#man i cannot believe it almost took me an entire year to upload the next chapter i'm very sorry about that

[dol--blathanna]

The quest to save Geralt brings Yennefer, Regis and Ameer to the wild and strange lands of Velen. Here, in these swamps fraught with dangers, they will be pushed to their emotional limits as they face monsters, cults, and their own darkest inner demons.

A story following the canon of the Witcher book series and game series, set one year after the events of Blood and Wine.

Part 1 can be found here!

[oopsimbug]

in which... y/n is just trying to put on eyeliner and harry is bored pt. two

a/n: when she’s back from a six month hiatus after making only ONE fic. wow, do i suck. for anyone who cares, school has been pretty rough. i’m actually procrastinating studying for an exam to finally upload this. it’s been pretty hard to balance both school and writing but oh well. anywho, here it finally is. it took so long to write because i wasn’t feeling very inspired by this. a lot of people asked for a part two and even though i kinda wanted to leave it on a sad note, i am a sucker for giving the people what they want, so sorry if this is a bit shit- i definitely don’t like this one myself. i guess i’m not one for fluffy endings. well, at least for this one i wasn’t. i really hope you enjoy it! more stuff to come, if school doesn’t mind fucking off for a little while (or maybe just forever?) xox -(a) bug

pairing: best friend! harry styles x reader

summary: Harry is worried about Y/n. Y/n is worried about Harry. Harry is solving it by thinking of ways to check on her, while Y/n uses cheesy pasta and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air as an excuse to not think. But what will happen when someone is at her door, and it’s not her delivery man?

warnings: angst, swearing, y/n and harry being idiotos, fluffy end, kissing

word count: 5.3k

It had been a week.

One gruelling, painfully long week.

Harry was biting his nails, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, worrying about her.

About how he fucked up.

He didn’t think that she would be upset for this long. He thought she would scream at him and then text him the following day, wanting to hang out- a silent “I forgive you”, he supposed.

But after two days of radio silence on her end, he decided to call her. The only problem was that her last words to him were “leave”. She wanted space. She needed to think things through- what things? Harry had no clue. But he had to respect her and her choice to not want him around. So with that, he put down the phone.

But a small part of him (okay fine, a big part of him), wanted her to just show up at his house so they could cuddle again, talking about the stupidest of things while they made cupcakes in his kitchen. They would be listening to groovy music and now and then, they’d stop mixing bowls and sifting flour to dance- well, they were horrible dancers, so more so just wave their hands, hips and shoulders around. It would be fun and would always end up with them laughing at one another. He would lick the batter and she would berate him, telling him that “one of these days, you are going to get salmonella and I’ll just laugh at your stupid ass” and he would retort with something witty and a bit flirty like “don’t worry darling, we both know you would be right at my side if I got sick. I know you can’t stand being apart from me” with a wink and a cheeky smirk. He just wants to see her in her oversized Space Jam hoodie and little basketball shorts. Or her short flower shirt and his sweatpants that she has to cuff at the bottoms because they’re too long. Or even-

He’s gotta stop thinking about her, or his brain will soon explode. But he just can’t stop. He tries to think of the happier moments, like her showing him a tour of her very healthy houseplants that she prides herself in, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is her teary face telling him to leave. So no, if he was given the choice to think of her flailing her arms around in his kitchen to dancehall tunes while making sweet treats or crying at something that he provoked, you bet your ass he’d choose the former.

But after the seventh day, he knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much “thinking time”. For all he knew, she could be fine, but she could also be positively bawling. She could be living for this free time, but she also could be waiting for him to make the first move. She could be wanting Harry out of her life for her benefit forever, but she also could be feeling lonely and counting the seconds for their makeup, just like he was.

That was it. He had to go see her and make sure his best friend was okay.

He practised what he was going to say to her in his car on the way to her apartment. “Y/n, I’m so sorry for how I acted. I didn’t stop to think about how you were feeling and didn’t take your emotions into account which was unbelievably wrong of me. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that I really care about you and you’re my best friend and I can’t see you choose a tinder fuck over me and if I saw him in the street I would knock his lights out and I just want to kiss you, can I kiss you, oh god please let me kiss you I just want to-“

Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so upset? He had been on plenty of dates with other celebrities and models and she was always on the sidelines, cheering him on. So why was he getting so touchy-feely about a single tinder date? Maybe he was just in desperate need of attention. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost one year and casual fuck arounds also stopped about four months ago, so maybe he just needed to fuck someone quick. That would explain why he sees his best friend’s kindness and natural flirty nature as something more romantic. Every laugh at his jokes, every look in her eyes, every graze of her hand on his thighs as she leans over him to get her drink on the side table next to him, he becomes more switched on and awake. She leaves him feeling giddy and excited at every conversation. “This can’t just be because I’m horny right?” he cannot believe he would ever be that horny. What the hell was he going to do?

*

This is pathetic she thought.

I’m pathetic.

She let out a huge sigh before shoving another forkful of cheesy pasta into her mouth.

What am I doing?

The answer?

Eating carbs upon carbs upon carbs, lounging on her comfy sofa in the most comfortable, yet daggiest pair of pyjamas ever while watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air for the fiftieth time, actively avoiding all commitments, housework and jobs that involve moving further than to the kitchen, which even then was an embarrassingly burdening trek on its own.

But she let it slide. How could she not? She was upset and this was how she coped. That’s what she kept reminding herself as she boiled more and more pasta watching the days pass her by without realisation, but now, she’s beginning to question if this was the best idea. Pushing all thoughts of him out of her mind by not looking at her phone just in case he called or texted. But she was beginning to struggle.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what inner turmoil she was facing. He seemed genuinely hurt when she snapped at him. He truly didn’t understand why she took so much offence to the playground ribbing, it seemed. And she had to go be a dick and ignore him. He was probably worried sick. How many times would he have called to check up on her? 10? 15? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted this stupid feud to be over and just be in his arms again, even if it’s just as a friend. So she caved. Turned on her phone, expecting there to be at least a call or a text asking if she was still alive or not. And although she did receive a message of that likeness, it wasn’t from Harry, no. It was from her daily water tracking app, pleading her to fill in her daily intake of water so as to not die of dehydration after she was suspected to have not drunk any for the entire week when in reality, she was just too in her head to open her stupid phone and log her water.

Wow, she thought.

Now not only has Harry chosen to not speak to you, but you also look like a huge idiot right now. Of course, he wouldn’t want to talk to you! You got pissed at him for absolutely no reason and now he hates you. He’s gonna ask for his cardigan and track pants that he keeps at your house in case he wanted to sleepover. He’s going to take back all of his little knick-knacks that he leaves over, like the cute diffuser that he leaves because he knows you need it for your constant hay-fever that blocks your nose and then he’s going to declare that you aren’t friends anymore and then you will never get the chance to tell him how you feel and then-

Her panicky brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who the hell could that be?”, she thinks. It was too late for it to be the postman with her package containing her entire Amazon wish list that she bought on the third day of mourning to make herself feel better. But it couldn’t be Mrs Xiao asking her if she had any holes in her shirts that needed stitching. The sweet old lady fell asleep at 8:37 pm sharp after her medicine that she’d take at 8:30 pm would kick in (which she learnt after spending nights over at her apartment where her niece, Mei, took care of her. Y/n would learn traditional recipes like baozi and watch movies with her two friends all the time). It couldn’t be Mei either, she was always in online uni lectures from 8:30-10:30 pm, locked away in her little study, so as to not bother or be bothered. So now, a little panicked, Y/n wondered who was truly at her door?

Another two knocks come, echoing off the walls of her little apartment as she turns down the volume of the program she was watching. She stares at the door from her couch, debating whether she should risk getting stabbed by a possible murderer or not, before ultimately deciding that life was too short. She was also getting sick and tired of the knocks that kept arriving in threes. She swings her legs off the couch and onto the floor, pushing them into her slippers so that her feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor, waddling her way to the door before shyly opening it, peeking at who it could be through the tiny crack in the opening, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind her current state: belly filled with pasta, hair knotty, giant shirt with sweatpants on and Harry’s patchwork cardigan hanging off her shoulders- which she had been wearing all day, cherishing the pretty piece of clothing and his scent imbedded in it, taking it all in just in case he asks for it back. She peeps at the torso of this mystery person, realising that Harry owns the jumper worn by them, before looking up and locking eyes with a worn out and tired eyed Harry, one hand in the pocket of the familiar hoodie and another extended out near the door, ready to knock again before freezing when it opens up all the way to show herself to her best friend. He doesn’t eye her up and down cheekily like he normally does when she is wearing pyjamas, wolf-whistling at her relaxed state, claiming that “You look runway-ready, my love! Do a twirl for the crowd, will you?”. Instead, he stares her right in the eyes with what looks like almost relief, before smiling a weak and broken smile.

One of them needed to break the silence or both would have just stared at each other in her doorway until the world exploded. So she starts.

“Hi.” her voice hovers a tinge above a whisper, almost as though if she dared to speak louder, this probable illusion of the one she loves would fade away. He lights up a little bit, probably relieved that she started the conversation.

“Hey,” his soft voice matched her volume and tone as if he too didn’t want this to be a dream. “May I come in?” The words sound awkward to her coming out of his mouth. Harry never had to ask for permission to be invited in- he usually just strolled in without so much as a holler to indicate he was present, finding amusement in scaring her instead while she was doing whatever she was doing, whether that be reading, watching a movie, cooking or napping. They were the best of friends and never had to inquire about entry to each other’s domains, along with other small things like if they had anything in their kitchens to eat or if they could sit somewhere, so hearing it was a little disheartening and provoked Y/n to think about how serious this situation was.

“Okay”, she replied after the pause of contemplation, opening the door fully so that the lanky boy could follow along behind her, like a little puppy. She didn’t like how awkward the situation was. She just wanted things to go back to what they were.

But then you wouldn’t be able to tell him you love him... her inner voice argued. And she agreed. She knew that yes, this will be awkward, but it’s an opportunity for him to listen to her and know that she isn’t joking.

“Would you like some tea?” She enquires. They’ll need to handle this like proper grown-ups (which in all honesty, isn’t their dynamic- it’s more like first-year uni students who are mature enough to have deep conversations but still laugh at dad jokes and anything remotely serious, like a painting with boobs), and from what she knows, or has seen in movies when the characters are being serious, is that you need tea or a drink of that sort and a sit down on the couch where you talk stuff out. So that’s exactly what she does.

“Yes please,” Harry’s soft voice replies as he toes off his boots that most definitely cost more than her apartment. Y/n nods and heads to the small kitchenette and flips the switch on the electric kettle before going into her cupboard that housed the mugs. Harry stood awkwardly near the sofas, and to save him the embarrassment of waiting while standing, Y/n invites him to sit with a small, “You can take a seat,” and a quick glance at him before returning her gaze to the mugs to make herself look busy. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds in fear of bursting into tears and the worn out and tired sight of him. She shakes the thought out of her head and begins to prepare the mugs.

Y/n put two teabags in her mug while putting one in Harry’s. She was raised in a household of avid tea drinkers and she inherited her strong tea quirk from her father who would always keep two teabags with only a dash of milk, and the only difference between her tea and her fathers was that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to take her tea without sugar, unlike her father, who thought that drinking unbelievably concentrated leaf juice with milk was a fun and relaxing time. On the other hand, Harry liked to keep one tea bag in his mug while he drank it, but just like her father, he too took little to no sugar with his cup, being the health freak he was. And early in their friendship, when she mentioned it to him, Harry chuckled and chirped, “Your father is a smart man. He has to be for raising amazing and talented people like your siblings. I’m not sure what went wrong with you though...” while booping her nose as they laid together under a tree for a little picnic. And though she rolled her eyes at him and punched his shoulder for the sly dig at her, she was practically beaming at the fact that he thought her family was smart. Harry had no idea how much that meant to her. Y/n loved her entire family, and she was unbelievably close to them, so it made her entire week to know that Harry, someone she respected and loved so much, recognised how talented and smart each of her family members were. Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t need the validation to know that her family was amazing, but she felt so special knowing he took the time to notice. He did that a lot though. Doing things that meant a lot to her without batting an eye. Saying things that only a person as observant as he could notice, like complimenting her eye colour in the light and asking her to read for him because he constantly mentions how much he loves her voice.

Y/n looked over to the same sweet guy she fell head over heels for, who was sitting on her couch, fidgety as ever, and wondered if they would ever be the same after the very next moments to come. She didn’t want things to change between them, but she was dying inside knowing that he wasn’t hers. And getting over him was not in the question, after the fiasco that happened last week. She just wished she could get inside his head to sate her painful curiosity.

What is he thinking about?

**

What is she thinking about?

It’s the million-dollar question running through his mind. What was she pondering over as she made them tea? Did she want to talk to him? Was she mad that it took him so long to find the balls to face her? Was she as nervous as he was? Was she worried that they would never be the same again like he was?

He was going into panic mode, questioning everything, while probably looking stupid as ever. As much as he regretted how awkward things were now, and the fact that he instigated her to lash out at him a week ago, he was realising that he was not regretting the fact that he did it. He didn’t want her to go out with someone else, and she didn’t. And yes, of course, he feels bad-beyond bad, in fact- for making her cry, and wishes he could take it all back, he also sees this as an opportunity to tell her how he feels about her. He could finally tell her that he thinks about her all the time. About her soft smile, her bright eyes, her melodic laugh, her speaking voice that brings butterflies to his stomach. He could tell her about how he loses himself at work, the grocery store, fuck- even at events- thinking about what she was doing at her house. Was she under her blankets on her couch, watching some corny tv show? Was she baking her signature choc chip cookies that taste like the gods blessed every single biscuit on the tray before they were put in the oven? Was she knitting her cat, Chesnut, another rug to plonk herself down on, with her feet up on the ottoman as she listened to the 7 o’clock news on the radio? Was she writing a paper for another deadline? Something so sophisticated, like the exploration of white and male privilege and how it is ingrained in our society? Something that Harry tried to understand and research so that he could stay in the loop with his smart girl’s interests, but he always struggled with.

It was a huge insecurity of his. Not that his best friend was smarter than he was, no way. He treasured the fact that she could and would whip his ass at a debate on things like the state of the world, or human rights. She could school him on global politics, languages, maths, science, history and literally anything else, and he would be cheering her on. What he was insecure about was her realising that he was probably slowing her down in life. Y/n was well within her rights to kick him out of her life for being nothing but a freeloader and stopping her from reaching her full potential, what with him constantly stopping her from her own life to help him go through shit happening in his. Whenever he was sad, or confused, or upset, Y/n was the first person he would talk to and he feared that she would realise that he was probably taking advantage of her and stop talking to him. And that scared him. It scared him because he knew that she didn't need him at all, but he needed her to do anything in life. Every major and minor decision in his life has been approved by Y/n first, and not because she was a controlling friend who didn’t trust him with his own life, but because Harry needed her validation. Harry Styles, a world-famous superstar, had girls, guys and non-binaries at his feet, following his every beck and call. Harry Styles, who was on the cover of every magazine, known by every celebrity, dated only the most perfect of women, required validation from Y/n, a psychology major at a small university. Y/n, who liked to plan her day out on a to-do list, end up not doing anything on that to-do list and cry about it afterwards. Y/n, who breaks it down to “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers like it’s her last 4 minutes and 5 seconds alive on this Earth while making pancakes. Y/n, who cries more when she’s laughing while watching Tik Toks than she does during sad movies.

To celebrities, Y/n was nothing but a regular. But to Harry, she was all. She was the warmth of a sweater that you toss in the dryer for a few minutes to make it extra toasty. She was the pad of butter that you spread onto your pumpkin sourdough toast and it ends up being exactly the amount you wanted. She was the feeling when you are driving home from a long day of interviews and premiers, and you’re on the freeway and the windows down and you just… exist. She is the feeling you get when you watch Pride and Prejudice, and the relief of when you find the perfect word to end a lyric. She is when your shoes fit perfectly, and when you finish a book so utterly fulfilling that you lie there in a trance, looking up at your ceiling at 3 am, wondering how you could have been so lucky to be able to be blessed with an ending like the one you just read. Y/n was all those things and more.

And that’s why he had to tell her he loved her. No matter how scared he was.

***

The electric kettle is finished boiling the tea all too quickly as the bubbling comes to an end and the distinct click of the switch turning back off echoes around the silent apartment. Y/n had poured the scalding hot water into the two cups she had prepared stared into them.

It was time. She had tried to avoid this for as long as possible, but now it was the moment to face the music. She picked up the two mugs of tea and brought them to her lounge where Harry was sitting on her worn in green sofa, staring at her coffee table, eyebrows scrunched, pouted lips, deep in thought, before looking up at her with wide green eyes, and followed her to where she stood in front of him. She passed his mug to him before sitting on the comfy chair a few feet away from the sofa and from him, putting some distance in between them for her sake, so that she wouldn’t try to hug him and say sorry without saying what she needed to say first. Which she needed to start talking about now, so as not to sit in the awkward silence created by the two.

Say something!!

“So…’

Jesus fuck…. was that all you could think of? Wow. I am going to lose my best friend.

Y/n was choking.

“I am so sorry,” Harry’s voice intercepts, raspy from the lack of use, looking up from the coffee table he seemed so interested in. “I am so fucking sorry Y/n. I have no excuse as to why I was making fun of you that day. I pushed too far and I am a shit friend for not noticing that you were already on edge. It was so wrong of me and I am so sorry.” He stopped himself before he started to ramble, looking at her with eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Y/n felt… unsatisfied. Why did she feel this way? He apologised, right? So why does she feel unfulfilled? Why does she want him to say more? He hit all of the points he had to for a standard apology, so why did she think he hadn’t done enough? Was it that little optimist in her brain hoping he would maybe reveal a slight attraction to her? Maybe tell her that he loves her, and has loved her forever and ever? Confess that she has bewitched him, body and soul so that she didn’t have to? God, was she an idiot. But a lovestruck idiot at that. She bites her tongue and replies.

“Harry, I forgive you. Although you were annoying as ever,” She rolls her eyes and smirks, while he lets out a breathy, half-assed chuckle, showing his acknowledgement at her attempt to ease the lowered yet still prevalent tension. She continues. “ I understand that you were just trying to have fun. I guess I was the one who irrationally lashed out . I am always okay with you poking fun at me, but I was just frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for the improper communication and I’m sorry for pushing you away when we should’ve just talked…”

“I forgive you too. I think this was just miscommunication on both parts.” He stared into her eyes, almost as if he could sense the discontent in her, but chose to ignore it.

“I guess so.” She halfheartedly answered, not really knowing where to take the conversation next. They had both apologised, but evidently still had things to say. Well, Y/n had things to say, that’s for sure, but she was pretty sure that Harry wanted to say something too. He had that look on his face where he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to.

What does he want to say? Why can’t he say it to my face? I mean, sure, I’m also hiding shit I wanna say, but I have an excuse. This could ruin our friendship. What does he have to say?

“Great,” Harry replies, trying to fill the awkward pauses and conversation that is being held. He still looked like he had something to say, but seemed like he was not budging.

Well, if he’s not saying anything, I’m not either. Why do I have to confess my feelings and put our friendship on the line if he isn’t even going to say what’s on his mind?

“So, are we good?”

“I don’t know. Are we? I mean, I forgive you and you forgive me, right?”

“Right… No yeah, we’re alright. We’re completely fine!” Y/n replies quickly. Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not fine.

There is a pregnant pause and Y/n has half a better mind to just get up, walk to the bathroom again with her head down and lock herself in there till he leaves again, because she cannot take this awkward conversation. Not with him. She shifts, ready to stand up to get some water, when Harry looks at her, confusion and slight panic setting into his face.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m fine…” She looks up at the boy sitting in front of her, reading the words from her mind like they were scribed on a piece of paper in the blackest of ink, permanent and bold. Her heart stuttered. What else did he want?

“Is everything okay, H?” she tentatively asks. He loses eye contact with her, gaze lowering towards the table in front of him

“I-” he pauses, trying to collect his thoughts while simultaneously trying to explain to her why he wasn’t okay. “I just- fuck” his head falls down, his face inches away from the hot tea in his hands, the humid steam billowing out of the mug and warming his elegant face as he takes a deep breath and tries once more to convey his thoughts. “I don’t want us to be friends again.”

Her heart stops. This could go one of two ways. He could either be confessing his hatred or his adoration for her, and either one would probably end with her imploding. She tries to take a neutral tone when she replies.

“What does that mean, H?”

He looks at her once more. “It’s not enough, Y/n... “

“What?” She is confused. Her friendship isn’t enough? How is she supposed to reply to that?

“I want more. I don’t want us to just be friends. I want to be more with you. I want to do more with you. I want to do things that friends… they shouldn’t do together…”

Is he trying to confess he likes her? Why, in all the ways you could speak, would he choose to speak like that?! She has had enough of him dawdling around his feelings. “Harry, stop being cryptic and fucking tell me what’s going on?!”

“I love you, Y/n! I fucking love you, Y/n. So much. And it is eating me from the inside out. I hate that we can’t be normal anymore, and I hate that you don’t love me the way I love you, but I cannot sit here and pretend everything is fine, because I love you.”

Y/n is stunned. Frozen in her spot. Can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Stuck in space, and stuck in time.

Holy fucking shit… he loves me…

While Y/n processes the life changing knowledge that her best friend loves her, her best friend conveniently sits next to her, wishing that he was dead for the letdown he was about to receive.

“Say something… please, for the love of God, say something!”

****

She looks up at Harry. Not Harry Styles, playboy, whore, singer, millionaire, but instead; Harry, her best friend of five years, reddened face out of embarrassment. She sees the mortality in his eyes. Feels his presence so heavily in the moment. She is in awe. True awe of him, and his ability to love her. And with that awe- and that stupid look on her face, she reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his plush pink lips. He stands just as still as her, barely breathing, as if it would shatter the fantasy to stardust and he would wake up in his bed, cold shivers running down his spine, as has happened previously whenever he thought of this moment, staring up at his ceiling at 3:40AM wondering why he thought of his best friend in such a way. She creeped closer to his face before stopping a breath away from him, and whispered.

“Is this okay?”

She looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, both never feeling so alive before. He wishes to tell her that she needn’t ask for his permission, and that he wants to kiss her forever. Eternally locked in an embrace that holds their souls together. But all he can muster is a weak and broken whisper back.

“Please,”

She can hold it for no longer, and leans in the rest of the way, their lips moulding together, for the very first time, eyes fluttering close, as his hands reach to grab her by the hips to straddle him, deepening the kiss even further. And when they part for breath, panting for air with slightly moist lips, they touch foreheads, eyes still closed. Words needn’t be exchanged- everything that yearned to be said was useless, as it could never describe how they truly felt for each other. So hopelessly besotted with one another, that all they could do was breathe together before kissing once more, hoping that their actions could provide even an iota of an idea of how much they love one another.

Two best friends, turned lovers forevermore.

[fantastic-rambles]

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Kyan Reki, Shindo Ainosuke, Kikuchi Tadashi, Kyan Koyomi, Kyan Chihiro, Kyan Nanaka, Shindo Ainosuke’s aunts

Warnings: Minor character death (Kyan Masae), funeral, car accident, drunk driving, adoption, family drama (Adam’s aunts are involved, of course there is)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When Reki’s mother dies in an accident, he and his sisters are adopted by the Shindo family in order to give them a reputation for supporting humanitarian/charitable causes. However, since Ainosuke’s aunts cannot stand the children, they are relegated to the servants’ quarters, where Tadashi is assigned to help take care of them when he’s not attending to Ainosuke. While he struggles to take care of his siblings, Reki finds himself growing closer to the quiet, enigmatic man who serves the popular politician.

Chapter 1: In which the Kyans bid farewell to their mother and start a new life with the Shindos. [Written for TadaRekiWeek2021 | Day 1: Family]

Reki felt numb. It had already been a week, but he still couldn't believe that this was real. Koyomi clung to him, sobbing, while Nanaka and Chihiro wailed in the arms of two women he'd only just met. They handled the twins awkwardly, as if they'd never held children before, and their efforts to soothe them were largely fruitless.

"Mom! Mom!" Koyomi cried desperately, her tears soaking into the front of Reki's new suit. The tie was also too tight, but he couldn't find the strength to reach up and loosen it as he stared at the memorial photo of his mother. She was smiling at them, oblivious to their misery, and looking far more at peace than she did in the casket, her body mangled almost beyond recognition.

A drunk driver. A freak accident. They'd been orphaned by nothing less than sheer bad luck, and Reki had no idea what was going to happen to them now.

And he glanced sideways at a somber, older man whose head was bowed as they faced the altar. Shindo Ainosuke. He hadn't known anything about the man until he came into their lives, swooping in like some sort of hero to adopt the unfortunate children who were just as equally victims of the drunk driver. After they'd met a few days ago, though, Reiki had looked their savior up online, discovering that he was a member of the National Diet, elected to represent Okinawa. Even though Shindo was young, his political career seemed promising, having been active in writing and pushing through several bills on environmental issues. He was popular and handsome, and he seemed to be generally taken seriously even with a mostly female fan club that quickly caused tickets for any of his fundraising events to be sold out quickly.

Though Reki could understand why. He'd watched a couple interviews that had been uploaded online, and his new father--who wasn't even a decade older than him--seemed to be naturally charming as he demonstrated a breadth of knowledge and a sense of humor while explaining policies in a way that even he could understand. And more than that, Shindo's words could stir up his indignation or appease it. He was incredibly persuasive, but in a way that at least appeared to be entirely genuine.

What he couldn't understand, though, was why the man had decided to adopt all of them.

Shindo had been strangely tight-lipped on the matter, asking for the public to respect their privacy and grief, which was considerate of him, but the web was on fire with rumors. Of course, some of them were patently ridiculous, such as the one that had said the man had been having an affair with Reki’s mother, and others that claimed the twins were actually his children, even though they looked nothing alike and were clearly Reki and Koyomi’s siblings. But then there were others, the ones that said he was doing it for political clout, so that he could trot out the orphans and profit off their tragedy. Those ones seemed much more likely, even though the man had invested plenty of resources in keeping the media away: putting them up in a hotel when the paparazzi began to stake out their house, renting a private car service to drive them around, and and generally catering to their every need. In the appearances on TV that Reki had seen, Shindo always declined to discuss the siblings, deflecting the conversation to other topics and appearing appropriately somber.

But that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t deriving some sort of benefit from it. Even though Shindo didn’t discuss it, other programs did, some praising his generosity and humanitarian ideals while others took a more critical view of his decision to do so. So Reki didn’t know what to think. But he was sure that he’d figure it out eventually, since he was going to be living with the man.

When the funeral finally ended, Reki let Shindo lead them out to the car, a comforting hand laying on his shoulder. Koyomi’s cries had subsided to soft sobbing as she clung to her brother, and the man’s other hand rested on her head. He let them climb into the backseat first, with Koyomi half-falling over Reki, before taking a seat as well and accepting Nanaka and Chihiro from the women holding them. The twins had fallen asleep, exhausted from their wailing, and they stirred a little during the transfer, but the man gently rocked them until they were still again.

“Get the curtains, will you, Reki-kun?” he asked, his voice soft so as not to disturb any of the girls, and Reki nodded dully, reaching up to tug the curtain over his window while Shindo did the same on his side. And then Shindo leaned forward to speak to the driver.

“Bring us home, Tadashi.”

The other man nodded, and the car purred to life, pulling out of the temple and easing past the crowd of reporters outside until they reached the clear road. But Reki wasn’t looking at the passing scenery, just staring down at Koyomi sniffling in his lap as he patted her head mechanically. Home. It wouldn’t be the house that he’d grown up in for seventeen years, or the hotel that he’d lived in for the last few days. It would be somewhere new, somewhere he didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it.

Father. Dad. Papa. He glanced at the man sitting next to him with the twins settled on his lap. What did he call him? And as if he felt Reki’s glance, Shindo looked over at him, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Can I do something for you?”

"Uh. No, it's fine," Reki mumbled, looking away again. He was sure that Shindo was still staring at him, but he didn't look back, staring at the dark curtain until the sound of the engine shutting off announced their arrival. But Shindo didn't move to open the door: instead, the driver--Tadashi--stepped out and opened it for his employer.

"Take one of the girls?" Shindo asked quietly, and Tadashi obeyed, bending over to gather Chihiro into his arms while Shindo got out with Nanaka. Reki had to wake up Koyomi so she could stumble out of the car ahead of him, and the two of them stared up at the enormous mansion that towered above them. This was where they were going to live from now on?

Another car pulled up beside them, disgorging another chauffeur who opened the door for three women. Two of them had been the ones who hadn't known how to handle the twins, and the third looked similar enough that they all had to be related: sisters, perhaps? Originally, Reki had thought they were other members of Shindo's staff, maybe part of his political entourage or something. But seeing them here, emitting a sense of confidence that bordered on arrogance, made his heart sink. There was something about them that he just didn't like, though he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Ainosuke. We've discussed this issue together, and we are in accord. You will keep the children in the servants' wing," one of the women declared. "They are simply too ill-mannered to be allowed in the main house as we had originally planned. We've never seen such awful behavior before in our lives. If they can learn to act like civilized people, then we can revisit this issue."

Reki's eyebrows snapped together at the insult to his family, and he took a step forward, only to be stopped by Shindo shifting his weight slightly to get in his way, a move that the man seemed to disguise by adjusting the girl in his arms.

"My dear aunts"--they were his aunts?--"please consider their circumstances. They are all still children, and they have all just lost the only parental figure that they know. If they are to become part of our family, then they must of course reside in the main house. We've already prepared rooms for them."

"Don't talk back to us, Ainosuke," the woman retorted. "We were against this from the beginning, but you insisted. We have already compromised this much for you, so you can do this for us. I'm sure that Kikuchi can find somewhere to get them settled. Handle it."

Then she turned on her heel, heading toward the entrance, and Shindo sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Reki with an apologetic expression.

"It's fine. I'd rather not live with her," Reki interjected before the man could say anything. "Just tell us where we're supposed to go."

Shindo seemed to hesitate, but then he nodded, glancing at Tadashi, who also nodded before starting to walk around the side of the house. There was an entrance there, and Tadashi shifted the girl in his arms to pull out a set of keys to unlock it and push the door open. Shindo let Reki and Koyomi follow the man inside before taking up the rear, and they walked in silence until Tadashi turned off the hallway into a room.

It was sparsely decorated, with a bed in the corner, a dresser with a mirror, and a wardrobe. Another door was slightly ajar, leading to what Reki assumed was a bathroom, and Tadashi carefully lay the girl in his arms onto the bare bed.

"This will be your bedroom, Reki-san. Please excuse our lack of preparedness; I will see to it that it is properly furnished and decorated by the end of the day. If there is anything else that you require, please inform me, and I will endeavor to fulfill your request, so long as it is reasonable. For larger requests, I may need to discuss it with Ainosuke first to receive his approval. Koyomi-san, you and your sisters will share the next room, and the same offer is extended to you. We have already hired additional staff to help take care of Nanaka-san and Chihiro-san so that the burden does not fall upon the two of you. Do you have any questions?"

Tadashi's formality, in addition to Shindo's aunt's statements, made Reki shake his head, feeling intimidated and out of place. But he caught Tadashi's glance at Shindo before Tadashi nodded slightly.

"Then I will go take care of that now. Please excuse me."

The man left, and Shindo stepped forward to lay Nanaka down next to Chihiro before crouching down to look at the other two.

"I'm sorry. This probably isn't the best first impression," the man apologized, grimacing slightly. "But I do want you to know that I really do want to be here for you. I'm too young to be a father to the two of you, so if you would like to treat me as an older brother, I'd like that. If you have any problems, if you need any help... just let me know, okay? Don't be shy, please. I am fairly busy with my work, but I'll always try to make time for you if you need it; for the times that I really can't, you can talk to Tadashi. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Reki mumbled, a sentiment echoed by Koyomi, and Shindo smiled, a little sadly, as he reached out to place a hand on each of their shoulders.

"I truly am sorry for what you went through. I wish that this wasn't necessary. And I'm sure that you've already realized this, but... it's probably best if you stay away from my aunts."

Reki and Koyomi both nodded, and Shindo squeezed their shoulders reassuringly before he straightened up.

"Then I'll give you some time to settle in. If you need anything and you can't find me or Tadashi, just ask any of the other servants and they'll let us know."

Reki watched Shindo leave, passing by Tadashi as he came in with his arms full of linens. He still felt out of it, but he helped the man make the bed before they moved on to the girls' room to prepare that one as well.

[the-original-b]

Archangel Chapter 11: Talent Scouting

Format: Prose / Fiction, multi-entry

Part in Series: 3 of 9 (Previous Chapter | The Beginning)

Word Count: c. 2,600

Summary: Khai pressures Krueger to contain a rapidly deteriorating state of affairs.

Krueger stepped through the glass doors of the Sixth Avenue office—dressed in a commando sweater and dark jeans with classy shoes under his pea coat—and headed towards the conference room.

Danielle straightened up behind her desk as she noticed him walk past her. “They’re waiting for you inside, Mr. Krueger,” she said.

He thanked her with a nod and proceeded down the hallway, past Khai’s old office which CJ Silvio now worked out of, and entered the conference room to join her and Everett to discuss their next steps after the events at Pharaohs a few days ago. Visible on a computer monitor at the end of the table was Hayden.

“Gentlemen, Miss Khai.” he greeted them. “Is Mr. Desmoulins joining us?”

“We’re ironing out the connection now,” Khai noted. She wore a dark suit with a white blouse and black peep toe pumps. “It’s one thing to set up a video call, but another entirely to set one up with him.”

“The man lives in military grade encryption,” Everett added. Today he wore a conservative blue suit with a pale gray shirt underneath.

“It’s how he’s stayed invisible for so long…” she added sotto voce. She tapped a few more keys on the laptop Hayden’s face was on. “Got it,” she said, turning the device toward the other men in the room. “Brandon, can you hear us now?”

“Loud and clear,” Brandon voice confirmed through the speakers.

“Perfect. In the room you can see I’m here with Mr. Krueger and Henry Everett. Also joining us via teleconference is Mr. Hayden.”

“Hey, everyone.”

“Greetings,” Hayden said. “Good to see you’re all well.” He folded his arms atop the desk he sat behind.

“Same to you, sir.” Khai said, sitting down and facing the laptop. Krueger and Everett took their places standing behind her. “Have you heard any updates from Dana and Charles?”

“No, and that’s what concerns me. Karin’s seen a steady increase in the Dragon Tears’ popularity in her territory, but she and I have been in regular contact; and Herman’s reported no problems in his area. The others have had their hands full for months, and now that I haven’t heard from them since last week the rest of us are more than a little concerned.”

“That bad?”

“It isn’t just the drugs, it’s the problems they invite. Police budgets have been slashed nationwide, and the hardest-hit cities have turned to the private sector to compensate.”

“Castle Security Solutions,” Krueger noted. “I’ve seen a news story on them the other day.”

“It’s no coincidence they’re expanding while the Dragon Tears become more popular,” Khai noted.

“Are you suggesting they’re connected, Miss Khai?” Hayden queried.

“I’m saying there may be a causality, sir; that somebody stands to profit from the expanse of one or both of the two forces choking the Partners today.”

“I agree,” Everett added. “And thanks to Krueger, I think we know who.” He looked at the monitor. “Mr. Desmoulins?”

“Special Agent Peter Cross,” Brandon said. “Born August 14th 1966, UT San Antonio class of ’88. Eight years with the FBI, then transferred to the DEA in ’96. He spent three years there, then moved to ATF. He changed hats a third time and joined the CIA in 2002, after which the records stop.”

Krueger arched his brow. “The United States Government?” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one foot.

“We don’t know that for sure, but it does make sense,” Brandon mused. “If the CIA is sponsoring an effort to destroy the Partners, they’d want somebody like Cross at the tip of the spear.”

“Not their wheelhouse,” Khai commented. “That’s more the FBI’s job.”

“Also doesn’t make sense that his story stops after his start with the CIA,” Everett noted, his hand on his chin. “I get the feeling there’s more to this Peter Cross than the records show.”

“Especially since the buyer named him,” Krueger added, just loud enough for the others to hear.  He leaned on the back of a chair to Khai’s left. “Is it possible he’s changed sides, started working for another criminal organization?”

“Possible, but not likely; the only other major player in the region is the Company,” Khai said. “And after the ordeal with Osiris, they’re hardly on my radar these days.”

“Mine either,” Hayden said. He brought his knuckles to his lip as he looked away from the camera, breaking eye contact as he considered the new information. “Do we know if Cross is operating in the Tri-State?”

“I found an office in Long Island City,” Brandon said. “Registered to a Rook Capital. He’s listed as Operations Manager.”

Krueger and Khai shot each other looks.

“Then I think that’s where we should start,” Hayden concluded. “Mr. Krueger, head to the Rook Capital office tonight.” Hayden lowered his hand again. “Surveil the building and report back what you find”

“Understood,” Krueger said.

“If I may, gentlemen,” Brandon suggested, “I think I have a better idea. I wrote a script that clones a computer’s internal drive and writes it to another location. I call it the Intruder.”

“The one used at Miles Orham’s cabin?”

“The very same. I think we can use it again here, but we’ll need an access point for it to work.”

Hayden nodded. “I agree,” he said. “That is a better idea. Mr. Krueger, if you can gain entry to the office and upload Mr. Desmoulins’ program into their server room, I believe we’ll gather all the information we need.”

“I’ll get it done, Mr. Hayden,” Krueger said with a nod.

“Excellent. We’ll reconvene after we’ve made more sense of the data.” He reached for something off-camera. “Good day.” His visage disappeared immediately afterward, and the four remaining people on the conference call shared a moment of silence.

“I’ll make the needed modifications to the Intruder,” Brandon finally said. “Krueger, can you come by later today to pick up the drive?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get the address from you while I’m there as well.”

“Awesome. Let me know when you’re on the way. Mr. Everett, Liz, take care.” And just like that, Brandon Desmoulins disconnected from the conference, and Khai shut her laptop before turning to face the two other men in the room with her.

“Well,” she said.

“It sounds self-explanatory to me,” Everett said. “We plant the Intruder, wait for it to do its job, and decide our next steps after we analyze the data.”

“We might run out of time before then.”

Everett shot her an inquisitive look.

“Rook Capital… Rook, the chess piece.”

“Castle,” Everett concluded. “The private contractors?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

“I caught it too,” Krueger added. “It can’t be coincidence that Cross is part of their office in Queens, he has to be connected to the private contractors coming up in cities across the country.”

“All the evidence points to that,” Khai said. “And if all is as it seems then there’s no time to delay here…” She stood up from her seat, adjusting her glasses. “We have to kill him.”

“Liz,” Everett said, raising a hand to chest-level. “You’re talking about killing a possible U.S. Government agent. That’s a sure-fire way of drawing attention that we cannot afford.”

“It’s also the only way we can guarantee avoiding the same thing that’s happening to Dana and Charles right now, and to stop whatever’s brewing from destroying the whole organization…” She took a breath, placing her hands on her hips and shutting her eyes. She opened them again and met Krueger’s gaze. “Milo, go see CJ in the armory.”

“Liz,” Krueger began.

She started toward her desk at the head of the conference room, by the window overlooking Sixth Avenue. “It won’t be easy, but if you can get in and out before they know what happened, I think we can slip the noose before they get a chance to tighten it.” She took a seat and woke her desktop computer.

“Liz, I was ordered—”

“It’ll be tight, but there’s a safe house in Sunnyside, on 40th Street. You can lie low there while things settle down—”

“Liz..!” He got her attention.

Khai looked away from the monitor to face him.

“That isn’t the job,” he specified. “You heard Mr. Hayden, this is strictly an infiltration assignment.”

“I did,” she said, “but it may be too late to do anything about whatever facts we dig up by the time we analyze them all. We need to solve the problem before it becomes one.”

“And I agree with you there,” Krueger said, leaving his place at the table to approach her. “But this is different—you’re talking about having me remove a possible Federal Agent.” He stopped barely two feet from the edge of her desk, then placed his hands onto the desk top. “A long time ago I stood right here in front of your predecessor, and promised to kill him in his sleep if he ever ordered me to do something I’m not comfortable with.”

Khai didn’t take her eyes from his, even as she leaned back into the chair and uncrossed her legs. She wasn’t even aware of the distance she tried to create between them until she blinked, realizing what she was actually feeling wasn’t shock, but fear.

“I don’t want to have to revisit that threat.” Krueger finally said. He maintained his flat tone, deadly serious. “Least of all to you… but if I have to, I will.” He straightened his posture again, looking down at her. “I was issued an order, Liz. And I don’t intend to deviate from it.” Krueger turned on his heel and headed toward the exit, his hands in his coat pockets. On his way out of the office he acknowledged Danielle again and passed through the glass doors to the elevator down to Sixth Avenue.

Everett shuffled uncomfortably after Krueger left. “That wasn’t something I should have been in the room for. Sorry, Liz.”

“No, you’re fine,” she reassured him. “Really…” She let a quiet sigh escape her lips. “You know, that’s the closest thing to a fight he and I have had in the almost two years we’ve been together… I was always nervous about that, but now I think I was scared of the wrong thing.”

Everett followed her eyes darting across the top of her desk. He noticed her reach for a pen and absentmindedly tap its point on an old post-it note. He’d seen that look on her face before, and could practically see the gears turning in her head as she worked through what must have been a problem she’d revisited and resolved dozens of times already. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she declared, trying to convince herself more than him. “Yeah, it’s just… easy to forget who he is sometimes.”

“A good-hearted man?”

Khai looked up at him and, after a brief pause, exhaled. She shut her eyes and put the pen back down, then brought her hand back up to remove her glasses and rest them by the pen. She rubbed her eyes with her thumb and first finger then pinched the bridge of her nose before allowing her hand to slide down her face to her mouth as she opened her eyes again, staring ahead blankly.

Everett looked over his shoulder to the conference table and headed over to retrieve a chair which he placed in front of Khai’s desk. “Don’t tell me,” he began, sitting down. “You’re considering ending your relationship with him; you’re listing the pros and cons in your head and trying to come up with any good reason to let him go on your own terms before you’re forced to make that choice.”

Khai quietly laughed and shook her head. “That obvious, huh?”

“You may as well be an open book,” he returned, smirking.

Khai relaxed her smile and brought both her hands together, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers. She shut her eyes again and placed her face into her palms, exhaling slowly. She interlaced her fingers again, looking over her knuckles at him.

“And now, you’re realizing he’s not only the best thing to happen to the Branch, but also to you.”

Khai nodded. “I know,” she said. “And as much as I try to rationalize and poke holes in the pros, I can’t find a single reason to make it worth breaking up with him in the end.” She dropped her hands and turned her head to look him in the eye. “But I’m scared, Henry,” she admitted. “I hesitated even bringing him to the Brooklynite that night. I didn’t think I’d fall for him…” She shrugged. “But I did. A kind, charming, good-looking guy with a tragic past; I didn’t stand a chance,” she laughed. “I ignored my doubts and let myself get closer to him. No matter how many times I think I made a mistake with him, then realize I didn’t, I still feel like I’m going to screw this up somehow. And that terrifies me.”

Everett gave a half-suppressed chuckle as he considered his next words. “Forty years ago, I think I heard those same words come out of your father’s mouth when he tried to talk himself out of proposing to your mother.”

Khai laughed again. “I guess the apple plopped straight down,” she jested. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he was the smartest person I knew. Then I chastised him for not being able to see the obvious choice,” he added with a smirk. “You inherited his brilliant mind, Liz. The two of you work through problems the same way—you consider all the approaches, all the variables, and by the time you reach your solution you realize you knew the right answer from the beginning.” He shrugged. “This is no different. I think you made your decision before we even started talking about this.”

Khai opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, but stopped herself when she realized he was right. Sure Krueger caught her off guard with his parting words, but he said what he did because of who he was and—more importantly—who he wasn’t. Khai rested her cheek in her hand as she considered Krueger, weighing his numerous good qualities against his few bad ones. She tried to justify splitting with him in light of any hypothetical and actual threats to their relationship, and a soft smile washed over her face as she realized she couldn’t.

“There’s a reason you invited him to dinner that night, Liz” Everett concluded, leaning forward. “Remember that.”

~~

Krueger headed down Sixth Avenue and crossed at 51st Street to head toward the garage where he parked his car. He slowed after he made it across the street, then sighed as he stopped in his tracks. He stood off to one side to let others pass him as he slid his hands into his coat pockets and stared absentmindedly into the sky, re-playing his meeting with Khai, Everett, Brandon, and Hayden in his head over and again as he considered the information. After a while he fished into his coat pocket to find his mobile phone. “Ich werde es bereuen,” he said to himself as he dialed the number when he found it in his list of contacts.

“Mr. Krueger!” CJ Silvio’s voice on the other end answered. “What can I do for you?”

“I need something precise and powerful.” he said. “Last-minute.”

“How powerful are we talking?”

“Hole-puncher.”

“Uh…” Silvio shuffled audibly on the other end. “I think I can put a list together. Rifles or handguns?”

“The latter. The quieter the better.”

“Oh, well that narrows it down… I’ll have to see if we have any of those left in the armory.”

“Meet me there in thirty minutes.” Krueger ended the call and headed for the garage on 51st to his car.

(Masterlist | Chapter 12)

[wifeofkimtaehyungofbts]

Chapter 2

>> Pairing: Jungkook x Y/N, Jungkook x reader

>> Genre: supernatural, fantasy, vampire, fluff, smut

>> Words: 1336

>> Notes: I am extremely sorry for taking 4 months to write this chapter. I will try my best to upload content more often❤️

Synopsis: You are the chosen sacrifice to the King of the Vampires and his son this year. You decide to be fair to the people that have given their lives before you by going ahead with the God’s decision. You arrive at the Vampire castle ready to be munched on by wolves after having your blood drunk dead out of you but instead you are faced with a strange yet compelling adventure with none other than the beast son of the Vampire King.

               What a strange man, I thought to myself at first glance at the man cloaked in only black from head to toe. His face was hidden under the black hoodie of his long cloak. He hasn’t moved an inch since I had come in here. In fact, he didn’t even look up in my direction. Instead he continued to face the ground at his feet hidden in the shadows.

               I drew a long shaky breath and stared at the King before me. He really is a very big man, I thought to myself. Nobody would be able to escape from him if he backed them to a wall! The king stared at me with hungry eyes. “You come into my palace, in front of my throne and demand me to behave the way you desire?” he bellowed.

               I continue to look at him as I knot my eye brows. “Well, this is technically the last time I’ll ever say anything at all. So, I figured since we are killed as mercilessly as flies being swat, I might as well behave however pleases me to avoid taking my loud thoughts to my grave. Or rather, the wolf pit” I said.

               The King laughed, his laughter booming against the cold walls of the castle. The castle architecture seemed very old. It didn’t seem like it had been renovated since the first king built it. The sound of water dripping somewhere was so loud in the lifeless castle. The broad-shouldered guard behind me sucked in a deep breath and held it. I could almost sense his tension from where I stood a couple of feet in front of him. I tightened my fists and clenched my teeth as I swallowed hard waiting for the King to stop laughing like a maniac.

               The King came to a stop not soon after, his thin lips still stretched into an evil smile. “You are quite the girl my dear” he said, not taking his eyes off mine. “If you weren’t a disgusting human, I would have had you as my wife! Bedded you! Bathed you! Fed you and put you to sleep with my own hands! Such a delightful experience it could have been!”

               What? Ew.

               “No thank you” my thoughts spilled out. I immediately placed a hand over my mouth and stared at the King in great horror. The Prince, for the first time since seeing him, lifted his head and seemed to look in my direction. His entire face was covered by a thick, seemingly leather mask. His right eye glowed a bright red. He seems to wearing some sort of eye gadget. Maybe to locate enemies and prey from a long distance away?

               Rumor has it that the Prince was subjected to horrendous torture after his older brother fled home. He was locked away at the young age of 4 years and stripped of all emotions in order to be made into the deadliest and undefeatable killer machine he is today. How sad to have lost his mother, brother and himself, all for being born as this man’s son.

               I noticed then that his hands, gripping the hands of his throne, were very... human. According to stories leaked by inside sources from the castle, during his upbringing, not only was he tortured physically, but was abused mentally too. He was made to believe marriage was a mere political contract between two people, there was nothing called love, friendship or good. If one must face off someone that threatens their position or rivals their valuables, they must be killed in cold blood no matter what. War cannot be won over with mercy; one kingdom must fall with all its men dead for the other to emerge victorious. He is said to believe his father killed his mother when she could no longer serve a purpose for him and he feared she would threaten his position as the king. He is said to believe his brother ran away from home to escape his duties of becoming the next king and leading their men through victorious wars and he left his younger brother behind knowing what their father would do to him because he’d rather have his younger brother suffer than him. All his life, the Prince was taught to hate everything around him, self-hate, aggression, merciless killing and the taste of torture. One evening, when it became unbearable, he attempted suicide but his father’s men caught him before he could execute his plan. When brought to the King and he confessed to his plan, the King had him kneel where he stood while his men poured kerosene over him and set him on fire. He was said to have run out of the King’s throne room and into the pond in their bathing area, putting out the fire. However, damage was done and he had to wear clothing that fully covered his scarred body and a mask to hide his burnt face.

               But looking at his hands now, they seemed very normal. It didn’t seem like it was burnt. Then again, they were all just rumors that had no concrete evidence, I thought to myself as I continued to stare into the red glow on his face. The King smiled at me and shook his head. “It’s so sad that you must die. You truly are quite the catch” he said.

               I felt the hair on my back stand at his words. Geez, what is his deal? So weird.

               Suddenly, the sound of trumpets could be heard from someplace away followed by cheers. Is this how they commence my torture? I thought to myself miserably. Just then, the broad-shouldered guard grabbed me by my upper arm and dragged away without a word. The King and Prince watched on as I screamed to let go, insisting I can walk by myself.

*******************************************************************************************

               Another fussy human, he thought to himself with irritation. He was ready to pull the sacrifice’s throat from her neck if she continued to fuss after being brought here. Seokjin-hyung walked in, with no one by his side. Where is the sacrifice? He wondered. Just then, a petite girl peeked from behind Seokjin-hyung’s broad shoulders. She didn’t seem to be terrified like the other sacrifices that have been brought in over the years. She looked rather unsure. Her eyes widened as she took in my father’s big form, his crown and his presence.

               “Why is this sacrifice using you as a cover, Seokjin?” his father asked.

               Seokjin-hyung goes onto explain about how she nearly fought knights 78 and 86 but is now hiding behind him.

               “Appear before I, the King and my son, pathetic being” his father demanded.

               She will be pulled to his feet by her hair if she didn’t cooperate, he thought to himself. Just then, the petite girl stepped out from behind Seokjin-hyung and walked several steps forward until she was too close to his father for her own good.

               His eyes grew wide as he took in her appearance. She was brown-skinned with curly black hair, reaching only about 5 feet in height. She didn’t seem like she could even serve one wolf as a proper meal with her gangly arms and thin legs. Her cheeks were dirty and her hair a tangled mess. But her eyes. There was something about the way they stared back at his father and took in the room they were in. They were burning, not with tears of fear and desperation, but with a kind of bravery he has never seen on anyone before.

               He looked down at the hard ground at his feet, not wanting to look at her and wonder more about her.

               “I only got to live 20 years of my life Lord. Therefore, I took 20 steps forward. Kindly do whatever you please with me as I stand on this spot” he heard her say bravely to his father.

What is this girl made of? He thought with wonder as he kept his eyes trained on the ground.

[inaturalist]

The Elusive Colombian Weasel - Observation of the Week, 12/9/18

Our Observation of the Week is this Colombian weasel, seen in Colombia by sultana! 

Juan de Roux, an architect/designer and a professor in the Pontifical Xaverian University in Colombia, tells me that his primary natural history interest is snails (“There are over 100,000 species of mollusks, so I never get bored or get to know the whole thing; there is always something new to find and blow my mind.”) but like many other Observation of the Week posts, the observation which was chosen is not of the observer’s favorite taxon. However, that doesn’t mean he has no history with weasels.

When I was still a kid (13), my parents moved to a huge house in northern Cali, where I could spend most of my free time in the yard, exploring, as kids do...One summer day in the mid 90s I saw something amazing: the silhouette of what to me seemed like a tiny squirrel crossed the yard at a speed that was just off for a squirrel. During the next days I had a couple more encounters with the strange animal, one of them was very close. At the time I was able to determine this had to be some sort of ferret or weasel, however I could not take pictures or find anything about mustelids in my area (those were dark times without the internet) I hoped that someday I would be able to corner this animal again and picture it. But the years passed empty, but I held that memory. Now that I think about it, the animal I saw must have been the common Mustela frenata.

Flash forward to 2011 and Juan is at his parent’s country house in the mountains outside of Cali which was being remodeled at the time. The door to one of the bathrooms opens out into the backyard and, when he opened it, he found an animal trapped inside.

Recalling my childhood events regarding weasels, I rushed for my camera upstairs. I then stood under the threshold and took a good 14 pics, with my Nikon D80, as the little animal moved frantically all over the bathroom, looking for a way out that allowed him to avoid me. I recall a weird scent, I knew at the time that mustelids have odor glands, so I was not surprised, it was something like urine and insects. When I was done with the shots I left the door opened, I did not get any nearer, as it is best to exercise precaution with wild mammals.

Without giving it much more thought, Juan stored the photos on his computer and, for the most part, forgot about them; his computer has actually since died and its drive was wiped - “thank God my mom had saved the pics in her disc.” He rediscovered the photos a few weeks ago and, now an iNat user, said

[I] felt glad I could finally do something useful with them; I uploaded them into iNaturalist, as M. frenata at first, because - I confess - I know almost nothing about weasels. Something did not feel right with the ID, though. After a day, I decided to take a second look and found this very interesting paper...At first I was a bit skeptical, reading that this is a rare species. But could see in the holotype´s pelt a black oval spot in the ventral part that simply made this species unmistakable, so I corrected my id in iNat, and then the observation started getting starred.

To give you an idea of how rare Colombian weasels are, as of 2014, when that paper was published, there were no known photographs of a living one, so Juan’s nearly lost and forgotten photos are possibly among the first ever photo documents of a living individual of this species! “I still cannot believe I was lucky to see this animal and take these pics,” he says. “Needless to say, I never saw one of these again. But at least I can gladly assure that this area has remained basically unaltered for the past decade, so it has to be out there. Perhaps this animal is not so rare, but the lack of knowledge about it, combined with its secretive nature contribute to its rarity.”

Understandably, not much is known about the Colombian weasel, but it is believed to inhabit riparian areas and feed on fish and aquatic invertebrates and even has webbed feet! It is considered to be possibly the rarest South American carnivore, and is one of the smallest members of the order Carnivora, measuring 22 cm (8.7 in) in length, sans tail. And yes, weasels do produce a strong, musky odor from their anal scent glands when scared.

Juan (pictured above) was looking for local snail data when he first learned about iNatuarlist from a friend of his. “I looked it up in hopes of finding my beloved gastropods and found myself mesmerized,” he recalls. “Not by the mollusk observations in my country (modest at best), but by the concept that anyone with a camera (even with virtually no knowledge) could contribute to build precise distribution maps for all sorts of creatures.

For the last 2 decades I had been accumulating pictures of my own observations. I had an entire folder. “Perhaps someday I can make a field guide with all this stuff,” I used to think. This was really a side project, as the amount of field work required would have been impossible to do in a single lifetime, also because the trends in nature are dynamic, and the natural environment is changing very fast (alas unfortunately for the worse) so it is definitely not a one-man task.

Thanks to iNat I have access to a collaborative network of observers, which allows my observations to be part of something big, and have a real impact. The best part is that anyone can use this potent tool without needing to have a degree in biology, which allows everybody, no matter their background, to contribute to future research.

I always travel with my cellphone, provided with a camera and my iNat app. You never know what you might be lucky enough find.

- by Tony Iwane. Some quotes have been lightly altered for clarity. Thank you to @jwidness for alerting me to this observation!

- Juan sent me this aerial footage of the forests near where the weasel was found.

- Héctor E. Ramírez-Chaves, co-author of the Colombia weasel paper Juan found, has been in touch with Juan and will work on disseminating this find. 

-  iNaturalist has a network node in Colombia, Naturalista, which is operated by Instituto Humboldt. 

[snowinkling]

Teachers.

There has only been one teacher I’ve had who has been so bad at teaching a classroom full of students that I’ve come out of it learning nothing but hard life lessons. That is, until now. These two teachers are, in my opinion, some of the worst people you could ever have teaching you in your entire life.

I’ve had some OK teachers before, who go into class, do their jobs, help students out who don't understand the lesson they’re being taught, and then go home for the day.  I’ve also had some great teachers before too, who do all of that, and actually try their hardest to get their students to pass their classes and help them in any way they can. I’ve also had bad teachers too, who either can't control a classroom full of students, can’t teach students a group setting, are too quiet, or some combination of the three. These two teachers are so bad, so unprofessional, that those who I have told this story to feel like they were taught by these same teachers and feel disgusted to have even heard of their names.

In my academic life, I was by no means a smart kid, but I wasn’t dumb either. No one is, really. You either understand a subject to excel in it, enough to get by in life with it, struggle with it, or you just flat out do not understand how it works. And that’s OK. I was able to get by in math well enough to get at least a B in, until I reached grade 7. This is where I first had what I had considered the worst teacher I’ve had in my entire life. Her math classes consisted of going up to the front of the class, writing down what page she wanted us to read from our textbooks, write down what questions to answer on what page in said textbook, and then say “ok do this and if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” and then went to her desk. That was it. Nothing else. This was also the year where the answers were printed in the back of the book, too, and I kid you not, every single one of my classmates took a look at the back of the book at one point during the entire school year. Hell, one of my former classmates even swears he had seen the teacher paint her toe nails during our work period in math, instead of teaching us math like she was supposed to. Other classes she taught were either mediocre at best, or she wasn’t really trying to teach it at all. Religion class was the only exception, because as students attending catholic school, teaching us students how to be closer to Jesus Christ meant more to her than teaching us how to solve math problems herself, apparently.

One more thing I’ll say about this teacher: She never liked anyone, but she really did not like me, for one reason I will believe until the day I die: she hated my brother. Oh yes, she’s one of those teachers that if you’re related to someone she’s taught, she will shove her opinion of your siblings onto you. The year my brother had her as a teacher was the same year she divorced her husband, and had shoved her anger onto him, and since I am related by blood to him, I was the teacher’s new target for her disdain. She has also been known to make her students cry, and for me, this had happened several times, too. This all happened 9 years ago. To this day, I will always be thankful my younger sister never had a teacher - not jealous, god no, I would never want her to go through what my brother and I did - for she was never a subject of this teacher’s wrath.

The sad truth I learned from this particular teacher is that if the teacher doesn't  care enough to teach their students properly, then why should the students care enough to learn the course material? One of the most earliest signs of this I can recall is when I was in grade 8, when I and five other people in my grade were told to stay in the class instead of go to recess because we had failed our first math test of the year. I can’t really recall what exactly had transpired then, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if another student told our grade 8 teacher what we had learned, or lack thereof, the year before.

Today, I am a college student in their final semester of their program of choice - Game Programming. Getting to this point was difficult, but I'm on the final stretch. This semester of my program is dedicated to working on the final project for our entire program. our final project? Make an entire game either using a pre-made game engine (eg. Unity or Unreal), or by making a custom-built engine. Doesn't matter how, just make a game. Simple enough, I’ve been learning how to code since I was in grade 11, so this shouldn't be too hard. What makes this easier is that almost all of our classes are designed around helping us with making our final project in time for when we have to present them to potential employers. And then, there’s my Mobile Programming class - which will be known hereafter as iOS Programming.

This teacher, on the first day of classes, has told us that he has failed at least half the class the year prior, and has said that he’s gotten bad reviews on how he’s taught the class in the past because he doesn't “hold your hand” throughout the course. Ok, sure, teacher’s shouldn't be “holding their students hands” throughout the entire semester, as we need some room to learn how to program things on our own. There’s really only one problem with his statement though: Up to this point, the only other mobile programming class we, as college students, had taken before his class was Android Programming.

For a little background, Android Programming involves using Android Studios to create apps/games in, and uses the Java coding language while iOS programming involves using a program called Xcode, used for programming applications for a variety of Apple devices, and uses a variation of the C++ coding language. On the same day, my iOS teacher has said “you’re third years, you should know this by now” when in reality this is our first time dealing with programming for iOS devices. He has also told us that he doesn’t have a good outlook on the gaming industry either. This teacher also expects us to present him material at industry level - which is fine if we were in the industry already. We are not, as we are still students in the program learning how to use Xcode for the first time. He has also threatened to kick students out of class, knowing full well there's only a limited amount of rooms with Mac computers in the entire school for us to use to get work in his class done. He treats us students like we are his employees and also like middle school children. It’s insane.

In my second class with him, he was teaching us how to use Xcode in a way none of us could follow, followed by how to use GitHub to upload our projects onto. Knowing how to use GitHub is great for us to know, since it’s the only way we could store our projects somewhere without losing progress. The way he taught us was through slides, but it wasn’t until a certain slide came up that became an issue. The slide contained a picture of a man giving the middle finger to the camera, and to myself and anyone that knows me, I thought nothing of it and went back to looking at whatever was on my screen, until I felt the urge to pee. My first mistake was to get up to go to the washroom while that slide was still up. On my way out, my teacher asks me if I’ll be back. In verbatim, I answered, “Yes, I have to pee.” and then left for the washroom. My second mistake was not to ask him why he asked. Only after I left did he explain why he asked me if I was coming back, as he thought I was offended at the picture in the slide. If I had stayed and asked, I would have gotten the same answer, and I would have told him off by saying “If you think that picture would be offensive to some people, then do not include it in your slides. I am not offended at it, but I am disappointed that you assumed I was.”

That incident shouldn't have been such a big deal to me were it not for the fact that I cannot let go of things easily - or at all in some cases - and if it were not the day before aunt flow came to visit. For the third week, he had taught us about using sprites and the UI kit in Xcode, again in a way none of us could follow - and through slides too. At that point, I tried following along, but no matter what he was saying nothing made sense to me, and asking him for help would lead me nowhere; to me, he doesn't come off as the type of teacher who would help you to save your life. After that, there was some time left in class for some of us to pitch our app ideas. Yes, the teacher’s course for the entire semester is dedicated to building an app that he finds complex enough for us to do. I did not present that day, as I was more focused on ironing out my app idea.

The next week, the first half of the class was dedicated to presenting our app ideas to the class. I was the last to present, and I had given a decent pitch for what I wanted to do in his class, detailing all I wanted to add into it. Some of my classmates had given me more ideas to work with, which I appreciated. The teacher had asked me a question I had already addressed in my pitch, too, and I had to explicitly tell him that yes, I planned to include it in, and that I had also mentioned it in there too. So he apparently didn’t hear me say that, and judging by the fact that I also had that same answer to his question up for the whole class to see, his eyesight is worse than his prescription. Once I had sat down, he had told everyone present in my class that we, as a block full of students, that we had done a better job at presenting our app ideas than the other block - who are in the same year as us and being taught the same class. From what a friend in the other class told me, he had said that my class had done a better job than them. I told him that as a teacher, he should not be saying that, which he said, “it’s true, this class presented your ideas better than the other class” to which I reminded him that, as a teacher, he really should not be saying those things. After that, we went on with the class.

And now, this brings us to what had transpired about 12 hours ago. The teacher had told us that he wanted us to put our projects onto GitHub though an application called SourceTree and to integrate a kit called Firebase into our project from the Firebase website. There was really only one problem: I had no idea how to start my app, as my app was a bit unique to what my peers were doing. Xcode has different application types to choose from: Single View App, Game AR app, Document-Based App, Page-Based App, Tabbed App, Sticker Pack App, and iMessage App, and these are just for iOS development, which we were stuck with using. From this list, I know my app idea wasn’t a game, an AR app, a tabbed app, a sticker pack app, or an iMessage app. That left me with single view, document-based, and page-based. My app idea deals with documents in a certain way, so I was under the inclination that it was document-based, but I wanted to know what my teacher thought. Remember when I said that I had made two mistakes? Here was my third; asking my teacher for help.

To be honest, I was giving him sass, which wasn’t smart, but any respect I had for him was gone the second his classed started at the beginning of the semester. He had told me to stop giving him attitude, since he was being unhelpful with solving my problem, so I retaliated by saying “wow, you sound like my dad.” It’s the same thing my dad would tell me to try to get me to stop giving him attitude, which never works. This teacher then said “do you want me to kick you out of the classroom?” in a tone which scared me to be completely honest. I shut up and just started dissociating while he reluctantly helped me with a completely different issue: uploading my non-existent project onto GitHub. I was just so out of it that I started putting in credentials to what he wanted me to use that I know I wouldn’t remember. At that point I didn’t care about that. While the teacher was busy doing whatever to get my project onto GitHub, I was holding back tears. I didn't want to stay in that class anymore, and I don’t ever want to go back into that class again. Not while he’s the teacher. Once everything was said and done, I packed up my things, got up, and left. Thankfully this time I wasn’t questioned, though it was hard to keep tears from flowing. I barely made it out of the building before I started to cry.

This post has gotten really long, and it may have diverted from its original course, but both my grade 7 teacher and my iOS programming teacher are prefect examples of people who don’t care enough to teach their students the course material. Don’t put in the effort to teach, don't expect perfect results from your students. Don’t be unprofessional in front of your students. If you want them to present you with work that exceeds expectations, then teach them the tools to get them to create it.

[superwoodlandwoman-blog]

Fight Fire with Feminism

During my time as an EMT, I have had a partner routinely call me “honey” in front of patients, despite my requests for him to stop. When I reported him to the supervisor, I was told “He can’t help it, that’s how he talks.” I had a partner ask me when my significant other and I were planning to have children, and if I would stop being an EMT when I did become pregnant. I had another partner, a woman, tell me that she was was denied a maternity uniform, despite being five months pregnant. The company claimed she had already spent all of her allotted uniform stipend. I had countless nurses and doctors walk past me to ask my male partner for a report, assuming that he was in charge, despite me being the senior crew member. I had a partner tell me, “women go into nursing, men are EMTs.” That same partner referred to another female member of our crew as “The Hot One” in front of our patient. Finally, I was written up by a supervisor  because the gym shorts I worked out in at the station were too short. My male partners almost always worked out shirtless.

I have only been an EMT for a year and a half, and I have experienced all of these moments of sexism. After my experience, I can understand why there have been millions of dollars awarded in discriminatory lawsuits against fire departments and emergency medical services across the country. Just years ago, my home department of Phoenix, Arizona settled a sexual harassment and hazing lawsuit for $70,000. But, as every person who has experienced discrimination or harassment knows, its effects cannot be mitigated by a law suit. Compensation is not only monetary. More needs to be done to change the toxic culture - just ask the fire department in Fairfax County, Virginia.

Nicole Mittendorff, a firefighter in Fairfax County, took her life last year, after lewd and harassing comments had been made about her online. These anonymous and sexually suggestive messages prompted an internal investigation to determine if one of Nicole’s fellow firefighters wrote any of the messages. The investigation is still ongoing.

I know that when I think of a firefighter, an image of a strong man, in full turnout gear and a large mustache pops into my head. It can be easy to brush aside the institutional sexism, engrained into the culture of emergency medical and fire services with this way of thinking. “Firemen have to be strong! They carry people out of burning buildings! We need strong men on the fire department!” Yes, that may have been the case once upon a time, but it certainly is not now. In 2014, the Phoenix Fire Department ran 177,858 calls. Over 88% of those calls were medical - no fire involved. Similar statistics are reported around the country, with many departments rarely responding to actual fire calls. With the entire purpose of the department shifting to medical from fire, there is no excuse for departments to tolerate the fraternity-like environment, unwelcoming and hostile towards women. Things should change in the department, but with the current increase of 0.2% of paid women firefighters per year, it is unlikely that departments are willing to lead the charge. Well, maybe if they are forced to by court order.

Change needs to come, and it’s obvious it will not come from the top-down. I think women like myself, in emergency medical and fire services, have a duty to fight the oppression which holds us back. It may seem crushing at times and change may come slowly, but despite all of the horrible moments I have seen, I believe it can come.

I have taken great inspiration from Sad Girl Theory, as a way to revolutionize and take back the stereotype which already plays against women. Although the cause may seem to be contrary, I believe the same tactic proposed by Audrey Wollen can be employed by women in emergency medical or fire services. “Our goal [should not be] to avoid toxicity, as if that is even possible” (Watson 2016). Like Wollen claims, it is clear that as women, often we encounter situations where we cannot avoid oppressive forces. Instead, like Sad Girl Theory, we must strive to “dismantle the structures that create toxicity. The work of feminism whether online or off must be to create a space for a critical and engaged discussion on a global level about how to end oppression. Then we must mobilize to take action to make it so” (Watson 2016). Fire Girl Theory has a nice ring to it. But, how do we mobilize a movement? 

We, as women in the service, or allies of the cause, must make the issue known. I am sure that many reading this may not have been previously aware of the struggle that women who are in the emergency medical service or the fire service, or strive to enter into the field, face. Certainly, there is literature about the inequality, but it would be naive to say that this is widespread knowledge.

I was disappointed that when I searched extensively for blogs or social media of strong, female firefighters, I came up for a loss. All of what I found was outdated or images of women in “sexy” firefighter outfits. I found one lone blog, written by a fire captain about her experiences. She has since retired. I would love to see a cyberfeminist revolution of women, taking over the stereotypes of male firefighters, exposing the sexism and discrimination, and highlighting the good that women can bring to the force. As Mehreen Kasana states, “for marginalized voices in social media spaces, solidarity becomes essential... the power of social media... lies primarily in its support for civil society and social justice” (Kasana 2014). Social media is our most powerful tool to call out sexism and spread awareness. Who knows how many more people would fight back for justice, if only they knew of the problem? 

Maybe someday #FemaleFirefighters can be the next great cyberfeminist revolution. Maybe someday, when you call 911, a woman will come to help you. Maybe someday, it won’t be news when women graduate from a fire academy. But until someday comes, let’s unite and fight back.

References: 

Gartland, Michael. "FDNY’S New Entrance Exam Will Lower Physical Standards". New York Post. 2017. Web. 1 Mar. 2017. http://nypost.com/2015/05/14/fdnys-new-entrance-exam-will-lower-physical-standards/

Horvath, Cheryl. “Same old story: The biggest issues facing women firefighters today.” 29 May 2017. 1 March 2017. https://www.firerescue1.com/cod-company-officer-development/articles/1453190-Same-old-story-The-biggest-issues-facing-women-firefighters-today/

Hulett, Denise; Bendick, Marc; Thomas, Shelia; Moccio, Francine. “A National Report Card on Women in Firefighting.” April 2008. Web. 1 March 2017. https://www.i-women.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/35827WSP.pdf

Jouvenal, Justin. "Female Firefighter’s Suicide Is A ‘Fire Bell In The Night’". Washington Post. 2017. Web. 1 Mar. 2017. https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/public-safety/female-reghters-suicide-is-a-re-bell-in-the-night/2016/08/22/11c73a16-3956-11e6-a254-2b336e293a3c_story.html

Kasana, Mehreen. “Feminisms and the Social Media Sphere.” Women’s Studies Quarterly.

Mclaughlin, Aidan and Ginger Otis. "FDNY Welcomes Three More Women To Its Ranks". NY Daily News. 2017. Web. 1 Mar. 2017. http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/fdny-welcomes-women-ranks-article-1.2623738

Phoenix Fire Department. “2014 Summary”. 2014. Web. 1 March 2017. https://www.phoenix.gov/firesite/Documents/Annual%20Summary%202014.pdf

Watson, Lucy. "How Girls Are Finding Empowerment Through Being Sad Online". Dazed. 2016. Web. 1 Mar. 2017. http://www.dazeddigital.com/photography/article/28463/1/girls-are-finding-empowerment-through-internet-sadness