#high five zadie

[weevmo]

Super silly rough thing for a concept @kmodoposts and I are working on to get some experience for other animations down the road!

Meet Merritt and Zadie, sock puppet besties who have perfectly calm and stable family friendly adventures.

[liriostigre]

Hiiii ty for such a great uquiz!! Would it be possible to see the description of all the books you could get matched to? I’m curious what the vibes are for the rest!!

hi 🌷 here you go:

White Teeth by Zadie Smith: Excessive, maximalist and very ambitious multigenerational and multicultural epic novel that starts with the unlikely friendship between Archie Jones and Samad Iqbal. It explores themes of race, identity and the intersections of culture, heritage, and modernity. Clever and hilarious dialogue, very creative when it comes to language and style, unique and bold when it comes to narrative. Perhaps a flawed novel due to its ambition, but excellent nonetheless.

Despair by Vladimir Nabokov: Excellent writing; very ambitious and stylish. It is somewhat a twisted novel but you will find a lot of humor despite. The narrator speaks directly to the reader as he writes what he regards as his perfect crime. This novel is one of Nabokov's earliest works in which one can easily identify themes and literary devices that the author explored later in his most known works.

The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño: Brilliant and stunning novel about poets and poetry! Very dense and challenging; it requires patience from the reader. This novel is so infinitely dear to me that i can't even explain its brilliance, but i have to give you at least an idea of the plot so: The story is arranged in three parts and told from multiple points of view. It starts in Mexico City, in the 70s, and continues across decades and continents. It follows the adventures and misadventures of Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima—poets, drug dealers, wanderes, criminals. Now, about the themes, the writing, the style, the narration? Just absolutely perfect even at its most tedious, difficult and anticlimactic parts.

The Hearing Trumpet by Leonora Carrington: Unconventional, absurd, imaginative and exuberantly surreal apocalyptic fairytale quest. It follows 92 year old Marian who is sent off to a peculiar old-age home. If you aren't familiar with Leanora Carrington's art you should look at some of her paintings because this wonderful novel feels just like her surrealist paintings!

Mrs. Caliban by Rachel Ingalls: This novella tells the story of a love affair between a depressed suburban housewife and an amphibian creature who escaped a scientific research center. It might sound like a quirky fiction story but it actually deals with the most mundane and banal aspects of life and human relationships. Brilliantly written; neat and precise prose, wonderful storytelling. The author knew what she was doing and not a single word she wrote was wasted.

The Borrowers by Mary Norton: Delicately written little adventure about tiny people who live in the secret places of houses. I am enamored (obsessed!!) with miniatures—dollhouses, dioramas, fairies—so imagine how dear this book is to me.

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn: The murders of two girls bring reporter Camille Preaker back to her hometown. As she works to uncover the truth about those crimes, Camille finds herself forced to unravel the psychological puzzle of her own past. Very entertaining read. It has best seller written all over it (which might not be the biggest compliment lol but i mean for this genre so it is a compliment).

Rage by Sergio Bizzio: Claustrophobic, anxiety inducing, fast-paced psychological thriller that made me think of Bong Joon-ho's Parasite the whole 4 hours it took me to read it. I read it in it's original language, Spanish, and i particularly loved the dialogue; its idiosyncrasies and authenticity (tqm Argentina!)

High Fidelity by Nick Hornby: Rob, an obsessive music fan, reminisces his top five worst break ups to understand his most recent heartbreak. He is a very arrogant and cynical guy who defines his entire life through records, and because he is constantly interacting with music that almost exclusively deals with love—and a very idealistic version of it—he finds himself unsatisfied with the way his life has turned out.

[julesthequirky]

Healing Her: Chapter 1

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors, kindly DNI.

Summary: Three years ago you escaped your abusive ex, but he left you mentally broken, with PTSD. He was an officer of the law, and it's killed any trust you had with the policing organisation. You've learnt to never get involved with a cop. Moving to Montana, you feel you can finally breathe. It's the furthest you can get away from your ex, the furthest you can get away from his influence.

Pairings/Characters: Beau Arlen x Reader, OC Zadie.

Chapter Warnings: PTSD, grounding techniques, anxiety, triggers.

W/C: 1,789

A/N: This chapter has two perspectives, the reader's and Beau's.

This work is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine. If you like it, heart, and reblog it. All feedback is gold.

Zadie’s Coffee Shop was bustling with so many people that you could barely get through the door. Already, the anxiety was working through your veins, almost causing you to back out, but the smell of coffee hit your nose, and the pull of the warmth was just too great. You could do this. You could push yourself. Prove to everyone you could. Prove to yourself. You were scared, but you had just as much of a right to be there as much as everyone else did. Plus, this morning was the only time in the day you had.

Someone shifted, and you slipped to the back of the line. Your eyes darted around, and you couldn’t truly relax. You were hypervigilant, aware of everything. Thankful just to be out of the cold, you rubbed your hands together, quickly warming up and tried looking over the heads at the menu to consider what you’d have. November had hit, and all the holiday drinks had come in. Earlier that week, during a quieter time, Zadie had gushed over all the new drinks she would be showcasing, and you couldn’t wait to sample them all.

The line thinned a little, and you slowly made your way to the front. You still hadn’t decided, but she saw you and smiled. Today, Zadie’s afro looked as glorious and flawless as ever. Her make-up was on point, and a silver highlighter shimmered on her cheekbones. You remembered her saying that Christmas was her favourite time of the year.

“Hey, girl. Don’t worry. I gotchu. You’re gonna love it.”

She spun around with the largest mug and began working on your coffee. You concentrated on the sounds of the machines, the smell of the beans and the way Zadie moved as she made your drink. It kept you grounded.

Zadie slipped the coffee in your direction a few moments later with a warm smile.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Four, seventy-five.”

You nodded and pulled out your wallet from your bag. Your hands fumbled as you pulled notes out. A note went trailing to the floor.

Why haven’t you prepared? God, why do you have to be so awkward? Zadie thinks you’re an idiot. Hurry up, dumbass. Put something down. There’s a whole ass queue behind you. Useless. Slow. Stupid. That’s what you are.

These thoughts flooded your brain, and you struggled to remember the thoughts to counter the negative ones. Your heart hammered, and everything was getting clammy. Your tongue felt like a useless lump of muscle in your mouth, and worst of all, you struggled to pull your breaths in.

A finger tapped you on the shoulder, and you felt like your skin had moved away from your bones. You jumped so high.

“Woah, woah. Didn’t mean ta startle ya.”

The accent struck you. It wasn’t often you heard a Texan accent in Montana. You turned to the voice. The kindest and most sincere green eyes greeted you, along with the prettiest face you’ve ever seen. His hair hung over his forehead, making you want to gently slide it back in place. The man smiled and held out the note between two fingers. With a strained smile, you took it and plopped it onto the counter for Zadie.

Zadie took the money, and you were taking your coffee, desperately trying to move out of the crowd. Finally, you made it to the bank of tables. There was a single two-seater table free, and you took it happily.

Your hands cupped the ceramic mug, and you focused on your breaths before doing anything else. In through the nose and back out. Nice and slow. You could feel it working. Your heart rate lowered, and you could feel the tension ease off your shoulders.

“Five. Table. Spoon. Window. Door. Zadie—”

You forced yourself to pause between each word, speaking them to yourself softly. You paused to take another deep, long breath.

“Four. Chair. Floor. Table. Mug—”

Another deep, long breath.

“Three. Coffee machines. The hubbub. The bell tinkle.”

You were pretty eased by now, and the negativity in your mind was a distant thought. You took another deep breath.

“Two. Coffee beans. Cologne. One.”

You picked up the coffee mug and stirred in the cream on top. Most of it had melted as you went through your exercise, and that was okay. You brought it up to your nose for a cursory sniff. It smelled nutty. You took a tentative sip and let the hot coffee sit on your tongue. Walnut? Praline? Maybe. It was definitely a sweet nut, but not hazelnut. Though Zadie’s hazelnut lattes were phenomenal.

“Praline latte.”

“Grounding technique, eh?”

You almost choked on your coffee as it went down. It was the Texan.

“This seat free?”

He gestured to the empty chair, and you nodded. He slid the chair out and put his to-go cup down before sitting. He took the lid of his cup and stirred his coffee with one of those little sticks. A few tables away, a spoon clattered to the table loudly, startling you. You twisted in the direction of the sound, surveying the diners. Nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just a spoon. An accident. That’s all.

“You’re like a deer, ya know. Easily startled.”

You turned back to him. Did he say something?

“Hmm?”

He just smiled and shook his head, replacing the lid on his cup. Then he slipped a strip of paper over. You looked at it, then at him, confusion lining your features.

“My number. If you wanna grab a coffee, meal, or whatever. Names Beau.”

Your stomach dropped, and that awareness shot to the back of your head. Why was he giving you his number? Why was he even wanting a date?

But you slowed your thoughts down. He was waiting for your answer. You pushed your fist into the soft flesh of your thigh.

“Thanks.”

He grinned, nodded and then left the coffee shop. As he returned to his truck, you watched from your seat beside the window. A big bright red thing. When he drove away from the lot, you pushed your coffee over and put your head on the table.

Fuck. Why couldn’t you just be normal for once?

Beau

Beau sat at his desk, tapping his pen against the surface. His mind was on the woman he met at the coffee shop. He wondered if it was even the right time to start getting back out there. Something about her propelled him to hand over his number like a puppy-eyed teen to a crush. He shook his head and tried getting her startled expression out of his mind. She was like a deer.

“What’s got you so deep in thought?”

He hadn’t even seen Jenny walk in. Her presence pulled him out of his mind and back onto the task at hand.

“Ah, nothin’.”

He started sorting the folders in front of him, absentmindedly putting them in an order he would ultimately forget later.

“Oh, come on. Everything okay?”

Her tone became more concerned, and she stood there, eyes softening to his plight.

“Nah. It’s really nothing…well…just this woman. Met her in the coffee shop, Zadie’s. I did something stupid and gave her my number.”

Jenny’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Wow. And?”

“And nothin’. She took it.”

Jenny stepped closer and leaned against the desk.

“Why are you so deep in thought, lookin’ like your brows about to join forces they’re that close together? What’s got you all tangled up?”

Beau furrowed his brow and rubbed his forehead with his hand, pulling a face at her words. He sighed and stopped organising the folders.

“How do you know when it’s time to get back on the horse?”

Jenny tilted her head, paired with another raise of her eyebrows. Then she leant back and shrugged her shoulders.

“Honestly. It’s different for everyone. But if you think the time is right, I’d say go for it. What have you got to lose?”

Beau nodded and smiled.

“So, who’s the lucky lady?”

Beau’s smile turned into a grin.

“Ah, you wouldn’t know her. Hell, I sure as hell don’t. But there’s something about her. I picked up a note that slipped from her wallet and handed it back to her, y’know. A Disney prince in real life.”

Jenny snorted and covered her mouth with her hand, hiding her laughter from him.

“What?”

She waved her hands no and turned away from his direction. She headed out, and Beau heard her laugh as she told Officer Pumpernickel.

*

After checking in with Emily, Beau started his truck and pulled out of the parking lot. He hadn’t yet received a text from the woman in the coffee shop. If she wasn’t interested…well, that was okay, and maybe he would just wait a little bit longer before getting back on the horse.

His phone pinged from a text message. His phone lit up, and his eyes glanced at the device attached to the dashboard. The text came from an unknown number. He grinned and continued driving. He passed Zadie’s and saw her locking up. She was alone, and he slowed to a stop outside her store.

“Evening, Sheriff.”

Beau nodded as he stepped out of his vehicle. He wanted to know more about the woman he had given his number to. And Zadie would surely know, right? He made his way over to her.

“That woman who didn’t order, you pretty close to her?”

After shoving a hat on, Zadie nodded and tucked stray curls behind her ear. It was a little chilly out.

“She told me someone gave her a number. Couldn’t believe my ears when she described you.”

Beau frowned, and Zadie shook her head, holding her hands up in mock surrender.

“It’s not my story to tell, but I do know this—you’re not her type.”

Zadie checked the door was locked and walked off, leaving Beau to ponder what on earth she meant. He looked down at the phone in his hand and opened up the text.

UNKNOWN: Coffee sounds great 😊

If he wasn’t her type, then why did she send a text?

Beau shoved his phone back into his pocket and returned to his truck. He slammed the door shut. Zadie’s words played around and around in his head.

He fished his phone back out, opened her text, and stared at her words. He pushed Zadie’s words to the back of his mind and replied to Y/N’s message.

BEAU: Sunday sound alright? 2PM?

Beau fired the text off without another thought, started the truck’s engine, and drove home. He still hadn’t gotten her name, but he knew that would all come in time.

[tomorrowedblog]

Friday Releases for March 31

Friday is the busiest day of the week for new releases, so we've decided to collect them all in one place. Friday Releases for March 31 include Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, Tetris, Murder Mystery 2, and more.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, the new movie from John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein, is out today.

A charming thief and a band of unlikely adventurers undertake an epic heist to retrieve a lost relic, but things go dangerously awry when they run afoul of the wrong people.

Tetris

Tetris, the new movie from Jon S. Baird, is out today.

The game you couldn’t put down, the story you couldn’t make up.

Taron Egerton stars in a new Apple Original Film inspired by the true story of how one man risked his life to outsmart the KGB and turn Tetris into a worldwide sensation.

Murder Mystery 2

Murder Mystery 2, the new movie from Jeremy Garelick, is out today.

Four years after solving their first murder mystery, Nick and Audrey Spitz (Adam Sandler, Jennifer Aniston) are now full-time detectives struggling to get their private eye agency off the ground when they’re invited to celebrate the wedding of their friend the Maharaja (Adeel Akhtar) on his private island. But trouble follows the Spitzes again when the groom is kidnapped for ransom soon after the festivities begin — making each glamorous guest, family member, and the bride herself a suspect. MURDER MYSTERY 2 sends Nick and Audrey Spitz on a high-stakes case that finally gives them everything they’ve ever dreamed of: a shot at their detective agency finally becoming successful… and their long-awaited trip to Paris.

Rye Lane

Rye Lane, the new movie from Raine Allen-Miller, is out today.

Yas (Vivian Oparah) and Dom (David Jonsson), two twenty-somethings both reeling from bad break-ups, connect over the course of an eventful day in South London - helping each other deal with their nightmare exes, and potentially restoring their faith in romance.

Kill Boksoon

Kill Boksoon, the new movie from Sung-hyun Byun, is out today.

At work, she’s a renowned assassin. At home, she’s a single mom to a teenage daughter. Killing? That’s easy. It’s parenting that’s the hard part.

Space Oddity

Space Oddity, the new movie from Kyra Sedgwick, is out today.

When Alex gives up on earth and decides to leave it all behind for a one-way mission to Mars, an unexpected romance forces him to choose between an uncertain journey to the stars or an even more uncertain journey of the heart.

A Thousand And One

A Thousand And One, the new movie from A.V. Rockwell, is out today.

A THOUSAND AND ONE follows unapologetic and free-spirited Inez (Teyana Taylor), who kidnaps her six-year-old son Terry from the foster care system. Holding onto their secret and each other, mother and son set out to reclaim their sense of home, identity, and stability, in a rapidly changing New York City.

BAIT

BAIT, the new movie from Mark Jenkin, is out today.

Martin Ward is a cove fisherman, without a boat. His brother Steven has repurposed their father’s vessel as a tourist tripper, driving a wedge between the brothers. With their childhood home now a get-away for London money, Martin is displaced to the estate above the picturesque harbor.

Smoking Causes Coughing

Smoking Causes Coughing, the new movie from Quentin Dupieux, is out today.

SMOKING CAUSES COUGHING follows the misadventures of a team of five superheroes known as the Tobacco Force - Benzene (Gilles Lellouche), Nicotine (Anaïs Demoustier), Methanol (Vincent Lacoste), Mercury (Jean-Pascal Zadi), and Ammonia (Oulaya Amamra). After a devastating battle against a diabolical giant turtle, the Tobacco Force is sent on a mandatory week-long retreat to strengthen their decaying group cohesion. Their sojourn goes wonderfully well until Lézardin, Emperor of Evil, decides to annihilate planet Earth.

The Power

The Power, the new TV series from Raelle Tucker, Naomi Alderman, and Sarah Quintrell, is out today.

The world of The Power is our world, but for one twist of nature. Suddenly, and without warning, teenage girls develop the power to electrocute people at will. The Power follows a cast of remarkable characters from London to Seattle, Nigeria to Eastern Europe, as the Power evolves from a tingle in teenagers’ collarbones to a complete reversal of the power balance of the world.

Troublemaker

Troublemaker, the new game from Gamecom Team and Freedom Games, is out today.

Grab a backpack, boxing tape, and focus on what high school is all about: Beating the ever loving crap out of one another! Troublemaker blends favorite action-adventure-beat-'em-up elements from the strongest traditions in the genre.

Call Me If You Get Lost: The Estate Sale

Call Me If You Get Lost: The Estate Sale, the new album from Tyler, The Creator, is out today.

The Great Escape

The Great Escape, the new album from Larry June and The Alchemist, is out today.

I’M REALLY LIKE THAT

I’M REALLY LIKE THAT, the new album from DJ Drama, is out today.

[beybladefanfictions]

Ryuga x King Bonus Chapter 1

(Cover art is by Zadi Jyne)

(Author’s note: I’m only titling this “bonus chapter” because it doesn’t have much to do with the Ryuga x King plotline. However, this is something I know many people have wanted for months now so I’m including it here. Enjoy!)

Ryuga’s POV

Three months had passed since Ryuga and King got home from America. In that time, not much had changed. King had his WBBA job now and was working there semi-regularly. Thankfully, he still had time for other things, namely Beyblade and Ryuga. And calling his friends. King had definitely kept his promise by calling them around dawn and dusk each day. Additionally, as of this past December, it had been a full year since Ryuga started living with Kenta’s family and it was now the beginning of January.

Ryuga could barely believe a full year had passed. So much had happened during this year and yet at the same time, so little had happened. He’d lost L-Drago, gotten it back as a defence type, befriended Madoka, Gingka, and Yu, and the change that would’ve sounded the most absurd to him a year ago: started dating King. Most people in Gingka and King’s circles knew about this now. All of them had been respectful about it thankfully and the people close to Ryuga still treated him the same as they always had. It was comforting. However, Ryuga and King still kept their relationship secret from the public. That was too much for both of them.

Right now, King was at work, though it was only thirty minutes until his shift ended so Ryuga was waiting for him alone in the living room. To pass the time, he was playing a video game. It seemed like such a normal thing but it was something Ryuga never got to do in his old life. It was surprisingly fun.

“Ryuga, hey kiddo.” Kenta’s dad’s voice greeted him. “Didn’t realize you were home.”

Ryuga nodded, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“Back at that fighting game, huh?” Kenta’s mom asked.

Ryuga nodded again. “It’s a good game.”

“Glad you like it.”

He heard Kenta’s parents high five. Ryuga resisted the urge to roll his eyes, keeping his gaze focused on the screen.

“So… Ryuga…” Kenta’s mom’s tone was suddenly serious. “We uh… we wanted to talk to you…”

“Yeah?” Ryuga didn’t look at them.

“If you could pause that…”

Ryuga obliged, turning to them. “What’s going on?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Um…” Kenta’s dad bit his lip. “About you always calling us ‘mom’ and ‘dad’.”

Kenta’s mom rolled her eyes. “Oh, great way to open.” She chastised him, her eyes narrowed.

“Always? Sheesh, it’s happened a few times tops.” Ryuga feigned nonchalance to hide his annoyance.

Neither of Kenta’s parents had said a word about this until now: it was all Kenta and King teasing Ryuga the few times he made that mistake. This didn’t seem like teasing though…

“Not my point…” Kenta’s dad replied, looking away.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Ryuga sighed, holding his hands up. “I won’t do it anymore.”

“Ryuga, that’s not…”

Ryuga’s phone suddenly went off. He picked it up, nearly dropping it when he read the message:

-King: Reiji’s getting his bey back today so I volunteered to battle him for the WBBA :D Expect me to be home a little later.-

Ryuga shot to his feet. Kenta’s battle with Reiji replayed in his mind: the way he was shivering and completely unresponsive, the bits of his bey all over the stadium floor, how trapped he’d been… *I can’t let that happen to King!*

“Ryuga, can we talk for a moment?” Kenta’s mom sighed.

“Later. Something’s come up.” Ryuga rushed to turn off the gaming console, his heart palpitating out of his chest.

“What?” Kenta’s dad sounded concerned.

Ryuga met their gazes. “My boyfriend’s in trouble,” he admitted, barely keeping his voice even.

Kenta’s parents looked startled.

“As in… he is the trouble or he’s in some kind of danger?” Kenta’s mom asked.

“Ugh, it’ll take too long to explain. I have to get to him now.” Then Ryuga dashed out of the house without another word.

He ran through the city, in the direction of the WBBA building that he normally avoided like the plague. When he reached the building, Ryuga spotted a familiar figure outside.

“Reiji…” Ryuga’s voice was a low growl as he approached him.

Reiji yelped in alarm. “Y-yesss Ryuga?” His voice was hardly more than a whisper. He had his head dipped, shivering like… like his opponents at Battle Bladers.

“How was the battle with my boyfriend?”

“I- he-”

“You better not have done a thing to hurt him, you hear me?” Ryuga cut him off, shambling toward him with the most evil look he could muster.

Reiji staggered back. “I didn’t!” he exclaimed, holding his hands up.

“Then where is he?”

“He’sss clocking out!”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because that’s not who I am anymore!” Reiji’s fear turned to indignation. “It was never me, it was all Doji and you know that!”

“‘All Doji’?” Ryuga’s blood boiled with rage at those words. “You’re responsible for your own actions as well, Reiji!”

Reiji seemed taken aback for a moment. “S-s-still!” He looked away, trembling like a leaf in the wind. “I wouldn’t hurt King.” His voice was small. “I care about him too…”

Ryuga continued to glare at him. “I doubt that.”

Reiji stepped back, shivering under Ryuga’s glare.

“Ryuga!” called a familiar voice.

Ryuga turned to see King charging toward him. Before he could say anything, King threw himself at Ryuga, putting his arms around him in a hug. Ryuga froze. All his anxiety evaporated at that moment. 

“Sssssseeeee?!” Reiji gestured to King. “He’sss fine!”

“Yeah?” King glanced at Reiji, raising an eyebrow. “Of course I am! I finally got to battle for the WBBA! That’s the most fun I’ve had on the job.”

“Great, great.” Ryuga tapped King’s shoulders, prompting him to let go of him. “Let’s get out of here…” Ryuga replied, starting to walk away.

“Um… okay. See you later, Reiji!” King called before trailing after Ryuga. He caught up to him, his smile fading when he met Ryuga’s gaze. “Hey, Ryuga, what’s wrong? You look worried about something.”

“You had fun right?” Ryuga asked, not caring if he sounded weird.

“What?” King tilted his head to the side.

“With the battle.”

“Yeah, of course, I had fun. Why wouldn’t I? Reiji’s got some potential actually.”

“And Variares?”

“Huh?”

Ryuga held his hand out. “Let me see it.”

“U-uh okay.” King handed Ryuga Variares, which didn’t have a scratch on it. Ryuga sighed in relief.

“Wait, you were… worried about me? Why?”

Ryuga looked away. “Let’s just say Reiji used to be a very… sadistic blader.”

“Oh… well he’s not anymore.” King rested his hand on Ryuga’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry your handsome little head.”

Ryuga rolled his eyes. “You just had to make it weird, didn’t you?”

“What’s weird about calling you handsome, my emperor?” King asked with a wink.

“You know what you’re doing,” Ryuga grunted.

“Do I?” King fluttered his eyelashes.

Ryuga nudged him. Giggling, King nudged him back. With his anxiety gone, Ryuga realized that his reaction to this was a little over the top. Reiji had been a pretty terrible person during Battle Bladers and when he reappeared and rematched Kenta but he truly hadn’t known any better at the time. Besides, the latter was half a year ago now. Reiji had changed as much as Ryuga had…

“Are we heading home then?” King asked, shaking Ryuga out of his thoughts.

Ryuga nodded. “We don’t need to go anywhere else.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” King replied with a shrug.

They fell silent as they made their way home. Ryuga pushed the door open. Inside, Kenta and his parents were seated at the table eating pho. Two extra bowls, one chicken and one beef, were in Ryuga and King's respective spots. Ryuga licked his lips.

“Yes!” King exclaimed, dashing toward his pho. “Thank you!”

Ryuga smiled, sitting between King and Kenta.

“Where were you guys?” Kenta asked, gazing at King and Ryuga.

“I was coming home from work,” King replied, resting his hand on Ryuga’s shoulder. “Ryuga here was worried about me.”

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “Because he was battling Reiji.”

Kenta dropped his chopsticks. Ryuga instantly regretted blurting that out, even before he saw the wide-eyed look on Kenta’s face.

“I’d be worried too,” Kenta admitted with a growl.

“K-Kenta…” King stared at Kenta, reaching a tentative hand toward him. “I-it was fine. I know Reiji was kinda… bad but he’s not anymore, I promise.”

“I know, I know.” Kenta nodded, taking a bite of pho.

The table fell completely silent again. Ryuga looked up at Kenta’s parents, who were both avoiding his gaze by staring at their pho. *What’s up with them?* He raised an eyebrow. Usually, if the table fell silent like this, Kenta’s mom would ask about their day or Kenta’s dad would make some lame joke. Seeing them both be so quiet was almost unnerving.

After a while, Kenta broke the awkward silence. “Mom, Dad, you okay?”

Kenta’s mom met his gaze. “Yeah, we’re fine. What do you mean?”

Ryuga let out a sigh. “This is about earlier isn’t it?”

“Earlier?” King raised an eyebrow.

Kenta let out a sigh. “Ryuga, what did you do?” He sounded mostly exasperated, if a little accusatory.

Ryuga ignored that. “What did you want to say?” he asked, gazing at Kenta’s parents.

They exchanged a glance.

“After dinner…” Kenta’s dad replied, dipping his head.

Ryuga raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Ryuga tried to keep eating. However, anxiety gnawed at his mind. Whatever Kenta’s parents wanted to say, it was definitely important. *Did I do something wrong?* He shook that thought away, focusing his attention back on his food. Eventually, King and Kenta finished their pho. They exchanged a glance, then nodded and stood up.

“We’ll leave you guys be,” King informed, dipping his head.

“Yeah,” Kenta nodded. “Say what it is you want to say.”

The two of them left the room, with Kenta heading to his room and King heading to Ryuga’s room, which had really become his room as well. With them gone, Ryuga was left alone with Kenta’s parents. Kenta’s parents gazed at each other, then at the table again, still seeming nervous.

“Well?” Ryuga prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“Ryuga…” Kenta’s mom’s voice was soft. “You've been living with us for… quite a while now.”

Ryuga frowned. He was almost disappointed it was just this but he supposed it was unavoidable.

“Yeah, I know I need to work on moving out,” he admitted, dipping his head.

“No!” Ryuga looked up in alarm, surprised to hear such an urgent tone from Kenta’s dad. He cleared his throat, adding, “Well, yeah eventually you should but there's no rush.”

“Anyways,” Kenta’s mom continued more calmly. “You've lived here so long that it feels like you've become part of the family.”

Ryuga's heart skipped a beat. *Wait, they aren't asking…*

“So… we wanted to know if you wanted to make that official.” Kenta's dad added, sliding a piece of paper across the table. Ryuga didn't even have to look to know what it was.

“You're asking to adopt me…” His voice came out in a breath.

“Yes, exactly.” Kenta’s mom nodded. “If you're okay with it, we'd be glad to call you our son.”

Ryuga froze. His mind seemed to stop working. This question shouldn’t have surprised him, he’d known they wanted to adopt him for a while now. His first instinct should’ve been to refuse. Ryuga opened his mouth to reply but then he stopped. Something was stopping him from saying it. He… he didn’t want to accept, did he? Looking away, Ryuga suddenly couldn’t stop himself from trembling.

“Ryuga…” Kenta’s dad sounded concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I… I…” Ryuga’s voice came out trembling. Slapping his hands over his mouth, he stood and blindly charged out of the house.

He dashed into the forest where he knew he’d be alone. When he paused to catch his breath, Ryuga noticed his heart palpitating, like a myriad of bombs exploding in his chest. He fell to his knees, trembling as if he were freezing.

One question plagued his mind: *Why didn’t I just refuse?* It wasn’t because he was scared how they’d respond: he’d gotten over that fear long ago. Something else was holding him back. He didn’t want to refuse… but he didn’t exactly want to accept either. The idea of being adopted, legally adopted… It was so daunting, maybe it was silly to fear some abstract concept but he couldn’t shake away his uneasiness and doubt.

Ryuga couldn’t deny that he had grown to care about Kenta’s parents. They could be a little overly doting but either Ryuga had gotten used to it or they’d toned it down a little. Either way, he barely noticed that anymore. Still, the idea of being legally bound to them, to anyone really, made him shudder. Besides, caring was one thing. Seeing them as his family was another thing entirely, something completely unfamiliar to him and a much bigger deal. That alone was terrifying.

“Ryuga!” Ryuga stiffened at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Kenta?” He looked over his shoulder. Kenta was dashing toward him, pausing only for a moment to catch his breath. Ryuga froze at the sight of his friend. Well, ‘friend’ wasn’t a strong enough word. This was the kid who would be his brother if he accepted this offer. ‘Brother’ was admittedly a good word to describe Kenta but accepting him as his brother would mean accepting his parents…

Kenta sat next to him. “I… heard what happened.” Ryuga didn’t reply. “Are you okay?”

Ryuga dipped his head. “I’m fine.”

“Ryuga… you ran away without answering them. I’d be less worried if you’d just refused.”

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah… that’s what you’d expect from me, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Kenta tilted his head to the side.

Ryuga looked away. “It’s what I expected too…” he muttered, pulling his legs into his chest.

“Ryuga?” Kenta scooted closer, gazing at him with worried eyes. “Did… did you want to accept?”

“I… I don’t know! I should know! I should just be able to say I don’t want a family!”

Kenta raised an eyebrow. “Well I know that’s not true…”

“Then you know me better than I know myself,” Ryuga growled.

“That’s not true… I don’t know why you’re conflicted honestly. You’ve called them ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ multiple times now.”

“Those were accidents.”

“You’ve done it thirty times.” Kenta’s tone was blunt.

Ryuga rolled his eyes. “Kenta, don’t exaggerate like tha-”

“I’ve been counting.” Kenta grabbed a little piece of paper from his pocket, holding it up to reveal a row of tally marks.

Ryuga froze. Shame stabbed into him like a knife. He looked away. The worst part was sometimes it wasn’t an accident. He genuinely didn’t know any other way to address them: saying their names seemed weird and saying “sir” and “ma'am” was way too formal for people he lived with.

Kenta let out a sigh. “Are you gonna come back inside?”

“Do I have to?” Ryuga muttered, not meeting his friend’s gaze.

“Well, yeah it’s past dark.”

Ryuga hadn’t noticed until now but it was completely dark out, the only light in the sky being the full moon.

Kenta sighed again. “You don’t want to face Mom and Dad yet, do you?”

“Not particularly,” Ryuga admitted with a shrug.

“They’re not gonna be mad,” Kenta insisted, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“I know.”

Kenta looked up at him, looking surprised. “Oh… that’s good.”

Ryuga met his gaze. “Hm?”

“Well, it’s just… you used to get all worked up about them being mad at you.” Kenta smiled a bit. “I’m glad you finally trust them.”

Ryuga looked away. *I guess I do…* Still, hearing someone else point it out made it sink in a little more.

“What am I supposed to say?” Ryuga grunted, looking away again.

“Just tell them what you told me,” Kenta suggested, putting his arms around him in a small hug. “They’ll understand, I promise.”

Ryuga sighed. “Fine.”

Kenta didn’t let go, gazing at Ryuga with those puppy dog eyes. Sighing again, Ryuga returned the hug. Kenta hummed contentedly. Then he let Ryuga go after a few moments, letting him stand up. Ryuga and Kenta walked home in silence. When they reached the house, Ryuga froze on the porch, suddenly shivering a little. He looked away.

“Ryuga…” Kenta looked up at him worriedly.

Ryuga took a deep breath. Pushing the door open, he took a small, quiet step inside. Kenta’s parents were sitting on the couch. Ryuga and Kenta slipped into the house, quietly pushing the door closed behind them.

Kenta’s dad looked up at them. “Oh, you're back…” His voice was small.

Kenta’s mom sighed, her head hung low. “Ryuga, about earlier, we didn't mean to upset you. We'll drop the whole thing.”

“No, don’t…” Ryuga looked away, biting his lip. “I… I…”

He let out a sigh. Part of him just wanted to tell them what they obviously wanted to hear. The guilt was getting to be too much. However, Ryuga knew they wouldn’t want him to do that.

“Ryuga, are you-” Kenta’s dad began.

“I’m fine…” Ryuga folded his arms, trying to stop himself from shivering. “I… had something to say. I…”

“If this is about earlier, you don't have to accept-”

“I don't know my answer, okay?!” Ryuga blurted out, cutting him off. “I knew you'd ask eventually. I thought I knew what to say… until you actually asked.”

“What do you mean?” Kenta's mom asked.

Ryuga glared at the ground. They were just making him admit everything, weren’t they?

“It would be a huge change,” he admitted.

“It's really not,” Kenta’s dad replied with a shrug. “Especially since you're eighteen. All that would change is that the country would recognize you as our son and you'd take the family name… if you wanted to.”

Ryuga’s eyes widened. *I hadn't even considered that part… I'd be tied to them forever…* The idea was overwhelming.

“It feels like a lot…”

“You don't have to decide right now,” Kenta's mom replied gently.

“I…” Ryuga met their gazes for a moment. Then he nodded. “Okay, give me a few days to think about it.”

“Alright.” Kenta’s dad stood up with a nod. “Remember, kiddo, it's your choice. No pressure.”

Ryuga dipped his head. Kenta tapped Ryuga’s arm before suddenly hugging him. Ryuga briefly hugged back. Then, gently moving Kenta off, he made his way down the stairs toward his room. King was sitting on the bed, his gaze fixed on his phone. He looked up at him.

“Ryuga, hey,” King greeted with that bright smile of his. “What did your parents want?”

“To adopt me,” Ryuga grunted, sitting next to him on the bed.

King giggled. “So nothing new then.”

Ryuga looked him dead in the eye. “King, they asked me.”

“Oh!” King fell silent for a few moments, his eyes wide. “What did you… say?”

“That I'd think about it.”

“Heh,” King smirked. “That's my boy.”

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “I'm not your boy.”

“You're right.” King leaned forward, grinning in the most lovesick way. “You're my boyfriend.”

Ryuga’s face heated up. “I hate you,” he grunted.

King giggled. “Love you too!” He moved his face closer, tilting his head to the side. It was clear what he wanted.

Ryuga leaned in, capturing those sweet lips in a kiss. King threw his arms around him. After a while, Ryuga backed out with a sigh.

“Ryuga?” King backed away, letting go of him. “Right… thinking. Do you want some space?”

Ryuga let out a yawn. “I'm fine,” he replied, laying down. “Just tired.”

King let out a sigh. “You always get tired so early,” he murmured, snuggling up to him. “It’s like you rise and set with the sun.” He nuzzled his head into Ryuga’s chest.

“Isn’t that normal?” Ryuga asked, putting an arm around King.

“I guess,” King sighed, closing his eyes.

Ryuga smiled, grateful to have King here with him as he drifted off to sleep.

[raleighcarrera]

29. Best Drunken Night vs Worst Drunken Night for Raleigh x MC perhaps? 🥺

best vs. worst prompts / 29. best drunken night vs. worst drunken night

the worst time 

“oh my god.” her voice is hushed -- awed, really, as she glances around the space they’ve closed themselves in with eyes so wide they feel likely to bug out of her head at any moment. “this is -- we’re in -- is this ariana spielman’s closet?”

cadence’s head whips around just in time to catch the disinterested, almost bored shrug of raleigh’s shoulders. “guess so.”

the door he’s leaning against is vibrating with the bass from the music blasting from downstairs. one of the silver buttons on raleigh’s jacket clanks against the wood loudly. 

“she has, like -- seventy birkin bags,” she breathes, slowly shaking her head as she takes in the expansive wall of purses to her right. “i can’t believe i’m in here. i can’t believe we’re even in her house.”

“i hate los angeles,” raleigh mumbles, pushing off from the wall and strolling over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “this party sucks.”

admittedly, the party did sort of suck, but they’d had enough free drinks and free food to make the evening tolerable, even if the crowd at ariana’s house was mostly made up of the sort of c-list celebrities who were desperate to document everything on social media and tried to shove their cellphones in raleigh’s face every time he started mixing a drink.

it was never like this, at home in new york. most of their friends were cool and normal and while their parties were always the sort of events that kept them up until dawn they’d tended to be more low-key, lately, minimizing the amount of attention they got during what was supposed to be their down time.

out in LA everyone was looking for their fifteen minutes. so drinking downstairs with the rest of the crowd wasn’t just hanging out like it was in new york; it was a performance in and of itself. people were watching them, their thumbs already poised over a blank tweet.

she didn’t blame raleigh for disliking it. she disliked it, too. that was why she’d suggested finding some place they could be alone and let him drag her up here -- into ariana spielman’s beautiful, enormous closet.

cadence squeezes her hands affectionately on raleigh’s arms where they’re looped around her. “we can’t hook up in here.”

the sigh he expels into her ear is loud and exasperated. “why not?”

cadence lifts a hand to point up at the ceiling. “she has cameras.”

the pointed silence from behind her leads her to believe that raleigh doesn’t take issue with that as much as she does. “raleigh.”

“okay, okay. i’ll save it for the hotel. just -- i need a few minutes before we go back down there.”

she spins in his arms to look at his face. raleigh looks tired, in the awful in-between of drunk but not drunk enough. her expression softens.

ever-so-delicately, she leans in and presses her lips to the tip of his nose. raleigh sighs, tightening his grip on her. 

“you know,” cadence murmurs, “there was probably once a time where i wouldn’t have been able to drag you out of there even if i did want to have sex in ariana spielman’s closet.”

raleigh rolls his eyes. “untrue,” he argues, “i’d leave any party, anywhere, any time... for even five minutes alone with you.” there’s a beat where she tries to stifle her smile and he rolls his shoulders, pursing his lips before continuing, “but i know what you mean. i guess i just -- don’t see the appeal in playing along with all this fake shit.” his eyes focus on her face slowly, some of the cloud brought on by all the tequila they’d had downstairs lifting. “not anymore.”

she bounces up onto her tip-toes to kiss him, swallowing the drunk giggles that are threatening. if they weren’t going to commit, they probably should have drank a little bit less -- she’s wobbly and unsteady on her feet in a way that’s going to make their flight home tomorrow miserable, but not drunk enough to actually be having any fun at this party that is, admittedly, incredibly fucking lame.

raleigh’s hands squeeze her hips one last time before he pulls away. “we should probably go be seen for a little while longer, huh?”

her mouth twists sympathetically. “yeah. but we can leave in an hour.”

“here’s hoping.”

they shuffle back to the closed door together, though when raleigh reaches out for the handle it doesn’t budge, holding firmly in place. he frowns, jiggling the knob.

“what’s wrong?” she asks, blinking slowly, her brain struggling to process what’s happening.

raleigh’s frown deepens into a scowl. “i think it’s locked.”

“from the outside? no.” pushing his hand away, she tries the door, too, eyes widening when it holds resolutely still. “oh my god.”

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, stepping away with a groan. “can we call someone?”

“i don’t have her number. do you?”

she squeezes his shoulder as he pulls out his phone, mumbling to himself. her head is still swimming, but even she can understand that lately it feels like neither of them can quite catch a break -- there’s always something.

and she definitely had higher hopes for their weekend in LA, and even tonight. she’d expected this party to be a chance to get away from it all and let loose, not be some place where they had to constantly keep looking over their shoulders for cameras.

“maybe it’s a sign we should just stay up here,” she suggests, nuzzling her face into raleigh’s jacket. 

the hum he gives in response is equal parts interested and annoyed. “don’t tempt me.”

the best time

they’re definitely past capacity on their penthouse.

everywhere she looks there’s wall-to-wall people dancing and drinking, laughing and shouting. the floor beneath her feet feels like it’s shaking from how loud the music is.

raleigh’s standing on the countertop in their kitchen. his eyes light up when he sees her.

raising his voice to be heard above all the excitement, he screams, “cadence! come up here!”

the crowd parts to clear a path for her, cheering as she makes her way over. climbing up onto the counter in her miniskirt is far from the most graceful thing she’s ever done, especially after the bottle of wine she’d had at dinner and the four or five or forty-five martinis raleigh had poured her, but she manages, and soon she’s squeezed into the space beside their cabinets with her boyfriend and he’s got one strong arm slung warmly across her shoulders while the other lifts the bottle of dom in his left hand high enough that the top smacks into their kitchen ceiling.

“a toast!” raleigh declares, to the delight of the crowd below them. she tilts her head to grin at him and laughs loudly when raleigh glances at her out of the corners of his eyes and then grins back, wide and goofy like the both of them are in on the same private joke. “to the beautiful, phenomenal, exceptional, fantastic, talented --”

“jesus christ, raleigh.”

“ -- brilliant,” he continues, even more loudly, “can i get a drum roll please? thank you, visionary, otherworldly, and of course, devastatingly sexy vinyl award winning cadence dorian!”

he doesn’t give her a chance to bury her face in her hands like she so badly wants to. as soon as people start to cheer, he leans down and presses his lips forcefully against hers, smacking a loud, almost aggressive kiss onto her lips. 

then he shoves the bottle of champagne in her face and forces her to tilt her head back to accept the drink he’s quite literally pouring down her throat, her laughter giving way to coughs that make him laugh, too, the broad palm he’d had settled on her shoulder slowly making its way down her back to rest on the curve of her ass.

“to cadence!” roars someone again from the floor, and as everyone pounds their feet harder, she looks back to raleigh, flushed and grinning while he drains what’s left in the bottle and immediately switches it out for another. 

“speech!” raleigh crows into her ear, “speech, speech, speech --”

“oh my god, thank you everyone!” her palm claps over his mouth and doesn’t move even when his tongue licks across her hand slowly, back and forth and back again. “it means so much to celebrate with all of you tonight. thanks so much for coming and for all your support and -- remember that anything that happens here tonight was all raleigh’s fault, okay?”

the volume on the music increases as the crowd turns their attention back to dancing. raleigh slips both his arms around her waist from behind and presses up against her, somehow managing to stay on-beat with the swing of his hips despite the fact that he’s so drunk he can barely stand. she laughs as she rocks back against him, then laughs louder when he groans lowly into her ear.

“don’t think that you can get away with murder just ‘cause this party is for you, okay?” 

the words are said so quietly she almost misses them, each consonant soft and slurred. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“yeah, right,” raleigh counters, the sharp bark of his laugh punctuated by the way he presses forward firmly, the hard line of his body shiver-inducing even through the layers of fabric between them. “you think i’m just gonna let you get away with that? i’m --”

“you should at least get down, if you’re going to do that.” cadence blinks, glancing down to see zadie screaming up at the both of them. “we don’t all need to see you dry hump each other.”

raleigh’s arms tighten around her before she can even think about moving, though her face feels hot beyond just what the alcohol should’ve done to her. “hey,” he calls back, “it’s her party.”

she wiggles down to her knees, plucking the mostly full bottle of dom from raleigh’s hand and holding it out to zadie with her eyebrows arched. “call it even?”

“totally,” she agrees, taking the bottle from cadence and departing back into the living room with barely a wave over her shoulder. 

cadence moves the rest of the way down and slides to the edge, letting her legs dangle off the counter. within moments raleigh is beside her, gangly limbs tangled around her again near-immediately. “are you having fun?”

“best time of my life,” she answers honestly, though that was how parties with raleigh always felt -- like he was in constant competition with himself to outdo their last evening out together. “thanks for making this so special for me.”

“i’d do anything for you.” his voice is suddenly oddly serious, out of sorts with the playful mood he’s been in. she blinks at him, then laughs when he shatters the stillness as quickly as it’d come by ducking back in to steal another kiss. 

raleigh jumps off the counter abruptly, before she can deepen the kiss to something more extreme, and hooks her legs around his waist from behind. “c’mon, popstar,” he directs, before she can question what he’s doing, and as if on autopilot, her body swings onto his back so he can carry her, her hands finding his hair and her lips spreading into a delighted smile. “let’s go get you the kudos you deserve, eh?”

[alywats]

March/April 2021 Reading Wrap-Up

March and April were weird and/or great months for me, and I was very distracted from reading. So, I combined both months reading into this one wrap-up, so that it would be normal sized. Here are all the books I read in March and April!!

1. The Right Swipe -Alisha Rai (387 pgs) 2.5

This is a romance-y book about dating apps, which I read to make myself feel better, and which *did* make me feel better. It also made me cringe. Sometimes we all need a little bit of escapism, mmkay? I will not be taking any further questions.

2. Autumn -Ali Smith (264 pgs) 3.5

Autumn is the first of four seasonal novels about Brexit and its aftermath. The subtlety with which Smith is able to entwine the plot and commentary about Brexit is simply stunning, BUT, and this is a big BUT, in a very forgetful way. Maybe this is just me, but the mundanity was just a little bit *too* pronounced.

3. Tools of Engagement -Tessa Bailey (368 pgs) 2.5

I don’t have a lot of words for this read, either. When you’re angsty about a boy you have to read shitty romance novels, I don’t make the rules besties. This was very cringy, but also kind of sweet, the way a shitty romance novel should be, I guess.

4. Intimations -Zadie Smith (97 pgs) 4

Essays about Covid, and uh every other apocalyptic nightmare that 2020 threw out there….whew, this hits hard to be honest. Zadie Smith writes with such clarity and voice, these essays capture what so many people felt in 2020, and I really really enjoyed them.

5. The New Me -Halle Butler (193 pgs) 3.5

This was very reminiscent of Ottessa Moshfegh to me, and I mean that as mostly a compliment. It was weird and had an unlikable main character, who was relatable so that she would make you feel bad because you saw yourself in her. I think because I have seen this before it just didn’t land as well, but this is good for introspective moods.

6. Good Omens -Neil Gaiman & Terry Prachett (491 pgs) 3

WOW, I really wanted to like this and I just didn’t. There are a lot of objectively great things happening; it’s witty and smart and self aware. There was just something about the pacing that was sooooo off to me and it made it SO hard to get through. Maybe it just caught me at a bad time? I think I am going to try the TV show because the premise and the quirks are very intriguing to me, the full execution just fell short.

7. Killing Yourself To Live -Chuck Klosterman (245 pgs) 5

This was a reread for me. Klosterman is one of my favorite authors (if not my favorite author), and he always knows just what to say to make me think about things differently. This was the first book I ever read by him, and it’s all about legacy, death, love, and rock & roll, baby. It made me cry, it made me write, and it made me fall in love with it all over again. I seriously love this book.

8. Slaughterhouse-Five -Kurt Vonnegut (275 pgs) 4

I don’t know exactly what I was expecting from my first Vonnegut, but I think this surpassed it. The satire was on point, the sci-fi stuff was cool, and the political commentary was neither over or under-done. “Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt,” is a quotable quote for a reason and I might be a pretentious asshole for it, but I am *entering* my Vonnegut phase.

9. A Mathematician's Apology -G.H. Hardy (153 pgs) 5

I have too much to say about this book. It made me so emotional and wrecked me completely. I loved it. I think every high schooler in AP calculus should have to read it. I think every college student should have to read it (again). I think you should have to read it. This is a book that changed my life, and I’m not even being (that) dramatic.

10. Ode To Numbers -Sarah Glaz (112 pgs) 5

This collection of poems is so so striking. This is what I’m yelling about when I yell about math poetry. If you can get your hands on this book, I highly recommend it. My favorite poem is the one called Hardy, which of course came to me just after I read Hardy for the first time. Glaz and I had similar thoughts on the matter, and it absolutely gave me a case of The Existentials.

[ernestsinclairs]

NS*W Alphabet - Raleigh x MC

A - Aftercare

The first couple of times you’d slept with him, you’d expected little to no aftercare. And like many times before, you were right. It was common knowledge that Raleigh hadn’t had any real serious girlfriends before, mostly flings and one night stands and haphazard relationships with an array of models that only lasted a few short months at best. For him, it was do it and go. Not anymore. Slowly, but noticeably, he began to come around. First it was the quick cuddle after the two of you fell back into bed, then the steadfast presence of his arms when you began to drift off into sleep, then take out arriving just as the two of you came down from each other. 

B - Body Part

Like so many other men, Raleigh is a sucker for the chest. Every time you slip into another one of Zadie’s stage costumes or a low cut gown for some award show, the cameras are there - as are his eyes. In your more private hours, when the two of you are right in the middle of it, his hands are running down your chest, cupping and massaging while you groan beneath him.

C - Cum

Raleigh definitely prefers to do it inside of you if he can. It just adds to that feeling, that feeling of closeness and intimacy and proximity. In the end, that’s what he craves, and it’s the perfect ending to a perfect night.

D - Dirty Secret

Though he’s usually the one who will take control when the two of you get it on, he has absolutely no problem with letting you take the lead. It’s relaxing sometimes to let someone else take the reins for once, to just lie back and enjoy for a few hours in a hectic schedule that’s 24/7, three hundred and sixty five days a year. 

E - Experience

There’s absolutely no way in hell Raleigh’s not experienced. He’s been one of the top bachelors ever since his boy band debut all those years ago, and now, as a solo superstar, he’s the one everyone’s chasing after. Ever since the first time the two of you slept together, you knew he had quite a lot of experience, and you knew he was going to teach you some things.

F - Favorite Position

Definitely against the wall. Actually, it doesn’t have to be a wall, it can be anything - a window, a pillar, just something solid that he can back you up on. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t give him a rush seeing you pressed up against him as you nipped at his neck. If it wasn’t that, Raleigh would be perfectly fine with you on top too, just so he could see all of you and run his hands up and down your body before pressing kisses on your stomach that tended to start to trail a little lower. 

G - Goofy

Raleigh has a pretty big ‘why not?’ attitude about doing the do. He teases a lot, infuriatingly so with that mocking smile and tiny touch of sarcasm. It’s more a seductive style of mockery rather than lighthearted laughter. Not that you’d have it any other way. It was pretty hot.

H - Hair

Sure, his PR team might have made Raleigh cut his hair for the persona of it all, but there was still plenty to run your fingers through as he pressed you up against the wall and pull when he moved against you. 

I - Intimacy

Raleigh had a reputation and touch starved wasn’t one of them. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized it should be part of said reputation. Right from the start, you noticed tiny touches everywhere - on your waist, trailing your forearm, tiny kisses on your neck and cheek wherever you went - he just had to be touching you in some way or another. After a long and passionate night, the two of you would fall back with you curled up in Raleigh’s arms as he continued those tiny, light touches, which might not be so chaste after all. 

J - Jack Off

A concert tour lasts for several months of hard travel already, and for a star of Raleigh’s caliber, the term ‘world tour’ is pretty common in his vocabulary (and that sweet, sweet contract). If he’s going to be away from you for that long, waiting for a break in the tour schedule or a performance where the two of you will collide on your respective tours, he’s got some needs. 

K - Kink

It doesn’t happen inside the bedroom, it’s what happens outside of it. Nobody knows for certain that Raleigh’s trying to touch you underneath the table at the Grammys. People think, but they don’t know. And that’s the magic of it all.

L - Location

If he can do it, he does it. When on tour or performing, Raleigh will pull you back into the tour buses or in the dressing rooms or behind the screens backstage for a quickie. Literally no area is safe. There was the time where he pulled you in for one right before your Coachella set in what looked like Travis Scott’s dressing room. Before the Grammys, he pulled you aside in a closet right next to Beyonce’s prep area. Not that you were complaining - the risk of it all gave a little rush to all the situations. 

M - Motivation (what turns them on, what gets them going)

To Raleigh, nothing’s hotter than watching you sing a melody on a new song or rehearsing or just plain performing. And seeing as that’s your entire job description, it’s quite often that this happens. It’s just the way you do that power walk across that stage or hit that high note illuminated by the fireworks behind you, and then run excitedly off the stage when the lights dim right into his arms. And of course, just a slight suggestive touch like a stroke of the thigh underneath a table at the Met Gala will do the trick. Nothing gets him on more than being teased with the very thing he just can’t do in the moment. 

N - NO (what turns them off, what is a no for them)

Anything with other people involved. Sure, he might joke about it or still have his reputation as one of the biggest playboys in the industry, but Raleigh’s commitment to you is dead serious. When he’s with you, tracing your curves under the sheets and pressing himself into you, it’s all about the two of you and no one else. If anyone tried to get in on the situation, you’d probably end up hauling a couple bank statements to the police station to make bail. 

O - Oral

Raleigh absolutely loves when you give, probably from seeing you pressed over him, eyes looking straight at him as you take him on. There’s that absolute rush just from thinking about it, and he most definitely reciprocates. Like said before, he’s definitely experienced. So when he gives, you can be sure it’s going to be a good time. 

P - Pace

Between going slow and going fast, Raleigh most definitely goes for the latter. He absolutely loves going a little faster and a little rougher than most men would do, but if you want a slower, more romantic experience, he’ll definitely do it though. 

Q - Quickie

Some people were more established, preferring the extended privacy of the bedroom or home. Raleigh was not one of those people. Any time he could get a chance, he took it, even if might entail a few embarrassing encounters with interlopers. For him, pleasure was pleasure, and it didn’t matter how long or how private it was as long as it was with you.

R - Risk

The more risk the better. You’d teased Raleigh about his penchant for risk and his nonchalant attitude about ever getting caught. Any level of risk didn’t really deter him, and you soon came around to it. Besides, the more it happen, the more you started to enjoy it. He was right - the adrenaline more than made up for it. 

S - Stamina

That man can literally go all night. In fact, that became the subject for a song for one of his upcoming albums. One round? Okay. Two rounds? Cool. Three rounds? Okay, now we’re getting started. Not having stamina just wasn’t Raleigh’s thing 

T - Toy

He doesn’t necessarily use them or have them in his arsenal, but he’s not going to complain if you bring one home. But to him, there’s really nothing hotter than getting rid of all that extra fluff and rituals and just things getting in the way and getting right down to business.

U - Unfair (does he tease, and if so, how?)

Oh please. Raleigh’s entire brand and persona is about being that rebel, yes, but also that serial heartbreaker and major tease. You can bet that carries over into your bedroom as well. He’ll start by kissing you all over, starting from nipping at your neck and working downwards, always bringing you right to the threshold of pleasure before drawing back and making you work for it all over again. For him, the fun’s also in the chase, and in this case, the buildup.

V - Volume

Raleigh’s a talker. And an infuriating one at that. It’s not just dirty talk or some kind of romantic sweet talking. It’s also the slight teasing and banter the two of you already do pretty much every waking hour that you’re together. Good luck showing any type of desire, because he seizes on that fact. That man’s impossible, but in a good way.

W - Wild Card (a random headcanon)

The two of you nearly stumbled into a tabloid scandal while on vacation. You and Raleigh had ended up renting a yacht (thankfully he didn’t crash this one), and he proceeded to do what he did best to you right on the deck. The tabloids picked it up and proceeded to run it, and you thought Fiona would have a stroke and die right there. Thankfully, the pictures got bought back and the crisis was averted, but not exactly for long. 

X - X-ray (what’s going on down there

Lemme’ just say you’re eating good

Y - Yearning (how high is their drive?)

Raleigh’s drive is pretty high, definitely higher than any others you might have been with it. Multiple times a week is the norm, especially the honeymoon period, though you doubted Raleigh had fully grown out of that phase. You can be in the most chaste and unassuming of situations like brewing the coffee in the morning or calling Fiona about a future engagement and he’ll be there, waiting for just the right moment to pounce. The man never stops. 

Z - ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t fall asleep for quite a bit afterwards, preferring to let you drift off first and make you comfortable and well rested for the day ahead. Raleigh’s always been somewhat of an insomniac or night owl, seeing as that was the time he’d write his music or get his ideas flowing when he was in the middle of writing albums or singles or whatnot. That extended over into the bedroom, but instead of nurturing a new song, he was nurturing you, tucking the covers over you and rubbing steady circles on your back and giving you that nightly kiss on the forehead he always did. 

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@sinclaire-made-me-sin @lifeat314universe @isabella-choices @cora-nova @gonewithpersephone @foulcroissantknightpalace @xkinikilig @writinghereandthere @betelgeusebee @thepotatobleh @alwayslietohidethetruth @donknowhowtonamemyself @drink-of-paradise @poeticscolt @adricnraines @pixelberrytrash @buckett-harrington @sunattuned-vance @noeschoices @katie-sinclaire @makitokito @thequeenschoice @donutsgirl36 @myname-is-ehm @chanceisagoodboy @agentmilayawithshield @lightofcordonia @desiree-0816

[rosesnink]

The Detective and the Businessman, Chapter 1

A/N: As many of you know, I’m rewriting some chapters of this series because the plot didn’t fit and it didn’t felt right and I have been deleting the chapters in question so you don’t get confused. The photo is Hayley’s wedding attire ;) 

Summary: Destiny brings Hayley back to London... for the rest of her life. 

Word Count: 3101 

Previously: Prologue 

20th of April, 2014

Ernest Sinclaire paced around, shaking his head, not believing what his father just told… and showed him. No, it couldn’t be. How, why, when? He thought that… that Roselyn loved him! It was all truly an act? It was all for her sake?

“Son—”

“How long, Father? Please be sincere” He pleaded, defeated

“… Three years”

He massaged his temples, trying to calm his thoughts, his heart aching. How could she? What wrong did he do? What was he supposed to do now?

“Thank you for telling me. Now, I need a walk. And a drink” His father reached for his coat “Alone, Father”

He got out to the bar that always brought him comfort, the delicate yet elegant décor was so peaceful… He ordered his usual, his head between his palms when he heard a laugh that he swore he heard before…

There she was. With a police officer uniform, her hair a bun and a discreet yet sophisticated makeup and chatting with some policemen. His heart fluttered with recognition: Hayley Parker, now a surely grown woman, probably 21 or 22. Her lips were red, her skin was gold tanned and her hair was again brunette and seemed so smooth… Not to forget she seemed to be in great shape. Her uniform made noticeable her dangerous curves and her French manicure was perfect.

He turned his attention to the latte when he heard footsteps and saw someone stand before him

“Is this seat taken?” The feminine voice asked, some hint of Spanish accent in her. He looked up to see Hayley, a gorgeous poker face in her feature

“N-no”

She chuckled shortly as she placed her head in her hand “Ernest Sinclaire, you haven’t changed much”

“Thank you? Though you did. You look… like you’re thriving. It’s weird to see you in this look”

“I’ll take that as a compliment”

“You should. You look… well, you look beautiful”

You are beautiful, he thought

She smirked at him “You don’t look so bad yourself”

“Thank you”

“Yo, Parker, we have a 365! Let’s go!”

She sighed as she looked at him “Duty calls. But… if you want a friend or someone to drink with… here’s my number” She grabbed his hand and wrote him her number. He felt electrical jolts in his whole body as he took a close look at how close she was, how he could hear her breathing and smell her essence: mint and roses. His lips parted as she bid her goodbye and left the door, leaving him breathless for a moment.

Hayley Parker was back in town.

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4th of December, 2018

A smile approached her lips as she adjusted her top, a transparent fabric with flowers surrounding her backless top and her pants. She had her hair in an elegant bun and her makeup was now done by her best friend, Briar. She looked at her high-heeled boots, all the dressing courtesy of Zadie Choi, top modelist of the year. She smiled at herself as she gazed to her soon mother-in-law, Lydia Sinclaire, Briar Daly, her long-term best friend and a friend she was fond of, Annabelle Parsons.

The three friends hugged as they beamed at each other, fighting tears back. It’s been so much since any of them felt so much joy… Annabelle embraced Hayley and gazed deeply on her eyes

“Hayley… it’s not a secret that you were my first love and I will always love you in a different way. Our story didn’t end as planned, but I am so grateful for having you in my life nevertheless… I couldn’t have picked a better partner for you to love you as you deserve. Truly”

Hayley nodded before hugging her again. Briar looked at them both with a knowing smile as they both left her with Lydia, who caressed her cheek

“Hayley… You and my boy have overcome many things, I thought for a moment that you’d get fed up of him and yet… you remained there for him, protected and loved him when he couldn’t. You both deserve this and I’m proud of calling you my daughter-in-law. I just know that your mother would be proud”

She nodded, trying not to cry as they hugged each other tightly, accompanying her with her father. She took a deep breath as he rubbed her shoulders, where Ernest was on his back speaking with the mayor and Bart. Hayley walked with her father gingerly as Ernest turned around and his eyes went wide. He smiled fondly at her before embracing her

“Good afternoon everyone and welcome to the ceremony of Hayley Parker, a formidable cop” Some of her trusted partner cheered “and Ernest Sinclaire, a giving businessman” Everyone cheered again “Now, before we commence, I think there are three people who want to say a few words: please welcome Vincent Foredale, the bride’s father”

“Hello everyone. I have been wandering so much of what to say of my daughter getting married: I don’t lie to any of you when I say she’s the boldest, most passionate, strongest and smartest woman I’ve ever met. She overcomes everything with such an ease, such bravery and resilience, she feels the life in a way than no one else can and is also protective and—” he tried not to tear up “When I see her with Ernest, I see a part of her that I thought hidden: soft, happy, loving. I’ve never seen her smile so much since she told me she was with him. Ernest is like a third son to me: a kind, giving and strong young man, and I’m proud to give him my daughter: for I could never give her to someone less worthy”

Everyone clapped as Hayley and Vincent hugged tightly, crying in silence. Then, Vincent hugged Ernest tight and they both patted affectionely the other’s shoulders.

“Next, Bartholomew Chamber, the groom’s best man”

Bart stood in the middle of the couple with a pink suit with lilac donuts, a boyish smile on his face

“If I could say something about Ernest, is that he is my brother by heart and soul: since he pushed down a bully when he was 7 and told me there was nothing wrong with being gay, I knew I’d follow this gremlin to the end of the world. He helped me to love myself and what it meant to be me, to build my part in the world and know my own value. Thanks to him, I grew as the man who I am now, never looked down on me and supported me unconditionally. Without him, I’d—“He sobbed “I would’ve killed myself long ago. He and I have had a long journey and I know that Hayley makes him happy like anyone has ever did. If I had to choose someone to spend his life, it’d be her” He turned to Hayley “Hayley, little wolf: thank you. For loving and accepting my brother like no one has before”

Ernest smiled widely at him as they hugged tightly, whispering to each other and beaming at them. Bart also hugged Hayley and she chuckled, caressing his arms.

“And the last one… Lydia Sinclaire”

She stood in the crowd as she smiled

“Hello everyone. I want to clarify that today I won’t be the one speaking, but the person who Hayley yearns to hear from the most today: her mother, Mary Parker, who may rest in peace. She wrote and recorded this letter in case Hayley found true, epic love. So I’ll turn this video that I made with love and let her speak”

Soon, a projector in a wall started to roll as Mary’s jovial voice started to speak

My dear Hayley, my darling girl. While you are now three years old, I see so much of me in you.

But today I have an important message to other person: that person who you swear love today:

Whoever you are, boy or girl, black or Chiniese, from other country or other culture, whoever you are: you are clearly someone special. I know you managed to make my baby girl to laugh, smile, swoon, blush… You make my girl happy, safe and loved, thing that I want for her, more than anything.

I want to let you know who you’re spending the rest of your life with: my Hayley is bright, cunning, smart and brave. Such a brave kid. She likes to prove to everyone what is she capable of already, she loves to help in a way our society and never hesitates nor wavers. But she’s also imperfect.

She’s proud, stubborn, reserved and doesn’t like to be wrong nor lose. She is a bad loser, indeed.

But I’m confident that you know and accept every single trait of hers, call it mother gut.

I know that I won’t be there for her, so I decided to record this and to say: thank you. For loving my girl like anyone else could and when I couldn’t be there. She deserves that and more. I hope that one day I will be able to see it with my eyes in a way.

As the words faded, videos and photos of Hayley since the year she was born, cooing and chirping with happiness in 1993 to when she was 8 and was in her judo classes, already showing potential. Hayley smiled through tears as Ernest rubbed her back, everyone crying or smiling like idiots, clapping.

The officiant turned to the couple and smiled

“Now, the moment of the truth: the vows. Let’s start with you, Mr. Sinclaire”

He took Hayley’s hand in his and gazed deep in her green, his heart beating fast like a hummingbird “Hayley, Hayls, my love. Since the first moment I saw you, I knew you’d change my life somehow. At first I didn’t knew what I know now, but you opened my eyes somehow: your wits, your intelligence, the way you care for the ones you love, your bravery… I was so enamored of you I thought that I didn’t deserve you. You were so much and I was such a simple, idiotic man. I admired you so fondly, you were always in my mind no matter what and every time you smiled, my heart soared and was sate ablaze. When you kissed me in the rain that 15th of 2015, I thought for a moment that I was dreaming: the woman I’ve always had eyes for was kissing me, holding me. Then, you asked me to be your boyfriend -thing that shocked me, because I wanted to be the one asking- but no matter what, I accepted. These five years have been the best, and I hold every moment with you close. I look forward more adventures with you, to do the most boring things together and be a ridiculous domestic husband with you. But the most important thing: I want to show you for the rest of my life how much I love you, how much I adore and worship you, how much I’d give for you and to give you the world” He picked nervous the ring Bart was holding “With this ring, I promise to take care of you in both health and sickness, to stick with you in richness and poverty, to fight for you against life and death and when things are wrong. I promise to be loyal, faithful, giving and protecting, I promise to accept and love every inch of you, to hold you when you fall and never leave your side, even when the world tries so”

Hayley held his hand, kissed every inch with so much love her heart ached and burnt and placed a single, silver ring and placed a hand on his cheek and he leaned on it

“Ernest, my Ernie, my love. You have proven me all my life that you are not just my lover: you are my best friend, my ally, my companion, my partner in battle, my confidante and a great part of my heart. You encouraged me to be better, to open up to life… But the most important thing is: you helped to forgive myself for all my mistakes and love myself when I confessed you my biggest sin. You could’ve run and never talk to me again, but instead you held my hand, kissed me and said ‘It wasn’t your fault. You were young, tricked, manipulated and used. How could’ve known? You just wanted to live, because you were too young to die. You are human. You’ve made mistakes and ended it, and that is what it counts. You are not alone in this, not anymore. And we will get through this. You and I, together against the world, Hayley. If you’ll let me. If you’ll have me’. You don’t know it yet, but you saved me. You and Briar are the two only people whose life I owe. You are my savior, my entire heart. Now, holding this hand, this ring I forged I vow to protect you from all the bad, to cradle you when your nightmares haunt you and to love you with all my being. I swear I will put our lives above anything else, to support you and to help you to get through the bad things in the way, to never let you fall and always stay true to you. In front of these people, I vow to share a part of my life with you and be your number one supporter and to love you until the day I die”

He caressed her face with his hand and she kissed it, both crying of emotion as they knew what would happen now

“You may kiss the bri—”

Hayley kissed him fiercely and passionately, grabbing his shoulder and face, making him dip her, a wide smile on her face.

“My Hayley… my wife” He spins her around as she giggles, everyone cheering and wooing.

Photos snap everywhere as they smile at each other, hands on each other as they sign the marriage register and the given family book. They look around as a beautiful melody sounds when they walk out, everyone throwing flowers as they smile at each other, beaming and posing for the cameras. They get into the ‘Just Married!’ car as they share a brief kiss and drive away, their heart full.

In the afterparty, everyone clapped as they smiled, waving at everyone as they seated on the desk of the bride, groom and men and maids of honor, plus the parents. They all dig in Spanish delicacies and English meals, beaming and screaming many times to kiss, which they happily obligued. One of her Spanish friends even asked for the bride to do a high kick! She did it, and the couture almost broke, thing that made Lydia gasp and tell her to be more careful with her wedding suit. Everyone laughed as the meal came to an end and people started to ask for the couple’s dance. Ernest shrugged as Hayley and him came to the center of the ball and a special song started to play: Wide Awake by Katy Perry

Hayley placed her hands in his shoulders and Ernest in her hips, moving slowly, patiently and lovingly, their eyes never wavering from each other, pure love and joy in their faces. Ernest spins her and dips her, his hands never wavering from her. He kisses her temple and kisses both of her hands as the song fades, looking at each other like they are the only people in the room.

Everyone claps as they look around and Ernest decides to take a seat and talk with some guests as the girls approach Hayley and hug her tight. She smiles at them all and start dancing Mamma Mia’s song, enjoying and dancing the night away.

The night keeps going as many songs from their infancy are played. In very few songs, Ernest graces them with some of his moves, many of them with his now wife, both laughing and smiling like idiots.

Briar beams at them as someone taps her gently in the shoulder. Edmund Marlcaster

“Hey, Briar! I was, uhm, wondering if—”

“I’d love to” She grabbed his hand as the song Halo by Beyoncé started to play.

Theresa was dancing with some hot guy, Annabelle with an Irish friend of Hayley and Vincent and Lydia danced together, talking animatedly, sharing things and making bets about what was next for the couple. Briar knew that love was in the air as she saw people dance and gaze to those who they thought they could never have. She thought back in Ernest’s prom how Hayley gazed at Ernest like she could never have him, how impossible it was to be together. Years later, they were now married.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Edmund asked

She looked at him as she replied “Just thinking how things have changed since Ernest’s ex left. Hayley was back in town, I just made it to the police force as a forensic, Annabelle was still closeted… And you and Theresa just broke up”

He sighed, a grimace on his face as he remembered how they broke up “Yeah, I try to not remember that”

She smiled at him in comfort “Hey, that taught you many things, didn’t it?”

“I suppose. It did show me what I truly want in my life”

“And what is that?”  

He looked at her deeply “You know what is it”

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Hayley giggled as Ernest grabbed her gently, nibbing at her skin as Ernest opened the door expertly, revealing a suite with a queen-sized bed, a desk, a closet and some Wi-Fi for them. Hayley admired it as a spider lamp in the roof was illuminating the room

“How much you like your room, my dear wife?”

“Hmmm, ‘tis fancy. Reminds me of Vienna”

“Is that so?”

“Yes”

She spin around elegantly to kiss Ernest and jumped into his arms. He grabbed her gently and caressed her back and forelegs, savoring his wife.

“I’ve got so many things to do with you and yet the night is so short…” She purred

“Then the morning we shall conquer”

With an elegant movement, she spun him around and landed elegantly on the bed

“Smooth” He commented, amused

“Detective, honey”

He kissed her again, his hands working on taking off the fabric without damaging it

“Ernest?”

“Yes?”

She smiled at him as she got atop him “I love you”

“I love you too”

And with that, they kissed again.

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Tagging 

Perma Tag: @marlcasters​ @hellospunkiebrewster​ @mrsnazariowalker​ @isabella-choices​ @desiree-0816​

Mr. Sinclaire Tag: @50shadesofraleigh​ ​ @amomentofsinclairity​  @mfackenthal @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire​ @melodyofgraves​ 

[ayittey1]

Externalists Versus Internalists

HY AFRICA'S CRISES HAVE PERSISTED

Africa's crises have remained intractable not so much because of a dearth of solutions but rather because of the flawed approaches its leaders took to solve them. Scientifically, effective resolution of a problem requires taking five basic steps. The first is to expose the problem, which normally is done through the media (newspapers, magazines, radio, TV) and public fora (conferences, seminars, workshops, and speeches). That is the business of intellectuals, journalists, editors and writers. The second is to diagnose the causes of the problem. The third is to prescribe a solution. The fourth is to implement the solution, and the fifth is to monitor it to see if it is working. If not, the dosage may be increased or an entirely new remedy tried.

         The diagnosis may be considered the crucial step. A faulty analysis of the causes may lead to a wrong prescription, which may treat only the symptoms and not the fundamental causes, or worse, may aggravate the ailment. To avert such possible malpractice, a diagnosis must be subject to critical public review and debate to determine its validity and to ensure that important causative factors have not been overlooked.      Regrettably in most African countries, the process of crisis resolution rarely went beyond step two (the diagnostic stage). If step two was reached, a faulty diagnosis was invariably performed, leading to the prescription of a wrong solution. Worse, that solution was itself implemented poorly or not at all in many cases. Corruption scandals fall into this category. In 1993, for example, Ghana's auditor general released a report that detailed a catalogue of corruption and embezzlement by high government officials, costing a staggering 401 billion cedis (about $400 million) over a ten-year period (1983-1992). But not one single bandit was indicted.

         For six years, 1988 to 1994, Nigeria's military rulers squandered $12.4 billion in oil revenue, estimated by the September 1994 Pius Okigbo Commission to be a third of the nation's foreign debt. A Petroleum Trust Fund set up by former head of state, General Ibrahim Babangida "lost" $600 million. No one was prosecuted. Most Nigerians collapsed into hysterical laughter when they heard their late head of state, General Sani Abacha, had launched "a war on corruption," because they knew "several of his cronies, active or retired, are millionaires and no military men involved in the banking scandal [that cost the country $180 million] have been touched. `When the soldiers have eaten enough, he retires them,' said a civil-rights lawyer." (The Economist, June 8, 1996, 48).

Exposure

         "He who conceals his disease cannot expect to be cured," says an Ethiopian proverb. Yet, for much of the postcolonial period, exposing a problem in Africa has almost always been impossible because of censorship, brutal suppression of dissent, and state ownership or control of the media. “Journalists in the Angolan state media are subject to severe censorship and are unable to report on the civil war, corruption, abuse of power, human rights and maladministration” (Index on Censorship, Nov/Dec 1999; p.231). Corrupt and incompetent governments denied or concealed their embarassing failings (abuse of power, looting and atrocities) until the problems blew up in their faces. But by then it was too late to solve them. As Adam Feinstein, editor of the monthly publication of the International Press Institute, put it: "The press is always a first scapegoat of governments. They can't blame themselves, so they have to blame somebody else" (The Washington Post, April 6, 1995, A15).

         In Ivory Coast, police seized copies of the fifth issue of the monthly, Africa Golf Eco, on July 27, 1999. Copies of the paper, which specializes on economic issues, were taken from kiosks in Abidjan by security forces without a warrant. The issue contained a feature entitled “Disinformation, Manipulation, Corruption, Embezzlement. Is the Bedie System at death door”? (Index on Censorship, Sept/Oct 1999; p.128). Indeed, on Dec 24, 1999, President Bedie was overthrown in a coup d’etat.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Coup Made Ivory Coast Elite Face the Music

 By Karl Vick

Washington Post Foreign Service

Monday, January 10, 2000; Page A14

 ABIDJAN, Ivory Coast—When the soldiers shot the lock off the door of Room 419 of the Golf Hotel on Dec. 24, Laurent Fologo was standing in front of the television, barefoot. The general secretary of the Democratic Party, which had ruled Ivory Coast for 40 years, was caught without shoes but not without warning: Five years earlier, a journalist had suggested that Fologo--who like other Ivorian politicians watched a lot of foreign TV--might do well to bend an ear to the music favored by the soldiers who were now dragging him outside.

 "I told him in 1994 that what the young people are saying in music reflects the popular discontent," said Joachim Beugre, political editor of the independent Le Jour newspaper. "But he didn't take it seriously."

 The result was a military coup backed by a reggae beat. As mutinying soldiers arrested Fologo--whom they later released--and sent President Henri Konan Bedie scurrying overseas, other troops seized the state radio station and put back on the air the recordings of Ivorian musicians whose banned music had inspired them.

 "They're the people who tell the truth," Sgt. Olivier Zadi declared of the musicians. "They say exactly what happens. It's because of them that we became conscious of what's going on and said, 'Enough is enough.' "

 Sgt. Alaid Kouame nodded toward the station he was helping to guard. "We take their songs, we go to the radio station, and we play them," he said.

 They played "Dictatorship," by Alpha Blondy and the Solar System, and "The Thieves of the Country (Kleptocracy)." They played Tiken Jah Fakoly singing "fight the powers that divide" and Serge Kassy's "Pay Your Taxes," aimed at members of the political elite who don't.

 Kouame's favorite is "Tattletale," about courtiers currying favor with a ruler. After hearing it, a retired general named Robert Guei telephoned Kassy, who wrote it. Guei said he recognized his fate in that song, having been dismissed as army chief of staff after refusing the president's order to send troops to an election boycott demonstration in 1995. Kassy was so impressed, he wrote "My General."

 Today, Guei is Ivory Coast's new leader, heading a transitional government he said will hold power only until free elections can be scheduled . . .

 "In weak democracies, musicians are like journalists," said Blondy, 46. "They talk about things that some journalists wouldn't dare to because all the papers are owned by political parties. We are the voice of the voiceless."

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         The freedom that is most critical to the existence of all other human freedoms is that of expression--the freedom to express one's thoughts, wishes, and criticisms by words and actions without fear of reprisal. For Africa to find solutions to its problems, Africans must have this freedom. They cannot solve their problems in a "culture of silence," characterized by intimidation, censorship, and intolerance of alternative viewpoints. To expose corruption, human rights violations, economic mismanagement, and abuse of political power, freedom of expression is crucial.

         Only in an atmosphere supporting the free exchange of ideas can the people find internal, self-reliant, native, and efficient solutions. The absence of intellectual freedom prevents the search for and development of internal solutions. This, in turn, has two pernicious ramifications. First, it perpetuates the offensive notion that Africans are incapable of devising their own solutions to their problems. Second, it forces the adoption of externally generated solutions, which do not always work.

         In Africa's own supposedly primitive and backward indigenous system, freedom of expression was recognized and respected. At council meetings and village assemblies, ordinary tribesmen participated in the decision-making process by voicing their opinions freely. Further, they took part in debating the various positions until a consensus was reached. Former Prime Minister of Ghana, Dr. Kofi Abrefa Busia (1967) observed, "The traditions of free speech and interchange of views do not support any claim that the denial of free speech or the suppression of opposition is rooted in traditional African political systems" (29).

         Traditional African rulers did not arrest, detain, or "liquidate" those who disagreed with them. In fact, one of them, Chief Osagyefo Kuntukununku, stressed the need for freedom of expression to reach consensus: "Future governments would do well to encourage a dialogue between themselves and the populace, confront contrary views with well reasoned arguments rather than intimidation and detention. Suppression of dissent and the denial of the right to express contrary views can only encourage sycophancy and opportunism. There must be a free press to enhance dialogue, efficiency and accountability and to champion the cause of victims of governmental vindictiveness and arbitrariness (West Africa, 27 August - 2 September 1990, 2372).

         in modern Africa, private newspapers that were courageous enough to expose the problems were shut down and their editors either jailed or murdered. For example,

Although Zimbabwe is on paper a multi-party democracy, open debate -- let alone outright political dissent -- has been increasingly discouraged. At the University of Zimbabwe, students and staff have been swatted by riot police with tear gas and clubs for complaining about corruption, a growing scourge. [And] three senior journalists at the weekly Financial Gazette, the country's leading free voice, have been charged with "criminal defamation." [And] a new law enables Mugabe to sack outspoken board members of any independent charitable organization and replace them with government-blessed appointees" (The Economist, 19 August 1995, 38).

          The supreme irony of the vilification and repression campaign is that quite often it is counterproductive. It is a truism that persecution of a person by a brutally repressive regime never achieves its intended objective. Rather, it transforms the victim into a hero, because what is bad in the eyes of the devil must be good. Countless examples can be given: Lech Walesa, Nelson Mandela, Kwame Nkrumah, and Kenneth Kaunda were all persecuted by repressive governments but they subsequently became presidents of their respective countries. Wole Soyinka, hounded and jailed by Nigeria’s military government, subsequently became a Nobel laureate. The military government of Ghana never learned from this. One K. Danso-Boafo wrote: "By preventing the Movement for Freedom and Justice (MFJ) from using the premises of the Teachers' Hall for a symposium, and holding and questioning its deputy national secretary Mr. Kwesi Pratt, [Ghana's] PNDC functionaries are making `political martyrs' out of the MFJ and its leadership -- something any astute politician would want to avoid. The political history of Africa is replete with such political miscalculations" (West Africa, 3-9 June 1991, 892).

         On 12 May 1994, persons believed to be agents of the PNDC sneaked into the premises of Free Press and littered it with human excrement. The result? The circulation the crusading Free Press soared and it became Ghana's most popular paper.

         Intolerance of alternative viewpoints is a disease that afflicts the the ruling elites of Africa. Until "educated" Africans learn to accept intellectual diversity among themselves, they are doomed as a race.

 The Diagnosis: Externalists Versus Internalists

Even when a problem was finally exposed in Africa, the second and crucial step of diagnosis was usually mishandled. On the causes of Africa's crisis, there have been two schools of thought: the externalists and the internalists. The externalists believe that Africa's woes are due to external factors. Disciples of the externalist school include most African leaders, scholars, and intellectual radicals. For decades the externalist position held sway, attributing the causes of almost every African problem to such external factors as Western colonialism and imperialism, the pernicious effects of the slave trade, racist conspiracy plots, exploitation by avaricious multinational corporations, an unjust international economic system, inadequate flows of foreign aid, and deteriorating terms of trade. “President Danial arap Moi accused the IMF and other development partners of denying Kenya development funds, thus triggering mass poverty” (The Washington Times, June 3, 1999; p.A12). "Marginalization" and “globalization” have now become the new complaints of African leaders. The West's abandonment of Africa for Eastern Europe, they warn, will vastly impede their efforts to alleviate crushing poverty and squalor.

         When the African crisis first emerged in the late 1970s, the causes and diagnoses most frequently offered by African intellectuals and government officials were external. Debates and public scrutiny were not permitted. In his book, The Africans, African scholar and historian Professor Ali Mazrui examined the African crisis, claiming that almost everything that went wrong in Africa was the fault of Western colonialism and imperialism. "The West harmed Africa's indigenous technological development in a number of ways" (164). He attributed Africa's collapsing infrastructure (roads, railways, and utilities) to the "shallowness of Western institutions," "the lopsided nature of colonial acculturation" and "the moral contradictions of Western political tutelage" (202). In fact, "the political decay is partly a consequence of colonial institutions without cultural roots in Africa" (199). Therefore, self‑congratulatory western assertions of contributing to Africa's modernization are shallow: "The West has contributed far less to Africa than Africa has contributed to the industrial civilization of the West" (164). Decay in law enforcement and mismanagement of funds were all the fault of Western colonialism too. "The pervasive atmosphere in much of the land is one of rust and dust, stagnation and decay, especially within those institutions which were originally bequeathed by the West" (210). They signal "the slow death of an alien civilization" (204) and Africa's rebellion "against westernization masquerading as modernity" (211). Western institutions are doomed "to grind to a standstill in Africa" or decay. "Where Islam is already established, the decay of western civilization is good for Islam since it helps to neutralize a major threat" (19).[1]

         Many African leaders also subscribed to and espoused similar views ‑‑ that the causes of Africa's crises were externally generated. In fact, since independence in the sixties, almost every African malaise was ascribed to the operation or conspiracy of extrinsic agents. The leadership was above reproach and could never be faulted.

         A problem with the educational system was, of course, the fault of colonialism. An electricity failure was unquestionably due to an imperialist plot. Commodity shortages were easily explained: the nefarious activities of neo‑colonial saboteurs. Even bribery and corruption, according to Mazrui (1986), was the fault of colonialism and the "coming of new institutions such as Western‑style banks, with their new rules and new values" (241). President Mobutu offered a more dramatic elucidation. Asked who introduced corruption into Zaire, he retorted: "European businessmen were the ones who said, 'I sell you this thing for $1,000, but $200 will be for your (Swiss bank) account'" (New African, July, 1988, 25).

          In his address to the third Congress of the Democratic Union of Malian People recently, President Moussa Traore observed that,

The world economy is passing through a period characterised by monetary disorder  and slow trade exchanges. The worsening crisis is affecting all countries, particularly developing countries.

 Due to the difficult situation, which is compounded by the serious drought, socio‑economic life has been affected by serious imbalances that have jeopardised our country's development growth. Debt servicing, characterised mainly by state‑to‑state debts are a heavy burden on the state budget. The drop in the price of cotton which accounts for much of the country's foreign earnings, has led to a great reduction in export earnings" (West Africa, 16 May 1988, 876).

   According to Zimbabwe Independent (April 27, 1999),

Given the government’s spendthrift ways, its steady refusal to slim down the bloated patronage state administration and the elite’s determination to steal everything that is not nailed down and quite a bit that is, the result has been to deliver Zimbabwe into the hands of the IMF/World Bank. Meanwhile, ministers bilk on whatever bills they can, the infrastructure falls to bits before one’s eyes and the state searches ever more desperately for revenue. School fees have been pushed up to the point where many parents are having to take their children out of school and illiteracy is increasing for the first time in a century.

Mugabe angrily rejects the criticism of those who blame the government for the economic crisis. It is, he says, the fault of greedy Western powers, the IMF, the Asian financial crisis and the drought. The latter explanation causes a quizzical raising of eyebrows as the daily torrent continues to bucket down” (p. 25)

 High‑ranking African government officials, needless to say, toe their leaders' lines. According to C. M. Nyirabu, governor of the Bank of Tanzania in 1985, "Africa's ills are the result of severe exogenous shocks, such as steep oil‑price escalations in the last decade, persistent drought, prolonged recession in the industrial countries and their resort to increased protectionism, continued policies of strict monetarism, and reduction in real terms of external assistance" (Lancaster and Williamson, 1986). David Phri, the governor of the Bank of Zambia in 1986, was quite explicit: "The hostile world economic environment has been the dominant factor in the problems now confronting developing African countries" (Helleiner, 1986, 93).

         According to the Chairman of Ghana’s ruling NDC, Issifu Ali, whatever economic crisis the nation is going through has been caused by external factors. “He said the NDC has since 1982 adopted  pragmatic policies for the progress of Ghana, adding that the macro-economic environment of 1999 has been undermined by global economic developments" (The Independent, Nov 18, 1999; p.3)

          The United Nations Economic Commission for Africa (ECA) echoed the same "external" dirge. In July 1989 it launched its document, "The African Alternative Framework to Structural Adjustment Programmes for Socio‑Economic Recovery and Transformation." In a review, West Africa magazine (17-23 July 1989) noted:

The framework is not just another plan. By starting with a structural analysis of Africa's economy, it is able to identify the real impediments to development. In the process, it formulates a critique of the legacy of colonialism, the borders which render 14 countries landlocked, bequeathed 13 with a land area of less than 50,000 hectares each, and have left 23 with a current population of less than 5 million each. It addresses engendered dependence on commodity exports, infrastructural inadequacy, and the dominance of commerce over production. (1160)

          The ECA has not changed its tune, still maintaining that “The prospects for African economies continue to be shaped by the outcome of its most important determinants, the weather and the external economic environment. `African economies remain vulnerable to exogenous economic and non-economic shocks, such as movements in international commodity prices and erratic weather conditions,’ notes K.Y. Amoako, executive secretary of the ECA” (The African Observer, June 7 – 20, 1999; page 23).    

         The constant wailing over colonial legacies was at best disingenous and attributing much of Africa's crisis to external factors alone was intellectually deficient. In fact, they became standard excuses that many African leaders conveniently employed to conceal their own failures and incompetence. Finally in March 1986, at the Special United Nations Conference on Africa, the African delegates themselves, in a refreshing breath of candor, admitted that "past policy mistakes", especially the neglect of agriculture, had contributed to the African crisis. An earlier report by the Organization of African Unity (OAU), which served as the core of the African sermon at the United Nations, urged African nations "to take measures to strengthen incentive schemes, review public investment policies, and improve economic management, including greater discipline and efficiency in the use of resources." Most notably, the OAU Report pledged that "the positive role of the private sector is to be encouraged."

         Even a year before that, the African Development Bank and the Economic Commission for Africa produced reports that were adopted at the OAU meeting in July 1985. A review of these reports by West Africa was quite revealing:

The African region is described as suffering from a long‑standing crisis rooted in low productivity, limited capacity for adjustment, government policies which have long over‑emphasized intervention and control and overlooked incentives, and an international economy characterised by weak demand for Africa's exports, high interest rates, and stagnating resource flows.

 But while external factors have played a determining role in present difficulties, the report says that African policymakers are accepting that internal policy failures are also to blame and that there must be change. The overall direction of change is seen to be towards more market freedom, more emphasis on producer incentives, as well as reform of the public sector to ensure greater profitability (West Africa, 21 April 1986, 817). (Emphasis added).

          That was back in 1985. Since then, the OAU or African governments have made little effort to draw up internal solutions. As it turned out, the "admission" of the role of internal factors lacked sincerity and a committment to address them. It was more of a ruse to extract greater foreign assistance. But such tricks are not helpful in solving a crisis. If internal factors played a role, they ought to be tackled.

The Colonial Legacies

Of all the external factors used to explain Africa's crisis, perhaps the most frequently used has been that of the legacy of European colonialism. The same litany of baneful colonial legacies has been trotted out again and again since independence in the 1960s. African intellectuals have not realized that African government officials often use these legacies as excuses to conceal their own mismanagement and incompetence. It is true that colonialism did not bequeath much to Africa. When Tanzania gained its independence in 1961, it only had 16 university graduates to run the country. Said Julius Nyerere, former head of state in a speech at the University of Edinburgh on 9 October, 1997:

Tanzania or Tanganyika then had approximately 200 miles of tarmac road, and its "industrial sector" consisted of 6 factories ‑ including one which employed 50 persons. And despite the Education and Health services provided by some Christian Missionaries and later begun by colonial governments, at independence less than 50% of Tanzanians children went to school ‑ and then for only four years or less; 85% of its adults were illiterate in any language. The country had only 2 African Engineers, 12 Doctors, and perhaps 30 Arts graduates, I was one of them.

          Zambia was a little luckier: It had 100 university graduates, l,500 school‑leavers with full secondary education and 6,000 with two years at secondary schools in a country of 4 million.[2]  What the Portuguese in Guinea‑Bissau left after 300 years of colonial rule was pitiful: "14 university graduates, an illiteracy rate of 97 percent and 267 miles of paved roads in an area twice the size of New Jersey. There was only one modern plant in Guinea‑Bissau in 1974 ‑‑ it produced beer for the Portuguese troops ‑‑ and as a final gesture before leaving, the Portuguese destroyed the national archieves" (Lamb, 1983, 5).

         But in many African countries, the leadership could not maintain, let alone augment, the little that was inherited from colonialism. In fact, they destroyed it. The inherited infrastructure -- roads, bridges, schools, universities, hospitals, telephones, and even the civil service machinery -- are now in shambles. For example, when Zaire obtained its independence in 1960, it had 31,000 miles of macadamized roads. Today less than 3,500 miles remain usable. In Ghana, where the "colonial" roads are strewn with yawning potholes, officials insist that it is rather the vehicle owners who must obtain "road-worthiness certificates" for their vehicles and not the roads that must be made "vehicle worthy."

         In the 1950s Makerere University in Kampala, Uganda, used to be proudly called "the Harvard of Africa." Today it is in a state of dilapidation. Universities in Ghana, Nigeria and other African countries are in similar states of decrepitude. The University of Ghana, for instance, has not seen a new coat of paint since the colonialists departed in the 1950s. Bridges built by the colonialists are now falling apart for want of repairs. Railways and other infrastructural facilities are in various stages of decay. Who is to blame for all this? The colonialists or incompetent African leaders?

         It is true that the past must be studied to provide guidance for the future. But a mind deeply obsessed with the past is captured by it. Such a captive mind is incapable of cogent analysis of present day and future issues. Nor can it take advantage of auspicious opportunities that are currently available. World conditions are certainly not what they were 50 or 100 years ago. There are new technologies, new commodities, new tastes, new attitudes, and new opportunities. But all these remain invisible to the mind that is deeply engrossed in colonialism. When a new market opportunity arises, many African presidents captured by the past analyzed it with woefully outmoded mental constructs.

         There has been a constant whimpering over Africa's artificial colonial borders as the source of many of the crises plaguing the continent. Says Denis Sassou-Nguesso, former president of the Republic of Congo and former chairman of the OAU:

Africans were placed within colonial boundaries. Today, the agitation, the periodic outbursts of rage, the procession of displaced populations, and the trail of refugees, reminds us how arbitrary these national borders really are. World powers pressure African nations to work toward democracy and economic reform, but they seem unconcerned about helping us to solve the crisis of displaced people: a crisis which stems from artificial colonial boundaries (The Washington Times, 5 December 1996, A17).

          This, however, could not be further from the truth. While it is true that several ethnic groups, such as the Somali and Ewe of Ghana, found themselves sliced up and allotted to different countries, the people of Africa traditionally have paid little attention to borders. They move when the need arises, border or no border, as attested to by movement of refugees. The best realization of this traditional reality would be one black African nation south of the Sahara, in which people of various tribes could move freely without harassment from the border police -- at least the political equivalent of a free trade zone, in which people and goods could move freely.

         Somalia proves that the artificial borders are not the real cause of the crises. It is ethnically homogenous, yet it collapsed. And when the Republic of Somaliland seceded, it broke away along colonial lines. During the colonial era, the Italians occupied the northern part of Somalia and the British the southern part. As Richard Dowden, Africa correspondent for The Economist, noted: "Almost no protagonists in Africa's current wars are calling for changes to boundaries and none of these wars would be solved by them. In these wars, rebels are fighting for power -- or a slice of power -- at the center; that is, in the capital, where the trappings of a unified state are" (Prospect, July 1996, 61). And, "By creating artificial countries, the argument goes, yesterday's map-makers are responsible for today's Africa's wars. It sounds plausible, but it is not true. There is not a significant movement in Africa today that wants secession or a change in borders. no ethnic group divided by a frontier is demanding reunification; on the contrary, most such groups have learnt to exploit their situation commercially and politically" (The Economist, 25 January 1997, 17).

         Furthermore, the practicality of redrawing boundaries to conform to ethnicity is questionable. There are more than 2,000 ethnic groups in Africa; nationalism given full vent, might result in more than a thousand little "Djiboutis," each with its own currency, flag, national airline with a one-plane fleet, and Swiss bank account for the president. In 1993, Eritrea broke off from Ethiopia to become an independent country. Five years later, they were at war in a dispute over their boundaries. Moreover, why the lament over artificial colonial borders when the OAU recognizes the "territorial integrity of each member nation" in its charter? Only African governments -- the same members of the OAU -- pay much attention to borders for the collection of import "duties" by official and unofficial personnel.

         Travel today in independent Africa has been rendered far more difficult than even during the colonial days. Travelers have to contend with not only numerous border checkpoints but also roadblocks within a country itself. It is no secret that these roadblocks serve only as points where uniformed vagabonds extort money from innocent passengers. In an irate letter to West Africa (17-23 July 1989, 1184), Mr. R.A. Dawson, headmaster of St. Bartholomew's Boarding School, Zaria, Nigeria, wrote:

In June 1989, I arrived at the Murtala International Airport, Ikeja, on a Ghana Airways flight No. GH502. After clearing customs and immigration, I boarded an airport taxi for Iddo motor park where I hoped to find another vehicle to the north where I reside and work.

 At Illupeju roadblock, our taxi was stopped by three policemen who checked my luggage and papers, an act outside their jurisdiction. Then to the astonishment of the driver and myself, police corporal No. 64539 took all the money I had on me. When I protested, he threatened to shoot me dead, and later defended his action by claiming that I was an armed robber caught in the act because as a Ghanaian I had no right to decent employment in Nigeria. (1184)

           This occurred in a sub-region the leaders of which pompously affirm the ECOWAS protocol of free movement.

The New And Angry Generation of African Internalists

Internalists are those who believe Africa's woes are due more to internal than external factors. This school of thought maintains that while it is true that colonialism and Western imperialism did not leave Africa in good shape, Africa's condition has been made immeasurably worse by internal factors: misguided leadership, systemic corruption, capital flight, economic mismanagement, senseless civil wars, political tyranny, flagrant violations of human rights, and military vandalism.

         Internalists argue that the attribution of Africa's crises solely to external forces is intellectually deficient for several reasons. First, pragmatism and scientific scholarship demand, at the very least, an unerring scrutiny of all causative factors, both external and internal. Common sense dictates looking both ways before crossing a street, or risk being hit by a truck. Africa is in bandages because its leaders looked only one way -- at the external.

         Second, external factors are beyond the control or manipulation of most African countries on an individual basis. Even if possible, any effort to alter the external environment is likely to be protracted, taking decades. For example, the basic structure of the international economic system has not changed much in the past 50 years, although there have been improvements in payment mechanisms, transportation of goods, and information delivery systems. This international economic system is likely to remain so for a long time to come.

         Third, internal factors are mostly man‑made or artificial and are therefore more amenable to change or correction by African governments than the external factors. No matter how much colonialism is abhorred, that artifact of history cannot be undone or rewritten; it must be seen as a given.

         In the internalist school of thought may be found Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka, Kwesi Armah, the author of The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born, Gilchrist Olympio, an opposition leader in Togo, South Africa’s president, Thabo Mbeki, the present author, and the silent peasant majority.

         At the 35th OAU Summit in Algiers (July 15, 1999), Thabo Mbeki shocked the delegates by stating that African leaders who took power by force would be banned from future OAU Summits. And, rather than waste time bemoaning the effects of globalization, “African leaders should take steps to integrate the continent’s economies,” he told them.

         “Mere moral appeals from the have-nots to the haves are not likely to take us very far,” he said, encouraging his OAU colleagues “to gain a profound understanding of economics, so that we can intervene in an informed manner.” He expressed impatience with those leaders who simply complain that globalization is passing Africa by. He reminded them that little has been done to implement the 1991 Treaty of Abuja that established an African Economic Community (The Washington Times, July 15, 1999; p.A14).

          When soldiers seized power in Africa, they almost always cited corruption, economic mismanagement and high cost of living as justification. And the average person on the streets does not blame colonialism and American imperialism for his hardships.

         Because of censorship, repression, intolerance of diversity of opinion, and persecution -- even in the broader African intellectual community -- the number of internalists in the public arena is small. Incompetent African leaders naturally reject the internalist position and place blame on external factors. The state-controlled media carries their position. They are aided, directly and indirectly, by vocal leftist radicals who denounce internalists as "Uncle Toms," accusing them of "letting the white man off the hook" and "providing ammunition to the racists." This is a reflection of the insidious intolerance of intellectual diversity among black elites that we noted earlier. But internalists are fighting back against this invective. A growing number of African intellectuals are now deemphasizing historical and external factors and looking inside Africa itself for the true causes of the crises and solutions.

         In a paper presented to the Committee on African Studies at Harvard University on 28 April 1981, Gilchrist S. Olympio, a Togolese opposition leader and the son of Togo's first president who was killed in the 1967 coup that brought Gnassingbe Eyadema to power, wrote:

Economic thought and action over the last few years in Black Africa have tended to emphasize factors external to the continent (exogenous factors) as opposed to internal institution and structure, as the main explanation for stagnation or regression in the economic standards of the continent. Deteriorating terms of trade between rich and poor countries, widening parities between agricultural and industrial prices, volatile commodity prices, oil prices movements since 1973 and natural calamaties such as drought and desertification of the continent are considered the key to [an explanation of] the poverty. The fascination for this kind of reasoning in Black Africa is not difficult to fathom, as the non-performance of our economies can be attributed, not to internal structures and policies, but to external considerations.

 This paper contends that such factors, if true, are marginal to the central problem of underdevelopment in Black Africa, compared with the absence or malfunctioning of indigenous institutions, factors which for many reasons are relegated to backstage of the debate.

 That economic thought should tend to concentrate on external factors is not difficult to explain. Blame is easier to apportion without any serious domestic implications. Since independence in 1960, carefully tailored constitutions by erstwhile colonial powers such as France and Britain, have collapsed under the onslaught of energies unleashed by our newly-found freedom. Representative government, including Bill of Rights, protection of minorities, built-in mechanisms to ensure orderly change, have given way to autocracies of various types, civilian or military. In many cases, these new regimes have been buttressed by one-party systems which, far from unifying fairly heterogenous countries, as intended by their creators, have now as their sole raison d'etre, the keeping in power of a particular regime . . . What the new constitutional changes have done, however, is to move our countries further on the road to becoming closed societies. In a West African country, for instance, wiht the notable exception of Nigeria and Senegal, only one daily newspaper appears and that is produced by the Ministry of Information. Radio, television and other media of communication are tightly controlled by the government. It is therefore not surprising that, as our societies become politically less open, public discussion of internal institutions and structures shold be given scanty treatment. In some cases, it may even be dangerous to debate subjects that have become a taboo. On the other hand, public airing of external variables, especially if it can include a swipe of the old whipping-boy, necolonialism, is all the more welcome . . .

 Rational fiscal and monetary policies, combined with the creation of healthy institutions in Black African countries, happen to be a pre-condition for economic development. International effort, if it is to be meaningful, must first help our countries to achieve sound domestic management.

         Said Akobeng Eric, a Ghanaian, in a letter to the Free Press (29 March - 11 April 1996): "A big obstacle to economic growth in Africa is the tendency to put all blame, failures and shortcomings on outside forces. Progress might have been achieved if we had always tried first to remove the mote in our own eyes" (2).

         Angry at deteriorating economic conditions in Ghana, thousands of Ghanaians marched through the streets of the capital city, Accra, to denounce the ruling regime of President Rawlings. “If Jerry Rawlings says the current economic crisis is due to external forces and therefore, beyond his control, then he should step aside and allow a competent person who can manage the crisis to take over," Atta Frimpong demanded (The Ghanaian Chronicle, Nov 29, 1999; p.1). Appiah Dankwah, another protestor blamed the NDC government for mismanaging the resources of the nation.

         A strange thing happened at an international conference on Africa's Imperative Agenda, held in Nairobi in January 1995. The conference document, prepared by Philip Ndegwa, former chairman of Kenya's Central Bank, and Reginald Green, of the Institute of Development Studies at the University of Sussex, stated in stark terms: "Africa is now a continent which cannot feed itself, meet its external financial obligations or the bill for its essential imports, protect its increasing population, prevent environmental degradation, or exert any meaningful influence in the international decsion-making process. A substantial number of African countries are now in danger of national disintegration, including some which, as recently as the late 1980s, were held up as success stories" (Africa Recovery, June 1995, 8).

         It is striking that the document devoted only three of its 18 sections to the external dimension of Africa's multiple crises and focused more on Africa's own responsibility and initiatives.

         Internalist influence was also evident at "Africa 2000" Conference organized by the Hofstra Cultural Center of Hofstra University in Hempstead, New York on 12 October 1995. In its "Call for Papers" flyer, part of the instructions read: "All papers should focus on, or at least prominently discuss, the immediate future faced by Africa. Thus papers dealing with historical events, for example, would not be appropriate, unless the thrust of the discussion related the historical context to an understanding of the present or immediate future." Traditionally, conferences on Africa have featured speaker upon speaker who perorated passionately about the iniquities of colonialism, the slave trade and Western imperialism. The Hofstra conference sounded a call for a paradigm shift, making it clear that papers dealing with such historical factors would not be welcome.

         On 12 August 1995, various Nigerian groups and organizations held the Nigerian National Leadership Forum in Nashville, Tennessee, to find out exactly what the "problem" was with Nigeria. As African News Weekly (26 August 1995) reported:

Professor David Murauko, the chairman of the forum, was sure he knew what Nigeria's biggest problem is. Tribalism. After all, this is what motivated him to organize the conference. So he opened his presentation by asking the audience what they felt was Nigeria's greatest problem.

 One participant got up and said Nigeria's greatest problem was corruption. Another person said Nigeria's biggest problem was poor economic conditions, explaining that if everyone had something to eat, no one would be complaining. Another person said lack of democracy; another said lack of rule of law; and yet another said personalized politics (2).

           No one at the forum blamed colonialism, imperialism, slavery, exploitation by an unjust international economic system, or other external factors. The report continued: "One participant summed it up this way: Asking people to define Nigeria's problem is like sending twelve blind men to feel an elephant and then describe it. They would all have different but accurate descriptions of the animal depending on what part they touched." (2)

         Metaphorically speaking, the "elephant" is the alien, all-powerful, gargantuan, predatory state that was established by African leaders and elites after independence.[3] This "elephant" has been the source of most of Africa's "environmental problems." Invested with tremendous powers to which there have been no countervailing checks and balances, the marauding state pillages, rapes, and loots, trampling upon human rights, and leaving human debris and carcasses in its wake. This abominable political monstrosity was created by African leaders themselves and, therefore, cannot be blamed on colonialism.

         Bad and Corrupt Leadership

The leadership in much of Africa has not only been a hopeless failure but also a disgrace to black people. At a press conference in London in April, U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan, “lambasted African leaders who he says have subverted democracy and lined their pockets with public funds, although he stopped short of naming names” (The African-American Observer, April 25 – May 1, 2000; p.10). President Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire was a prime example. Zaire should be a properous country; it is blessed with vast mineral deposits and rich agricultural lands in the fertile Congo basin. But arrant misrule and plunder have reduced it to tatters.

         More and more Africans now blame their leaders for the mess they find themselves in. Said Chinua Achebe (1985):

The fear that should nightly haunt our leaders (but does not) is that they may already have betrayed irretrievably Nigeria's high destiny. The countless billions that a generous Providence poured into our national coffers in the last ten years (1972-1982) would have been enough to launch this nation into the middle-rank of developed nations and transformed the lives of our poor and needy. But what have we done with it? Stolen and salted away by people in power and their accomplices. Squandered in uncontrollable importation of all kinds of useless consumer merchandise from every corner of the globe. Embezzled through inflated contracts to an increasing army of party loyalists who have neither the desire nor the competence to execute their contracts. (3)

           Said John Hayford in New African (April, 1994): "Africa's biggest problem today lies with the leadership. They are so removed from the people that they are looked upon as foreigners. They are driven by self-interest, so excessive that their peoples' interests are forgotten -- hardly different from the colonial masters" (7). A Ghanaian university student, Kwesi Obeng, added this view:

In all hue and cry, what is both infuriating and irritating is the speed with which African countries together with their leaders are quick to blame all that go wrong on the continent on our supposed "Enemy" - the West. This sad culture is what has propelled me to protest with all the venom that I can muster . . . Why can't we accept our responsibilities as a race (black race), face the music for our deeds and always tend to pass the buck? (The Ghanaian Chronicle, 21 January 1996, 4).

           More tragic has been the failure of Africa's intellectuals. One Nigerian scholar, Linus U. J. Thomas-Ogboji, excoriated members of his own profession:

 We Nigerian [intellectuals] bear the mark of Cain. Ours is the incredible stigma of the man who whimpers and averts his gaze while thugs rape his wife and daughters. We have acquiesced in the unmitigated horror that smothers Nigeria. Many of us bite our tongues because we nurse secret hopes of a chance at the feeding trough. A few, with expectations of reward, even go so far as to defend the Nigerian army. But most of us are just plain scared, paralyzed by fear and chagrin. Is it fear of death that holds us emasculated? There comes a time to die and in death gain redemption. When a people give up the desire for freedom, they are better off dead (African News Weekly, 26 May 1995, 6).

           By attributing Africa's ills to external factors, many of Africa's intellectuals, wittingly in expectation of reward or unwittingly, absolved the leadership of responsibility. Additionally, the stress on external factors presupposed that the solutions had to come from external sources; hence the repeated appeals to the international community. Unfortunately, this approach has proven disastrous. Foreign solutions have not worked well in Africa because they do not fit into its unique sociocultural milieu. The continent is a graveyard littered with a multitude of failed imported schemes and systems. Name a foreign system and a collapsed replica can be found -- from basilicas to congresses and even combine harvesters.

       [1] Mazrui, of course, was guilty of the same ethnocentric charges he leveled against Westerners. Islam was not indigenous to Africa. Mazrui devoted several pages to the iniquities of the Western slave trade. "A substantial part of Africa's population was dragged off, kicking and screaming and shipped to the new

plantations of the Americas" (100). Curiously, Mazrui never mentioned the atrocities of the East African slave trade that brought suffering or death to at least 2 million black Africans in the nineteenth century. The East African slave trade was largely controlled by Arabs. Mazrui, a Muslim, devoted only one sentence in his entire book to this Arab slave trade (160).

     [2] Rather foolishly, both Tanzania and Zambia after independence opted for state planning and development ‑‑ an economic system that made heavy demands on skilled bureaucrats, the very inputs they lacked.

     [3] The word "alien" is chosen deliberately because of the basic antinomy of the modern systems with indigenous African institutions. This is important in order to avoid sterile ideological debates that inevitably result from the assessment of systems. The standard being used to evaluate them is African, not foreign.

[darley1101]

For the MC ask game, Platinum MC? 👀

Thank you for the ask @bubblygothzombie! I hope you enjoy 

**Trigger warning: talks about childhood bullying and the self esteem issues that can result from it**

Name: Ashley Cantrell

How tall are they: 5′3 inches (She used to hang upside down because she once read it would gain her an inch. It didn’t work.) 

How do they tend to dress: When Chic magazine asked this question she told them “mostly whatever Zadie picks out for me, but when she’s not around to dress me...I guess I would have to say...small town casual...like skinny jeans, a t shirt, and a flannel or cardigan...sometimes a hoodie...just depends on my mood...oh and my Vans. I gotta have my vans!” 

Do they like how they look: In junior high she was slightly pudgy with bad skin. Pre-teens can be cruel and their taunts stuck with her long after the weight and acne were gone. She struggles with believing people when they say she’s pretty because of it. This is something she is working on. 

Are they an only child or do they have siblings: This is a difficult subject for her. She was adopted by the Cantrell’s when she was three hours old. They chose not to adopt again but it is possible she has half siblings somewhere out there.

Are they a morning person or a night owl: There is nothing like waking up in time to eat overnight oats while watching the sunrise. Staying up late is a legit struggle for Ash.

Are they a cat person or a dog person: She loves all animals equally but if she was going to bring one home it would be a cat. In fact, she’s been thinking about going to the local shelter to adopt whichever one has been there the longest.

Got any favorite foods: Pizza that is loaded with extra pepperoni, black olives, three kinds of cheese, and jalapenos. 

How about favorite drinks: Ice cold water. Nothing beats it. Except strawberry peach smoothies. She’s trying to learn to like champagne but so far it just isn’t happening.

What are their favorite movies/tv shows: She is a HUGE Ashton Jones fan (RCD MC) so Tender Nothings and The Last Duchess are at the top of her list. As far as TV shows go, she enjoys America’s Most Eligible.

Do they have any hidden talents: Her first job was at a pizza parlor, so she knows how to throw dough like nobodies business. 

Do they believe in love at first sight: Before One In A Million she would have said no, love takes time. That was before a certain bad boy burst into her life and had her feelings things she’d never felt before. Is it love? She thinks so...and it hit her like a ton of bricks the moment their eyes met.

Who is their love interest: She is head over heals for Raleigh, which is why the fake relationship is so hard on her. What she feels is real and she thinks he feels the same...but does he? Or is it all for the cameras? 

What are they afraid of: She is petrified of not being true to her music. When she was being bullied music was her refuge. It was during that time that she learned to play the guitar and piano. She was able to loose herself in the music, which distracted her from the pain of her peers calling her names. Because of that, she takes her music very seriously. She would never want to jeopardize it...but being true and pumping out a record in time to satisfy her label don’t always jive.

What are their guilty pleasures: Body shots off Raleigh’s abs. She told him she’d never done one so he taught her. Now, it’s all she thinks about and she likes to “practice” every chance she gets. She also loves chocolate covered potato chips. Body shots off Raleigh plus chocolate covered potato chips equals the perfect night. 

What was their dream job as a kid: To play Glinda in Wicked on Broadway...duh! Like what little girl doesn’t dream of that?

Is it still their dream: Oh yeah. And now that she’s becoming a household name she can almost hear herself belting out Popular and Defying Gravity.

Have they ever broken a bone: She broke her wrist when she was five. Her dad had just taken the training wheels off her bike and she made it maybe three feet before she hit a crack in the sidewalk. She sailed over the handlebars and landed on her wrist. She hasn’t ridden a bike since. Unless you count Raleigh’s motorcycle...she doesn’t. 

Have they ever been in trouble with the law: Her record is so clean it is suspicious. 

Three Random Facts: 

-She’s terrified of searching for her birth parents, especially since she’s now a famous singer. What if they don’t like it? Or...worse...what if they only like her because she’s famous? She goes back and forth on this a lot. 

-She hates that the tabloids (and Fiona) keep trying to pit her against Jaylin. She really likes the other singer and thinks they could be good friends if everyone else would stay out of it. 

-She can’t stand eggs. If they’re cooked into something, fine, but on their own forget it. The texture. The taste. The smell. Yuck, yuck, yuck!  

[ucflibrary]

The summer semester is ending and the prep for fall has started. It’s only a few short weeks until the 2019-2020 academic year begins. We’ll have a full cohort of students back on campus. The lines for coffee will be never ending and a free parking space will be nowhere to be found. Life will definitely get more exciting.

 Libraries staff has pulled together a full list of books that cover a whole range of areas. Some books are for our graduating students wondering what comes next. Some books are to help new incoming students start the year successfully. We even have books that staff read when they were your age (yep, books existed that long ago) that changed how they thought about the world.

 Welcome to the 2019-20 academic year!

 Click on the link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links for the featured Back-so-School titles suggested by UCF Library employees. These 24 books plus many more are also on display on the 2nd (main) floor of the John C. Hitt Library next to the bank of two elevators.

 Bei qi baba shang xue: Going to school with dad on my back directed by Zhou Youchao Shiwa, the son of a poor Chinese farmer, is doing well at school. But when his mother dies and his sister leaves the house, he's the only one left to take care of his disabled father. Suggested by Tim Walker, Information Technology & Digital Initiatives

 Braving the Wilderness: The quest for true belonging and the courage to stand alone by Brené Brown Social scientist Brené Brown, PhD, LMSW, has sparked a global conversation about the experiences that bring meaning to our lives—experiences of courage, vulnerability, love, belonging, shame, and empathy. In Braving the Wilderness, Brown redefines what it means to truly belong in an age of increased polarization. Suggested by Kryslynn Collazo, Scholarly Communication

 Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind: thoughts on teacherhood by Phillip Done A twenty-year veteran of the classroom, elementary school teacher Phillip Done takes readers through a lively and hilarious year in the classroom. Starting with the relative calm before the storm of buying school supplies and posting class lists, he shares the distinct personalities of grades K-4, what he learned from two professional trick or treating 8-year-old boys, the art of learning cursive and letter-writing, how kindergartners try to trap leprechauns, and what every child should experience before he or she grows up. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

 Educated: a memoir by Tara Westover Born to survivalists in the mountains of Idaho, Tara Westover was seventeen the first time she set foot in a classroom. Her family was so isolated from mainstream society that there was no one to ensure the children received an education, and no one to intervene when one of Tara's older brothers became violent. When another brother got himself into college, Tara decided to try a new kind of life. Her quest for knowledge transformed her, taking her over oceans and across continents, to Harvard and to Cambridge University. Only then would she wonder if she'd traveled too far, if there was still a way home. Suggested by Cindy Dancel, Research & Information Services

 Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger The short story, Franny, takes place in an unnamed college town and tells the tale of an undergraduate who is becoming disenchanted with the selfishness and inauthenticity she perceives all around her. The novella, Zooey, is named for Zooey Glass, the second-youngest member of the Glass family. As his younger sister, Franny, suffers a spiritual and existential breakdown in her parents' Manhattan living room -- leaving Bessie, her mother, deeply concerned -- Zooey comes to her aid, offering what he thinks is brotherly love, understanding, and words of sage advice. Suggested by Christina Wray, Teaching & Engagement

 Girl, Stop Apologizing: A shame-free plan for embracing and achieving your goals by Rachel Hollis In Girl, Stop Apologizing, Rachel Hollis sounds a wake-up call. She knows that many women have been taught to define themselves in light of other people—whether as wife, mother, daughter, or employee—instead of learning how to own who they are and what they want. With a challenge to women everywhere to stop talking themselves out of their dreams, Hollis identifies the excuses to let go of, the behaviors to adopt, and the skills to acquire on the path to growth, confidence, and believing in yourself. Suggested by Kryslynn Collazo, Scholarly Communication

 Glimmer of Hope: how tragedy sparked a movement by March for Our Lives (Organization) Glimmer of Hope tells the story of how a group of teenagers raced to channel their rage and sorrow into action, and went on to create one of the largest youth-led movements in global history. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

 Hillbilly Elegy: A memoir of a family in culture in crisis by J. D. Vance Hillbilly Elegy is a passionate and personal analysis of a culture in crisis—that of white working-class Americans. The decline of this group, a demographic of our country that has been slowly disintegrating over forty years, has been reported on with growing frequency and alarm, but has never before been written about as searingly from the inside. J. D. Vance tells the true story of what a social, regional, and class decline feels like when you were born with it hung around your neck. Suggested by Katy Miller, Research, Education & Engagement

 How to Become a Straight-A Student: the unconventional strategies real college students use to score high while studying less by Cal Newport Most college students believe that straight A’s can be achieved only through cramming and painful all-nighters at the library. But Cal Newport knows that real straight-A students don’t study harder—they study smarter. A breakthrough approach to acing academic assignments, from quizzes and exams to essays and papers, How to Become a Straight-A Student reveals for the first time the proven study secrets of real straight-A students across the country and weaves them into a simple, practical system that anyone can master. Suggested by Joanie Reynolds, Interlibrary Loan & Document Delivery Services

 How to Win at College: simple rules for success from star students by Cal Newport What does it take to be a standout student? How can you make the most of your college years—graduate with honors, choose exciting activities, build a head-turning resume, and gain access to the best post-college opportunities? Based on interviews with star students at universities nationwide, from Harvard to the University of Arizona, How to Win at College presents seventy-five simple rules that will rocket you to the top of the class. Suggested by Joanie Reynolds, Interlibrary Loan & Document Delivery Services

 I am Charlotte Simmons by Tom Wolfe  As Charlotte encounters the paragons of Dupont's privileged elite, she is seduced by the heady glamour of acceptance, betraying her values and upbringing before she grasps the power of being different and the exotic allure of her innocence. Suggested by Jada Reyes, UCF Libraries Student Ambassador

 I Just Graduated... Now What?: honest answers from those who have been there by Katherine Schwarzenegger Graduation is a time of tough questions whose answers we don’t—and sometimes can’t—know the day we receive our diploma. Determined to power through the uncertainty of post-gradua­tion, bestselling author Katherine Schwarzenegger embarked on a yearlong quest to gather the best guidance possible from more than thirty highly success­ful people working in fields like business, media, fashion, technology, sports, and philanthropy. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 In Defense of Food: an eater's manifesto by Michael Pollan Because in the so-called Western diet, food has been replaced by nutrients, and common sense by confusion--most of what we’re consuming today is longer the product of nature but of food science. The result is what Michael Pollan calls the American Paradox: The more we worry about nutrition, the less healthy we see to become. Pollan’s bracing and eloquent manifesto shows us how we can start making thoughtful food choices that will enrich our lives, enlarge our sense of what it means to be healthy, and bring pleasure back to eating. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 Mis(h)adra by Iasmin Omar Ata An Arab-American college student struggles to live with epilepsy in this starkly colored and deeply-cutting graphic novel. Isaac wants nothing more than to be a functional college student—but managing his epilepsy is an exhausting battle to survive. He attempts to maintain a balancing act between his seizure triggers and his day-to-day schedule, but he finds that nothing—not even his medication—seems to work. The doctors won’t listen, the schoolwork keeps piling up, his family is in denial about his condition, and his social life falls apart as he feels more and more isolated by his illness. Even with an unexpected new friend by his side, so much is up against him that Isaac is starting to think his epilepsy might be unbeatable. Suggested by Emma Gisclair, Curriculum Materials Center

 Never Eat Alone and Other Secrets to Success by Keith Ferrazzi with Tahl Raz In Never Eat Alone, Ferrazzi lays out the specific steps—and inner mindset—he uses to reach out to connect with the thousands of colleagues, friends, and associates on his contacts list, people he has helped and who have helped him. And in the time since Never Eat Alone was published in 2005, the rise of social media and new, collaborative management styles have only made Ferrazzi’s advice more essential for anyone hoping to get ahead in business. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 On Beauty by Zadie Smith Howard Belsey is an Englishman abroad, an academic teaching in Wellington, a college town in New England. Married young, thirty years later he is struggling to revive his love for his African American wife Kiki. Meanwhile, his three teenage children - Jerome, Zora and Levi - are each seeking the passions, ideals and commitments that will guide them through their own lives. After Howard has a disastrous affair with a colleague, his sensitive older son, Jerome, escapes to England for the holidays. In London he defies everything the Belseys represent when he goes to work for Trinidadian right-wing academic and pundit, Monty Kipps. Taken in by the Kipps family for the summer, Jerome falls for Monty's beautiful, capricious daughter, Victoria. But this short-lived romance has long-lasting consequences, drawing these very different families into each other's lives. Suggested by Jada Reyes, UCF Libraries Student Ambassador

 Parkland: inside building 12 produced and directed by Charlie Minn Acclaimed director Charlie Minn brings attention to the victims of the infamous massacre that occurred on February 14th, 2018 at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. A normal day at school became a true nightmare for Parkland, Florida citizens as they experienced something they had never thought would happen in their small suburb. In just six minutes, seventeen students and staff were fatally shot and seventeen more were wounded, while innumerable lives were changed forever. The true heroes of that day have come together to tell their stories and to bring words to those who are no longer here to offer them. This documentary reveals testimony and the raw emotions of those involved, highlighting the actions taken by individuals to save the lives of others through selfless and brave acts. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 So What Are You Going to Do With That?: a guide to career-changing by Susan Basalla and Maggie Debelius A witty, accessible guide full of concrete advice for anyone contemplating the jump from scholarship to the outside world, So What Are You Going to Do with That? covers topics ranging from career counseling to interview etiquette to translating skills learned in the academy into terms an employer can understand and appreciate. Packed with examples and stories from real people who have successfully made this daunting—but potentially rewarding— transition, and written with a deep understanding of both the joys and difficulties of the academic life, this fully revised and up-to-date edition will be indispensable for any graduate student or professor who has ever glanced at her CV, flipped through the want ads, and wondered, “What if?”

Suggested by Rachel Edford, Teaching & Engagement

Sourdough: or, Lois and her adventures in the underground market by Robin Sloan Lois Clary is a software engineer at General Dexterity, a San Francisco robotics company with world-changing ambitions. She codes all day and collapses at night, her human contact limited to the two brothers who run the neighborhood hole-in-the-wall from which she orders dinner every evening. Then, disaster! Visa issues. The brothers quickly close up shop. But they have one last delivery for Lois: their culture, the sourdough starter used to bake their bread. She must keep it alive, they tell her―feed it daily, play it music, and learn to bake with it. Lois is no baker, but she could use a roommate, even if it is a needy colony of microorganisms. Soon, not only is she eating her own homemade bread, she’s providing loaves to the General Dexterity cafeteria every day. Then the company chef urges her to take her product to the farmer’s market―and a whole new world opens up.. Suggested by Katy Miller, Research, Education & Engagement

 Teacher Man: A memoir by Frank McCourt In bold and spirited prose featuring his irreverent wit and compelling honesty, McCourt records the trials, triumphs and surprises he faced in the classroom. Teacher Man shows McCourt developing his unparalleled ability to tell a great story as, five days a week, five periods per day, he worked to gain the attention and respect of unruly, hormonally charged or indifferent adolescents. Suggested by Rachel Edford, Teaching & Engagement

 The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho Paulo Coelho's masterpiece tells the magical story of Santiago, an Andalusian shepherd boy who yearns to travel in search of a worldly treasure as extravagant as any ever found. The story of the treasures Santiago finds along the way teaches us, as only a few stories can, about the essential wisdom of listening to our hearts, learning to read the omens strewn along life's path, and, above all, following our dreams. Suggested by Christina Wray, Teaching & Engagement

 The Secret Lives of Teachers by Anonymous Welcome to “East Hudson,” an elite private school in New York where the students are attentive, the colleagues are supportive, and the tuition would make the average person choke on its string of zeroes. You might think a teacher here would have little in common with most other teachers in America, but as this veteran educator—writing anonymously—shows in this refreshingly honest account, all teachers are bound by a common thread. Stripped of most economic obstacles and freed up by anonymity, he is able to tell a deeper story about the universal conditions, anxieties, foibles, generosities, hopes, and complaints that comprise every teacher’s life. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

 We Don’t Eat Our Classmates by Ryan T. Higgins It's the first day of school for Penelope Rex, and she can't wait to meet her classmates. But it's hard to make human friends when they're so darn delicious! That is, until Penelope gets a taste of her own medicine and finds she may not be at the top of the food chain after all. . . . Suggested by Emma Gisclair, Curriculum Materials Center

 Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: an inquiry into values by Robert M. Pirsig Acclaimed as one of the most exciting books in the history of American letters, this modern epic became an instant bestseller upon publication in 1974, transforming a generation and continuing to inspire millions. A narration of a summer motorcycle trip undertaken by a father and his son, the book becomes a personal and philosophical odyssey into fundamental questions of how to live. The narrator's relationship with his son leads to a powerful self-reckoning; the craft of motorcycle maintenance leads to an austerely beautiful process for reconciling science, religion, and humanism. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

[beybladefanfictions]

Ryuga x King Chapter 14 - The Start of the Tournament

(Cover art is by Zadi Jyne)

Ryuga’s POV

Ryuga fluffed out his white jacket as he and Kenta walked side by side through the city. King followed several paces behind them. He was eating an apple as he walked at the pace of a turtle. Ryuga didn’t bother hurrying him on. He’d tried that multiple times now, it wasn’t worth it. As they approached the stadium, Ryuga spotted several familiar figures standing outside.

“King!” Masamune charged out of the fray.

“Hi, King!” Toby and Zeo called, trailing after him.

Ryuga glanced at King. He had perked up at the sight of his friends, though he still seemed a little slow.

“Hey guys,” King greeted with a wave. “You excited?”

“Yeah!” Masamune nodded vigorously. “I can’t wait to crush you in the finals!”

“I think you’re a little confused as to who will be doing the crushing,” King replied, smirking competitively.

“Kenta!” Gingka’s voice called from the crowd.

“Hey, Gingka!” Kenta rushed over to him, smiling excitedly. “There you are!”

“Ready to win this tournament?” Gingka asked, holding out his hand for a high five.

“I hope we do!” Kenta answered, high fiving him.

Ryuga looked around the crowd.

Near Kenta and Gingka, Ryuga spotted Tsubasa, Yu, and Reiji clustered together in a sea of mostly strangers. Kyoya stood further away from the crowd, staring off into the distance. Only Benkei stood at his side.

“Looks like everyone’s here…” King mused aloud, making Ryuga look back at him. “So many strong opponents…” He smiled. “This is gonna be awesome!”

“Yes!” Toby smiled and nodded. He and Zeo held their fists out to King. “Meet you in the finals?”

King accepted the fist bump. “I hope so!” he exclaimed.

“Hey!” Masamune cut in, his eyes narrowed. “You two won’t be battling King in the finals because I will!”

“Right…” A look of annoyance graced Zeo’s features. “You and your… teammate.”

“Where is that guy anyways?” Toby asked, looking around.

“I don’t know,” Masamune replied with a shrug.

“Come to think of it…” King looked around the crowd again. “I don’t see either of his two buddies either. They must be running late.”

“His two buddies?” Toby tilted his head to the side.

“Tobio and Ryutaro. I met them yesterday. They must be running late.”

Toby shrugged. “Probably.”

In front of them, the doors of the stadium were suddenly opened. Above it, the display screen turned on.

“Welcome all bladers to the Metal Bey City tag team tournament!” Blader DJ was announcing as the bladers made their way into the stadium. “We’ve got twelve teams here ready to battle, with some having travelled here from overseas. The first of these being Chao Xin and Chi-Yun, participants in the World Tournament. They’ll be the first team to battle and their opponent will be… The Gingka Kenta team! Two of the legendary bladers who helped defeat Nemesis!”

Gingka turned to his teammate with a smile. “Looks like we’ve got the first battle, Kenta!”

Kenta smiled as well. “Let’s go kick some bey!”

The two of them rushed toward the bey stadium, across from their opponents: a purple-haired boy who could’ve very well been shorter than Kenta and a brunet boy who looked like an attention hog. Ryuga didn’t have a reason for thinking that, it was just a feeling.

Around him, most of the other bladers dispersed, going separate ways. Some went up toward the bleachers while some of the others went toward the back rooms where bladers could sometimes stay in-between matches. Ryuga stayed with King. Masamune was there as well, the three of them watching Gingka and Kenta begin their battle.

“The Gingka Kenta team…” King muttered to himself. “They could be a little more creative with the names.”

Ryuga raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Like…” King shrugged. “I dunno, letting us name our teams. We could be…” His eyes suddenly lit up. “The blue eyes white dragon team! I’m the blue eyes, you’re the white dragon.”

“I’m Asian,” Ryuga replied without missing a beat.

“What? …oh!” King stiffened. “No, I meant your hair!”

Ryuga smirked. “Mhm sure.”

Beside them, Masamune giggled into his hand. King opened his mouth to protest.

“Hey!” A new voice cut in. “Are we running late?”

Ryuga glanced at the entrance. Tobio, Ryutaro, and Tetsuya were dashing into the stadium.

“We got a little held- UP!” Ryutaro gasped the last word when his gaze met Ryuga’s. He, Tobio, and Tetsuya skidded to a halt a few paces in front of them, their eyes were wider than dinner plates.

“Uh…” King awkwardly cut through the silence. “Hey, guys. The first battle just started, you’re not that late.”

“Er… great.” Tobio was clearly forcing a smile.

Ryuga tapped King’s shoulder. King turned to him. Immediately, Ryuga turned and stalked away toward the bleachers.

“Uh… bye then!” King called as he chased after Ryuga.

He caught up to him at the foot of the bleachers, where Ryuga slowed down a little so they could walk side by side.

“Um…” King’s voice was small. “What was up back there? With Ryutaro, Tobio, and Tetsuya? Do… they know you?”

“Battle Bladers,” Ryuga answered, not wanting to elaborate.

“Oh…” King nodded. He didn’t seem satisfied by that answer but he didn’t pry further.

“Ryuga! King!” Madoka’s voice cut through the crowd.

Ryuga looked up. Madoka was sitting alone in the middle of the crowd.

“Hey, Madoka!” King replied, waving as he made his way toward her. Ryuga did the same. The two of them took the two empty seats beside her, gazing down at the stadium.

Pegasus was clashing with Chao Xin’s bey, a Virgo, while Sagittario tilting its fusion wheel downward to barrage attack Chi-Yun’s bey, a Lacerta.

“Ooh!” King suddenly exclaimed. “Our first battle is against Da Xiang and Mei Mei!”

Ryuga glanced at the display screen. Next to his and King’s pictures, were two bladers he was sure he hadn’t seen before.

“Who?” Ryuga asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I met them yesterday,” King answered with a shrug.

“Oh, the other members of Wang Fu Zhong?” Madoka cut in, nodding. “Yes, they’re strong opponents.” Ryuga just gazed at her blankly. “They were the Chinese team during the World Tournament,” she explained.

Ryuga dipped his head. *Whoever they are, King and I will defeat them all the same.*

“Pegasus final drive mode!”

Ryuga perked up at those words. Pegasus’s performance tip retracted and it began to glow blue as it flung itself into the air.

“Sagittario! Follow him!” Kenta called, swinging his arm.

Sagittario used the edge of the stadium as a ramp to fly beside Pegasus.

“Joint special move!” Gingka and Kenta exclaimed in unison. “Cosmic Arrow!”

Pegasus and Sagittario revolved around each other in the air, forming a blue and yellow beam that shot down on their opponents’ beys. Virgo and Lacerta were sent flying as the light burst through the stadium. When it dimmed, Pegasus and Sagittario were spinning side by side in the stadium beside the fallen beys of their opponents.

“And it’s over!” The Blader DJ was announcing. “With one move, Pegasus and Sagittario have knocked out their opponents and are moving on to the next round!”

“They have a joint special move now?!” King exclaimed, his wide eyes locked on the stadium.

Ryuga smiled. “They shouldn’t have revealed that so early on…” He turned to King. “And neither should we.”

“Er… King nodded. “Yeah. We won’t use ours unless we have to.”

“The next match will be the Ryuga King team versus the Daxiang Mei Mei team!” the Blader DJ exclaimed.

Ryuga and King stood up.

“Guess we’re on,” King stated, stepping slowly out of the aisle.

“Good luck you two!” Madoka called after them.

“Thank you!” King called back, waving.

Ryuga and King made their way down to the stadium, where Da Xiang and Mei Mei already waited for them.

“Ryuga…” Da Xiang dipped his head. “It’s an honour finally getting the chance to battle you.” He was completely level-headed, without a trace of fear. Ryuga wasn’t sure how to react to someone respecting him for reasons other than fear.

“But in a tag-team tournament of all places?” Mei Mei asked, tilting her head to the side.

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your point?”

“Er…” Mei Mei raised her launcher. “Nevermind that!” Her eyes narrowed to mirror Ryuga’s gaze.

The others raised their launchers as well, their determined gazes locked on each other.

“Three! Two! One! Let it rip!”

The four beys landed in the stadium. L-Drago instantly raced toward the centre, taking its defensive position. Variares followed. It began to circle L-Drago protectively. Aquario and Zurafa travelled around the stadium side by side, far from their opponents.

Da Xiang turned to his teammate. “Mei Mei, let’s break through their formation.” Mei Mei nodded. “Zurafa!”

“Aquario!”

The two bladers gestured for their bladers to attack. Aquario and Zurafa charged down the stadium side by side, gaining momentum from going downhill. Sparks flew as Aquario clashed with Variares. The two beys stopped in their tracks, leaving L-Drago wide open for an attack. Zurafa clashed with Ryuga’s bey.

Da Xiang froze. “This… this bey…” His eyes were wide as he gazed at Ryuga. “Is… is this even L-Drago?”

“Of course it’s L-Drago!” Ryuga snapped, realizing exactly what Da Xiang had noticed.

Blue flames fired up around L-Drago as it threw Zurafa back. Aquario slipped away from Variares.

“Hey! Get back here!” King exclaimed, sending Variares after it.

Before Variares could reach Aquario, the dark blue bey clashed with L-Drago. Mei Mei let out a gasp.

“I don’t… feel the power of the star fragment in L-Drago!” she exclaimed, turning to Da Xiang. He nodded.

Ryuga stiffened. He had assumed they’d noticed that L-Drago Guardian was a defence type, the first thing anyone asked him about his bey. *How can they tell it doesn’t have a star fragment?!* Variares clashed with Aquario again, stopping the bey in its tracks. However, Aquario slipped away again.

“Go for L-Drago first!” Mei Mei ordered. “It’s weaker without the power of the star fragment!”

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. Zurafa fell in beside Aquario, charging toward L-Drago side by side. Variares swooped in, cutting off Zurafa. However, Aquario crashed into L-Drago with a screech.

“Is that how you see it?” Ryuga asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, you are sadly mistaken, missy!”

As if switching modes, L-Drago shifted its focus from defending to attacking. Aquario was sent flying. Mei Mei let out a startled gasp. Her bey landed just near the rim of the stadium, instantly rushing toward Zurafa and Variares. L-Drago dashed toward them. Aquario reached them first, backing up Zurafa and flinging Variares backwards. Variares fell beside L-Drago. The two beys lined up and clashed with Zurafa and Aquario.

Slipping past them, Aquario and Zurafa spun away. Ryuga let out a grunt. Mei Mei’s bey drifted further down the slope, allowing Zurafa to start circling Aquario. L-Drago and Variares charged toward them again.

“Zurafa! Solid Iron Wall!” Da Xiang exclaimed.

A burst of energy suddenly flung L-Drago and Variares across the stadium. Aquario stood stationary as Zurafa circled it.

“Attack Variares!” King ordered, sending his bey toward them.

Variares suddenly screeched to a halt in the middle of the stadium, as if it were clashing with an invisible wall.

“What the?!” King exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“L-Drago!” Ryuga sent his bey careening toward the invisible force. “Destroy it!”

L-Drago fell in beside Variares, the two beys pushing against the wall with all their might. A red aura swirled to life around King and Variares. Moments later, a burst of wind racked the stadium. L-Drago and Variares charged through the stadium where the wall had once been, toward their opponents.

Mei Mei let out a gasp. “They broke through the Solid Iron Wall?!”

Da Xiang looked shaken for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed. “Fine, then what about this?! Storm Surge!”

As L-Drago clashed with Zurafa, Da Xiang’s bey glowed yellow as it quickly counter-attacked. L-Drago staggered back, wobbling a little.

“What?!” Ryuga exclaimed, his heart skipping a beat.

Then he realized. Zurafa’s fusion wheel was made of rubber, allowing it to absorb its opponent’s attack strength, just like the old L-Drago’s. Ryuga let out a growl. Was there anything special about that bey at all?!

“Again L-Drago!” Ryuga ordered, his eyes narrowing.

L-Drago attacked Zurafa again and again in a barrage attack but the yellow bey seemed unfazed.

“Variares! Defence mode!”

King’s voice cut over the sounds of metal screeching. Variares’s performance tip and fusion wheel shifted as it charged toward the centre. Ryuga glanced at his partner. King’s hair had turned white from earlier but Ryuga paid no attention. The two of them nodded. Backing away from Zurafa, L-Drago charged toward the centre. It circled Variares, similar to a dragon using its body as a shield for its smaller but no less fierce human warrior.

“Aquario!” Mei Mei exclaimed.

Her bey charged toward L-Drago. Ryuga’s bey knocked Aquario back easily, not slowing for an instant as it continued circling around Variares. Aquario wobbled beside them. For a few moments, no one attacked.

“Zurafa!”

Da Xiang’s bey charged toward them, slipping past L-Drago and clashing with Variares. King’s bey shielded the attack with its wings. Zurafa wobbled against Variares. L-Drago rushed to its partner’s aid, the two of them knocking Zurafa back with their combined force.

Mei Mei turned to her teammate. “Da Xiang move! I have an idea!” She suddenly ordered. Zurafa charged toward the edge of the stadium without question. “Okay, here it goes!” Mei Mei threw her hand into the air. “China’s Four Thousand Year Old Big Wave!”

A wave of water roared to life in front of Aquario. It grew higher and higher, towering over L-Drago and Variares and threatening to swallow them whole.

“L-Drago!” Ryuga ordered, gesturing for it to rush toward the edge.

“Get away, Variares!” King exclaimed, his eyes wide.

The two beys charged toward the rim of the stadium. Before Variares could reach the edge, Zurafa weaved in front of it, flinging Variares back into the path of the wave. The water washed over Variares. The bey instantly disappeared under the surface.

“Variares!” King yelped in alarm.

Ryuga’s heart skipped a beat. Moments later, the water was swept back, revealing a wobbling Variares. Ryuga stiffened. *We almost lost there…*

King stared at his bey in awe. “So… cool…” His voice came out in a breath.

“Hm…” Mei Mei nodded as if acknowledging King’s compliment. “Finish him off Aquario! Soaring Fire Bird!”

A blue aura glowed around Aquario as it charged toward Variares.

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “Back off!” he snapped, his heart blazing with rage. “Dragon Emperor Soaring Claw!”

L-Drago soared into Aquario’s path, fire trailing behind it like a comet. Mei Mei gasped in alarm.

“Mei Mei!” Da Xiang cast a quick wide-eyed glance at his teammate. “Zurafa, strong arm slash!” he exclaimed, looking back at the battle.

“Ares shield!” King called, flinging his arms.

Before Zurafa could reach Variares, L-Drago shoved Aquario into the sky, like a dragon taking off with its prey.

“Aquario!” Mei Mei’s voice trembled slightly.

A burst of energy racked the stadium. Smoke settled over the stadium, obscuring everyone’s beys from sight. Slowly, it began to clear. Ryuga spotted L-Drago, Zurafa, and Variares still spinning evenly. Aquario laid beside L-Drago, completely still. Ryuga dipped his head. He had to bite back a sigh of relief.

“Aquario is out!” The Blader DJ exclaimed. “The battle is over: the Ryuga King team is moving on!”

Ryuga snatched up his bey.

“I’m sorry, Da Xiang,” Mei Mei sighed, her head hanging low.

Da Xiang snatched up his bey. “Don’t worry about it,” he replied, his voice even. “We’ll just have to work harder for next time.”

Mei Mei nodded.

“Oh…” King sounded disappointed as he gazed at the stadium. His hair was back to its normal blue. “It’s… it’s over…” He let out a sigh, snatching up his bey. “And it was just getting good.”

Ryuga’s eyes widened. “You- we nearly lost.”

“Yeah!” King had a huge smile on his face. “No one has so much as challenged me in so long! It was so… thrilling!”

Ryuga dipped his head. *I know how that feels…*

“Whatever,” King shrugged. “There’s still the next battle.” He turned to Da Xiang and Mei Mei. “Great fight, guys!” he called, smiling.

“Same to you,” Da Xiang replied, with a nod. “You two work surprisingly well as a team.”

‘Surprisingly well.’ Da Xiang spoke in such a respectful, genuine tone but that phrasing seemed underhanded.

King just smiled. “You guys are cool. I’ve gotta battle you again sometime!”

Da Xiang just smiled. “Perhaps.”

King turned to walk away. Ryuga followed. They made their way back up the stairs to their seats.

“The next battle will be the Masamune Tetsuya team versus the Akane Ryuji team!”

Ryuga stopped in his tracks.

“Masamune and Tetsuya?!” He couldn’t hold back a laugh. “This should be good.”

King raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” There was an accusatory tone in his voice.

Ryuga smiled. “Have you met Tetsuya? He’s… well, how do I put this?”

“Completely unhinged and weird?” King suggested, tilting his head to the side.

Ryuga nodded. “That’s it.” He continued walking down the path. “Your friend is gonna have to carry the entire tournament.”

“I bet he could,” King insisted, his eyes narrowed.

Ryuga snorted with laughter. “Relax, King. I never said otherwise.”

The two of them took their seats next to Madoka. All three of them gazed at the stadium. Masamune and Tetsuya stood across from two kids: one boy and one girl.

“Let it rip!”

All four of them launched their beys. Gasher and Striker charged toward their opponents’ beys. Unlike their opponents, whose beys travelled side by side, Gasher was shifting side by side, forcing Striker to travel further back.

“Huh?!” Tetsuya’s eyes suddenly went wide. “What’s that over there, crab?!” he exclaimed, pointing somewhere in the distance.

“What?!” Masamune looked up. “Where?!”

King and Madoka let out collective groans. Ryuga facepalmed.

“That won’t work on us!” the girl exclaimed, making her bey attack Striker. The lime green bey was sent flying.

Masamune yelped. “Hang in there, Striker!” The bey landed on the edge of the stadium.

“Seriously, crab?” Tetsuya glared at him.

“Wha- don’t do that!” Masamune exclaimed, glaring at his partner. “It’s underhanded!” He let out a growl, looking back at the stadium. “I’ll deal with these guys, you stay back!”

“It is underhanded, but you wouldn’t be falling for it if you weren’t an idiot,” Ryuga grumbled, rolling his eyes.

King glared at him. He opened his mouth to refute him but his words died in his throat. Ryuga smirked victoriously.

“Whatever you say, crab,” Tetsuya grumbled, glaring at Masamune.

“Masamune would be doomed if Tetsuya were his opponent,” Madoka sighed, staring in disbelief.

“Maybe in that way, Masamune’s lucky Tetsuya’s his partner…” King didn’t sound like he fully believed himself.

“Striker!” Masamune exclaimed.

Striker charged through the stadium, clashing with one of his opponents’ beys. The other bey charged toward Gasher.

“Nope!” Tetsuya exclaimed as Gasher weaved out of the way. The opponent’s bey missed, drifting away.

Striker continued attacking its opponent in a barrage of attacks, making its rotation slow little by little. A few more attacks and the bey fell motionless.

“And the winner is the Masamune Tetsuya team!”

“Wow, they actually survived that match?” Madoka deadpanned, staring blankly at the stadium.

“That’s a miracle,” Ryuga agreed, dipping his head.

After those two, the Tsubasa Yu team, Tobio Ryutaro team, Toby Zeo team, and the Kyoya Benkei team all defeated their first opponents and moved onto the next round. Gingka and Kenta started the round off again. Their opponents were Tsubasa and Yu who, after putting up quite the fight, ended up falling to Gingka and Kenta.

“The next match will be the Ryuga King team versus the Masamune Tetsuya team!” The Blader DJ announced.

“Those two?” Ryuga raised an eyebrow. *This won’t take long.* He and King made their way down the steps. “I'll end this in an instant,” Ryuga muttered to him. “Stay back, King.”

“Wha-” King’s eyes went wide. “But I want to help!” he insisted, his voice cracking a little.

“Trust me. I got this.”

“I do trust you…” King sighed, looking away.

Ryuga and King stopped in front of the stadium. Masamune and Tetsuya stood across from them on the other side, readying their beys.

“Well, here we are King…” Masamune smiled as he spoke. “Much sooner than expected.”

King raised his launcher. He didn’t reply, didn’t even smile. Ryuga raised his bey as well, his narrowed gaze fixed on Tetsuya. The crab boy shrank under his glare.

“Three! Two! One! Let it rip!”

The four bladers launched their beys in unison. L-Drago raced right toward Gasher, glowing bright blue before slamming into its opponent. Tetsuya squealed in terror. Gasher fell to the ground at his feet.

“Wha- what happened?!” Blader DJ sounded stunned as if he didn’t know who he’d let into the stadium. “The battle’s barely started and Tetsuya is already out! The Ryuga King team wins!”

“Oh, come on!” Masamune fell to his knees. “That wasn’t even a battle!” He slammed his hand into the ground.

Tetsuya’s eyes were wide and unfocused, and he was shivering slightly. Ryuga froze. *Wait, was he one of the bladers I…?* He shook his head, snatching up his bey. This wasn’t like that. It was a fair battle, Ryuga hadn’t been trying to take his energy, only defeat him.

He turned and walked away. King followed him with a depressed sigh.

“King?” Ryuga gazed at him.

“I wanted to battle Masamune…” King sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. He walked toward the exit. Ryuga remained at his side, trying to figure out what to say.

“You can battle him on your own later. What's important is that we won.”

“It wasn't very fun though…” King walked out of the stadium, leaning on the wall outside as he continued talking. “I don't get you sometimes. What's the point of battles like this?! They're no fun!”

“I don't battle for fun,” Ryuga grunted, standing beside him.

King stared at him in confusion. “Why else would you battle?”

“To win.”

“Why?” King suddenly raised his voice. “What's so great about defeating people in three seconds?!”

“To prove my strength!” Ryuga snapped, glaring at him.

“Everyone already knows you're strong!”

“Do they?!”

“Uh, yeah?!” King gestured to him. “You're the Dragon Emperor! Why would anyone doubt your strength?!”

“Because I've gone soft! I…” Ryuga looked away. “I'm not as strong as I used to be and everyone knows it.”

“What do you mean 'strong?' Strong people can be soft sometimes.”

“Well, I shouldn’t be!”

King stared at him. “And neither should I, huh?” he sighed, looking away.

Ryuga stiffened. “I… That's…” Regret hit him like a slap in the face.

King’s hair fell in front of his eyes. “I… I need to be alone.” His tone was emotionless. “I'll be back in time for the next battle.” He turned and walked away, his head hung low.

“King…” Ryuga reached toward him.

King kept walking, not slowing or even looking back at him. *I didn’t mean it!* Ryuga desperately wanted to report. He didn’t think King was weaker… Did he? Ryuga remembered their battle with Da Xiang and Mei Mei: more specifically, being terrified that King would lose another match for them and ending the battle as quickly as possible to avoid that. King might’ve still been able to fight for a while longer. Ryuga hadn’t bothered to know…

[rathertoofondofbooks]

Nonfiction November 2019 runs from 28th October to 30th November 2019.  This year’s hosts are Katie of DoingDewey, Rennie of What’s Nonfiction, Julz of JulzReads, Sarah of Sarah’s Bookshelves and Leann of Shelf Aware.

They’ll be posting a discussion question and link-up on the Monday of each week.  Check out this post for the schedule and prompts.

  I love joining in with Non-Fiction November each year. I do read a reasonable amount of non-fiction throughout the year anyway but it’s great to have a month where I focus on reading more non-fiction than fiction. I’ve really struggled to pick my TBR this year as I have so many books on my TBR that I want to read so I’ve tried to pick a wide range and hope that I’m in the right mood to read most of them during the month! Ultimately I’ll just be happy to read more non-fiction than fiction throughout November.

  So without further ado here is my TBR!

  Firstly I have a few non-fiction books that I’ve been sent for review so I’m putting those on my list:

  Bowie’s Bookshelf: The Hundred Books that Changed David Bowie’s Life by John O’Connell

I was thrilled to get approved to read this book from NetGalley as I’ve been a huge David Bowie fan since I was a young child and think learning more about his favourite books will be so interesting.

Constellations by Sinead Gleason

I’ve wanted to read this book ever since I read a very moving article in the newspaper about Sinead and one of the stories in her book. I’ve had this book on my NetGalley for a little while now and really do want to make it a priority in November.

The Undying: A Meditation on Modern Illness by Anne Boyer

I got this book on Read Now on NetGalley a few weeks ago. It might be a book that is too much for me to read but this is a subject that I generally want to read more about so I’m hoping I can read this one.

  Chase the Rainbow by Poorna Bell

I’ve shamefully had this book on my review pile for over a year so I really want to make it a priority this month. The subject matter is around mental health and suicide so it won’t be an easy read but I think it’s an important book.

How to be Human: The Manual by Ruby Wax

This is another book that I’ve had on my review pile for a while now and I’m still really interested to read it.

  Then I went through my non-fiction audio books and spotted a handful that I’m really keen to listen to:

  Becoming by Michelle Obama

I got this book on audio as Michelle Obama reads it herself and I’ve been wanting to listen to it ever since it was first published. I think this will be a fab listen so I’m really looking forward to this one.

The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper by Hallie Rubenhold

I’ve heard so many great things about this book so it’s high on my priority list for the month ahead. I think it really focuses on the women and their lives rather than how they died so I’m fascinated to listen to this one.

    Three Women by Lisa Taddeo

This is another book that I’ve been so keen to get to and I keep hearing such good things about it so I really hope I can get to this one this month.

The Death of a President: November 1963 by William Manchester

I’ve wanted to read this book for a long time but it’s really hard to find second-hand at a reasonable price. I think it was out of print when I looked for it so when I spotted it on Audible I immediately spent my credit for that month. It’s a really long book so I’m not sure I’ll get to listen to all of this in November along with all my other reading but I hope to at least start it.

  Next there are the non-fiction ebooks that I’d like to get to:

  Deceit and Self-Deception:  Fooling Yourself the Better to Fool Others by Robert Trivers

This book has been on my TBR for around three years and my interest in it has never waned. I do feel intimidated by it for some reason so I keep putting off reading it. I really want to make this a priority this month to at least get a chunk of it read as it does sound so fascinating.

A Mind of Its Own: How Your Brain Distorts and Deceives by Cordelia Fine

Ever since I’ve had my medical condition I’ve been fascinated by how the brain works and how it can distort things, and also how we can over-ride this. So this book caught my eye in a kindle sale recently and I’ve been so keen to read it.

The Dark Side of the Mind: True Stories from My Life as a Forensic Psychologist by Kerry Daynes

I couldn’t resist buying this book when it was recommended to me as I’m fascinated by psychology and this looks like my kind of book! I’m really keen to read this one so it might even be the book I pick up first for Non-Fiction November!

Selfie: How We Became So Self-Obsessed and What It’s Doing to Us by Will Storr

I’ve had this book on my TBR since it was first published and I’m still really intrigued to read it so hopefully I’ll finally get to read it this month!

Feel Free: Essays by Zadie Smith

I’ve added this book to my TBR as I think it will be good to have a book os essays to dip in and out of throughout the month. I love Zadie Smith’s fiction but have never read any of her non-fiction so I’m really keen to read this one.

Brainstorm: Detective Stories From the World of Neurology by Suzanne O’Sullivan

I really enjoyed Suzanne O’Sullivan’s previous book It’s All In Your Head (which I read while in hospital recovering from neurosurgery!) so when I spotted she had a new book out I had to buy it. As I said about Cordelia Fine’s book earlier in this post I’m fascinated by the mind and what it can do so I think I’m going to love this book too.

Misogynies by Joan Smith

I bought this book on a whim very recently and am really looking forward to reading it. I think it’s a slightly older book on this subject but it still sounds so fascinating and I’m keen to get to this one.

Turning the Tide on Plastic: How Humanity (And You) Can Make Our Globe Clean Again by Lucy Siegle

This is a book that I really want to read soon as I’m working really hard on reducing my plastic in my home but I feel like I now need more guidance on how to reduce it further. There are some things that feel impossible to change but I know there will be ideas out there. I’m hoping this book is the one I need.

Lost Connections: Uncovering the Real Causes of Depression – and the Unexpected Solutions by Johann Hari

I read another of Johann Hari’s other books a year or two ago and found it really interesting so this one really stood out to me. I think there has been some controversy over this book but also some good reviews so I’m keen to see what I think.

How Music Got Free: The End of an Industry, the Turn of the Century, and the Patient Zero of Piracy by Stephen Witt

I recently watched a documentary and the author of this book was on it and I thought that I’d look the book up. When I went to buy it it turned out I already owned it! So I decided that was a sign that I should read it soon!

  And finally the print books:

Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business by Neil Postman

This is a book that I’m desperate to read but haven’t managed to purely because the type is so small I haven’t managed it. I’ve got yet more new glasses for reading recently so am hoping I can finally read it this month. I want to read this one because I LOVE Roger Waters’ album Amused to Death and this book apparently inspired the title and some of the themes on that album.

Mansfield and Me: A Graphic Memoir by Sarah Laing

I bought this book a year or so ago and am so keen to read it. It seems perfect to put on this TBR as it will be a different format of non-fiction for this month.

Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour by Kate Fox

This is another book that I’ve been so looking forward to and it looks like it might be both interesting and fun. It’s a bit of a doorstop though so I might struggle to read all of it this month but I will do my best to get to it.

    Are you taking part in Non-Fiction November this time? What’s on your TBR for the month? Have you got any good non-fiction recommendations for me based on my TBR?

  Non-Fiction November 2019 TBR Books! Nonfiction November 2019 runs from 28th October to 30th November 2019.  This year’s hosts are Katie of 

[womenintranslation]

From the publisher’s announcement:

“[Scego] gives voice to multiple lives, experiences, and emotions either silenced or ignored by history. [Beyond Babylon] resembles no other Italian novel to have migrated thus far into English.” — from Jhumpa Lahiri’s introduction

An epic for an era of migrants, border-crossings, and traumatic conflicts, Beyond Babylon takes us deep into the lives of people swept up in history. Telling the engrossing stories of two half-sisters who meet coincidentally in Tunisia, their mothers, and the elusive father who ties them all together, Igiaba Scego’s virtuosic novel spreads thickly over Argentina’s horrific dirty war, the chaotic final years of Siad Barre’s brutal dictatorship in Somalia—which ended in catastrophic civil war—and the modern-day excesses of Italy’s right-wing politics.

Offering a visionary new perspective on political upheaval and identity in the 21st century, Beyond Babylon’s kaleidoscopic plot investigates the ways in which we make ourselves. Its myriad characters, locations, and languages redefine our sense of citizenship for a fast-changing world of migrants and demagogues, all anchored by five poignant individuals fighting to overcome memories of past violations. A masterwork equally as adept with the lives of nations as those of human beings, Beyond Babylon brings much-needed insight, compassion, and understanding to our turbulent world.

PRAISE

“[Beyond Babylon] grows out of novels like Hanif Kureishi’s The Buddha of Suburbia, Zadie Smith’s White Teeth, Danzy Senna’s Caucasia: urban, coming-of-age novels written by young writers growing up with double perspectives, with the challenge of constructing a hybrid identity.”— from Jhumpa Lahiri’s introduction

“A prolific writer of novels, short stories, and essays for Italian newspapers and magazines, Scego belongs to a group of contemporary authors of African descent who have been articulating fraught dynamics of belonging to Italian society and literature.” — Public Books

“Igiaba Scego is one of the most prominent voices of a new cohort of black writers in Italy.” — Africa Is a Country

“What a wonderful, shocking, heartbreaking, exciting book, and how better to tell this story than through Aaron Robertson’s entrancing and pitch-perfect translation.” — Jennifer Croft, Man Booker International Prize–winning translator and author

“Beyond Babylon is an illuminating, courageous novel in which the word becomes flesh and the writing mimics the melodic, syncopated rhythms of jazz, Bossa nova, Somali hello, and salsa. It is a densely woven tapestry in which language is no longer a barrier. High Italian and slang are deftly interspersed with Somali, Spanish, Arabic, and English. A variation on the theme of dictatorship, to quote the illustrious Nuruddin Farah, the book is a fistfight between memory and the redeeming power of words. In the words of the five protagonists, colors and genres blend to reveal the consequences of violence and oppression on the bodies of men and women alike.” — Ubah Cristina Ali Farah, author of Little Mother

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

ISBN: 978-1931883832

Pages: 464

Size: 5 x 8

Publication Date: May 14, 2019

Distributed By: Publishers Group West

AUTHOR Igiaba Scego

Igiaba Scego, born in Rome in 1974 to a family of Somali origins, is a writer and journalist. She is the author of numerous works of fiction and nonfiction, and her memoir La mia casa è dove sono won Italy’s prestigious Mondello Prize. She is a frequent contributor to the magazine Internazionale and the supplement to La Repubblica, Il Venerdì di Repubblica.

TRANSLATOR Aaron Robertson

Aaron Robertson has written for various publications including The New York Times, The Nation, n+1, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and more, and he is currently an editor at Literary Hub. He won a 2018 PEN/Heim grant for his translation of Igiaba Scego's Beyond Babylon.

OTHER CONTRIBUTOR Jhumpa Lahiri

Jhumpa Lahiri received the Pulitzer Prize in 2000 for Interpreter of Maladies, her debut story collection. She is also the author of The Namesake, Unaccustomed Earth, and The Lowland, a finalist for both the Man Booker prize and the National Book Award in fiction.

[haunting-kind-of-high]

Roman And The Beanstalk

Warnings: Minor character death. Think that's all?

Summary: Roman trades his cow for a few (supposedly magical) beans. Mysteries ensue

Pairings: Parental Logince, platonic Royality, a bit of romantic Moxiety

Word Count: 8036

Tag list: @musicphanpie-b, @imin-loveanon, @ordinary-chaos, @sandersandthesides, @ajumbleofwords, @demonickittykat, @zadi-jyne, @serenefreakgeek, @fandons-mangoes, @leesacrakon, @gayfagg, @tree4life25, @loverofpizzaandallthingssweet, @ilovemyspoopydad, @kittyboof8, @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2, @sammy-writes-stuff, @jd-lightful, @storytellerofuntoldlegends, @anxious-but-whatever, @moonstone-fox, @royallyanxious

Note: I wrote this for a secret santa last year, but it never really… happened, so now I'm just posting it here

Read on AO3 here​

There once was a man named Logan. Together with his son, Roman, he lived in a small cottage in the woods. They made money by selling the milk from their one cow, Alba. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was enough to keep the two of them alive.

Until the cow stopped giving milk. The two had nothing left to sell: Logan did not have a job and Roman was too young to do anything. They could only do one thing now: sell the cow for money. Hopefully, that would give them enough money for a few weeks. What would come after that, Logan could not foresee. But what mattered most to him, was that they would have food in the next few weeks. They had to sell the cow.

  On the day he had to go to the market, Roman walked up to Alba and embraced her tightly. When he was younger, he used to play with her, pretend that she was a maiden in need of rescue, or a villain holding someone captive. Every free moment of his days would be spent in her company. And now he’d have to say goodbye to her.

  “Remember what I told you, alright?” Logan asked as he crouched in front of his son.

“Yeah,” the young boy replied, looking down at the floor. “I need to follow the path to the market and sell Alba there.”

“Good,” Logan nodded. He’d love to join his son to the market, just to make sure everything would be alright, but he was unable to. He needed to take care of a few small businesses in and around their house. That was the only reason he wasn’t going along with his son. Because honestly, he wasn’t sure the young boy would sell the cow for a high enough price. But it was their only option.

  And that is why Roman found himself walking through the woods, softly talking to his cow about how he was going to miss her.

“I just don’t know what I will do without you, Al,” he muttered, trying to kick a branch away. “You are my best friend and I will miss you so much, but Dad says I need to sell you. I don’t want to, Al, but… we do need to eat. You understand that, right?”

The young boy stopped to look at his cow, awaiting a response. Alba looked at the kid and turned her head away.

“Don’t be mad, Al,” Roman cried, practically lunging himself at the cow for another ‘final embrace’, “Dad told me we have to give you away. He said that we don’t have a choice because without your milk, we cannot buy food. I’m so, so, so sorry!” He nuzzled the cow’s neck, before realising why exactly he was there in the woods, hugging his cow. They needed to go to the market.

  They weren’t even out of the woods, when a strange person approached them. They wore a black coat and an orange hat. They stepped closer to Roman and called out to him. When the kid looked at the person in front of him, he took a few steps back in surprise. His father had told him to be aware of strangers in the woods, especially when they looked as… odd as this figure did.

“There’s no need to worry kid,” the figure said, taking off their hat. They looked at Roman with their kind – almost adorable – brown eyes and smiled at the boy. “I saw you walking with your cow and I was wondering if you would be willing to… give it away.”

“My Dad told me to go to the market to sell her,” Roman answered hesitantly.

“Well, then I will buy her!” the person exclaimed. “What do you ask?”

  Roman looked at the cow next to him. Was he really willing to sell Alba? His father had told him to sell her at the market. Wouldn’t he get angry if he sold her to some stranger in the woods? What if this person was a bad person? What if something would happen to him or Alba?

But… what if they offered a good price?

“What will you pay?” At this question, the human in front of Roman looked down. They searched their pockets for something to offer the kid, but all they could find were…

“Five beans?” Roman asked as he looked at what the stranger held up in front of him. He could not sell Alba for that. Logan would murder him. The stranger grimaced as they replied:

“I don’t have any money on me right now. I could go back to my house to get you the money or… you could take these magical beans as a payment instead?”

“Magical beans?” the young boy wondered. “What magic can they do?”

“I cannot tell you,” they answered quickly, “that- that is a secret.”

  Roman started at the beans the stranger held up to him. If these beans were actually magical, that would give them so much more money and food than the money anyone else could give them for Alba. Five magical beans. How could he say no to that?

And so they made the deal. Roman got the five magical beans. The stranger got the cow. After one final hug – for real this time – the kid said goodbye to Alba.

“I’m going to miss you, Al,” he whispered to the cow before he pressed a kiss to her nose. “You should take good care of her.”

“Of course, kid,” the stranger nodded. “I will.”

And with those words, they led Alba away from Roman. The boy watched sadly as he saw the cow disappearing in the distance. He stood there, unmoving, until he couldn’t see her anymore. Then, he turned around and walked back home.

As he walked, the kid looked at the five beans he held in his hands. He was really curious what they would do. Maybe they would give them an infinite amount of food! Maybe they would conjure money, or maybe they’d even grant wishes! Roman brought the beans closer to his face, deciding to try out that last option.

“I wish that we would never be hungry again,” he whispered to the beans, “I wish we could get Alba back and live happily together.”

Then he waited. But nothing happened. There was no Alba and nothing changed. Maybe he would have to go home for things to happen, the kid decided. So he walked back home.

  Logan was surprised to see his son returning again. And without a cow. He wouldn’t have expected Alba to be sold so quickly. She was an old cow, after all, hardly fit for anything. But if they offered good money, he wasn’t complaining.

“Roman,” he called out, slowly approaching his son. “Back already?”

“Yep,” the kid nodded. “A stranger in the woods saw me walking with Alba and they wanted to buy her.”

“A stranger in the woods?” Logan repeated, raising an eyebrow. Something seemed off about this tale. But Roman nodded.

“Yes. But they were very kind!”

“What did they give you for her?” Roman grinned in response as he showed his father what he held in his hands. But Logan did not respond as happily as Roman would have wanted.

“Five beans?” he asked. “Roman, this isn’t even enough for one meal!”

“They’re magical beans!” the young boy defended. “They said they were magical!”

“And did this stranger say what these beans could do?” Logan asked sceptically as he took the five beans from his son, who shook his head.

“No,” he said, “it was a secret.”

“Roman…” the father sighed, closing his eyes in irritation. “This person scammed you. These are just beans, nothing more.”

He dropped the beans on the ground, looking down at his son again. Roman stared into his father’s eyes, shaking his head.

“No, they said they were magical!”

“Sometimes, people lie, Roman.” He knew he should have gone with Roman to the market. He should have known his kid would pull a stunt like this. Now, they’d have to find another way to get food. They didn’t have any money to buy anything now… they would have to find another way.

  The next morning, Roman woke up to his father shouting his name. The kid slowly made his way over to his father, still half asleep. As soon as he stepped out, he noticed something was off, to say the least. There was a huge beanstalk in front of their house. It reached the canopy of leaves above their heads and it even broke through the canopy. It seemed to go on forever. A grin spread on Roman’s face. The beans had worked! They were magical beans. He could only imagine where this beanstalk would lead him. Maybe there was a pot of gold at the end of it, just like rainbows.  But his smile faltered when he laid eyes on Logan. He wasn’t exactly thrilled by the thought of having an enormous beanstalk in front of their house. But he didn’t have the right to be upset, right? He threw the beans there to begin with.

  A few hours later, Logan had gone to the nearby village, trying to find an easy way to get some more money for him and his son. Roman had to promise not to run off into the woods – he had a tendency to get lost in the woods and Logan didn’t want him to get lost if he wasn’t around. So Roman nodded and told his father that no, he would not go into the woods until Logan returned. But, as soon as his father was out of his sight, the kid grinned and ran to the beanstalk. Dad hadn’t told him that he couldn’t climb it, after all. And Roman was dying to find out where this magical stalk would lead them.

So he climbed. And he climbed. He climbed until he didn’t feel his arms anymore. And every second, he had to tell himself to not look down, don’t look down, don’t look at how far you’ve gotten it’ll only scare you and you’ll fall, don’t look down. Don’t think about how you’re going to get down later just climb up and see where it’s going, don’t look down.

He was about to give up, when he saw something in the clouds. Something that looked like… a village? Could it be? The kid climbed up, having found new life in his arms. He climbed until he broke through the clouds and he was met with an actual village, built on the clouds. The boy gawked at the sight of it as he wandered through the streets. The houses were light and they seemed as if they could fall apart any second. It was breathtaking and so surreal. He walked through the streets, admiring the architecture.

Suddenly, a door opened next to him and a short man looked at the kid.

“Hey, you!” he called out to the kid, quickly looking from side to side. The stranger gestured to Roman. “Come here, quickly!”

Roman hesitated before running towards the man. He knew his father would lecture him about this if he heard what he did, but the stranger seemed so anxious and tense that the kid could only comply. He approached the man, who quickly let the kid into his house. Roman looked around and found that he was stood in a small house. In front of him, a wooden staircase spiralled up to the first floor and next to it, he saw an open door that revealed a small strip of what appeared to be a living room. The walls of the hall were a faded yellow, the floor was black.

The strange man led the young boy to the living room, stealing a glance at the outside once more. “You need to be careful out here, kid,” he warned in a low voice. “It’s dangerous out here for people like you.”

“What do you mean?” Roman asked, as he sat down on the wooden couch in the living room. He looked up at the man in confusion. He noticed how said man took a few deep breaths, pondering how he could explain the situation to the young boy.

“It’s… dangerous,” he repeated. “There are bad people out here. And you don’t want to run into them, especially not when you’re on your own. In fact, I think you should get out of here as soon as possible.” Roman couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed to hear this. Had he really climbed all this way, just to find out he had to leave this place as soon as he came? He hadn’t come all the way up to this beautiful place, only to leave it behind immediately. The man noticed the kid’s disappointment as it nodded and he quickly offered to give him something to eat, something to drink maybe, before sending him back home again. Roman agreed and waited as the man walked to his kitchen, coming back with a mug of tea and two cookies.

The kid took the beverage and cookies from the stranger and thanked him. As he ate the cookies and drank the tea, Roman talked to the man. He found out this man’s name was Patton and he lived there with his husband. The kid tried to find out more about the bad people who lived here, but no matter what he did, Roman could not get any more information out of Patton.  

  When Roman had finished his tea and the two cookies, Patton told him to leave the place as soon as possible. The two headed to the hallway again and just before the kid wanted to go out, he was stopped by the other man, telling him he would make sure the coast was clear first. He peaked trough the windows looking out on the street and quickly jumped back, muttering some obscene words under his breath. Roman watched the man worriedly as he walked to the hall. The boy followed the older man, asking him what was going on.

“You… you need to hide immediately.”

“Why?” Roman wanted to know. “What is going on?”

“There’s no time for questions,” Patton answered hurriedly. He ushered Roman to a small door, opening it as he looked to the front door. “You need to hide now.”

  Roman peeked inside the room behind the small door. All he could see was a small stair and darkness. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go in there. It was dark and… scary. But Patton seemed to insist he hide. He almost seemed scared. But… it was so dark in that small space. He couldn’t see anything there, what if there was something else down there? What if he fell? What if it was a trap?

Patton seemed to notice his hesitance and he placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Listen,” he started, glancing back at the door again. “You need to go in there. Now. I’ll bring you a candlestick and some water and food, but you need to go in this room if you want to survive.”

“Is one of the bad people coming?”

“Yes,” Patton said as the faint sound of keys reached his ears. “Go in, now!”

Roman nodded and stepped into the step, pushing away his fears. He slowly made his way down the stairs and sat down on the bottom step as Patton closed the door, taking away the vague light that came in from the room above. So now the kid sat there, in darkness.

He heard Patton’s voice, followed by a low, unfamiliar voice. He couldn’t hear what the voices were saying, but he didn’t care. All he could think of was what would happen to him. Patton had told him to hide in here. He had said that a bad person was coming. What would they do if they found him down here? Why had Patton been so insistent on him hiding in here? What would this person do to him? Roman’s gut told him not to think about this, but his mind didn’t listen.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there until Patton returned. The man was holding a candlestick in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He quickly shut the door behind him and walked to the young boy. The man handed Roman the glass of water as he slowly made his way to one of the shelves in the room and placed the candlestick on there.

“I don’t have much time,” Patton whispered as he approached Roman again, watching where he placed his feet very closely. “But I will return with some food for you later. I think you should stay here until he goes upstairs. I’ll knock on the door three times when you can go, alright?”

Roman nodded at Patton’s instructions before taking a small sip of the water in his glass.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Alright then,” Patton nodded. “But only one. I don’t have much time.”

“That… man upstairs,” Roman started carefully. “Who is he? Why do I need to watch out for him?”

“That’s two questions,” the man grinned. “But he’s my husband, and… he’s dangerous. That’s all you need to know. I really have no time now, I’m sorry.”

And before Roman could say anything else, Patton rushed upstairs again, leaving the kid behind in the basement.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there. He didn’t know how long it took until Patton came back with some bread for him. He didn’t know how long it took until he heard footsteps going upstairs to the first floor, or until he heard three short knocks. But he knew that, when he walked up the stairs, it was dark outside.

“You should go now,” Patton whispered. “I’m going upstairs now, too. You should be careful with the door, though. You cannot make any noise, okay?”

Roman nodded, looking outside. His father would be worried sick about him. He would be angry, too. He wasn’t allowed to sneak off like that and he knew it. Logan would not be amused.

“Thank you,” Roman whispered, briefly hugging the man in front of him.

“No problem, kid,” Patton smiled as he returned the hug. But then, he seemed to realise something and he pulled away from the kid. “Listen, I need to go upstairs now, before my husband gets suspicious. You can’t let him see you, okay? Just go now and don’t come back here. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Roman replied with a nod. “And thanks again.”

Patton smiled as he headed upstairs. Roman walked towards the door, but something in the dark caught his attention. He saw the vague moonlight shone upon something in the corner of the room reflected the light. Roman’s curiosity got the better of him and he softly walked towards it. When he approached the mysterious object, the kid saw what it was. A black bag had been placed against the wall and a small pouch stuck out of it. A small pouch containing what appeared to be golden coins. Roman grinned as he snatched the pouch out of the bag and hid it in the pocket of his jacket, making sure not to make any noise. Then, he softly made his way out of the small house and ran to the place where the beanstalk had sprouted, climbing down to his own home.

  It took a long time to get down again, and it was tricky. More than once, Roman felt himself slipping away and he managed to catch himself just in time. After ages of climbing down, he finally set foot on the ground again and he slowly walked to the cottage, dreading what he would find. Logan would not be happy.

Roman took a deep breath and opened the door. As soon as the door opened, he heard quick footsteps approaching.

“There you are!” Logan called out. “Where have you been? I told you not to go into the woods! Do you know how worried I was? Do you know what could have happened to you?”

“I… I didn’t go into the woods,” Roman tried to defend himself. “I went up the beanstalk.”

“You- you did what?”

“I went up the beanstalk,” Roman repeated. “I wanted to see where it led.”

“You’ve been away for hours.”

“I found a city up there! Or a village, or anything.” Roman walked closer to his father, avoiding the man’s furious gaze. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. But he didn’t know there was an entire city up there! It couldn’t have been his fault, could it?

“A city?” Logan asked disbelievingly. “Are you trying to say an entire city sprouted in one night?”

“I don’t know, maybe it was there already.” Logan clearly did not believe his kid’s tale. Because how could this be true? Having an enormous beanstalk in front of his house was one thing, but an entire city just appearing in the sky was something completely different. Roman had always been an imaginative child, this had to be one of his daydreams.

“It’s true, Dad!” Roman yelled, seeing that Logan did not believe him. He reached into his pocket and showed his father the pouch of coins he had taken with him. “Look!”

  Logan raised his eyebrows as he grabbed the pouch in his hand, studying its contents.

“Where did you get this?” he asked as he placed the pouch on the table next to him. “Where did this come from?”

“I… found it,” Roman said. He knew he couldn’t tell his father that he stole the money. Especially because Patton’s husband was one of the bad people up there. “I found it up there.”

Logan hesitated as he looked at his kid. Surely, this money had to belong to someone. But if Roman had truly just found it… then it wouldn’t be that bad to keep it right? They didn’t know who this actually belonged to before Roman stumbled upon it. And besides… it was a lot of money. They could use this money.

“Fine,” Logan sighed eventually. He wasn’t sure he believed Roman, but he understood that Roman would not give up trying to prove this city existed. So he’d be the one to give up.

“I can prove it!” Roman insisted. “I can prove it exists! Can I go back tomorrow? I want to explore some more! Please, Dad?”

“If you promise to be careful,” Logan finally gave in. “But no more. You still sneaked away without my permission!”

“Yeah,” Roman nodded, looking down again. He was excited to go back to the city. Even though Patton had told him not to come back, the boy was curious to see what the city truly looked like. He wanted to see more of it than just Patton’s house.

  After just a short discussion between Logan and his son, they both went to bed. Roman could hardly sleep. He was so excited about this discovery and about going back the next day. And maybe the thought of danger was what excited him so much. Finally, he’d have an adventure of his own, like in the stories!

  The next day, Roman could barely eat anything. He was too excited for what he might find in the city above. But he knew he had to eat well – otherwise, Logan would lecture him. In the worst case, he wouldn’t even be allowed to go! So Roman finished his breakfast and quickly prepared himself to go up again. As he witnessed this, Logan started wondering why he had allowed his son to go back to this place. He had no idea how real it was, or how safe it was. The only thing he knew about this place, was the fact that Roman insisted it was real and he had found money there. That was all Roman would tell him. But it was too late to say otherwise now. So Logan watched as Roman waved goodbye and made his way to the beanstalk again. The kid quickly climbed up, leaving his father behind.

  The journey up seemed way more bearable than it had been the day before. Roman reached the top of the beanstalk, his arms tired and legs shaking, but he was satisfied. He was delighted to be back in this city. He walked around, looking at the houses and the shops. Roman had just spotted a forest and he was about to enter it, when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

“Roman! What are you doing back here?” Patton’s voice asked softly. “Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?”

Patton sounded more worried than anything. Maybe there was a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it was mostly worry. Roman immediately felt bad. He knew Patton had told him to never come back. But he couldn’t just leave this new place behind.

“I know,” Roman said, turning around to meet the man who had helped him the day before that. “I’m sorry I just… got too curious I think.”

“It’s alright,” Patton replied. His voice sounded much softer again. The man could never stay angry. “You must be tired, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, kinda…” Roman nodded.

“Alright, well, just come back to my place,” Patton offered after a brief hesitation. “I’ll give you some food. But you need to promise me you won’t come back again. It’s too risky to show up here!”

“I promise,” the boy replied. Patton smiled and led Roman back to his house. Just like the day before, Roman sat down on the couch in their living room as Patton got him some water and bread. Just like the day before, they talked as Roman drank the water and ate the bread. And just like the day before, Patton’s husband showed up just as the kid had to leave.

The only difference was that this time, Patton didn’t have to explain to the young boy why he had to hide. Roman sat down next to the door, trying to hear what the two men were saying to each other. He could vaguely hear their conversation.

“Hey, honey,” that soft voice was Patton’s. Undoubtedly. “Any success?”

“Not yet.” The other man’s voice sounded low and frustrated. “I’ve searched the entire city and I found absolutely nothing. Have you seen anything?”

“I haven’t,” Patton replied. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. We have no idea who could have done it. I guess we will just have to accept it.”

“I think so.”

There was a short silence after that, and Roman thought the two men might have left. But just as he wanted to carefully move down the stairs, Patton’s husband started talking again.

“I still smell it, by the way,” he stated. “Are you sure there’s no one here?”

“I’ve searched the house more than once, Virge, I’m pretty sure we’re alone,” Patton said. “Unless they’re invisible, but I don’t remember humans having that ability.”

“Guess you’re right,” Virge grunted in reply. “You don’t know where it could be coming from?”

“No idea.” Patton’s voice was followed by a few footsteps, leading away from the basement where Roman was hiding. “I’ll try my best to find something, but… I think you’d want some food first, don’t you?”

“That sounds great, Pat,” Virge answered. “You know, I ran into a salesman on the way back home, and he offered he this chicken. Apparently, it-”

Virge’s voice faded away as he walked into the living room. Roman never found out what was so special about this chicken, as the last part had been too soft for him to hear.

When he was sure that the two men weren’t around, Roman softly walked down the stairs, sitting down on the last step. He couldn’t stop thinking about Virge. He hadn’t sounded as vicious as Roman had imagined him to be. He had actually sounded quite nice. Frustrated, but still kind. Kinder than the boy had thought he would be. Odd.

  After an unknown period of time, Patton entered the basement again with some bread and water for the kid. He told him that again, he’d knock on the door three times if it was safe to leave. Before he left the room, Patton looked at the boy for a few moments and it seemed as if he wanted to say something. But eventually, he decided against it and walked up the stairs again.  

And so, Roman waited. And he waited. He waited until he heard someone knocking on the door. One, two three times. The kid waited for a few more seconds before walking up the stairs and slowly opening the door. Patton was waiting for him outside the door.

“Listen, Roman,” he said in a hushed tone, quickly glancing upstairs, “I told you yesterday to not come back here. But you did. Now, I’m going to tell you this once more: don’t come back here. It’s too dangerous for people like you.”

“But why?” Roman inquired. “Why is it so dangerous?”

This place seemed so peaceful, so calm and quiet. The boy could not imagine how this could be dangerous. It was too beautiful.

“It’s complicated,” Patton sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just believe me, okay? Go home and don’t come back here.”

“Alright, alright,” Roman agreed finally. “I won’t. Thank you for taking care of me, though.”

“No problem, kiddo.” The young boy hesitated for a brief moment, before he quickly hugged Patton. But then, he walked towards the door. He waved before softly opening it. Patton waved back at the boy as he made his way upstairs.

  When Roman stepped into the small garden in front of Patton’s house, he noticed something glimmering in the moonlight. And even though he knew Patton had told him to get out of there immediately, his curiosity – once again – got the better of him. He slowly made his way over to the object, glancing around if no one saw him. When he got to the object Roman picked it up and studied it. It was an egg. But… eggs don’t glimmer, Roman soon decided. Eggs don’t reflect moonlight.

After a few moments of close inspection, the kid deduced that it was made out of some sort of metal. It appeared to be gold, but Roman wasn’t so sure that was even possible. And where did it come from?

As if on cue, the boy heard a soft clucking next to him. He turned his head to see a chicken approaching. “Did you lay this egg?” he asked the chicken softly, looking at the house to assure himself that no one was looking at him. The chicken clucked in reply to Roman’s question and as it moved a few seconds later, it revealed a second golden egg.

“I think that’s a yes, then,” Roman said to himself. He picked up the second egg and placed both eggs in his pockets. He then looked at the chicken and hesitated. He reckoned that maybe, this was the chicken Virge told Patton about. That meant that he – probably – just bought it. It would probably be a bad idea to take the animal with him but… they could sell its eggs for money. That idea was just too tempting for the young boy. He couldn’t just leave the chicken there. And so, he carefully picked her up and ran towards the beanstalk. Admittedly, it wasn’t easy to climb down while carrying the chicken, but somehow, Roman managed. After a lot of wriggling and almost falling down a number of times, the boy set foot on the ground again. He immediately ran to the house to show his father the chicken he had brought.

“What is this?” Logan asked as Roman stepped into the house, beaming. “You brought… a chicken?”

“Not just any chicken,” the boy smiled. “It lays golden eggs!”

Roman placed the animal on the floor to show the two eggs he had found. As he did so, the chicken made a low sound as it moved, only to reveal yet another egg made out of gold. Logan frowned as he picked up the egg and studied it closely. It seemed to be pure gold.

“Where did you find this chicken?”

“Up there,” Roman replied, pointing to the sky. “I… I found her walking on the street.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at this response and looked at his son. The young kid smiled sheepishly at his father. Something was off about this, but Logan decided not to push it and instead accepted it. After all, he knew that they could sell these eggs. Even if the weren’t made out of gold, they could easily pass as it, which meant they could ask quite a bit of money for it. They wouldn’t have to worry about not having any money anymore.

“Just… go to bed, Roman,” Logan told his son. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. You need to sleep now.”

Roman nodded and went to his room. Normally, he would have protested, but he was way too tired to resist and instead accepted his fate. The past two days had been very tiring for him and he could use some good sleep.

Logan placed the three eggs on the table, made sure the chicken was safely inside and that it had water – they hardly had any food, so it would have to suffer for a bit – before he too, went to his bedroom.

  Months passed and the small family managed to make decent money from selling the golden eggs on the market. Roman, following Patton’s instructions, didn’t climb up the beanstalk again, even though it was so tempting. They never cut down the plant, so it just… stood there. It seemed to be calling out to Roman. And it was so tempting. But he had told Patton he wouldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back.

  But one day, when Logan had gone out to the market, he caved. He just had to go back. Just one more time, he told himself. One last time. And then, he would never return again. He just had to see the village again. Maybe, he would even get to explore the city for himself without Patton coming up to him.

So, when his father had left, Roman climbed up the beanstalk again. He climbed and climbed until his arms were sore. He climbed until he couldn’t climb anymore. But he was almost there. He was so close. Just a little bit more.

  When Roman got to the city in the sky, he looked around, a smile appearing on his lips. It truly was as gorgeous as he remembered. He didn’t understand how something so beautiful could be so dangerous. How could a place that was so beautiful, so peaceful, be filled with hate and danger? His mind couldn’t grasp that idea. But he trusted Patton. He didn’t have any reason not to trust the man.

  Roman wandered through the area around the city, making sure he stayed hidden at all times, so no one would see him. He reasoned that Patton had no reason to lie to him about the dangerous people that seemed to be living in this area. The kid explored a small forest close to the town, glancing at the nearby streets every once in a while. If only he could spend more time here. If only he could walk around freely. If only he could live here. This place was absolutely amazing and Roman wanted to spend more time here. But he knew he could never do that. Patton had made that quite clear.

  As he remembered the older man, Roman realised he missed him and that he wanted to see the man again. He didn’t care he was the one who told him to get out of there. He didn’t care he was the one who told him to never come back. He missed him. And so, he did what every wise person would have done.

He walked to Patton’s house.

  Roman knocked on the door. He knew he had made a mistake as soon as his fist connected with the wood. Patton had told him to never come back. He had promised he would never come back. But it was too late to turn back now. He had already knocked on the door and he already heard footsteps approaching.

The door opened with a soft creak, pulling Roman from his thoughts. He turned his head and looked at Patton with a sheepish smile.

“Roman?” the man asked, looking around to make sure no one was looking at them before he ushered the boy inside. “What are you doing here? You promised you wouldn’t come back here.”

“I know,” Roman nodded, looking down at the floor. “I just… I missed you, Patton. I wanted to see you again.” “You did?” Patton smiled ever so slightly at this response. He wished he could say he hadn’t missed the boy himself. But he knew that he couldn’t let the boy come back here. It was too dangerous. Roman nodded in response. He already walked to the living room and sat down on the couch, looking at the man in front of him. Then, his eyes noticed something he hadn’t seen before. On the table, he saw a small, golden instrument. He was sure this harp wasn’t there the last time he visited this house.

“What’s that?” he asked curiously, slowly edging closer to the instrument. It was as if he was under some spell, cast by the instrument.

“It’s a harp,” Patton answered, sitting next to Roman. “A magical one. It can play songs on command. I would recommend you leave this behind, though.”

“What?” Roman asked, turning to the man next to him, raising an eyebrow. He… Patton didn’t know he had stolen the money and the chicken, did he?

No, of course he did. It was too coincidental to have two valuable things disappeared on the exact two days that Roman was there. Of course Patton knew what he had done.

“You know what I’m talking about, Roman,” Patton spoke softly. Roman turned his head to his hands and nodded.

“Yeah, I- I’m sorry about that,” he whispered. “I know I shouldn’t have done that I just…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Patton interrupted him quickly. “I mean, Virgil wasn’t too amused about it but… it’s not the end of the world.”

Roman smiled. It took him a few moments to realise that Virgil was probably the man he had started to call ‘Virge’. Patton’s husband. He was lucky Patton was such a kind being, Roman realised. If he had been anything like Virgil, he wouldn’t have survived here for long.

The two talked for a while, and like the two times before, they forgot the time. And before they knew it, Virgil was about to come home. This time, Patton didn’t even have to tell the young boy to hide in the basement. He rushed to the hallway and walked into the basement himself. He listened as Patton greeted his husband. He waited until Patton approached him with food and he waited until he heard the three knocks. It was all routine by now.

“Roman,” Patton spoke seriously as he placed his hands on the kid’s shoulders. “This time, you need to promise me not to come back, okay? I don’t want you to come back here again, okay? I keep saying this, but it’s too dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Roman nodded. He knew Patton was right. He knew he shouldn’t keep coming here. But he couldn’t stay away. “I know. I… I won’t come back.”

“Good.”

“I’ll miss you, though.”

“Roman… I’ll miss you too,” Patton said. He carefully hugged the young boy. “I need to go now. Take care of yourself, kiddo.”

Roman nodded as Patton quickly went upstairs. The kid headed for the front door, but when he placed his hand on the doorknob, he remembered the harp he had seen in the living room. It was so gorgeous and he knew Logan would love it. He knew he shouldn’t but… it was so tempting.

And so, Roman sneaked back to the living room to grab the harp. He picked up the instrument and walked back to the door. But, as he stepped into the hallway, the harp started yelling.

“Help!” it cried out. “Help, some kid is stealing me! Help me!”

Roman froze in fear as the instrument let out the loud calls for help. He was dead. He was so dead. He heard the sound of voices upstairs, followed by someone running down the stairs. Just a few moments later, Roman looked into the eyes of a man he hadn’t seen before. Virgil.

The man looked at the kid, fury burning in his brown eyes. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, until Virgil spoke up:

“I knew something was up.” His voice was low and dangerous, filled with malice. It was nothing like the voice Roman had heard when he was hiding in their basement. “You little brat, what do you think you are doing with that harp?”

Roman hesitated and looked up. He could just make out Patton’s figure standing behind his husband, looking down at the kid worriedly. The boy turned back to Virgil and saw the man was glaring at him with more hatred in his eyes than he had ever seen before. He had to go now.

  Without a second thought, Roman turned around and ran to the door as fast as he could. He fumbled with the doorknob as he heard Virgil running down the stairs behind him. He finally swung the door open and just managed to dodge the hand that reached out for his collar. Roman rushed towards the beanstalk, running as fast as his legs could carry him. When he finally reached the plant that might lead him to safety, he started climbing down without hesitating.

He heard Virgil cursing at him as he followed the kid down. Roman climbed and climbed, not stopping when he felt his arms growing tired. He couldn’t rest. He had to keep going. There had to be something he could do to get rid of Virgil. Maybe he could… convince the man to go back home somehow. He could try bribing him? It wasn’t a good idea but… maybe it would work. He had to at least try something, right?

And so he climbed. When Roman saw the roof of his house appear, he carefully threw down the harp and followed it, jumping down the last bit. He landed on his feet and supported himself as he stumbled forwards. Looking up, he saw Virgil still climbing the stalk. There was only one thing for Roman to do and he ran inside.

“Ro, what-”

“No time,” Roman hurriedly interrupted as he grabbed the axe they kept indoors, “I’ll explain later.” And with those words, he was gone. He ran back to the beanstalk and started cutting it down as quickly as his arms would allow him. With every blow, the balance of the stalk was disturbed and Roman noticed that this affected Virgil’s climbing as well. Good.

He kept going and eventually, the beanstalk fell over. Slowly but surely, it fell to the ground. Virgil hadn’t managed to let go of the plant in time and he fell down with it. Roman heard a sickening crunch as he hit the ground.

  The kid flinched and to be fair, he expected the man to get up and rush towards him still. But it never happened. So very carefully, Roman approached the man.

“Mister Virge?” he called out. “Mister Virge, are you alright?”

But he got no reply. As Roman stepped closer, he noticed blood pooled around the man’s body, turning the grass a deep shade of crimson. Roman called the man’s name once more, but as soon as he saw the body, he knew enough. The boy felt bile rising up as he stumbled backwards. No. No, it couldn’t be true. No. Oh no. What had he done? Had he actually killed Patton’s husband? No. He couldn’t have.

“Roman, what is going on?” Logan had come outside, wanting so see why his son was behaving this weirdly. But then, he saw Virgil’s body. “What… is this?”

Roman turned around and ran towards his head, hugging him tightly. Logan could feel his small body trembling and he wrapped his arms around his son. They sat there for a while, until Roman had calmed down enough. The young boy followed his father, where he told him the whole story. He started the story at the first time he climbed up the beanstalk and ended with the death of Virgil.

“So all of this… is stolen?” Logan asked, gesturing to the money and the new, fancier furniture they had managed to buy. Roman nodded. “And you went up there twice, knowing it would be dangerous and you had promised this… man that you wouldn’t?” Again, Roman nodded. Logan sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Roman…” he spoke after a tense silence. “You know I don’t condone any of this behaviour. And I don’t want you doing anything like this again.”

The boy looked down at the floor, avoiding even looking in the direction of his father.

“But… I guess there’s nothing I can do about it now,” the father sighed. “But I don’t want to hear anything like this again, alright?”

“Alright,” Roman nodded. “I promise.”

  And so it happened. The two lived together in the cottage in the woods. Even though they could easily afford to buy a bigger house in the city, neither of them really wanted to leave their house. There were too many memories connected to it and both of them would rather live in the calm forest than in the hectic city. The whole affair with the beanstalk was quickly forgotten, though sometimes, Logan would find his son looking up at the sky, lost in his thoughts, a serene smile playing on his lips. And every now and again, Roman would long to return to the city in the clouds. He knew he could never go back and in a way, it was a blessing that the beanstalk had been cut down. But Roman never forgot about what he had done to Patton’s husband and he never stopped feeling guilty about it. If only he could talk to Patton about it, and apologize. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t go back up there. He quickly learned he had to move on from it and put it all behind him.

And he did. It might have taken a long time, but he moved on. He learned to live with the knowledge that he had killed the husband of a man he called his friend. But he never forgot. He could never stop thinking about what Patton would be going through. He had lost his husband. And Roman had been the one to kill him. He had killed a man.

Sometimes, Roman would dream about it. He would dream about going back to Patton; the man would greet him with a smile and a hug. He would take care of the kid. He’d say he forgave Roman for what he did to his husband, that he understood he had no choice. They would hug.

Or he’d dream about being chased by Virgil. He’d rush away from the man and as he turned around, he saw him falling down the beanstalk again. He heard his bones breaking again. And then, he’d see Patton, looking at the scene from a distance. The man would run towards his husband’s body and as Roman approached, muttering a soft apology, he’d send him away. Roman would try to talk, but he never got the chance. Patton sent him away every time, telling him to leave him alone. Forever.

But after a while, those dream grew less frequent and the events turned into a distant memory. And he moved on.