concerned and I’m not sure this example can be entirely reduced to that, but it did get me thinking today about possible further instances of our subconscious tendency to categorize people as generic Xers and woman Xers.

[thefreckledone]

This is great! Congratulations! What is your doctoral going to be about? And you should definetely (is it written like that? 🤷🏻‍♀️) relax! It's been a stressful time and I assume you had online lessons which I heard are harder to follow! If you're up to it I still love the angsty Iwa!Sakura AU with Shisui/Sakura/Itachi. Sakura was such a badass! And the angst! The passion! It was perfect! And on the same note Modern waste still hurts me, it's so good!Different but I also love Asylum! Love ya!

My dissertation is going to be investigating how to measure virtue, which is fun. Also, I was definitely inspired by @kumeramen‘s fabulous ShiSaku art; go check it out!

This follows up on [this] [that] [also this] [and...this]

------

“Sakura!” Shisui calls, barely managing to duck beneath the chakra-charged tanto Sakura wields with lethal efficiency. She’s done something strange to the blade, coated it in a paralytic perhaps, that leaves his struck arm useless and numb. “Dammit Sakura!”

Sakura just bares her teeth at him, a cruel parody of the soft, genuine smiles they exchanged scant hours ago, as she strikes out once more.

Shisui suddenly sees the world with so much more clarity as his Sharingan activates regardless of his intent; primal instinct seeking to keep him alive. 

Sakura doesn’t even falter in the face of the spinning red irises, in fact, she seems even further incensed.

“Sakura, please,” Shisui pleads, his heart thrumming at the way Sakura meets his gaze fearlessly. So few people are that willing to look at him like that and for it to be Sakura…

That slightest bit of hesitation costs him as Sakura catches his shoulder with her tanto. As she drives it in, pure fury making her face an alien mask, she still holds his gaze.

And so, Shisui does the only thing that he can, drawing her into a complicated genjutsu.

To her credit, Sakura doesn’t even blink at the fact that they are drawn into her mindscape. Sakura is standing, arms captured and rooted in chains that are attached to the ground.

“I’m sorry, Sakura,” Shisui says, rushing forward. His arms have their mobility back in her mindscape and he quickly grabs one of her chained wrists, rubbing at the skin. He can feel the way Sakura flinches at the touch and it breaks something in him. “I didn’t know what else to you; we needed to speak. Konoha did not turn on the Kage Summit.”

Sakura holds his gaze, expression unreadable. “Why should I believe you? The Kage Summit went to shit because of that mass genjutsu; most of the bodyguards were slaughtered before the genjutsu was broken. The only one who emerged relatively unscathed was Konoha with mostly Uchiha bodyguards.” Sakura’s lips flatten as she thinks of her comrades, people she’s known since her Academy days, laid broken and bloody around her. Iwa took quite a blow in that ambush. “The only one capable of that sort of genjutsu on such a massive scale is a Uchiha.”

“It doesn’t mean that Konoha launched the attack! There’s no Uchiha within Konoha capable of such genjutsu,” Shisui says, wildly desperate to make her understand. “It would require Mangekyou Sharingan to pull something off to this scale. Sakura, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“I know you accessed the Uchiha Archives while you were in Konoha,” Shisui says. He sees her unreadable look crack into something like surprise. “It was pretty apparent that your diplomatic venture was really to suss out the state of Konoha’s kekkai genkais.”

“Why didn’t you report me?” Sakura asks, glaring up at him. “If you were so certain.”

Shisui laughs, relieved that Sakura’s even willing to engage him. “Well I certainly never caught you. It was something Itachi noticed, though he never caught you either. You have to know that nobody in Konoha has Mangekyou; it’s illegal among our family.”

Sakura hums, some of the anger receding from her expression. “So what do you think happened?”

“There have been defectors; hell, our dojutsu has been scavenged from dead bodies before. It was someone who wanted the Summit to fail. Konoha wanted this Summit to work. I wanted it to work.”

“Be that as it may,” Sakura says with a sigh. She shrugs and the chains are like liquid, falling free of her. Shisui’s eyes go wide; no one outside of another Uchiha has ever managed to break this genjutsu. She reshapes the manacles in her hands, pressing them around Shisui’s wrists. They lock into place and Shisui finds himself unable to move. “That is not enough. Now, if I’ve estimated correctly, we have another hour before this genjutsu naturally ends.” Her smile is a knife’s edge and Shisui feels his stomach swoop in response. “Let’s spend that time chatting. There’s a lot you haven’t told me. Now, start talking.”

[rainofaugustsith]

Fanfic

More world-building with Viri’s parents, rattling around in my head. In this snippet, Viri encounters one of her mother’s exes.  Yes, I borrowed a line from Rogue One. You’ll know it when you see it. 

3638 BBY, Makeb

“Lord Wrath, with all due respect, you’re not listening.” Dr. Naerx of the Imperial Science Bureau has worked with many Sith. Many Moffs. But this one is pissing him off. 

Viri crosses her arms and sets her jaw. “I am listening. I comprehend exactly what you are telling me. You do not understand that I do not find it to be an acceptable solution.” ”It’s the path of least resistance,” Dr. Naerx insists. ”Easiest in the short term,” Viri concedes. “In the long run, it is still not acceptable. You are proposing a so-called solution that would leave the planet with deadly levels of radiation.” ”We could still mine the Isotope-5!” Naerx snaps. ”Yes, as long as we’re willing to sacrifice a mining team every single week from the radiation poisoning,” Viri retorts. “I said no. This is my mission. Your plan is rejected.” On the holos surrounding Viri, the other scientists exhale with relief. ”If you are so sure you know what is best to do, why do you even have us working with you?!”

“My experience is in biochem,” Viri says smoothly. “Physics and geology are not my areas of expertise or training. And even if they were, I’d be a fool to try to save an entire planet on my own.” 

”But you are rejecting our plans!” ”I rejected your plan, Dr. Naerx. The proposals made by Nadrin and our colleagues have been much more helpful. They are not being rejected.” ”I’m relieved to hear that, my lord,” A Dr. Beline speaks up, and Viri turns to her. Beline involuntarily gasps. The Emperor’s Wrath has her mother’s eyes, piercing and inquisitive. ”Are you all right?” Viri, ever perceptive, notices her discomfit. ”Nothing, my lord,” Beline stammers. “You favor your mother, and it caught me by surprise.” ”Did you know my mother?” The Wrath asks, her tone of voice softer. ”Yes, I worked extensively with Dr. Dragoi,” Beline confirms. “A brilliant scientist.” ”If you’re done kissing up to the Wrath, we should get back to work,” Naerx snaps. ”Dr. Naerx, if you intend to continue working on our project, you will need to show respect to me and to your colleagues,” Viri says calmly, casually flexing her hand in view of the holo. “Don’t choke on your own hubris.”

Naerx flushes. “As you wish, my lord.” Viri turns back to the assembled group of scientists. “I think the proposal made by Doctors Beline, Hamre and Vesh has merit and potential. It would still cause tremendous damage, but from what you are saying, once the initial devastation is over it would be safe. I’d like to continue with that line of development.” ”We’ll get to work. We should have something for you tomorrow.” ”Excellent. Thank you all. You are dismissed.” Viri nods and the holos go dark. * Viri rubs her head as she returns to her cabin. The Makeb ground team has done their best to give her, Vette and Jaesa a decent place to stay, but on a dying planet, there’s little that can be provided. As she sinks down on the thin mattress she finds herself wishing for the comfortable surroundings of her own ship. But it’s under heavy guard at the Makeb orbital station, and it would not be safe to attempt to bring it to the surface. Viri’s datapad beeps, and she rolls her eyes. Work is never done when one is the Wrath. There is an anonymous email in her inbox, with the subject line: You should know this. A holo video file is attached. Viri clicks ‘play’ on the video and raises her eyebrow. There’s nothing scandalous here. The video depicts two women, sitting close at a cafe table. One, Viri immediately recognizes, is a much younger Dr. Beline. The other is only seen in profile, her long auburn hair in a tight braid, but when Dr. Beline kisses her, she turns her head and laughs. And she is very obviously Tullia Dragoi. 

Viri’s jaw drops as she watches the rest of the holo. ”What’s the occasion, ladies?” a male voice says off-camera. ”Third anniversary,” Tullia says. “Three very happy years.” Dr. Beline raises a glass to toast Tullia. “Indeed they are.” The holo fades to black and Viri sits back in her seat, dumbfounded. When the door to her cabin opens, she does not even turn around. ”Viri, I got the…are you all right?” Vette waves a hand in front of her face. “Ground control to the Wrath. Come in, Wrath.” ”I’m fine,” Viri says, shaking her head. “I just had a bit of a surprise.” ”What?” ”Look,” Viri presses ‘play’ on the message again. ”Aw, Dr. Beline! And…oh stars, is that your mother?!” ”Yes,”  Viri says quietly. ”She wasn’t…you don’t think she was cheating on your father, or…” ”No, I don’t,” Viri says. “She looks way younger there than I remember her.”

”Who sent this to you?” ”I don’t know. It’s a cloaked message. But it’s obviously someone on our team.” ”They aren’t happy you agreed with Dr. Beline,” Vette observes. “They’re hoping you will turn on her.” ”They obviously don’t know me, do they?” Viri chuckles. “I’ll need to speak to the doctor about it, but this isn’t grounds to turn on her.” * It’s 3 in the morning on Quesh when Dr. Beline’s holo begins to ring insistently. She rolls out of bed and groans. Makeb’s time zone is completely off balance; she has become accustomed to these off-hours calls. ”Beline here,” she says, yawning. “What do you need, Nadrin?” Her eyes fly open when she realizes the caller is the Emperor’s Wrath, staring at her with a curious expression. ”I apologize for calling so late,” Viri says, “But you should know there’s an attempt at subterfuge at hand. Apparently, someone would like me to be angry with you.”

”I’m not sure what you mean…” ”Someone sent this to me anonymously,” Viri shows her the holo.   ”Oh,” Dr. Beline says, her shoulders sagging. “I see. I’m not sure how anyone got that.” ”You may wish to check your security,” Viri says. “The holo said it was your third anniversary. Am I correct in assuming that you and my mother were involved for quite some time?” ”Yes, that is true,” Dr. Beline says. “It was well before she knew your father, if that matters at all.” Viri shrugs. “I thought so. She looks far younger than I remember. How did you meet?”

”We went to college together,” Dr. Beline says. “We helped each other with our dissertations. She was wonderful. She always listened. I don’t think I would have earned my degree without her encouragement.” ”And how long were you together?” ”About four years. Closer to five.” ”What happened? You looked happy, and you obviously shared some interests.” Beline shrugs. “We just drifted. We had different goals. There was no blowout; no dragged out fights. We just…felt that we’d fallen out of love, if that makes sense. We did remain friends. I came to her wedding. She came to mine. She introduced me to my wife, in fact. We corresponded until she…until she passed away. She’d always send holos of you, you know.” ”Was she kind to you?” ”Always.” ”And were you kind to her?”  ”Yes. Always.” ”All right,” Viri says quietly. “I’m not sure why anyone would think that would make me angry. I might not have known you by name, but I was certainly aware that my mother had other relationships before she met my father.” Dr. Beline shrugs again. “Perhaps they are expecting a certain lack of maturity or insight. A poor calculation, in my estimation.”

Viri smiles slightly. “Indeed. I think for both of our sakes, it would be wise not to mention this, or my parents, within earshot of the others. But…it’s actually nice to meet someone who knew them.” Beline nods. “I can understand that. I know my opinion may not matter to you, but I think you should know…they would be so proud of you.” ”I appreciate that,” Viri says, her face unreadable. “Thank you.” ”Is there anything else, my lord?”

”No,” Viri says. “And I know it’s the middle of the night on Quesh. I’ll let you go. But…thank you.” ”Thank you, Lord Wrath.” The holo goes dark. * Back in their cabin on Makeb, Vette and Viri both sit back and exhale. ”I thought that would be awkward. But it wasn’t,” Vette observes. “If I’d met one of my mother’s exes, I don’t know how I’d feel.” ”To be honest, I would have been fine never knowing this particular piece of information. She had a life before she was my mother,” Viri chuckles. “I’m not privvy to that, and I don’t know that I should be.”

“Did you know she liked women too? Like you?” Viri nods. “Yes, that I did know. Although unlike me, she also liked men. Obviously, since she married my father. When I was a kid, she made a point of telling me that whoever I was attracted to, it was fine.” ”Do you think this is going to make things weird with Dr. Beline?” Viri shakes her head. “No. Although I think Naerx’s participation in this project needs to be reconsidered. I have no doubt this pettiness was his doing.” ”You weren’t really going to choke him today, were you?” ”Nah. But he knows I could.” ”Do you really favor your mother? Beline said it, and I wondered.” ”Judge for yourself,” Viri says, pulling her holo-locket out from under her shirt and activating it. A portrait of young Viri and her parents flickers into view. ”Hm,” Vette says, studying the portrait and looking back at Viri. “You get your height from them. Even in this portrait one can tell they’re tall. Your father’s nose. Your mother’s eyes, definitely. And your overall face, it looks a lot like hers.” ”I’m glad I look like them,” Viri says softly, closing the locket.

[supraveng]

Cocktail Hour

Summary: you work for Stark in his lab and get to know the Avengers, you also moonlight as a bartender

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanof, Reader

Warnings: SMUT and story and a bit of fluff, alcohol consumption, 

Word Count: 4312

“What do you want, Wilson?” you asked without looking up from the project you were working on.   “Is that anyway to treat your favorite Avenger?” he responds with a smirk.  “Oh, I didn’t realize you brought Bucky with you” you smirk as you look up a bit shocked to see Bucky standing behind Sam and with a shit eating grin. 

“Wow, really Y/N?  I thought we were friends'' he responds in a huff.  “Wilson, you only come visit when you want something from me, it’s never friendly chatting.  I’m busy, what do you want?” you deadpan knowing the more you agitate him the longer this is going to take, but you don’t care.  Getting Sam all riled up is one of your favorite past times, and one that you and Bucky have been bonding over.  

“Fine, I’ll make it short and sweet.  I need you to put in a good word for me with your girl, Savannah'' he states as he wiggles his eyebrows.  You freeze and slowly look at Sam, with a slight squint.  

“WHAT?” you respond exasperated that he’s interrupting your project that seems to be never ending.  "Please?  She's cute and we really hit it off, but I'll be coming back to the bar this week to get her number and you can make sure she knows I'm more than worth her time" he tells you with a smug look on his face.  

"First of all, since when does the, and I quote, great Sam Wilson need help getting numbers? Second, her name is Sienna not Savannah. And last but not least, you aren't her type" you respond with a smirk, knowing just how much your points are getting under my skin.  

"Alright now, I don't need your help getting numbers, women love me. I just wanted you to be a supportive friend" he grumbles at you.  You just raise an eyebrow waiting for him to continue. 

"Second, she said Savanna like the city in Georgia." "Its Siena, like the city IN ITALY!" you interrupted.  

"And third, how could this not be her type?" he said as he gestured from his head to his toes, flashing that ridiculous smile and beginning to flex his biceps.  You let out a heavy sigh and you can tell he thinks he's got you stumped.  

"While all that" you waive your hand towards him "might interest some women, you just don't have what she wants" you state while slightly shaking your head sadly. He's about to start up with another dispute and any other time you would love to spend hours tormenting him like this, but you were still working and had a few hours left to finish the reconfiguration of your latest project, so you step closer. 

Putting your hands on his shoulders and looking up at him with an apologetic smile "Sam, you don't have a vagina. I'm sorry, but she's not interested unless you do."  

Bucky couldn't hold it in any longer and was doubled over in laughter. "Now, if you boys didn't bring me coffee, get out of my lab" you say as sweetly as possible.  "But she was so flirty, are you sure?  Maybe she's bi?" he asks trying to understand what he missed. 

 "She's a waitress Sam, flirting gets you bigger tips.  I mean did you give your usual amount or did she earn a bit extra?" you ask only trying to get him to see the reality of their interactions.  

"Damn it!" he huffs as he turns around to leave.  Bucky straightens up trying to calm himself down when he looks up at you "I'll be right back with your coffee" 

A few minutes later, Tony walks in with a quizzical look on his face "what did you do to birdman and gramps?"  He moves past you toward the back of the lab.  

"Why would you think I did anything to those two?" you ask as innocently as possible.  He arches an eyebrow and you concede "ugh, why does that always work? Ok, it's no big deal, Sam was asking about my coworker Siena, and I told him he had no chance since she's into women. But apparently when a waitress flirts its interest and not just trying to get a bigger tip, he learned a lot today" you sigh as you continue working.  

"What do you mean "coworker Siena''? He asks using air quotes.  "I've never seen her in my lab, who is she?"  " She's a waitress at the bar" you mumble realizing Tony didn't know about your other job. You have been an intern for him, working on your doctorate in Biomedical engineering, for the last year and he didn't know you had another job. This isn't going to end well you thought to yourself.  

"How is it possible you have another job? You are here all the time, how do you have time to work at a bar, write your dissertation, find time to sleep and have a social life?" he asks, seeming like he's been swindled or something.  

"And why do you have another job?  This internship pays above average for engineers, I'm not even sure what's going on around here anymore."  

"Ok, Tony, first of all, I thought you knew, I cleared it with legal before I accepted the internship.  I've been working at The Rum House since my freshman year and they are flexible with my hours. Two, the work I'm doing here is my dissertation,  three who are you to question my sleep habits?  And four, I like staying busy, I don't have a social life per say and I'm ok with that" you state with a shrug just as Bucky comes walking in with a huge cup of coffee.

"One venti flat white with hazelnut, sorry am I interrupting?" he questions as he hands you the coffee.  You immediately bring it to your face and take a deep breath closing your eyes to enjoy your favorite beverage and miss the small smirk on Bucky's face, feeling a bit of joy that he could make you happy with something as simple as a cup of coffee.  

Taking a sip you moan and open your eyes to see Tony and Bucky starring at you. With a smile you look at Bucky "thank you, this is exactly what I needed and no you didn't interrupt a thing, we're done,"  

"We are so far from done, did you know she had another job? Hmm? Am i the last to find out everything around here?” Tony mumbles to himself as he goes back to his work station.  Bucky smiles and waves as he leaves and you watch him longer than you should but damn the way he wears jeans just does something  to you.  

"And what was that?  You have a crush on the centurion now too?" he asks.  "What? You are ridiculous!  I'm just appreciating the coffee and wondering why you never bring me coffee.  I mean, I thought you took your title of "World's greatest boss" seriously but I guess that's not the case" you respond as seriously as possible as you sit back down and get back to your project.   

You've been working non stop most of the day and don't realize how late it is until your phone chimes and you notice it’s after midnight. .

You are probably already in bed but I wanted to say goodnight 

I'm actually still working. I guess I lost track of time.  I should head home and get some sleep

It's late, you could stay with me  ;) 

That's so tempting but your roommates are very nosey, not sure how to sneak out in the morning without getting caught 

You're right, as always.  Can I walk you home?

I would love that, meet me at the corner  in 15?

I'll be there in 10 

"Even tired you still look beautiful, how is that possible? " he states as you wrap your arms around his torso for a long overdue hug.  "And you are always the charmer, how did I get so lucky?" you mumble into his chest as you inhale deeply.  

His scent always felt calming and safe. "I'm the lucky one" he says as he kisses the top of your head.  Beginning to walk arm in arm down the street,  "now let's get you to bed, you work too much"  

"In my defense it will all be over once I complete my dissertation, then when I find a real job, I'll be a normal person working 60-80 hours a week" you smile at him and peck his cheek.  

"That's more than normal people, and the part time job at the bar? Are you going to give that up?" he questioned with a smirk.  

"I like the bar and I thought you liked the tiny uniform" you wink as you turn the corner towards your apartment.  

"You can wear that for me any time and I would love it, not just at work, or better yet, nothing at all" he responds in a low growl. You chuckle and swat his chest, "then we would never leave the apartment" "and I don't see that as a problem at all!" he spins you towards him and kisses you passionately, then releases your arm. 

"Aren't  you coming up?" you ask a bit disappointed. "I definitely want to, but you need sleep and if I go up to your place, I will not let you get any." he states slowly backing away.  

"I have tomorrow off, do you think you can break away from your roommates and we can have lunch?" you ask. "If you have the whole day off, you call me when you wake up and I'll take you to breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I will make sure we work up an appetite in between'' he responds with the wiggle of his eyebrows.  

"That sounds perfect! I'll call you in the morning" you smile as you make your way into the building.  Flopping on your bed exhausted, you have a smile on your face for the plans you have for tomorrow. 

Waking up you look at your clock and gasping, 10:33, you hadn't slept that late in ages. 

Hey handsome, you probably don't believe me, but i just woke up!  I'm gonna hope in the shower or should I wait for you to join me ;)

Oooo, I am on my way, do not start without me! 

😘

The knock at your door was barely 10 minutes later, and you opened it laughing at the look on his face. "Did you run the whole way here? Your place is a 20 minute walk away."  

"I needed to work up a sweat for the shower, been thinking about you naked since last night, which makes it very HARD to sleep" he responds while following you into the apartment.  

"Well, you are overdressed so maybe I can help you out of those clothes" you respond in almost a whisper. You bat your lashes as you start to unbuckle his belt, looking up at him biting your lip "it's been such a long week, I feel like I hardly get to see you."  

"I know, but today will make up for it, I promise" he mumbles into your neck.  You are walking backwards into the bathroom when he is finally in just his boxers, you turn on the shower before dropping your robe to the floor.  

He drinks you in from head to toe with a low moan "Damn beautiful, I've missed you" he practically purrs as he grabs your hips to pull you closer.   The long shower was a much needed tension relief for both of you and lasted until the water ran cold.  

“So what would you like for breakfast, beautiful?” he asks as he’s kissing your neck and wrapping his arms around you.  “Actually, I was thinking maybe we order in, that way we don’t need to bother getting dressed at all.” you respond biting your lip and enjoying his lips traveling down your neck to your collarbone.  He practically growls in response before picking you up and carrying you out of the bathroom, “you are brilliant, you know that?” before throwing you on the couch and poncing on top of you.  

Several slices of pizza and orgasms later, the two of you are cuddling on the couch when his phone dings, “they can’t leave you alone for a day can they?” you quip knowing it’s his roommates checking to make sure he’s still alive.  

He kisses your forehead before grabbing his phone “they are a bunch of smothering assholes, that’s what they are!” he responds before reading the message with a large sigh.  Looking at him you know exactly what that means “what time do you have to leave?” you ask as casually as possible.  

“I’m sorry, it’s a last minute “important” meeting, I can shower here and leave at 8ish to be on time” he responds apologetically.  

“Which means you are supposed to be there before 8, but I will take every minute I can get!” you state as you straddle his lap and kiss his jaw. 

 “Trust me, I would much rather be here with you, kissing every inch of your body.  Maybe I can fake that I’m sick” he mumbles against your neck.  

You are about to respond when your phone starts ringing, you snarl as you look up ‘who the hell is calling me on a Saturday afternoon?” you whine as you reach for your phone.  You toss it on the coffee table almost as quickly as you picked it up.  

“You can answer that, I don’t mind, I can be a very good boy when I want to” he says as he winks at you.  “That is the bar, and it’s my day off…...and you are never a good boy, one of the many traits I love about you” you hum as he begins to assault your chest with his sinful mouth and tongue.  

Before he can continue, your phone starts ringing again and you whine as he stops “noooo, don’t stop!”   He hands you your phone as he gets up and heads into the kitchen.  

“This better be important” you practically yell as you answer the call.  “Uh, hey Y/N! It’s Gary, and I know it’s your day off but we got a last minute backroom booking and I need the best bartender in NYC.  Can you be here by 9?”  You don’t respond, only sighing into the phone  “I’ll pay you double!  And you can have tomorrow night off”  he throws in trying to change your mind.  

“It’s not about the money Gary, I haven’t had an entire day off in 4 months.   My body and brain need to do nothing but eat take out and catch up on bad reality tv” you argue, knowing it will do nothing to deter him from getting you into the bar tonight.   

You look up to see a beer being handed to you and smirk on his face “I can go down there and scare him if you want” he whispers, only making you giggle in response.  

“Ok, I’ll pay you for not working tomorrow night, please I really need you!”  “Fine, quit begging, but I’m only agreeing because I lost my evenings entertainment. See you at 9!” you say before hanging up without letting him respond.   

“Looks like my evening just got filled and I’ll be slinging booze rather than recuperating from today’s activities” you pout as you sip your beer.  “Well it’s almost 6, so let's order some Chinese food and go for round 5 before we have to return to the real world” he responds sitting next to you with his arm around your shoulders.  

“Yes, but food first, I just hope I’ll be able to walk tonight.  You have one hell of a libido!” you yell as he attacks your neck again.  “Only for you, beautiful”

The time passes by faster than you like and you both shower before dressing.  You are dressed and starting on your makeup when he walks into your room for a final kiss goodbye.  “Damn, it is hard to leave when you look that good with clothes on” he eyes you up and down causing you to blush.   

“Hey, why don’t you come by the bar after your meeting and we can continue what you started, handsome!” leaning back into his strong chest.  “That sounds perfect, I’ll text you on my way!” and before you can respond he is running out the door, you just shake your head and laugh knowing he’s gonna be late and doesn’t even care.  

Heading out of your apartment  you decide to stop for coffee before hopping on the subway.  It’s been a long and tiring day, in the best way possible, but you are expecting it to be a long night too since it’s a private event and there are always stragglers that have no intention of leaving when someone else is footing the bill.  

Walking into the bar, you begin to wonder who books a last minute party on the weekend but decide it doesn’t really matter.   You had an amazing day with your amazing man and were getting paid double, so it was definitely a win/win, even if your thighs were more sore than you realized before you left your apartment. 

Note to self, uber the next time you have an all day sexcapade.  You start to giggle at the thought when you make your way to the back room and start rearranging the bar to your preference.  .

”Finally!  I was beginning to worry you were going to stand me up!” Gary yells as he makes his way over to you.   “Are you kidding? You offered me a lot of money to be here, and I have student loans out the wazoo!  This is the second best thing that's happened to me today.” you state, not bothering to look up as you are wiping down the bottles.   

“And by the look of that stupid grin on your face, I’m going to assume a certain someone is the first?” he questions, but you just shake your head and smirk.  

“When is the party supposed to arrive?  Any special requests I need to know about?” you ask in an attempt to change the topic as quickly as possible. 

“They will be here any minute now and you are the only one back here tonight, but it’s only 10-12 guests so you should be fine.  But let me know if you need a cocktail server or bar back, I can’t spare both but I’ll pop in and help when I can” he smiles and turns back to the bar area of the bar.   

You are digging for the better rocks glasses when you hear people enter the room and turn to smile at the arriving guests, only for your  face to immediately fall.  

“Are you kidding me Stark?!” you grit out.  “I can’t get away from you for a damn day?” you ask.  

“Oh, is this the bar you work at, behind my back? I had no idea” he states dripping in sarcasm.  “HA!” you fake a laugh “so this is my payback for not telling you?”  “No, actually, Birdman told me about the uniform and I had to see  for myself” he says, eyeing you up and down. 

“I have to say, you look different than I anticipated and a little hurt that we don’t get to see this side of you in the lab.”  You shake your head and laugh at yourself, this wasn’t how you expected your night to go, but at least you knew your clients weren’t just a bunch of assholes.   

These people were your friends, practically family since you started working for Stark.  “So Tones, what can I get you?  I don’t think we’ve ever drank together, so I honestly don’t know if you are a Scotch neat or martini kind of man”  

“Well, a little birdie told me that this bar has cocktails named after me and my friends, so that’s why I’m here, I wanted to check them out!” he smiles and you realize he’s either testing your bar-tending skills to prove to you that you don’t need this other job or his curiosity is going to be boosting his ego, either way, tonight will be fun.   

“We do have a few, here is the Avenger cocktail list.” you say handing him the list with a smirk, knowing you will be making all of these drinks by the end of the night.  

“Well, since you’ve worked here so long, what do you recommend?” he replies while looking over the various drinks “and why am I not listed at the top?  If it’s not in alphabetical order, it should at least be listed by best Avenger at the top”  

“Well, it’s listed by most popular drink, so if you want something sweet, I would go for The Cap America, if you need something more of a punch try the Black Widow, if you want to get revved up but not remember much of your night you should go for the Hulk.  The Iron Man is an acquired taste, but it’s definitely worth a try, but most people don’t order a second one” just describing the drinks to him, you wonder if he thinks you are commenting on the drinks or the people behind them.  

“Thor is pretty good if you want something simple, Hawkeye is both strong and sweet, Scarlet Witch is one of my personal favorites, along with the Bucky.” you stare at him with your hands resting on the bar top.  

“Wait a damn minute!  I am in this bar all the time and there’s no Falcon cocktail?  What the hell Y/N?” Sam yells from behind Tony.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t get to  decide what goes on the menu, but I am working on creating your drink” you respond as sweetly as possible.  “I’m just stuck on how to make a drink that people will enjoy, but is also a pain in the ass" you smirk as Sam realizes what you just said. 

"I didn't know it was pick on Sam day, but I've had enough! Can I have a beer and tequila shots? I came here to have a good time and I feel attacked right now."  

"Of course, whatever you want Sam" you say as you grab a mug and start to pour his favorite beer.  Handing it to him with a smile, he leans in and pecks you on the cheek, “you’re lucky I love you enough to put up with your shit” he grumbles as he walks towards the tables.  

After fixing all of the specialty drinks for everyone to try the signature cocktail you are certain that the night has just begun.  You are wiping down the bar top when you look up to see Bucky grinning at you, turning you realize Natasha is at the bar for another round.  

“Same drink or would you like something else, Nat?”  “Do you have any decent vodka or am I just wasting your time?” she asks with a laugh.  “We actually carry Jewel of Russia, but that’s about as good as it gets, I’m sorry Tony dragged you out tonight just to torment me.” you mention while grabbing the bottle from the fridge and a handful of shot glasses.  

“I was wondering what this last minute outing was all about, I figured it was Barnes trying to let you see him in a more relaxed state” she quips while trying to gauge your reaction.  

“Bucky?  Him and Sam are in here all the time, and I’m not sure why you think he would want me to see him relaxed…..” you reply while setting up a tray for the shots.  Natasha grabs two before you can even fill more.  “Well, I’ve never seen him gawk at a bartender, like he is tonight”

“I think you are reading into something that isn’t there, but why don’t I take this tray over and test your theory?” you say while grabbing the tray of shots and placing the bottle of vodka in an ice bucket.  

Noticing that Bucky was watching most of your conversation you make sure to sway your hips a bit extra and set the tray down in front of the team. 

“Alright gang, let me get some of these empties out of here and grab a couple more rounds for you.  Any special requests?” you smile around the group seated in the overstuffed chairs and couches.  

“Hey Buck, anything you want to ask Y/N for?” Natasha says with a sweet tone.  “Like a date maybe?” she adds just as Bucky was about to ask for a drink.  You chuckle slightly look over at Bucky who seems to be a bit in shock.  

“Uh, nah, I don’t think I’m Y/N’s type” Bucky says attempting to brush off Nat’s comment and not draw more attention to the conversation.  With the glasses gathered in your hands, you start to head back to the bar before responding ‘yea, tall, dark and handsome isn’t my type” you smirk as you walk away.  

Immediately the entire crew is carrying on like a bunch of teenagers and egging Bucky on to follow you to the bar.  You are starting to pour a few pints when Bucky clears his throat to gain your attention.  

“So you think I’m tall, dark and handsome, huh?” he almost whispers.  “Well, that’s the PG version of what I think about you, didn’t want to get you into any trouble with your roommates.  Are you coming back over when this little party is over?” you ask with a smirk.  

“Oh, you know I am, I owe you a couple more orgasms today.   As long as I get to help you out of that sexy uniform.”

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia: Ch 42: In My Arms Again

Chapter 42: In My Arms Again

 “I don’t know if this is going to work…”

“C’mon. They’re smelling salts, aren’t they?”

“Sí, but I’ve only used them on dead people! Señor Rivera is not dead!”

“Well, he’s not quite alive either.”

Héctor heard the voices as he slowly clawed himself into awareness, a pounding pain on the back of his head convincing him that he was truly awake now. But at the mention of ‘dead people’ he forced his eyes to remain shut and kept his face slack. No no. This is a dream. I was asleep, probably hit my head or something, and this whole deal with skeletons has been a dream. Maybe even the entire day. The party probably never happened, nor that accursed contest. His fight with his family. His youngest son’s terror. Yes! This had been just a terrible nightmare, and if he’d just keep his eyes closed and drift back to sleep he would wake up and the terrible day would be a bad dream swiftly forgotten.

“This is a mixture of brimstone, the memories of a thousand cooked chiles, and cempazuchitl flowers. Very supernatural. I just don’t think-”

“It stinks! Stink will wake him up. Just do it!”

“Alright, alright! I just don’t think it will be good for him.”

All thoughts of staying asleep were abruptly ripped away when something small was placed under his nose and the foulest smelling and burning scent he had ever smelled propelled him off of the ground into heaving coughs. Eyes watering and lungs going crazy, Héctor could see that Gaspar and Mirasol were still with him -Great…- as well as a new skeleton who was staring at a small little canister in his bony hand with wonderment.

“Well what do you know?” he said as he smiled down at the smelling salts. “It works the same way as it does on skeletons. Good to know if this ever happens again.”

“Told you.” Gaspar grumbled.

Mirasol knelt to the ground to help keep Héctor upright, as well as fanning fresh air into his face as he slowly came down from his coughing fit. “There there, you’re alright. Just take deep breaths.” Making sure Héctor was starting to breathe normally, she turned towards the other skeleton with a smile. “Gracias, Dr. Rosales.”

“Oh no problemo!” The doctor said cheerfully as he put the salts back into his pocket. “It’s always handy to carry this around, especially when skeletons collapse into a heap of bones on the street. Plus not only is this a fascinating case of a human stuck between worlds, but Señor Rivera and I go way back! Well, at least Matty and I do. Right Señor?”

At the mention of his son’s name, Héctor stopped panting and stared at the new skeleton. Matty? Rosales? As he put two and two together Héctor managed to take in the skeleton’s features. He was much wider that Gaspar and Mirasol, enough that Héctor could easily assume that he would be considered fat. How on Earth could a skeleton be fat? Not only that but past the orange starbursts dotting his cheeks and brows were the familiar cocked eye ridges and the wide, goofy smile. Recognition was instantaneous.

“Barto?!”

“Hola, Señor Rivera!” Barto smiled cheerfully and waved. “It’s been a while!”

Barto’s overly loud voice sent a small spike of pain through Héctor’s brain. Shaking his head and rubbing the back of it with a wince, Héctor groaned weakly. “Ay… What hit me?”

“The guitar.” Mirasol explained. “As soon as you threw it came flying back to you like a boomerang. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a little funny.” She patted the guitar which, to Héctor’s chagrin, was still in his grip. “I think you’d better keep this on you for your health, mijo.”

Staring at the guitar still clinging to his hand like an ugly wart, Héctor sighed in disgust and nodded. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Alright Barto,” Gaspar stood with his hands on his hipbones and stared at the portly skeleton. “What do I owe you for this?”

“You wound me, Gaspar.” Barto chuckled as he heaved himself off the ground with some effort. “Like I said, as a doctor I am fascinated by what has transpired here tonight. I am willing to make this a pro-bono case… Heh, get it? Pro-bone-o?”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Okay okay, maybe I could have some of your wife’s famous candied pumpkins, some calabacitas, and you buy the first few rounds at the cantina. Oh, and a request!” Pulling a folded-up piece of paper out his pocket he handed it to Gaspar. “Abuela wants some mamey if you have any.”

Snatching the paper away from him, Gaspar nodded. “The trees should be bearing fruit soon, tell her to wait a few weeks. Always a pleasure doctor.”

“Why do they keep calling you doctor?” Héctor asked, having made it to his feet to stand next to Barto. “You’re not a doctor. You were a bosun on an oil tanker.”

All of a sudden there was a reaction from all three skeletons. Gaspar groaned and rolled his eyes while Mirasol tried to hide her smile behind her husband’s shoulder. Barto, for his part, gave a prim little grin and hummed a smug laughed. “Ah, what a tale that is, Señor. One that I’m always glad to share.”

Seeing his in-laws reaction, Héctor realized he might have made a mistake. “Oh, I don’t really need to kn-”

“As you are well aware my boat was bombed by the Germans, apparently because they confused us for Italian vessels. I admit our flags are similar, but at times of war they should have been much more observant and less like the bunch pinche idiotas that they were.” Barto spat out nothing to the ground, but the intent was still there. “Well anyway, my death was extremely traumatic for me and for a while I was a mess. Panic attacks, jumping at loud noises, collapsing into a pile of bones and sobs in the street. Sound familiar, Señor Rivera?”

Héctor bristled at that comment, but held down his ire while Barto continued. “I was suggested to go get counseling at the Department of Traumatic Deaths, and while it helped with my own personal feelings I also helped others deal with theirs during group sessions. And lo, I discovered my true hidden talents after death! That and there was no need for oilmen in the Land of the Dead.”

“With your family’s generous offerings for me on the ofrenda I was able to afford to go to school, and since skeletons can go for weeks without sleep I was able to finish my studies and residency in no time! So here you see what the limitations of life had shackled before and had been released with death: Dr Bartolomeo Rosales, Psy.D, Ph.D, MA. Impressive list of titles, huh?”

Héctor’s brows furrowed at that, a sinking feeling in his gut. “So you’re… a shrink?”

“Oye!” Barto rightfully looked offended and crossed his arms defensively. “I know I said I didn’t need to sleep, but I didn’t spend eight years slaving over books and writing two dissertations on war-related deaths to be called a ‘shrink’. I am a professional, señor, and you should thank your son for it. He helped me be a better person than what I was as a child, and I helped him when he was so depressed he couldn’t get out of bed. Come to think of it I was practically born to be a therapist after dealing with Matty.”

“Get out of bed?” Héctor asked. Suddenly he had flashed back to times when Matty would hole himself into his room, but he had always presented himself as just a surly teen who wanted to be left alone. But to the point where he couldn’t even move? “I… didn’t know it was that bad. No wonder he’s getting help now.”

“Really, he is? That’s fanatastico!” Barto smiled. “’Bout time too, he was always so pig-headed when it came to change. A bit like you, eh? I’ve been watching you over the past few years myself, and I couldn’t help noticing some tics and behaviors that seem familiar with Matt-”

“No no, stop that right now.” Héctor said as he held up a hand in front of Barto’s skull. “Dios mio, you two are still thick as thieves even after you went and died. I’ll tell you exactly what I told Mateo: I do not have shellshock and I do not need a shrink. Comprende?”

Again Barto flinched a little at the slight on his profession again as well as quirked a brow ridge to display his disbelieve to Héctor’s claims, but with a click of his mandible he smiled good-naturedly and shrugged. “Well I can’t really diagnose anyone on the spot nor without their consent, so I’ll let the matter drop. It doesn’t seem you have a lot of time to sit around anyway, what with the… weirdness of your situation. However…” Reaching into his pocket again he pulled out a much crisper white card and handed it to Héctor. “when you do die and have suffered, or know anyone else who may have suffered, a traumatic death then please… refer to me by name. My card, señor.”

Héctor took the card and looked at it for a few seconds. Barto’s dopey face was next to his name as well as some contact information that made no sense to him at all, and when he looked back up Barto was wearing the exact same expression. Glancing between him, then Gaspar and Mirasol, Héctor started to chuckle bitterly. Shoving the card back to Barto, Héctor started to pace as his laughing turned a little darker. Then, just as the three skeletons were starting to question his already fragile grip on his sanity, he turned towards them with a glare.

“This isn’t fair.”

------

As Barto and her father talked, Leti hid behind a tombstone.

This whole night was a mess. She was there to enjoy the holiday as well as her little brother’s birthday, not witness the horrendous train wreck that had taken place. After Papá had gone off on Matty and he had to leave in distress, Leti couldn’t take it anymore and she plus Barto followed after him and her sister-in-law. Wanda had comforted him enough to where Matty finally was able to speak without breaking down, and he agreed with her that they would take Charlie and Clara back to the house, pack, and leave as soon as possible.

As everyone slowly trickled in back to the museum, all calming their children and getting them cleaned up to be ready to go, Mamá had come in as well. Her eyes red rimmed and puffy, she was still calm as she explained that Papá had gone off on his own to find Miguel.

No sooner had she said that then the sound of struggles and screams alerted everyone to the gate.

Leti and Barto’s jaws dropped as they watched the old gravedigger and his grandson struggle in earnest as they dragged Miguel in by his arms. Miguel looked almost mad with terror, tears streaming down his face, not even calming down as Mamá held him close and tried to keep him still.

When he finally got his words, the only thing that Miguel was able to say was that Papá was gone. Exploded into a cloud of golden cempazuchitl flowers and vanished without a trace.

As the living family tried to explain to him that was impossible, there was no way that could happen, Leti and Barto slowly stared at each other in shock. Something like that, on a night like this where the dead walked onto a magic flower bridge to the land of the living to sing and dance and eat with their living families seemed… not that far-fetched. But how did it happen? And why?

Before they could gather their thoughts on the matter Abuelito had come to fetch Barto. He had said that Papá was with Abuelita, something did happen to him and now he was seemingly trapped between two worlds. And that he was unconscious because of a flying guitar.

Every bone in her body tensed up at what her grandfather had said. Papá… was able to see the dead? To see her?! After over twenty years of only having one-sided conversations with her father, aside from that brief stint in Limbo which only she remembered, she was finally going to be able to talk to him! Before she even had a chance to be excited and joyous at the thought Abuelito had then asked Barto if it was a good idea to bring her along, since Papá had seemed so mentally unstable about the whole thing. Barto had taken a good hard look at her for a moment, then with an apologetic shrug and a wince had said:

“Sorry Leti. Maybe you should hang back for a while until I can tell if it’s wise for you to come.”

The very idea of it had shocked Leti out of all her happiness and left her mind blank for a moment. It was stupid, really, how she had numbly nodded in agreement and watched the two of them go off to see her Papá. That’s right! Her Papá! Now that she thought more and more about it, it didn’t seem right to her! Not right at all!

Bitterly she left the museum as the living family tried to calm Miguel down, and she found herself walking by herself down the streets of Santa Cecilia. Other skeletons had paused to greet her as she passed, but she was too angry to even acknowledge them and left confused souls in her wake. Kicking up an odd pebble or two, or tried to at least as she phased through them, Leti mumbled to herself with her hands shoved into her dress pockets.

“’I’m an expert of trauma’.” Leti mocked out Barto’s doofy voice as she tried to kick another stone. “’My own death was traumatic after all’. Please! You died taking while taking a leak off the side of a boat. You should ask me about traumatic deaths. Ha!...” Leti stopped then and looked to the ground sadly. “Well, the events leading up to my death were traumatic. But death for me was… peaceful.”

Yes, peaceful. She remembered warmth, surrounded by her family as they kissed her and cried for her. Sang to her. Yes, her death was a release from her painful, traitorous body. But it had apparently torn something up in her family that had never really healed. And Tio Nesto’s death had personally damaged Papá’s heart forever. But why? She’d understand that he’d be heartbroken, but hating him? Never wanting to speak about him or honor him? Something didn’t add up.

A sudden ‘yip!’ in the air startled Leti and she would have ended up exploded all over the streets if she hadn’t lurched away in time. Dante skidded on his rump past her then scrambled to make his way back to her. Grabbing the hem of her dress, he urgently tugged her in the other direction with force enough to nearly knock her skull off.

“Whoa, hey!” Leti reached down and placed her hands on either side of his face, which gave him the opportunity to lap at each of her cheekbones. “Ugh, basta! Ha ha! What do you want, perro loco? Why are trying to drag me to the cem-… etary…? Oye, are you trying to take me to see Papá?”

If possible Dante’s smile grew wider and his tail thumped rapidly against the cobblestones.

“Hmm… Well Barto and Abuelito told me to wait… But you know me, I hate waiting! Let’s go!”

And so thanks to Dante’s insistence that she should go, not that she needed that big of a push to begin with, she was in the cemetery watching her Papá grow increasingly angry with his situation. She clutched at her humeri until her knuckles began to creak, biting her lower bony lip as her heart ached for her to go to him. But now that she was here she found herself afraid. Papá had been so mad tonight, madder than she had ever seen. She didn’t want to add to that. Or rather, she didn’t want that anger directed at her. Despite Dante nudging her with his nose with some soft whines to move forward, she held her position.

Maybe Barto was right. She would send him over the edge. Her death had torn a hole into the hearts of everyone who knew her, and every once in a while she was afraid that they hated her for it. Despite her grandparents reassurances that fear still remained after all these years.

Yet seeing her Papá standing right there, glowing gold and talking to her grandparents and Barto? Knowing she could do the same but couldn’t bear the thought of him yelling at her too? It was heartbreaking. And anger-inducing. It just wasn’t-

“This isn’t fair.”

Leti blinked and peeked back over the tombstone, where Papá was still glaring at the other three. But he didn’t look as angry as before. Now he just looked…tired. And sad. Still waffling on whether she should make her presence known to him or not, he continued to speak.

“This just isn’t fair.” Papá said again, glancing down at the guitar held loosely in his hand. “I didn’t ask for this. Nobody would have asked for this. I just wanted to celebrate my son’s birthday in peace. Instead I’ve been betrayed by my whole family and then whatever this is has happened to me. Now I’m being coerced to go to a land full of literal dead people, despite not being dead myself, and the only ones to greet me are my son’s dead friend and two people I have never met before in my life. Believe me, if I were to meet anyone who was dead, it wouldn’t be any of you, but…”

Leti’s heart broke as she saw her Papá’s face twist up in terrible pain for a split second before he was able to control himself with a slight sniff. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway…”

That did it. She needed no other push. Her Papá wanted to see her, not her grandparents. Not Barto. Her. Any concerns she had about exposing her location to him were gone, and she frantically jumped away from her hiding spot.

“N-no, I’m here too!” she cried out, flinching back when all eyes turned to her. “I’m h-… here…”

Héctor just glared at her, recognition not immediately coming to him but just annoyed that another skeleton was coming to annoy him to, but softened it when he realized it was a child. Barto and Abuelito both sucked in sharp breaths and grimaced, waiting to see what kind of fallout would happen next. Abuelita, however, just smiled warmly at her and nodded her approvement. It was high time to put a stop to this nonsense, and only Leti was able to do it.

“Oh, uh… Lo siento, that was too loud. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Leti said more quietly as she slowly took baby steps to her father. “I mean, I can tell you’re already scared, and I’m a little scared too. I d-don’t know why you’re here, but I know it can’t be good, and yet…” Leti gave a trembling smile as she made her way even closer. “And yet I’m so glad to see you. And that you can see me. I m-missed you so much.”

Leti was emboldened further when Héctor had immediately stopped glaring at her as she continued to speak, but now he was just staring at her, transfixed. His mouth had dropped open slightly, his eyes slowly widening and starting to shine, and it looked like he wasn’t breathing. Beneath the orange glow she could see his face had paled considerably and his hands had dropped from his hips. Tio Nesto’s guitar fell from his slacked grip to the ground with a soft thunk, and her grandparents looked at its position with astonishment and confusion. Something must have happened with it when she wasn’t there. But she’d ask later, for now she was only focused on getting him to speak to her.

“Please say something,” she asked as a tremble started to waver her voice. “Please… Papá.”

He didn’t want to believe it, hated himself for it, but he had forgotten what her voice sounded like. Oh he remembered it having an adorable lilt and how fast she could talk when excited, but he hadn’t remembered exactly how sweet it sounded. Like a little song.

When the little girl first appeared he didn’t know who she was supposed to be at first. Then the little quirks started to pop up and everything fell into place. The way she rocked back in forth and fiddled with her fingertips when she was nervous, biting her lower lip between sentences. And those clothes, he recognized those clothes. She had been buried with them. And those big brown eyes with a distinct spectrum that made them look almost magenta in the right light. Those were how his eyes looked too.

An unbearable pain was starting to well up in his chest as she kept talking and moving towards him while the rest of him became fully numb, his face getting incredibly hot and his vision getting blurry. And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she called him Papá.

He fell down hard onto his knees. It would have hurt if he’d been aware, what with having fifty-year-old knees, but he felt nothing except the incredibly mixture of sadness, pain and hope. Finally he managed to find his voice, albeit a hoarse croak, to painfully force out one word.

“…Leticia…”

“PAPÁ!”

Leti practically pounced on him. Wrapping her thin arms around him tightly while he kept his own off of her in shock, completely unprepared for the hug. She babbled of steady stream of how much she missed him, how much she loved him, how much she had to tell him about what she’d done and how she’d been. Héctor just knelt there, unsure of what to do or what to say. This had to be a dream. There was no way his daughter, who had been dead for the last twenty years, was now clinging to him as a skeleton.

Then the smell hit him.

It had faded much too quickly from her bedsheets, her toys and everything else that was hers, but as soon as he inhaled her scent it was like his brain and his heart were both sucker-punched at once. Fresh strawberries, lilac shampoo, and despite not having any skin she still smelled like the pure essence of Leti. That was what finally broke him. As soon as the smell flooded his lungs and the memories came bubbling up, Héctor let out a hoarse scream.

Leti looked up, startled by her father’s scream, but then Héctor slammed her head back to his chest and cradled her so tightly that her bones bent and creaked. But she didn’t care. Héctor’s scream had turned into violent sobs as he held her as close to him as he could, with Leti hugging him just as fiercely and crying along with him.

Gaspar and Mirasol held each other as they looked at father and daughter reunite, both smiling while trying not to cry themselves. Barto wasn’t so in control, as he sniffled and wiped at phantom tears while turning to look at them. “Well, even professionals can be wrong, eh? Looks like this is just what he needed.”

Héctor’s sobs died down to gentle weeping as he rocked Leti close to him, leaning his cheek on the crown of her head and burying his nose in her hair. Leti petted him and soothed him, assuring him that she was alright and that he shouldn’t be so sad. It was still sad, but Héctor just couldn’t contain his pure joy and relief. His daughter was long dead, and yet here she was cradled in his arms again. And she still fit perfectly in his embrace.

“My baby…” he whimpered softly, and that seemed to set off a fresh stream of tears down his already puffy face. “My baby…”

“I’m here Papá. Please don’t cry anymore.” she said, even though she had just moments ago been crying herself.

“Oh, let me look at you.” Héctor finally pulled her up to look him in the eye, and cupped her cheekbones to trail his thumbs over her golden streaks. “I can’t believe it. The last time I held you… You were so frail and cold. And so thin.”

“… I’m pretty sure I’m thinner now than I was then.”

At that Héctor laughed through his tears, then started to kiss her all over her face until she too started to giggle. “Skin or no skin, you’ll always be my gordita.”

“Papá stop! You’re embarrassing me!”

“Never.” Héctor whispered, pulling her into another tight hug. “I’ll never stop. I’ll hold you for as long as I can. I love you too much to stop. Mija…”

He would have done just that if anyone would have let him, and for a while they did. A few minutes of hugging, gentle words, kisses that he lost count of and hugging again. Just when he was finally starting to relax a gentle hand touched him on the shoulder.

“Héctor…” Mirasol said. “We need to get you to the Department of Family Reunions before it’s too late. It’s already almost ten o’clock, and we’re here for only one night. They might be able to help you.”

“But…” Héctor whispered, suddenly afraid again. “I don’t… I’m not dead. I-I…” A short tug on his lapel made him glance down at Leti again, and he melted to see her smiling up at him.

“Don’t worry Papá. I’ll be right with you. You trust me, right?”

Without hesitation he nodded, and so he let Leti pull him up from the ground and put her little hand into his. He wrapped his fingers around it and gave it a squeeze, just like he always did when she was little and with all of his children. Just then he felt something solid come into his other hand and looked down to see the guitar back in his grasp once more. It was then that he dumbly realized that he had been holding Leti with both hands just a while ago. It had given up on it’s annoying clinginess, at least for a little bit, to let him properly hold his daughter.

“I guess even it could tell that you two needed a moment.” Mirasol said with a chuckle, and Héctor couldn’t help but nod at that.

“Well I’ll let you four go on.” Barto said after composing himself and trying to look professional again. “This looks like a family matter after all, and I still have to go collect all of my ofrenda offerings. I’ll get yours as well while you deal with this. Oh and Señor Rivera?”

“Sí?”

“Sí?”

“Oh, no! I meant. Uh, living Señor Rivera. Could you…” Barto ducked his head for a moment, then smiled sadly. “If you talk to Matty again, could you tell him… that I’m okay? Great, even? I know my death was hard on him, but I just want him to know that I’m alright.”

Héctor’s chest ached at that. Things had ended badly for him and Matty that night, enough that even his wife was beginning to cut him off from their lives, because of his caustic words that he hadn’t mean to say. He’d doubt Matty would want to hear anything from him again, much less about his dead friend who had magically came back to the living world tonight, but he found himself nodding. “I will.”

Barto smiled happily. “Great, gracias Señor Rivera. Good luck, and don’t trip on the bridge!”

There was that bridge again. Why was everyone talking about a bridge? As Gaspar and Mirasol walked ahead, Héctor and Leti followed close by hand in hand. Héctor couldn’t stop gazing at his baby girl, forever stuck in youth yet with a wisdom in her eyes that only came from adulthood. He never thought a skeleton would be considered cute, but he was proud to say that his daughter was the cutest little skeleton in the whole world. Leti caught him staring at her and giggled, before pointing ahead to divert his attention. And so he did, and…

Ohhh… That’s the bridge.

It was enormous. The high walls of the cemetery had faded away enough to let a huge orange bridge come through from nothingness, disappearing into clouds of blue and purple fog. The fuzzy texture of the thing at a distance confused Héctor until he came closer to it, and was amazed to see that it was not made of stone nor wood. It was made of flower petals. The lovely, sweet scent of cempazuchitl flowers beckoned him closer to it and he could feel a pleasant warmth that the glowing bridge gave off. Other skeletons were coming and going on the bridge, passing through an invisible barrier that either gave them that golden glow or erased it all together. As Héctor passed through it his own glow was gone, and he was relieved to see that he was solid again.

“Back to normal, eh?” Leti asked.

“Well… normal as I can be, I guess.”

They continued on across the bridge, some of the newer skeletons stopping to stare as a full flesh and blood man was walking on the same path they were. Héctor weakly smiled and waved at them, but found he was growing increasingly embarrassed at all the attention being turned on him. And it irked him that they knew who he was, apparently all of the deceased hailing from Santa Cecilia. Luckily, Gaspar was able to shoo away the more annoying onlookers so that they could continue on in peace.

Suddenly a dark shape darted from underneath Héctor and he was forced down onto his knees again. It was a good thing the ground was nice and soft so that the impact didn’t hurt, or else he would have had a few choice words to give Dante. Leti laughed and pulled him up again while the dumb dog rolled around in ecstasy in the golden petals, sneezing out a few from his nose.

“Barto warned you not to trip on the bridge, didn’t he?”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault. It was… all…”

Héctor trailed off as finally the smoke and fog cleared away to reveal what they had been walking towards this whole time. It was a city, but a city unlike anything Héctor had ever seen before. There were dozens and dozens of skyscrapers. Wait, no. Towers. There were towers of buildings stacked on top of each other in so many ways that the laws of physics would never allow to happen in the real world. Each jutted out at different angles and then those buildings had additions added on to them, construction equipment constantly on the move to make even more additions to that! Wires, stairs and more bridges connect these towers to each other, and Héctor could even see trolleys sailing high and low in ever different direction.

And the colors! Oh, it was the most beautiful array of colors he had ever seen in a landscape! Purples, blues, pinks and golds melded perfectly together as a millions of lights blinked and twinkled out of streetlamps and windows. And, if Héctor stopped long enough to count, he could see several skull motifs hidden amongst the architecture.

Leti smiled as she watched her father marvel at the city before them. “Isn’t it the prettiest, most beautiful place you’ve ever seen before in your life, Papá?”

It was… It really was

Héctor swallowed thickly and managed to tear his gaze away from the beauty and looked down at his daughter. “You’ve… you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Of course, tonto! Where else would I have been?”

On his more bad days, he was ashamed to admit, Héctor believed that his beautiful baby girls was no where else but in the Santa Cecilia cemetery. Buried beneath a thick stone slab and rotting away into nothingness. Everything about her gone forever. On his better days Héctor was sure that Leti could be nowhere else but in Heaven, watching over all of them and guiding them throughout their lives. But Mirasol had said they were only on Earth one day out of the year, so he supposed that wasn’t the case either.

Still, seeing the ethereal beauty before him, Héctor was sure that this was as damn near close to Heaven as he could imagine.

“This place suits you, mija.” He whispered and hugged her close to him as they continued on.

Finally they had reached the end of the bridge and made their way to what looked like a gate for a train station. Skeletons coming in with huge amounts of food and other gifts in their arms, sacks and buggies. Skeletons going out after passing through some weird ticket taker machine that made dinging noises instead of giving out tickets. For now it seemed they were finally being left alone, and as the four of them got in line for re-entry, Héctor looked back behind him.

The golden flower bridge stood there, fading into the nothingness where his home, his family, and the Land of the Living were sure to be. Héctor was amazed. He was here, in the Land of the Dead with his daughter by his side, and all it took was a simple stroll across a bridge.

“Well…” Héctor said to himself. “… that was easy.”

[bedeliainwonderland]

I understand disliking a character..but you realize anything that happens to bedelia in context of the show is driven by hannibal, right? the man you ship her with? the stinger, her fear, all that necessitates her self preservation is instigated by hannibal. the show frequently did a disservice to its female chars, but hannibal was the tool they used to do it. denying that and then shipping him w/ your fav only to turn it around on another char seems...hypocritical.

Ahh yes, some good ol’ anon hate, I missed that. Honestly, perfect timing, I am having the worst of times and getting to talk about my favs literally saved my day. So thanks!

First of all, Bedelia and Hannibal are a canon ship, whether you like it or not, so let’s get that out of the way (as opposite to certain other ship but that is a whole other thing). I merely fill in the blanks of what the show failed to provide because, for some inexplicable reason, the show named “Hannibal” was centered on a character named Will and every other character (especially the female characters) served only to further his “man pain”. But I digress, that is surely not why you chose to hide behind that grey square.

I don’t know whether you follow me or just saw that one reblog (which ironically weren’t even my words but I stand fully behind everything said), but I have already spoken about this extensively. Every day, really. I find it hard to understand how something is hypocritical when it is based on canon information. I am not denying anything. So here we go, under the cut, because I have a LOT to say:

The stinger- oh god, you all know how much I hate it. First of all, there is no proof that Hannibal is involved, we don’t know who is involved, that is kinda the point of a cliff hanger. We don’t even know if it’s real. But it’s absolutely pointless and makes no sense! It was quite literally Fuller wanting to do something “shocking” to finish off the series without any regard to continuity or characterisation. It was supposed to be shocking and look aesthetically pleasing, that’s it, no logic. It is as if he looked at the character list and thought “hmm, which female character is yet to be hurt? Oh right, Bedelia!” The so called “punishing Bedelia” as the fandom loved so very much is mere misogyny. Why can’t a female character do something morally questionable or even plain evil and get away with it? Because Will didn’t that is why. If she were a man, no one would scream for “she has it coming”, no, he would be uwu baby.

Having Hannibal involved in that would be completely out of character and contradictory to all their previous interactions/ their relationship. So let’s expand, shall we?

When we first see Bedelia and Hannibal, it is mentioned that she has been his psychiatrist for 7 years. 7 YEARS, let that sink in. No one, NO ONE, has been in Hannibal’s life for such a long time. It is clear she means a lot to him. If she didn’t, he had plenty of chances to kill her. It is established she is a loner, so it would so easy for Hannibal to dispose of her and claim “she left to UK” or something, like he did with his secretary. But he didn’t because he cares for her and she is important to him. He literally says he feels protective of her. Every session, you can see how much he needs her approval and how he hangs on her every word. How hurt he was when she said she wasn’t his friend (and yet he did nothing). How enamoured he is with her. When he comes to bring her dinner in Savoureaux, the dish included roses! Such a romantic.

Hannibal knew Bedelia was similar to him that is why he set up the whole Neil incident; he wanted to make sure she is. Do note that Bedelia wasn’t ever in danger, since Hannibal was there to step in if needed. But here is what I’ve found interesting; Bedelia killed someone, proving Hannibal’s hunch right, but she refused to fully acknowledge that part of herself. And Hannibal let her withdraw, doing nothing (as in not killing her, as I’m sure he had done many times with unsuccessful “candidates”) merely securing her continuous therapy. Because she was more than just another experiment to him.

And Bedelia isn’t so innocent in other aspects as well. She knows, yet she purposely evades the truth while talking to the FBI (“Will could use friends like Hannibal” ha!) under the cover of patient/ doctor confidentiality and even warns Hannibal directly (“they are starting to see your pattern). I have had my fair share of “Bedelia doesn’t care for Hannibal” posts and nothing could be further from the truth. If she hadn’t cared, she would not have done any of that.

But then of course, Hannibal’s game goes one step too far and he gives her the written permission to discuss him with the FBI. This is bad for Bedelia because it puts her under the scrutiny as well and that is not where she wants to be. Bedelia’s self-preservation always comes first (both Bedelia and Hannibal are egocentric by nature). Yet, she still comes to say goodbye to him and he lets her go! The script described Hannibal’s reaction to her words as “imperceivable wound”. “But he then went to kill her!” I hear you say? *Thor’s gif* Did he though? If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it then and there. No, he went to check if she were really gone (again, script) and whether she betrayed him. That was his only concern (betrayal is a big thing with Hannibal), but she didn’t. She even left him a memento. It said it was a memento of friendship, I think it was a “see you later” card.

This is getting super long, so let’s quickly skip to Florence. Bedelia left with Hannibal, knowing exactly who he was. Unlike other (all of them, actually) characters, she did not reject him/ was scared of him. “You let them see you/ I let them see enough” exchange says it all. She is not surprised by him or shocked by what he is; she is merely stating the facts. She has long accepted him in full. They lived together in Florence, openly behind the so called veil, as fake husband and wife, but the wedding rings remained intact even at home (showing how important it was to them, not just a front), displaying a ridiculous amount of domesticity and intimacy. This deserves a whole separate post but I am trying to be brief(er). “But she was scared!” you might shout again, except that she wasn’t. Even if Antipasto purposely played with the ambiguity of her situation for suspense purposes, the following episodes made it clear she was exactly where she wanted to be, from the very start, on her own terms as Hannibal’s equal. We were obviously misled by the promos, they promised us a Bedelia and Hannibal show and what we got was, well, you know… And that is yet another post altogether.

Now to the glorious farewell, boy, do I love to talk about that. Bedelia packs Hannibal’s bags and tells him to leave, and he does! What more, he promises to tell her story. HER STORY. Now, that is a major thing, because Hannibal has never ever done that for anyone. He always turns other people’s stories into his own, manipulating and adjusting accordingly. But with Bedelia, he simply agrees to do it, on her own terms. Not only that, he is visibly impressed and enamoured by her. Again, if he wanted to kill her, he could have just killed her then. He was going to get caught anyway, what is one more murder? All this “he waited until he could eat her” story makes no sense at all, since as it was already mentioned, he knew her for almost a decade, plenty of time to eat her if he wanted to. He lets her go because he wants to. Because he cares for her.

The point I have made several times is that Bedelia is the only person that Hannibal treats as, well, a person! Everyone else is beneath him, meat only if you will, but not her. Even the ever so special (apparently) Will and Abigail aren’t treated as “people”. Bedelia is the only person that Hannibal respects; that is what makes her so special. Not love (even though he obviously loves her), because respect is rarer for Hannibal than love. Sure, he “loves” Will, the same way you love your favourite book. You want to have it and you don’t want anyone else to have it, but you don’t expect the book to return your feelings. Bedelia is Hannibal’s only equal.

The Red Dragon arc was a mess of epic proportions so I don’t even want to get into that. But I do appreciate the acknowledgement of Bedelia’s darker side and now she has become comfortable with it since Florence. Let’s make a few notes so it doesn’t look as if I am purposely omitting things: Hannibal’s letters to Bedelia? Clearly a part of his “telling her story” and helping her cover, plus he was not able to send her proper letters, so that is his way of telling her he thinks of her. Sessions with Will? You can’t really take everything she told him at face value, she is obfuscating after all. Why would she be honest with Will? She wouldn’t be, she was just continuing what Hannibal has started with much better results (slightly too good actually, as proven by Will’s stupid plan). Bedelia wasn’t afraid Hannibal would come after her, because she had no reasons to be. NONE. She was protected by him.

So there you have it, the great many reasons why I am so unapologetic in my shipping. Because it is all there. Thank you for reminding me why I love these two so much! Have a great day, maybe next time you can message me off anon.

(And thanks to all who got to the end of this almost dissertation, this is my testament, I love you all fellow bedannibal fans!)

[vinca-majors]

Michaela Brown, ScaryMommy:

Upon graduating college with my hard-earned degree to teach high school English, I almost immediately began planning for  my graduate studies. Lots of high schools around the country require their teachers to have a masters degree, so that was a motivator. Plus, it came with a pay raise. And, I truly enjoyed going to school. In fact, at the time, I hadn’t ruled out going on and earning my doctorate as well.

I did end up graduating with my M.A. in secondary education, after writing a thesis I’m damn proud of. My path changed a bit and I never went on for my doctorate, but you can be sure as hell if I had that I’d claim that Dr. title. That my students—even the grumpiest of teenagers whose eyes shot daggers at me as I made them read Shakespearean sonnets—would be calling me Dr. and not Mrs. or Miss.

And as I’ve encountered other professionals with that Dr. title, I’ve never hesitated to refer to them that way. My children’s formal principal went by Dr. Matthews. No one questioned it. I’ve had professors at the undergraduate and graduate level use the title. Again, that’s what we all called them. With respect. And without hesitation. Just as we refer to famous figures like a man we’ve all heard of—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.— because each of these people put in the work, the years, the money, the commitment, and the dedication. Each of them earned their Dr. title.

So yeah, when Dr. Jill Biden completed her education and earned her Doctor of Education (Ed.D) from the University of Delaware, she rightfully earned the title “Dr.” and deserves to be referred to as such. Just as any other professional with that level of expertise does as well. Is she a medical doctor? No. Does she claim to be? No. Have professionals in academia added Dr. to their titles once they’ve earned their doctorate for centuries? Yes.

However, because some ignorant asswipes remain stuck in 1950, or don’t understand how higher education works, or simply are bound and determined to hate on the Bidens as they hated on the Obamas even though they are kind and supportive of others—regardless of political party, her title is under scrutiny.

The Wall Street Journal stupidly published an op-ed, which has now gone viral, that was moronically entitled, “Is There a Doctor in the White House? Not if You Need an M.D.” And, of course, this piece of trash essay included a byline that reads, “Jill Biden should think about dropping the honorific, which feels fraudulent, even comic.”

Joseph Epstein, the “writer” of this ignorant word vomit, opens by condescendingly calling Dr. Biden “kiddo” and offering her advice, as if he is in any position to advise the First Lady of the United States on literally anything. “Madame First Lady—Mrs. Biden—Jill—kiddo: a bit of advice on what may seem like a small but I think is a not unimportant matter,” Epstein mansplains.

He then goes on to insult her dissertation on student retention at community colleges, calling it “unpromising” and, in the same paragraph, refers to the idiotic but commonly used quip that no one can call themselves “doctor” unless they’ve delivered a child.

Let’s break this bullshittery down, shall we? First of all, Mr. Epstein, your piece reeks of envy. We’re sorry you didn’t have the… guts? courage? stamina? intelligence level? (who knows) to actually ever earn a doctorate, but you sound bitter. It’s not a good look. Also, it’s clear that you don’t respect the value of community colleges, which is where Dr. Biden has spent a large portion of her career. And, finally, the world now knows that you are threatened by smart women. Bravo.

Also, we’ll be sure to let all the medical doctors out there who’ve tirelessly fought COVID-19 this year, holding the hands of dying patients, and also those brilliant scientists who thankfully have brought us a vaccine that offers a beacon of hope, that they don’t get to call themselves “doctor” because they’ve never caught a newborn baby. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that tidbit of info from you—*checks notes*—a man with one single undergraduate degree, no earned doctorate, and zero medical expertise.

Basically, Mr. Epstein, it’s obvious that you have some personal issues you need to unpack. Maybe take some time over the holidays to do a little self-reflection? Like, why do you even care what title Dr. Biden goes by? Why are you so scared of women who are more successful than you?

Your piece then goes on a long, barely coherent rant about “honorary doctorates,” which is not what Dr. Biden has. If you’d like to blast the validity or point of bestowing honorary doctorates on celebrities like Stephen Colbert and Seth Meyers, for example, go right ahead, but that has nothing to do with Dr. Biden. This lack of cohesive argument is why I’ve referred to you as a “writer” a few paragraphs up, because it seems apparent that you don’t understand the need for basic textual support.

(Calling you a jealous asswipe, well, that’s just a reflection of your character.)

Finally, your last “supporting argument” (again, use of quotes intentional here) as to why Dr. Biden should drop her title is because apparently doctorates don’t count anymore. Back in the day, you explain, doctoral exams were far more grueling, but today’s candidates get off way too easy.

“One had to pass examinations in two foreign languages, one of them Greek or Latin, defend one’s thesis, and take an oral examination on general knowledge in one’s field,” your op-ed states. “At Columbia University of an earlier day, a secretary sat outside the room where these examinations were administered, a pitcher of water and a glass on her desk. The water and glass were there for the candidates who fainted. A far cry, this, from the few doctoral examinations I sat in on during my teaching days, where candidates and teachers addressed one another by first names and the general atmosphere more resembled a kaffeeklatsch.”

(I had to look up what kaffeeklatsch meant—it’s an informal social gathering at which coffee is served. Excuse my lack of knowledge there. I’m just a silly woman with a higher degree than you.)

And, as you end with, “Dr. Jill, I note you acquired your Ed.D. as recently as 15 years ago at age 55, or long after the terror had departed,” you not only insult her by addressing her as “Dr. Jill”, but you also imply that because she likely didn’t faint while taking her exams or defending her dissertation, that somehow her degree isn’t real.

That’s the crazy thing about education—it evolves. Today, kids even use these neat little things called computers! You wouldn’t believe it. Another way we’ve evolved is to realize that shockingly, our doctoral candidates don’t have to become physically ill to prove they are smart and worthy of their degree!

(I mean, you never even tried, Mr. Epstein, so I guess even today, doctoral programs are only for the toughest among us, like Dr. Jill Biden.)

Also, it seems that Northwestern University, where you were previously listed as “emeritus lecturer of English,” has scrubbed you entirely from their website, stating that it is “firmly committed to equity, diversity and inclusion, and strongly disagrees with Epstein’s misogynistic views.” Again, evolution! Change is good.

Hmmm. So one of you is a misogynist with no teaching history to even brag about as your previous employer has disassociated with you, and another is a successful educator committing to helping all Americans have access to a proper education. Oh, and the second one goes by Dr.

Looks like the real “comical fraud” is you, bruh.

And just so we’re clear, Dr. Biden has always been committed to ensuring that everyone (not just pretentious twats like you, Joseph Epstein) has access to a fair education. Earlier in her career, she worked in a psychiatric hospital where she taught English to adolescents with emotional disabilities. During that same time she also earned two (yes, TWO) master’s degrees, one from Villanova University and one from West Chester University. In 2009, after earning her doctorate, she began teaching English at Northern Virginia Community College, and advocating for community college education has since been her passion. “Dr. Biden has always said that community colleges are ‘one of America’s best-kept secrets.’ As a teacher, she sees how community colleges have changed the lives of so many of her students for the better,” explains former president Barack Obama’s White House website.

Sorry, Mr. Epstein, but not everyone can afford to enroll in an English class at Northwestern taught by a raging sexist who gets his balls in a bunch when women succeed. For many, community college is a better fit, and Dr. Biden is a big part of that.

“In 2012, she traveled across the country as part of the ‘Community College to Career’ tour to highlight successful industry partnerships between community colleges and employers,” the website goes on to say. “In the fall of 2010, she hosted the first-ever White House Summit on Community Colleges with President Obama, and she continues to work on this outreach on behalf of the Administration – frequently visiting campuses, meeting with students and teachers, as well as industry representatives around the country.”

Imagine all of the hard-working Americans Dr. Biden has helped by supporting community colleges. Future teachers just like her often get their degree while working full time, raising a family, and going to college at night. Who knows, some of them may even—gasp—go to grad school too. High school kids who choose to forego going away to a full-time university and instead, take classes at a community college closer to home, are given that option because of people like Dr. Biden. Kids who go on to be EMTs, police officers, technicians in trade industries, engineers, and find success in the business world. Or, they transfer those college credits to a larger university down the road when they have the means to do so. Single moms doing their best to give their children a good life often attend community college classes online, after their children are asleep, proving that they have the drive and determination to do more and be more.

So, what it all boils down to, Mr. Epstein, is that you really, really hate that there’s about to a woman in the White House who’s smarter than you. And not only that, but she inspires women everywhere to work hard, earn their degrees, and then they’ll be smarter than you too. Yikes. That’s a tough pickle to be in, Mr. Epstein. We’re sorry that you are so insecure and unhappy with your own lack of success.

At least you can still wrote those stellar op-eds though! Good luck with your “writing” career, kiddo.

[oneweekoneband]

Lorde, “Writer in the Dark”

As a YouTube comment I saw beautifully summed up, a Renaissance painting come to life (though I believe she’s more Romanticism than Renaissance)

I’m tempted to just say “~ L o r d e ‘ s  f a l s e t t o ~” and dip for the day, but 1) my choir teacher (who’s probably typing her doctoral dissertation as I work on this entry) is of the stance that females don’t have a falsetto (apparently, it’s a debated topic in the vocal/speech studies circle), 2) we have to discuss the Kate Bush Reincarnate Theory of music journalism, and 3) “Writer in the Dark” is more than its highest note.

Pedagogical accuracy aside, we’ll stick with falsetto (mostly because if the term isn’t “falsetto,” I’ve no idea what it would be…), and WOW! what a falsetto that is. Never before had Lorde’s voice soared to such heights; she almost buckles under the pressure of confessing (she, in fact, felt “naughty” writing this song) her eternal love (“I’ll love you till my breathing stops”), of singing in the upper echelon of her range. Almost. No song on Pure Heroine or The Love Club comes close to this moment, and the wait to hear it, to be left in awe of its vocal and emotional potency, is well-deserved.

Whether Kate Bush is a progenitor of “Writer in the Dark,” on the other hand, is tangential at best (if not, out of the question altogether), but the weak link between the two artists does point out a recurring theme: how womxn in the music industry are constantly (and, more often than not, fallaciously) projected as a leaf on The (Kate) Bush. Think pieces on Medium have taken notice, yet Bush continues to be the default, jump-the-gun mold, whoever the singer might be (I guess Billie Eilish and Kate Bush are soul sisters, now?). 

But let’s play along and put stock into Independent and Newsweek. While Bush hasn’t been mentioned explicitly by Lorde as an inspiration, her impact could be implicit, subconscious, but the disparities would remain alarming. Have you heard “Moving,” “Rubberband Girl”? Can you imagine Lorde delivering the same results? Long story short: she can’t. Lorde’s thin, eyeliner-dark alto isn’t capable of matching Bush’s full, relatively-bright soprano, which isn’t diminutive per se (no one is denying the latter’s sphere of influence, which has spawned cover after cover of “Running Up That Hill”); the inverse is true, and each has their own strength. When Lorde does try, almost a full measure is required for preparation, and she relies on the lilt of downbeats in her higher register instead of ascending weightlessly into the stratosphere, sounding breathless instead of effortless. Their songwriting also takes different approaches. Bush can cut just as deep and precise in her vivisection of love as Lorde (perhaps more so), but her intentions can be more difficult to glean in the complexities of metaphors (again, “Rubberband Girl) and literary fiction (the all-knowing “Wuthering Heights”, and to reiterate, “Green Light” wasn’t supposed to be an allusion to The Great Gatsby). The only foundation they share seems to be their genre and gender, which isn’t saying much.

With or without Bushian parallels, “Writer in the Dark” can speak for itself, a cautious and caustic autopsy of a post-mortem relationship. No “good man” uses control and suffocation as their love language, and the red flags abound: “Stood on my chest and kept me down, hated/ Hearing my name on the lips of a crowd.” It’s no way to live romantically (quite frankly, no way to live, period) because to live for someone and “to exist” for them are not synonymous. The dissipating notes plucked from the piano fit accordingly, hollow and lonesome, while Lorde sings above the chasmic accompaniment. Her consonance is crisp, as if she’s trying to spit out the aftertaste of a relationship past its expiry date at the end of each “darrrr-K”, but she does the opposite: “She’s gonna play and sing and lock you in her heart.” Push and pull, ebb and flow, whatever you want to call this dynamic, Lorde captures it in six lines, the lingering feelings of love (“I am my mother’s child/ I love you till my breathing stops/ I love you till you call the cops on me”) and the desire to live without out them (“But in our darkest hours/ I stumble upon a secret power/ I find a way to be without you, babe”). Too long? Try one: “I loved you since I stopped needing you.”

Eventually, she doesn’t need to sing the words to make them true. The chorus fades out, a synth chiming in like a North Star to follow, strings trace the melody in its place, and you just….let everything go. The love is gone, but not forgotten.

[kyanitesaphire]

Lightning in a Bottle pt.3 (also on AO3 and Wattpad)

Spencer could feel all eyes on him as he settled in at his desk the next day. His team wasn’t even subtle about it. He did his best to ignore them and not give in to their wordless curiosity. If they wanted to know something, they would have to ask for it themselves. Nearly twenty minutes of solid focused work had passed before Derek finally gave in to his burning curiosity and spoke up.

“Ok kid, spill it. How did it go last night with you and your mistress of the hunt.” Spencer furrowed his brows at Derek’s choice of nickname.

“It went well…Mistress of the hunt? Really?”

“Yeah. Her and her hounds. Were they as big as they sounded?”

“Bigger believe it or not.” Spencer boasted as he pulled out the photo printouts and held them up. Derek got up from his desk to inspect the images.

 “Woah! Damn, you ain’t kidding. The one on your lap looks as big as a horse.” Derek exclaimed. “So which ones which?”

“That one’s Zeus and that’s Raijin.” Spencer distinguished while pointing them out in the photo. He drew Derek’s attention to the second photo. “And that is Éclair.”

“Alright,  I see how it is. You like a foxy lady with a little spunk.” Derek teased gesturing to the blue streaks and trimming in her hair. Spencer tried and failed horribly to conceal his amusement with his comrades speculation. The other hyper vigilant members of the team who had been listening in all sprung from their desks upon hearing that there was a picture of this mysterious new woman in Spencer’s life, eager to get a glimpse for themselves. They all gushed over the pictures although Penelope’s focus was more on the dogs. “So tell me, when you say ‘it went well' how well are we talking?”

“Oh! Yes! Do tell, I want all of the details! Was it like a 90’s rom-com? Was there intense passion and romance?” Penelope inquired hastily.

“I’m not sure what kind of dog walks you go on that would include ‘intense passion and romance’ Garcia, but I can tell you this was not one of them.” Spencer said in a calm but concerned tone. “As to how well it went exactly, well, I’m supposed to go to her place for a movie night so long as we don’t get a case today.”

“Oh yeah? And how does this Lurch fella feel about that? And who is he by the way?” Derek asked.

“He's her guardian apparently. His job is to basically keep her in line and take care of her until she’s deemed fit to be on her own.” Spencer explained pulling out Éclair’s file from his bag and setting it on his desk. “And as to how he feels about my spending time with her, I believe his words were ‘you could bend her over the kitchen table and pound her ass like mochi for all I care.’” He added with slight disgust. Derek winced and chuckled at the unsolicited mental picture of Spencer doing exactly that. JJ and Penelope also seemed uncomfortable with the raunchy comment, mostly due to the jarring juxtaposition of such a statement being reiterated by the naïve and gentle doctor.

“Charming.” Derek retorted sarcastically as he made his way back to his own desk. To avoid Spencer going on one of his more than informative tangents, JJ quickly googled what mochi was on her phone and instantly regretted it as the already unsettling mental image she had became violently more so .

Between tasks, Spencer took it upon himself to do a bit of research into this Dr.Jericho person. Although this doctor did indeed have his own small clinic, his reputation still remained shrouded in obscurity. All he could ascertain from the limited publicly accessible resources , was the location of said clinic, and where Dr.Jericho’s  expertise lie. There were no pages dedicated to any of his dissertations, the site for his clinic was bare bones at best, and he couldn’t find a single picture of the doc in question. This seemed suspicious to Spencer considering even hospitals plastered their walls and media with images of their medical and administrative staff in an attempt to put a human face to the corporate machine that is American healthcare. If Spencer wanted any concrete information on Jericho, he’d need a Garcia level search. At this point that seemed like a gross misuse of government resources.

Thinking back on the scans of Éclair’s brain reminded him of a case from about two years prior. Anton Harris had abducted a pair of students, one of which was his sister, and preformed lobotomies on them, rendering them incapable of speech and had implanted tiny cameras into their eyes. The memory of Dana Harris being lobotomized via live stream for the world to see still haunted him from time to time. There were certain uncomfortable similarities between the Harris case and Éclair’s. The vicious yet skillfully executed lobotomy, the targeting of an individual who wouldn’t be missed, the apparent escape/possible release. Unfortunately Éclair’s case lacked an obvious motive. What was to be gained from doing this to her, or anyone for that matter? There was one more alarming oversight from the Harris case that Spencer wasn’t going to make again; previous attempts, failed or otherwise. He compiled a series of notes and comparisons on how to proceed with an investigation should another victim be found and the case be appointed to them. Until then, this was as far as he dared to delve, not wanting to get Garcia in trouble. He slipped his notes into the folder with Éclair’s information and tucked it safely away into his drawer.

The day had passed uneventfully, with no cases coming up requiring their immediate attention. As Spencer packed up his things to leave, he whipped out his cell and called Éclair just as promised. The line trilled repeatedly and he waited patiently for someone to pick up.

“Hey doc. Éclair told me you’d call.” Lurch’s gruff voice came through. “Am I telling her you’re on your way?”

“Umm, yeah….” Spencer confirmed “why do you have her phone again?”

“I just hadn’t given it back yet after her appointment. Which, speaking of, must have been a rough one for her this time.” Lurch informed. “She’s still pretty out of it.  Maybe you should do us all a favour and bring her some comfort food or something on your way over.”

“Ok, what exactly should I bring?” Spencer asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Lurch grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re her caretaker, you should know!” Spencer scolded.

“Look, all I know is when women get moody, they eat junk food and cry about their problems to their best friends.” Lurch explained. Spencer rolled his eyes at the rather sexist generalization. “So since she’s not talking yet, I figured we could ply her with whatever girls eat when they’re sad.”

“Oh yes, let’s just default to the more toxic coping methods, because nothing could possibly go wrong there.” Spencer groaned sarcastically. He pressed the elevator button firmly and stood back, waiting for the doors to open. “I’ll figure something out, but I need to head home and change first. I don’t feel like having my good clothes covered in fur again.” He let out an exasperated sigh and vigorously rubbed at his eye with his fingertips.

“Ha, I thought it was an improvement.” Lurch joked, to which Spencer replied with a mock laugh. ”Alright Dr.Loverboy, we’ll see you in a bit.” With that the call was disconnected.

“Dr.Loverboy?” Spencer muttered under his breath with a confused grimace as he boarded the elevator and pocketed his phone.

Spencer rang the doorbell while precariously balancing a hot chocolate on a box of Éclair's favoured namesake pastry. Unlike his previous visit, there was no barrage of barking from inside. He also didn’t hear the heavy footfalls of Lurch approaching the door. Instead the door swung open and an elegant raven haired woman with piercing violet eyes greeted him.

“Hey! You’re Éclair's friend, right? Spencer was it?” She asked as she stepped aside to allow him in.

“Yeah, hi!” He spat out, startled  “Sorry, I was expecting Lurch to answer the door.” He stepped in and immediately kicked his shoes off.

“Herald is in the living room, I’m Yen by the way, Herald’s girlfriend.” Yen explained as she scooped up Spencer’s shoes and placed them on the rack for him. Lurch came around the corner and eyed the footwear his girlfriend was putting away.

“Good grief, please tell me you’re going shoe shopping tomorrow. Those things are an embarrassment.” Lurch mocked.

“Oh please babe, you’re one to talk. At least his shoes are clean, which is more than I can say you  and your nasty Kodiaks .” Yen scolded.

“ You’re kidding right? They look like burgundy suede bowling shoes. Hardly appropriate for a man of his profession.” Lurch rebutted, cocky as usual.

“And those monstrosities are appropriate for a man of yours?” Yen said. “Honestly he’s better dressed than you, that’s for sure.” Lurch rolled his eyes and shook his head at the comment.

“Éclair’s upstairs in her room with the boys. The doors open.” Lurch gestured up the stairs before turning away and ushering Yen with him back into the living room.

“It was nice seeing you.” Yen called out over her shoulder before disappearing into the living room. Spencer nodded quietly in affirmation before ascending to the second floor.

 He peered into Éclair’s room and tapped lightly on her open door, gaining the immediate attention of Zeus and Raijin. Both behemoths clamored off the enormous bed and rushed toward him, herding him toward Éclair who was still reclined on the bed. She laid there prone, exposed and she had an air of defeat about her. Garbed in only a black band tank top and black boyshort panties, her hair loose and splayed out over her pillow as she stared blankly up at the ceiling. He did his best not to stare too long at her strong bare legs as he was pushed closer and closer until his knees bumped the mattress. The jostling of the bed stirred her from her trance and she sat up, pulling out her ear buds.

“Hey, h-how are you?” Spencer stammered, clearing his throat. “I uh, I brought you a hot chocolate and some eclairs.” He held them out to her for her to accept. She gave the hot chocolate a vacant glance and slowly dragged her eyes up to meet Spencer’s. Once their eyes locked, a faint smile slowly spread across her lips and she reached up to take the cup from him.

“You remembered what I like? That’s so sweet.” She uttered softly, a hint of joy weaving through her voice. She brought the cup to her lips and imbibed a hefty swig of the warm beverage, letting out a relieved sigh afterwards.

“Um… I have to ask…but… why aren’t you wearing pants?” He asked nervously still trying to keep his gaze respectively off her exposed lower half. “Did…did Lurch not tell you I was coming?” Éclair cocked her head in confusion, then looked down at her half naked state.

“I’m sure I had pants… I know I did. Lurch told me you were coming over, Yen helped me draw a bath, and I set clothes aside for after…” She walked herself through the events before Spencer’s arrival, her eyes scanned the room as she did. Then she saw it. She did indeed set pajama pants aside to wear, but in her dissociative state she forgot to put them on, only getting half dressed. “…oops! There they are.” She got up from the bed, brushing up against Spencer as she passed. Although the notion of privacy had become a moot point, Spencer kept his back to her while she donned her bottoms. Zeus nudged Spencer’s arm with his nose, Éclair’s ribbon and bells hanging from his mouth, offering them up to him. He set the pastries down on the bed as he received the accessory from the canine comrade. He turned to offer it back to Éclair and found her all ready munching away on the sweet snacks, her fingers covered in the chocolatey confection. She patted the top of her head with her free hand when she caught a glimpse of the adornment in Spencer’s grasp.

“Would you like me to put this in for you?” Spencer offered and Éclair nodded her approval as she sucked the sugary residue off her fingers. He sat on the edge of her bed with his legs set apart for her to seat herself between them. Once she was situated, he went to work combing the top portion of her hair together with his fingers gently raking his nails along her scalp before wrapping the silky ribbon around the partitioned cluster of strands. “So, what movie did you want to watch tonight?”

“I have a few picked out. I don’t know what one to start with though.” She explained. She wrapped her arms around Spencer’s legs, hugging them closer to her as she relaxed under his touch. After he tied the bow, he gave the bells a light shake letting her know he was done and could stand up. When she rose to her feet she turned to face Spencer, placing her hands where his neck and shoulders met. As he gazed up into her eyes he could see a significant improvement in her mood but she still wasn’t her usual self.

“Well, why don’t we start with one that seems the most lighthearted. Something feel-good.” He suggested. She thought for a moment before making her decision and stepping away from Spencer to set up her selection. The Princess Bride.

“Ok, scoot over closer to the middle of the bed.” Éclair ordered as she grabbed the remote and climbed back into the bed next to Spencer. She leaned over him to turn of the bedside lamp,  eliminating the glare on the television screen and hit the play button. Once the movie began both Zeus and Raijin jumped up into the bed on either side and laid out next to them facing the tv.

“And this is why I changed out of my nice clothes before coming here.” Spencer commented as he rested his arm on Zeus’s back like a sofa.

“ You’re telling me that sweater is part of your not nice clothing?” Éclair asked as she inspected the garment.

“More like it’s one I’m not particularly attached to. I haven’t worn it in nearly 9 years and I rarely wore it then. Plus most of the fur wont be noticeable against the white anyway.” He explained. Éclair reached over and ran her fingers over the ornate embroidered dragon.

“That’s a shame. I like it, and it looks good on you.” She confessed as she hunkered down to watch the film. The two of them discussed and commented on the various scenes rather than observe in silence.

“I can’t get over the eerie similarity between the Spaniard and my old mentor at the BAU.” Spencer said uncomfortably.

“ Like a doppelganger? They say everyone has one out there somewhere. I’m sure you have one too.” Éclair postulated.

“Oh yes, and then we come to find out my cinematic doppelganger appears in a film as an unfortunate and foulmouthed tradesman who gets swept up in a burglary and whirlwind killing spree by his psychotic and promiscuous girlfriend.” Spencer joked.

“Sounds like a good movie. I’d watch it. Especially with a lead actor that sexy.” She added, elbowing him playfully. Spencer tried to laugh off the compliment feeling his cheeks tingle with embarrassment. When the movie ended, Éclair rolled half onto Spencer to look up at him. “How bout we watch one more?”

“As you wish.” He responded trying to remain serious as he quoted the movie they just watched, but as they maintained eye contact both of them devolved into a fit of giggles. Éclair shuffled down to swap out the movies putting in Who Framed Roger Rabbit and crawling back into bed.

Neither one of them stayed awake till the end of the movie.

[tyler-blogs]

Long Post About Adulthood and Not Being Ready

Internally, I feel like I'm in a constant battle between ambition and...something else that I can't quite name.

I want desperately to make a difference in this world. I don't care if my name ends up in a history book. I don't need that kind fo legacy. I just want to die knowing that this world is a noticeably better place because of decisions I made.

That's part of why I became a teacher. There are other reasons, but my desire to help people is a big one. But it's also causing me to look beyond the classroom, because American teachers, for better or worse, have to work within a racist, classist, sexist, and generally flawed system. And although teachers make the biggest impact on students directly (few people have a "favorite principal" from childhood), they have less control over the system. Especially in states with strict anti-union laws.

So to help make the systemic changes we need, I need to become a principal or superintendent. To do that, I need to go back and get my master's degree and maybe event a doctorate, eventually. I'm not worried about whether or not I CAN do that. I definitely can. I'll kill that dissertation one day.

But I'm also just so exhausted.

In a perfect world, I'd pay off my student loans (which will be in 2027 if I apply for the $5,000 teacher student loan forgiveness), THEN go get my master's (and probably more student loans). I will have taught for 9 years, spend 2ish getting my master's, then move into a building level admin role (assistant principal or something) after 11+ years as a classroom teacher. I liked that timeline. That was my plan when I graduated, and my husband was on board with it (because I don't need his approval but it's good to have your partner in crime be on the same wavelength as you, ya know?)

Then I got my first teaching job, and now basically nobody else supports that plan, including my husband. My first year at my school, I got an Educator of the Year award (which is unheard of!!!). I've contributed to a pedagogy book that will be published in a few months. I got voted as favorite staff member by my colleagues in May, the end of my 2nd year. My district is paying for me to take classes so I can be certified to teach ESL students. I've only been teaching for 2 years, but my assistant principal, who I love and consider a friend, "jokingly" asked when I was going to get my degree so I could be Dean of Students. I've taught professional development sessions to colleagues who have been teaching longer than I've been alive, and those colleagues voluntarily attended so I guess they like me. I've become my building's NEA union representative. I'm on my district's new "Virtual Learning Taskforce" that we set up to create guidelines for this school year since we are going 100% virtual until COVID cases go down in my county. My resume is getting so long I can't fit it all even on 2 pages. I'm designing websites and sponsoring clubs and mentoring new teachers and I just don't feel comfortable with the pace of ANY of this.

I want these things. I do. I just didn't expect them to happen so quickly. I was taught in college that your first 5 years as a teacher, you're a mess. Well, apparently I don't look like a mess. I feel like one, though.

So Blake, my husband, started trying to get me to rethink my timeline. Maybe instead of starting my master's after I teach for about 10 years, I could start it around year 7, and then have it done by year 10. And then he started looking up programs for me to apply to. He found 2 and I talked to some colleagues and I've chosen the one I want. I know I can get in. But I'm not applying yet. Because I don't! Feel! Ready!

Why don't I feel ready? I don't know! I really don't. Maybe I don't trust myself? This is what goes through my head when people encourage me to step up, lead people, and go get my master's sooner rather than later:

There was a man in the building where I student taught who said the worst principal he ever had was a young woman who only taught for 5 years before becoming an admin. What if I end up like her? What if I don't have enough experience in the classroom, and my teachers don't trust in my abilities?

Why am I being given all these opportunities? Do I deserve them? I'm a baby. I'm fucking 24. I have 2 years of job experience. Why do these people trust me to do this?

What if I'm taking opportunities from my BIPOC colleagues? Do we really need another white high school principal in a majority minority school district?

Does my awareness of the above bullet point, and the fact that I do try to listen to BIPOC voices, and am doing this specifically so I can dismantle systems like the school to prison pipeline and subpar education received by poor and BIPOC children, make up for the fact that I'd be another white high school principal?

When I sabotage my own success one day by having a manic or depressive episode, what will happen?

Am I really doing this for the right reasons?

Will I miss the classroom too much and regret my decision?

Why do I have the audacity to think I can make a difference at all? I'm not special. I'm not better than anyone else. So why does it have to be me? Is this all secretly about my ego?

So yeah. I just had to write this out. And idk what this accomplished. I still haven't decided what I'll do, but I'll probably finish my ESL certification in May 2021, and then have to start my master's that Fall because everyone will push me to and I don't want to let them down.

[shitheadkk]

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Revolution

Chapter Two

The following morning came far too quickly for the likes of Jotaro and Josuke. The earliest flight out to Seattle came in at four, and the last time that Jotaro remembers looking at his phone was well after midnight. He is awoken by a terrible headache and a stiff neck.

The things I’m willing to do. He thinks as he takes his seat on the plane. At least the old man isn’t here. Maybe we’ll make it out alive.

“So, Jotaro.” Josuke begins, haphazardly fixing his pompadour. “Fill your old uncle

Good grief.

“We���re going to meet up with my old friend Polnareff. There’s some sort of scientist out there that is apparently been bringing the dead back to life. Polnareff is convinced that they may be able to bring back the old man.”

“What do you think?” Josuke asks, puzzled.

“Even if this guy is able to bring people back from the dead, the old man has been dead for years now. He’s worm food by now.”

“Then why are you even fucking with it?”

I’d really like to believe that it's true. My grandfather might have been an absolute pain in my ass, but he sure as hell knew how to keep the mood lively.

“I’ve been meaning to get out there and see Polnareff anyway. I’m already in America, so why not?”

“Excuse me?” A voice calls from beside them. They look over to see a man in a suit staring them down.

“Can we help you?” Jotaro asks, rolling his eyes.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about a scientist that could bring someone back to life?” The man replies.

“What about it?”

“Zeppeli. I’ve been reading the stories about them for weeks now. Its weird, nobody has been talking about this on the news. It seems that the Speedwagon foundation is trying to keep this under wraps.”

“Has he really been able to bring people back from the dead?” Josuke blurts, much to Jotaro’s annoyance.

“It seems so.” He chuckles a bit and pulls up an article on some off the wall website on his laptop.

Speedwagon Foundation Revives Man Dead After Two Weeks

‘A true miracle’- says man saved by Speedwagon Scientist

Who is Zeppeli and how are they saving the world

Whoever this guy is, he’s certainly secretive about it.

Later that Night, Broken Heart’s Gentlemen’s Club

Their taxi leaves the duo in lower Seattle, in a district known by the locals as Socialite’s Pleasure. The air is much clearer than it was by the airport. The night’s sky is lit up marvelously by the distant skyline, and the men are able to see the clear, full moon in the distance. Around them, they are surrounded by lush restaurants and coffee shops, as well as chic clothing stores.

Josuke takes his phone from his pocket as they are walking down the street, snapping pictures with each passing.

“We aren’t in Morioh anymore, Josuke.” Jotaro chuckles, wrapping himself in his jacket as they continue towards the address that Polnareff provided them. “Its really fucking cold.” He mutters.

“Seattle is one hell of a sight.” He replies.

The duo continues their short trek in silence, and are stunned at the end of the road to see a large building, adorned with neon hearts and much to their embarrassment, Silver Chariots with overly accentuated breasts.

Good God, Polnareff. What happened to you?

Jotaro can feel his cheeks turning beet red as he approaches the bouncer.

“Evening, Gentlemen.” The bouncer smiles, taking out a clipboard. “This is a private club tonight, boys. I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you in.”

“We were told to come here for a meeting.” Jotaro assures the man.

The man stares at the clipboard, puzzled. “Let me see. What are the names?”

“Josuke Higashikata.”

“Jotaro Kujo.”

The man reads over his guestbook for a moment, and then looks to the duo, astonished. “My great apologies, gents. It looks like you two have been invited here by the owner.”

“That is correct.” Jotaro grumbles, clenching his jaw in disgust.

“Right this way, I will take you to Jean myself.”

The Broken Heart’s Gentlemen’s Club is just as horrific as Jotaro had envisioned. Velvet walls, sleazy dancers, the smell of cigarettes and marijuana reeking the air. Even so, there are even more scantily clad Silver Chariots decorating the club. The club, despite the man’s aura, is full of patrons. Men and women alike stuffing twenties into the g-string of their respected dancers.

“I’m finally in a strip club!” Josuke whispers excitedly, nudging his nephew with his elbow as they walk to the back of the club. “You can tell everyone at Christmas this year that your favorite uncle took you to a strip club!”

Good grief. “We may as well take a picture with the bitch with the blue hair. It could be our Christmas card.” Jotaro laughs. “If my marriage wasn’t over before, it definitely is now.”

Jotaro looks up, tilting his hat back a little. Polnareff is standing at the bar, ordering himself a drink. He hasn’t aged much in the decade since they’d last seen each other. His hair is trimmed back, he’s still got those terrible earrings, and he wears a nice suit.

“Monsieur Polnareff, your guests are here.”

Polnareff cheekily turns around and opens his arms to his friends. “Jojo!” He yells, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Jotaro in a hug.

Jotaro laughs, trying to shake his friend off without hurting his ego. “Good to see you too, Polnareff.”

“What do you think of the place? Biggest strip club in all of Washington.”

“As far as strip clubs go, it's pretty nice. Glad to see you’re making a decent living here.” Jotaro replies, taking a seat at the bar.

“Could I interest you guys in a drink?” The blonde waitress asks politely. Jotaro looks up at the woman and feels himself blush. She is probably the most modest looking woman in here. Her long blonde hair cascades over her shoulders. She is strikingly tall, she has to be towering at at least six feet. She’s athletic build, curvy in all the right places. Her entire torso is covered in tattoos, as well as her arms. She wears a tight black dress, leaving some imagination but not much.

“Josephine, why don’t you make them one of your special teas? The pink one, with the Sake in it.”

The woman, Josephine is her name. She scurries off with a curt nod into the back of the bar.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Polnareff chuckles, acknowledging Jotaro’s blush. “She doesn’t like to dance much, but she is one hell of a bartender.”

Josephine quickly returns, placing two fuschia cocktails in front of Jotaro and Josuke.

Polnareff smiles and hands her a bill. “She’s smart, too. She’s working on her doctorate right now, finishing her dissertation. What was it on, again?”

In a soft voice, she blushes and replies. “It's on what happens to our bodies when we die, for short.”

“That’s very interesting.” Josuke oogles. “Why are you here, then?”

Josephine laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “This is just part time. I’m doing an internship during the day, I do this a couple of nights a week.”

“That’s so cool!” Josuke grins. “Jotaro here is a doctor too!”

She turns her attention to Jotaro, who is quite obviously floored. “I’m not really a doctor, I’m just a marine biologist.”

“Science of any form is quite interesting.” She chuckles. “It isn’t something to be taken lightly, Dr. Kujo. Besides, I double majored in Marine Biology and Human Sciences.”

“I told you guys that she was smart.”

Josephine looks at Polnareff intently. “There are no limits to the human brain, if one believes that there aren’t.”

“Thank you again for the drinks, Josephine.” Polnareff motions to the duo to follow him. “We will meet in the private party room. Shall I hire a dancer?”

You could have Josephine come in. Something about that woman has sparked Jotaro’s interest. He wasn’t sure what, but there was definitely something different about the woman.

“I’d rather we speak in private.”

“So this scientist, do you know them?” Jotaro asks, taking a draw off of the hookah.

“Nobody does. The only thing I know about them is what I’ve read, and whatever they have been doing definitely works. I called the Speedwagon foundation and they were hesitant to say the least, but they said we could come by in the morning to meet with this guy.”

“Bringing people back from the dead, you’d think would be something that would be talked about more.” Josuke scoffs, typing away at his laptop. “I’m reading some of the cases here. Turns out, 4 out of the 5 articles that I’ve read, it seems that most of the ressurections have been linked to either a murder or some sort of gang violence.”

“That’s strange. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Hang on.” Josuke mumbles as he reads the articles. “Listen here. ‘In the case of 22 year old Darius McDonnel, linked to the Southside Halo Gang, it seems that after he was released from the hospital, the rival gang members were also shortly released, their injuries healed completely and they were placed into police custody.’”

“So what are you saying?” Polnareff asks.

“It seems that after the resurrection, at least in the gang violence, the injured rivals are also being healed.”

“By the way, Polnareff.” Jotaro inquires, taking another draw from the hookah. “How do you know that it works?”

“Because they healed me. I was in Italy some time ago, encountered a pretty vicious stand user, and was killed. The Speedwagon foundation found out, brought me here, and I was healed. The guy was in and out, I never even heard their name.”

“You don’t think it could be a stand user, this scientist, do you?”

Josuke quickly shuts his laptop and knocks back his drink. “There’s only one way to find out. Even if this guy is a stand user, there's three of us and one of them.”

You idiot.

“Yeah.” Jotaro scoffs. “But this guy is bringing people back to life left and right. Who knows what else his stand is able to do.”

Polnareff looks his smartwatch and sighs. “I guess we’ll have to find out in the morning. This guy’s office just sent me an email. He wants to meet us at five, before office hours.”

“I’m getting real fucking sick of not sleeping.” Jotaro grumbles, peeling himself off of the floor. He and Josuke bid their farewell to Polnareff, promising that they will meet at the hotel in the morning. The duo make their way out of the club, swearing off the subzero temperatures as Josuke hails an uber.

“Do you guys need a ride?” They hear a voice call from behind them. They turn around, met by deep emerald eyes and ruffled blonde curls. Its Josephine.

“We just called an Uber, but thank you.” Jotaro responds, calm.

“I hope to see you around then, Dr. Kujo.” She smiles, before climbing into a jet black Mercedes G-Wagon. Their ride follows quickly behind.

For a student, she’s got some money.

Jotaro buckles himself in and rests his head on the window of the Camry. Josuke tries to make some small talk with their driver, but all Jotaro wants to do is catch a few extra moments of sleep. Then it hits him, what was so weird about Josephine. He never told her his last name, they always referred to him as Jotaro. How did she know so much about him? She was a marine biologist herself, maybe she had read one of his papers. Regardless, Jotaro knew that this blonde beauty would be what kept him awake that night.

So here’s part 2 of this story arc! I’m so excited of what I’ve been writing!

Also, I’m looking for ideas for original stands and users! Send them to me if you want to be featured ❤️