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forbidden-sunlight · 4 months

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yandere! literary agent with fem!reader scenario

warnings: implication of obsessive thoughts or love.

There might be potential triggers in this story. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant.

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Hey guys, welcome back to another yandere fic, introducing Yulian Prescott. I'd like to give a big shout-out to my dear friend @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me write this and finding the perfect likeness for my character, especially when this idea came to me all of a sudden on a Sunday night when I should be sleeping instead of staying up an ungodly hour.

As always, bullying on here will not be tolerated. If it does happen, this scenario will be taken down. I'm not sure if this will be a series. At the moment, this is just a scenario.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's dive into the cutthroat world of publishing.

PART TWO

Yandere!Literary Agent is a man who prides himself on being very good at his job. He represented one of the best publishing houses in the country. Anything less than what he expected from his clients was unacceptable.

If the manuscript arrived in his inbox exactly two minutes past the promised deadline, he would not look at it. If his client is acting like a stupid moron at a function or royally fucking up their reputation by posting something inappropriate on their social media account, he is not cleaning up their mess. He is not their babysitter. They are full-grown adults. And if one of them is not able to produce another book that will actually sell past the number of copies slated to be printed, he will let them go. Call him cruel if you want. Yandere!Literary Agent is simply being pragmatic. He wasn’t cheap. He only wants the best of the best.

So imagine Yandere!Literary Agent’s surprise when a particularly difficult client sent him a completed manuscript. He planned on writing her an email that after much deliberation, it was time for her to find another agent to represent her. The client, Abigail Crowley, had written an adult dark academia trilogy and a feminist retelling of the myth of Theseus, told from the perspective of his lover Adriane. The manuscripts following the conclusion of her last book, however, were complete shit. Her royalties were nearly gone, having squandered them on a penthouse in a high-end neighborhood, the latest clothes, and a wine fridge. You heard him. A fucking wine fridge when she could have replaced that shoddy laptop of hers with something better so she could keep writing books and not have it crap out on her.

Half-amused and half-annoyed at this pathetic attempt to keep her contract with the publishing company from being null and void, Yandere!Literary Agent clicked on the attachment and read it. One page became four, then fifty. He had to force himself to stop when it was lunchtime and he was already at the mid-way point.

This story, it was…good. No, it was more than good. It was absolutely fantastic. And Yandere!Literary Agent did not compliment his clients’ works very often, which meant he believed at this very moment, this manuscript will most definitely become Abigail’s comeback to the literary industry. Book sales would go through the roof, A Netflix deal was also possible. But the first hurdle he had to overcome was pitching the manuscript, and making sure the query letter was at least consistent with the story that Abigail was trying to sell to him.

And he’ll make it happen. He is very good at his job, after all.

Once he had successfully pitched it with a bit of extra charm, he contacted Abigail. She was over the moon, promising to make any necessary edits to the manuscript and it will be sent to him on time. From there, time fast forwarded. ARC books were sent out, Abigail selected the cover designs for the regular and special editions, and a tentative book tour was scheduled. Seven cities, and one international trip, maybe another in the future. Sales for this book were projected to exceed expectations. Yandere!Literary Agent was very confident things would go smoothly from here. At least he had thought so.

A month before the book was to be published, his secretary knocked on his door and said he had a visitor. They insisted on seeing him. Yandere!Literary Agent raised his brow, rising from his desk and stepping out into the hall and saw you.

In the beginning, he will begrudgingly confess that his first impression of you was someone who is painfully average and out of place. A backpack slung over your shoulder, dressed in navy blue medical scrubs and looking absolutely haggard. Your eyes, though, shined with anxiety and determination. You inclined your head.

“I apologize for the sudden intrusion, I know you’re busy, but I have some concerns about the book that’s going to be released soon by Abigail Crowley.”

Yandere! Literary Agent’s gaze sharpened.. “And what, pray tell, are your complaints?” He crossed his arms. “Are you one of the people who had signed up to be ARC reader and didn’t get their copy?”

You raised an eyebrow. “...No?”

“Then why -”

“Because it is my novel that is being published. Without my consent.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Look, I know it is hard to believe, I get it.” You then swung your backpack around to your front, unzipping the larger compartment. You pulled out a large notebook, some papers, and a flash drive. You held them out to him. “But I think what I have here might convince you to allow me ten minutes, if not five, to hear me out. That’s all I’m asking. This isn’t about money, this isn’t about suing your company. I just want my story back. I’ve already tried talking to Abigail about it, and she isn’t picking up my calls. Please.” You said. “Three minutes.”

His schedule was clear until the two o’clock meeting with another client on the other side of town. That was about an hour and half from now, as he had just come back from lunch. He supposed he could give you three minutes. Rolling his eyes, Yandere!Literary Editor swiveled on his heel.

“Let’s see what you have. Melissa, please hold my calls until I’m done.” His diligent secretary nodded and went back to her desk. You followed him like a lost little duckling back to his office. Once the door was closed, you handed him everything.

Yandere!Literary Editor went over the materials carefully, flipping through the pages of the notebook. The outlines and character designs were here, all written in excruciating detail and in such tiny print. He asked you random questions, going off of his memory from the manuscript and these notes. You answered him without hesitation.

“Yes, that’s correct. What? No, absolutely not. I would never have those characters be romantically paired up! Their relationship is too toxic, and wouldn’t set a good example to the target audience. I’m sorry, what? No, that isn’t her name! It’s Cristabel, not Anastasia! She’s supposed to be assisting the Night Emperor with collecting intelligence via the gossip of salons under her alias, not swooning over his brother when he’s already happily married to his wife! Good God, no. That scene should not even be there! That’s filler content and makes the character growth of the protagonist seem like the pay-off wasn’t worth it, or that he didn’t learn anything at all since the beginning of the book!”

Yandere!Literary Agent grounded the molars of his back teeth, inhaling slow, deep breaths through his nostrils. Keeping his emotions in check is one of the reasons why he has survived in the publishing industry for this long, and he’s such a successful man.

But hearing you speak about the characters, perfectly recalling the manuscript’s themes and looking back at the notebook in his hand, seeing the colorful sticky notes with edits and improvised scenes written on them…he couldn’t deny it any further. You were the real author of the book he’s representing, and Abigail Crowley played him like a goddamned fiddle.

If this wasn’t enough damning evidence of his client’s plagiarism, you had shown him an original illustration of the world you had created. It was done by an artist you had commissioned on Etsy, with proof of purchase for their services and a timestamp. Three years ago. That was when Abigail’s last best-selling book hit the shelves, and when her creative well began to dry out.

You must have caught on to his irritation, because you told him that you weren’t here to intentionally stir up any trouble. A coworker had told you about Abigail’s newest book coming out, and the premise was exactly yours, at least what was advertised in the BookTok and Youtube trailers online. You’ve been searching high and low for your manuscript, and the only other person who has been in your apartment and knew about your creative endeavors has been Abigail. She wasn’t really your friend, per say. You took some of the same creative writing courses. You eventually found another career to pursue, and you kept writing as a hobby. She went on to become a professional author and never missed an opportunity to show off her success whenever she invited you out for drinks at an upscale bar or went to fancy dinners.

Why would Abigail steal the book you’ve been working on for three years when you work a full-time day job, you had no idea. She’s living the dream that she’s always wanted, defying her mother’s wishes to get a normal job because writing is everything to her, and she would never give up on it. But if you were to be hypothetical, it might be another attempt to somehow get one up on her self-proclaimed rival, Cindy Chen, who is an even bigger success than her.

You then rubbed your eyes. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.” You murmured, standing up from your seat. “Keep the notebook, the maps, whatever you want. If you could return them to me when you’re done, that’s all I ask. And an apology from Abigail, if you’re able to get one out of her. Like I said, this isn’t about money, royalties, or fame. I just want my story back.”

Yandere!Literary Agent immediately stood up, his eyes slightly widened in fear. “Wait, please, just a moment! I know you’re tired, you want to go home…but I need to set things right. If I had known that this manuscript, your story, had been stolen, I would have never spearheaded its publication.” And he wouldn’t have. Not only would it affect his reputation, but the company’s too. Stocks would plummet, and there would be a feeding frenzy on social media with #abigailcrowley, #plagiarism, #sailboatpublishinghouse.

When you looked at him, his heart lurched uncomfortably at seeing your lips fall into a crestfallen expression. You looked so tired, so done with everything, and oh god you looked like you were about to cry shit. Walking around his desk, Yandere!Literary Agent eased you to sit back down and quickly prepared an espresso, possessing a machine to make it in his office so he did not have to walk down five flights to the break room.

You thanked him for the drink and took a sip, wrinkling your nose slightly, no doubt surprised at the taste. You must not be a regular espresso drinker, or prefer how you made it. Either way, he was grateful that you did not bolt out of the office. Picking up his office phone, he dialed Melissa’s number.

“Call all of the heads, including the marketing and social media departments. This is an emergency meeting. Now!” Bless Melissa, she did not ask him questions and said she would get on it immediately, hanging up on him. The next person he called was Abigail fucking Crowley. He sweet-talked her into coming to the office, apologizing for interrupting her ‘creativity time’ and promised it won’t take long. She swore to be there in a half an hour, so long as traffic didn’t back up. Yandere!Literary Agent played the understanding card and hung up, his smile being replaced with a smirk. Hook, line, and sinker. He scoffed. He then turned to you.

“Everything will be resolved soon.” He promised.

“Sir -” You began.

“Yulian, please.”

“Mister Yulian, I understand that you want to make things right, but…can you really get Abigail to talk? She blocked my calls, and the book is hitting the shelves in a month, maybe less than that? How are you going to recover the money that has gone into getting it published, the fees for the printing companies, and the marketing? Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not too familiar with how publishing works these days.”

You weren’t wrong, at least in the aspect that the company has put a significant amount of money into the publication of the stolen manuscript, your work, he added mentally. It was too late to stop the printing, and the final draft would need a significant amount of changes. Unless…

“Abigail is a plagiarist, and you are the rightful creator. The way I see it, we can salvage the financial loss by putting your name on the cover, and fixing the glaring omissions as well as other scenes you claim shouldn’t even be there.” He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Of course, we would need to have a press conference and explain why we are changing authors, and what she has done. Considering the timetable and coordinating with the printing companies, it will be cutting it close.”

You stared at him silently for a long moment before placing the espresso cup back onto the tiny saucer with a soft clink, releasing a heavy sigh. “If I agree to do this, to help with the edits, probably fuck up my sleeping pattern and might potentially be fired from my job unless I can use some of my PTO, what will I get in return?”

He smiled. “Abigail will be the one to pay for publishing and marketing fees. I can extend the deadline for the revisions by a week. And you will be paid for your time, of course. There will be no need to come here to drop off revisions either. All correspondence will be through email. As an agent, I am qualified to be your representative during press conferences, so you will not have to be present. All I would ask of you is to turn in the final manuscript on time and not say anything on social media until our legal team is fully prepared.”

“No need to worry about Twitter or Facebook. Haven’t logged on to my account in years.” You raised the espresso cup to your lips. “Too much politics.” You tilted your head to the side, a puzzled frown stretching across your face. “Any chance I could get all of this in writing? I might need to get a lawyer if Abigail tries to take it to court and sue me for defamation.”

Yandere!Literary Agent nodded. He opened up a blank document and immediately typed up the contract, including everything that you have discussed and a few other variables. Once he finished, he printed it out, handing it to you. You read through the contents carefully before handing it back to him.

“It looks good - it’s all here and I’m agreeable to the terms.” You said.

Humming under his breath, Yandere! Literary Agent signed the bottom. You signed your name next to his, with today’s date and the time.

He ignored the tiny tingle that crawled up his spine when your fingertips brushed against his as you gave him back the pen. You agreed to stay until the matter with Abigail was over, and he would email you the manuscript so you could go through everything when you get home.

As it turned out, you did not have to wait much longer for the best-selling author to make her entrance at Board Room 3. Exchanging numbers with Yandere! Literary Agent you would wait in the adjacent room until he sent you a text to make your entrance. Melissa escorted you to said room when he received a message from Abigail that she would be here in ten minutes.

It’s time. That was the message he sent you. When you opened the door, revealing yourself to the staff and the flustered Abigail…she snapped.

She rambled how she needed a book, just one more successful book, and she would be set for life. She wouldn’t lose her penthouse, she would still be considered a worthy rival to Cindy Chen, and above all else, she could still write as she had always wanted to do since she was a teenager. You already had a normal job, you had a steady income, you weren’t even a writer. Being a hobbyist writer did not count. Yes, she took your manuscript, but it wasn’t a big deal! You could just write another book when you had time between shifts at the hospital, right?

The look you gave her…it was resignation. Hopelessness. Disappointment.

“Abbie…it wasn’t just a story I wrote. You should know that. Writing is so much more than that. I’ve tried to be nice, to talk to you but you wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry it’s come to this, I really am.” You said. That was the last thing you said before you were escorted outside of the door. Seeing your part in this is over, Yandere! Literary Agent took control of the room.

“Whether it is a hobby or professional writing, it doesn’t change the fact that you stole someone’s work and tried to pass it off as your own.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You are a thief, nothing more and nothing less.” Then the lawyers approached Abigail, presenting her with the fees she will need to pay. If there was an issue, going to court would not be an issue as he had all of the evidence needed to ruin the once best-selling writer Abigail Crowley.

Her reaction was….amusing.

After security had escorted the screaming woman off of the premises, Yandere!Literary Agent went to search for you, thinking you had gone back to his office to wait for him. You weren’t there. Melissa said you did stop by her desk, only to leave a message on a sticky note that you needed to go home but promised to get the revisions done as fast as you could, and thanks for the espresso it was really good.

Yandere!Literary Agent smiled softly at the hastily written chicken scratch, pocketing it in his trousers before going back inside his office. You weren’t like any of his other clients. And he would like to get to know a bit more. Who knows? Perhaps….he could persuade you to sign a contract with him, be your agent. You shouldn’t hide your talents from the world. There were people who would love to read your stories, and he had no doubt that the company would benefit from it too.

But there was no need to rush. There was a month until the book was to be released. That was more than enough time for him to work his magic. He is good at his job, after all.

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©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere x you #fem!reader #yandere! literary agent #yandere fanfiction #yandere manhwa x reader #ns.fw #tw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior

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joshsindigostreak · 3 months

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O, Pioneers

Prologue

“Resist much, obey little.” - Walt Whitman

Sam Kiszka x F!OC

Authors note: Welcome Sam lane!!! This is the official start to Sam’s journey in the ISHIYE universe. This one starts around the same time ISHIYE started, so we’ll basically see what Sam has been up to this whole time. I will say that O, Pioneers along with every other spin off will make the most sense if ISHIYE is read beforehand. It’s all an interconnected universe and all the fics will reference each other to varying degrees. Every chapter besides this one will include a flashback to his Uni days. I hope you guys love this and I want to make Sammy Nation proud! I also hope you love my OC Natasha, as she just jumped into my head one day and hasn’t shut up since. Danny will also be heavily featured, it his actual story will be its own titled, “Running Through the Garden.” This is relatively short, but it’s a good little preview of what’s to come! Enjoy!

Word Count: 2060

Warnings: None for this chapter other than sweating!

It started with an email. One, stupid, email. One, professional, email. An email from one academic to another. Natasha just needed an extra source. Specifically, she needed to get her hands on a very specific journal. A journal that contained anatomical drawings and first hand accounts of the Lake Leelanau Creature. Colloquially it is referred to as the Leelanau Lake Monster, but the use of the word “monster” is frowned upon in Supernatural and Academic circles. Annoyingly, she only knew of one person who would be in possession of said journal. The one person whom she was perfectly fine never speaking to again: Sam Kiszka. He had built up quite the reputation in recent years with rumors of his immense archives and collection of particular artifacts.

Natasha wrinkled her nose and adjusted her glasses as the cursor blinked on the screen. She could write emails like this in her sleep but the thought of asking him for something? Giving him the satisfaction that she needed his help? She’d rather be hit by a bus. However, she needed this information for an upcoming presentation and she had gathered almost all of her resources except this one. Adjusting her cat-eye frames one more time, she began typing.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC:

Subject: Lake Leelanau Journal

Dear Sam,

I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to you for a request for some scans from a book I know you possess and are familiar with: the Gautheir journal. Currently I am in the middle of a research project involving North American Sea Serpents and I need the pages with the anatomical drawings in particular, as well as any other pages pertaining to the first sighting of the Creature. Any contributions beyond that would be most appreciated.

Kind Regards,

Natasha E. Delaney

States away, in eastern Michigan, a young scholar was startled by the sudden ding on his laptop, alerting him of a new email. With an arched brow he opened his inbox, and seeing the email address in the top bar brought back hoards of memories.

Natasha. Fucking. Delaney. The only person to ever score higher on tests than him, to easily skate past him in grades, keep up with him during lectures, and narrowly beat out his GPA for the top of their graduating glass. He hadn’t spoken to her since graduation almost three years ago, but he couldn’t help being amused at the fact that she needed his help. He could just imagine that icy blonde hair of hers sitting on top of her head in a bun, those obnoxious cat-eye glasses resting on her nose while she bites the bullet and asks for his help. With a smirk on his face, he clicked on the reply button and began typing.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC:

Attachments: Secondary Leelanau sources.pdf

Subject: Re: Lake Leelanau Journal

Dear Natasha,

Unfortunately your email did not find me well, as I am in the middle of several projects myself. Here at Stardust Archives™ the stream of knowledge never stops, and neither shall I. I also regret to inform you that scanning said journal for those particular pages will be impossible, as that journal is much too fragile to be handled in such a way. I do however have a few recommendations for similar sources, which I have attached to this email. I am so sorry I was not able to assist you further.

Good luck on your endeavors,

Sam F. Kiszka

He sat back as he clicked send, knowing that most of it was horse shit. He hadn’t been in an actual project in nearly a month, but she didn’t know that. But he wasn’t lying about the journal being too fragile for scanning. Theoretically it would be ok with current technology, but he didn’t want to risk it as it was a trusted family heirloom that was given to him in confidence. In this business, keeping contacts happy was nearly half the job. Word of mouth was crucial, and if you couldn’t be trusted to handle things with respect and care, what good were you? Satisfied, he stood up from his desk to go back to the new shipment of books he was sorting.

“That mother fucker,” she seethed. Natasha read his email again, mocking the ‘here at Stardust Archives™…’ line to herself while scrunching up her face. She knew for a fact that while that journal was old, it wasn’t that old. The librarian who had recommended that particular volume to her in the first place even said that it shouldn’t be any trouble to get scans of the pages. To make it worse, those ‘resources’ he had sent weren’t helpful at all, and didn't even go into detail of the anatomy of the Creature, which was what she truly needed. Rolling her eyes, her fingers began tapping out her rebuttal.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC:

Attachments: Secondary Leelanau sources.pdf

Subject: Re: Re: Lake Leelanau Journal

Sam,

I’m so sorry to hear how busy you are. However I was told specifically that the Gauthier journal was preserved enough that scans wouldn’t be a problem at all. Has something changed? Has it been damaged in any way since it was last made public? I hope such an integral part to your own state's history would be treated with the utmost care. If I remember correctly from that class we both took, with Professor Andrews, paper from that time period would still be stable if exposed to light or a scanning device. In fact I remember he said once, “as long as you’re not mashing it down on a decrepit photo copier from 1993…”. Surely you have a better scanner than that? If you could get those scans to me as soon as you’re able, that would be wonderful.

Regards,

Natasha

The ding from Sam’s laptop alerted him again, and his smile quickly faded when he opened the mail program and saw Natasha’s response. On one hand, she had the right idea, but on the other hand, whatever project she needed it for was not worth the risk in his eyes. His mouth hung open in offense with her questioning his integrity to Michigan history. Artifacts from his home state were always given top priority, and to have her imply that he was being careless with any of them made his entire body tense. Instinctively, he wanted to just send back a simple, ‘no,’ but he knew that would only make her more relentless.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC:

Attachments: Secondary Leelanau sources.pdf

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Lake Leelanau Journal

Nat,

You aren’t entirely wrong about it being possible, however the family who entrusted it to me made me promise -in writing- to keep it as well preserved as I possibly could. As such, any form of scanning or sudden exposure to light is just not an option. I hope that the other resources I sent you were enough to suffice. I know whatever project you’re needing them for will manifest in the most riveting way.

Godspeed,

Sam F. Kiszka

Natasha tilted her head and cracked her neck when she saw the shortened form of her first name. She hated being called Nat. It was too close to the word for those annoying bugs. Worst of all, it was what her older sisters called her just to get under her skin. All three of them would repeat it over and over again when she was little and laughed when she got upset. Her oldest sister would even take it a step further and call her ‘Natty’ on occasion. She hated how it sounded, how it looked, and she much preferred the nickname ‘Tasha’ if she had a choice. Most of her fellow students called her Tasha, as well as her close friends. Even on blind dates she’d introduce herself as Tasha before anything else.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC:

Attachments: Secondary Leelanau sources.pdf

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Lake Leelanau Journal

Samuel,

I appreciate your passion for the preservation of critical documents, it’s truly inspiring, Professor Andrews would be proud. But I think you’re being rather difficult here. If not unreasonable. And no, those other resources did not help as they are not relevant to my ongoing project. I appreciate your confidence in my work, but what would truly help me be on my way would be your cooperation.

Impatiently,

Tasha

Sam stared at the screen. She really wasn’t going to let up, was she? He thought for a moment, and something in his brain wanted to physically hear her ask for his help. Maybe it was his ego, maybe it wasn’t, but he was impulsive enough to go out on a limb to satiate it.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC:

Attachments: Secondary Leelanau sources.pdf

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Lake Leelanau Journal

‘Tasha’,

Unfortunately, I must be away from my desk at this time due to other projects and meetings. However, if you would like to continue our correspondence, I will happily provide you my number for your convenience.

(248) 555-9423

In eternal anticipation,

‘Muel’

Natasha stared at the phone number on her screen. That little shit. He wanted to hear her ask. It didn’t take a genius to figure that part out. Maybe he wanted her to beg? He was arrogant enough to want such a thing. She wasn’t going to give in that easily. She wanted his arrogance in writing. If he couldn’t be professional and stick to emails, he was going to have her in his pocket at all times, constantly making his phone go off. Quickly she added his number as a new contact, and typed out her first ever text to Sam F. Kiszka.

Natasha: Ok cut the shit, Kiszka why are you being difficult?

Sam: Who is this?

Natasha: I swear to god, Sam

Sam: Ok ok, fine. Do you really want to see this journal that badly?

Natasha: I have wasted an entire afternoon emailing you about it, so yes.

Sam: Well as I said I can’t scan the pages. But if you would like to view them in person for your research, that can easily be arranged.

Natasha: In person?

Sam: Yes, that's when people meet face to face.

Natasha: I’m going to ignore that for my sanity, but don’t you live in Michigan?

Sam: Yes.

Natasha: You do know that I’m in Lakewood for my Masters right?

Sam: Yes, what is the issue?

Natasha: So you want to travel all the way to Vermont just because you are refusing to scan the pages?

Sam: Oh I wouldn’t bring an artifact that fragile on a plane, you know that. You can simply come here. I know there’s a break coming up, if I remember our old schedule correctly.

Natasha nearly threw her phone, but she wasn’t going to give up. Before she could fully type out a response she got another text.

Sam: And don’t worry about needing a hotel there’s plenty of room upstairs for you. My parents are in Canada on business and my brothers are off doing god knows what.

Natasha: I’m sure I can find a hotel I don’t want to put you out

Sam: It's really no trouble, we have a separate guest room anyway that barely gets used

She mulled it over for a few minutes.

Natasha: Well I’ve never been to Michigan.

Sam: It’s much better than Vermont.

She sighed.

Natasha: Fine. I’ll talk to my professors and get it sorted out. The break starts in two days.

Sam smirked at his phone and leaned back in his chair, he was right.

Sam: Excellent. I’ll go dust the window sills and pick out the fanciest chocolate for your pillow.

Natasha: I’ll text you my flight details.

Sam: Can’t wait, Nat ;)

Not wanting him to know that he bothered her, Natasha set her phone down and opened up another webpage to look up flights. By the weekend she was going to not only be in Sam Kiszka’s presence for the first time since graduation, but staying at his fucking house.

What the fuck did she just agree to?

To be continued...

Tag List: @dannyandthekiszkas , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne , @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky ,

#sam kiszka #greta van fleet #sam gvf #o pioneers #rivals to lovers #forced proximity #dark academia #ISHIYE universe

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thedrarrylibrarian · 1 year

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Can I say that I'm SO excited for this rec? It's always so much fun to host a guest in the library, and I have loved reaching out and making new connections with people I hadn't talked with before, but it's EXTRA fun when the reccer is already a friend AND when she recs a brilliant fic that I hadn't previously read! I don't know what else to say about this lovely writer than she's a wonderful and positive addition to our fandom, and a dear friend of mine. Without further ado, here is @nv-md to share our April Happy Hour Rec!

On a normal day, my inbox is not usually a source of joy. Bills, ads, work, and more ads, means that I spend most of my time avoiding emails at all costs.

However, an email from AO3 brings me nothing but joy.

An email that one of my favorite authors has written another seven thousand words (that I get to savor for free in the middle of the produce section while ignoring the poor man behind me who just wants to buy squash)?

Well, there’s no greater joy than that.

And I’ll be taking zero comments at this time about how much I rely on fanfic for serotonin.

So, onto the fic in question!

I cannot recommend InnerLilith’s work enough. Like honestly, all of her fics are bangers and you should feel free to stop looking at this post to go and read them all right this moment. But, if you want to stick around, I’d love to tell you about ‘I’m lying when I’m looking away’.

I'm lying when I'm looking away by InnerLilith (6,757 words, rated E)

Sometimes it takes a Purim party and a flapper dress for Harry to figure out what he likes. (Spoiler: He likes Malfoy.)

This fic features: Jewish holidays and traditions, Draco in a flapper dress, flustered Harry, hilarious banter, meaningful discussions about gender norms, the smuttiest smut that ever smutted, and a soft ending that melted my heart.

I fell into this story headfirst and it was nothing but delightful from start to finish.

Harry’s POV is perfect. He’s a goddamn mess, has no idea which way is up, and waxes poetic about Draco’s legs and skin and lips and collarbones, and generally makes a fool of himself in front of all of his friends. Classic Harry James Potter behavior that I will never get enough of.

“Then he was striding over, all that leg just exposed, so Harry could see the muscles shifting with each step, the ripple of satin over his hinging joints, the soft, dark promise of what hid underneath.”

Draco is cool and confident (omg the snark), his legs are long, his dress is short, and I love him as much as Harry does. Honestly, I think about Draco in a flapper dress at least once a day.

“Malfoy certainly seemed to think nothing of it, sauntering around like he was born in that flapper dress. And maybe that’s what the big deal was for Harry, actually—how Malfoy acted like it wasn’t a big deal at all, and how he was right.”

Everyone is at the Purim party, including our beloved Fred (who lives), and they all make cameos as they watch Harry drool over Draco. If I tried to include all my favorite parts, then I would just have to copy the entire fic into this rec, but just know, the gang’s all here and it’s wonderful and brilliant. Lilith nails each voice, their costumes are hysterical (I will never recover from Luna as a demiguise), and I wish I was cool enough to be invited to their party.

In between eating hamantaschen and celebrating with wine, Harry and Draco circle each other all night. They’re not enemies, but it’s clear they don’t quite know how to be friends either, and they’re so obviously into each other that you can’t help but root for them to figure it out. There’s just enough ‘will they or won’t they’ to keep you on the edge of your seat and to make the ending that much more satisfying. Then—

THE SMUT!

That’s all I can say about that because you need to read it yourself—it is delicious—but here’s a little teaser.

“Harry tugged his clothes off frantically, and when Draco brought a hand to the straps of his dress, slanting his brow in a question, Harry said, leave it, leave it, and his voice sounded cracked and desperate.”

This fic has it all and you will not regret one moment spent in this world. I wish that we could gather around a table, drinking and eating and laughing and talking about this fic. Since we can’t do that, please read it and then come and yell at me about it.

Happy reading and a big hug and kiss to the Librarian, your hard work does not go unnoticed and it is sososo appreciated!

Hugs and kisses back and thank you to @nv-md for joining us for Happy Hour! As always, if you enjoyed a fic, please leave a kudos or comment!

Lots of Love and Happy Friday!

#happy hour #friday happy hour #drarry fic rec #nv-md #innerlilith #drarry #drarry librarian and friends #Friends of the Library #lots of love and happy friday #friday fic rec

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surrogate-fawn · 10 months

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Quartz and Sea Glass

((Drabble/Short story based on the backstory a rp with @mittysins of Fawn's first step into the world of surrogacy.))

{This drabble is a sequel to "The First Goodbye" and is Part Two of a planned series based on the rp between Mitty and I. This drabble will not make sense without the context of Part One.}

TW: Mentioned miscarriage/stillbirth, infertility, family abandonment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Don't put me on a pedestal for what I decided to do with my life. I ain't a saint.

I'll fully admit that I became a surrogate for selfish reasons. When I discovered there was a market out there of couples who needed a healthy body to carry their baby, I did not give a single shit about helping them -- all I cared about was the money.

I was twenty years old and homeless, still living off minimum wage. Can 'ya really blame me?

Lord only knows how that little worm of an idea got into my brain. Maybe it was during a mindless re-watch of season four of Friends. Maybe it was seeing something on the news. Or maybe it was during one of those three-in-the-morning anxiety attacks -- the ones that had me scribbling down as many outlandish solutions to my life as could fit on a napkin.

Not a lot of good ideas came about that way.

However it got there, one day I found myself seated at a library computer searching up as much information as I could find about surrogacy. As soon as I saw the rates some of these couples were willing to pay, I was sold. Fifty to sixty grand -- paid over the span of months. That sure as hell beat $7.25 an hour! The fact I could be eligible for certain state benefits on top of that money didn't hurt, either.

Best part? The one obstacle that could've been in my way had been crashed down a year ago: at least one healthy and successful prior pregnancy.

This was it. This was my way out!

But I hesitated.

As I sat there, staring at the Google search results that led me down the rabbit hole, I wondered if I was really capable of going through it all again. Not so much the physical symptoms, those all passed as soon as the pregnancy was over.

I was wondering if I could handle saying goodbye again.

My son's first birthday had just passed. I'd put a candle in a cupcake and blown it out for him the day of, alone in my room and still in my UDF uniform after work. I'd wished I'd known what name they gave him. The "Happy Birthday" song is a 'lil hard to sing without a name. I'd just called him "my baby" in the song. At least it fit. He would always be my baby, wherever he was and whatever he was called.

I blinked at the blue-tinted monitor. The screen was getting fuzzy and my eyes were stinging. I force-closed the dozens of tabs I had open, shut the computer off, and began my walk back to the women's shelter.

No, I couldn't. Money or no money, I couldn't go through it again. I never...never wanted to go through it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, I made another trip to the library to borrow some time at the computer. I couldn't afford a laptop or smartphone, so it was a trip I usually made every other day; but work had been leaving me too tired to swing by.

I found an email waiting for me in my inbox, from a surrogate agency site I remembered looking up. In my mad scrolling, I must have signed up for their mailing list without thinking about it. It was from the highest-rated site I'd found, so at least I didn't have to worry about it being a phishing scam or tied to some baby black market or whatever.

I almost deleted it out of reflex, but the subject line read: "The Basics of Surrogacy, Free Information Guide". A brochure? Not an ad pressuring me to join so they could start taking a cut of my pay? Sure, I'd take a brochure.

So, that was the moment I made the best decision of my life: I opened that email.

I'll spare you the business side of things, but once I got in touch with the agency it all started falling into place. The whole process was much more voluntary than I realized. I spoke with several surrogate mothers who had been matched with clients through the site, and they all stood firm that nothing was done unless both the surrogate and the parents agreed to it. I would have a say in who I matched with. I would have a say in how much I was to be paid. I would even have a say in what the birthing experience would be like!

What finally sealed the deal for me, though, was the fact this company only dealt with what I learned were called "gestational surrogacies" -- meaning none of their surrogates were the biological parents of the babies they carried. I'd have someone else's egg inside me -- I would essentially be a walking incubator. That sounds kinda weird when you think about it, but it solved the biggest issue I had with tapping into this gold mine.

Not my baby? Not my DNA? Fine by me. I decided I'd gladly get paid fifty grand to sit around and grow someone else's kid. Sounded like the easiest job in the world.

I sent my application in two days later.

Two months, a psychiatric assessment, and dozens of medical tests later, I was in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Tariqs weren't the first couple who asked to meet with me. There were two other couples I had a first meeting with, but neither of them clicked with me the way Ray and Tess did.

We met for the first time at a park situated alongside the Tennessee River, bundled in jackets to keep out the early-autumn chill. There just so happened to be a food truck parked by the entrance we agreed to meet at, and Tess declared we should get to know each other over lunch. Seeing as I had skipped breakfast to make it to work on time, I didn't mind the idea.

I was standing off to the side while the Tariqs ordered from the truck, counting out the amount of cash I had on me, when suddenly I heard Tess call me over.

"Which one 'ya want, shug?" she asked, pointing to the menu plastered on the truck's side.

They bought me a chicken panini and a hot hazelnut macchiato, insisting it was their treat. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have needed the rest of that interview -- I had already chosen to be their surrogate in my head.

Buying me food is a fantastic way to get to get me to like you.

We sat at a picnic table beneath the golden oak trees and got to talking. Raymond (or Ray, as he preferred to be called) was a second-generation Indian immigrant and Tess, his wife, was a born-and-bred Knoxville gal. They lived on the rural side of Knoxville, just barely inside the city limits, in a 1960's farmhouse they'd refurbished themselves. Both were in their mid-thirties by the time they sought out surrogacy; up until that point, they'd been though quite a battle with infertility:

They'd been trying throughout their four years of marriage, but Tess could never carry to term. The few times her pregnancy tests would come up positive, she'd bleed a few weeks later. Although they weren't opposed to modern medicine, they'd preferred to try more "natural" methods to solve their fertility issue before going to a doctor. Such methods included the Kama Sutra, meditation, crystals, herbal blends and -- of course -- prayer.

Just the year prior, it seemed their home remedies had worked when Tess finally made it into the second trimester with a baby boy.

They'd lost him in a stillbirth days before the third trimester milestone.

Piled onto that tragedy, the hospital discovered Tess had a defective uterus -- it was physically impossible for her to carry to term. So, that's where I came in.

As I told them about myself, they were delighted to know I came from a household that had rather New Age ideas about life. I didn't mention that I no longer lived by those ideas -- it would've opened too many questions.

However, I certainly understood the good home remedies could do! I was more than happy to trade my recipes for salves for Ray's tips on where to buy the best beeswax in Knoxville. So happy, in fact, that I got carried away.

"My mom makes beeswax candles," I said, hurrying to swallow the bite of panini I had in my mouth. "She used to scent 'em with oils from her flowers, but the oil would seep right outta the wax once it got warm." I chuckled, feeling my nose crinkle in the embarrassing way it does when I laugh. "Sometimes, at dinner, we'd light one of her candles at the table. We'd blink and suddenly there'd be a puddle of rose oil dripping onto the beans and cornbread!"

"Maybe I can help her out with that," Ray said with a grin. He took a quick sip of his coffee. "My grandparents keep bees over in India. My family has a lot of tips on how to melt and mix the wax."

I almost choked on my food when I realized I'd brought up my family. Shit...now I had to be careful.

"Maybe," I said with a causal shrug. "She's back home in West Viginia with everyone else. It's a little hard to make time to see 'em."

"Oh, I'm sure," Tess nodded. "It's the same with my daddy's side of the family. We're just so far apart we forget 'ta check up on each other as often as we should." She finished off the last of her bagel. "And with you, Fawn, you work full time with a little 'un at home. I'm sure 'ya family understands."

I didn't blink for a while. I just stared at the river until the cold breeze dried my eyes out. "Oh, well..." I cleared my throat, "I don't have a little one at home."

Tess looked confused. Ray looked mortified.

"But it says on 'ya file you were pregnant last year?" Tess half-asked, half-stated. I could tell from her tone that there was no malice in her. She'd clearly read my profile and made assumptions.

I smiled, maybe showing a little too much teeth. "Yeah, I was. Very healthy pregnancy, very healthy baby boy, but I don't have a little one at home."

Ray put his hand over his wife's wrist, his sea glass bracelet quietly clattering on the wooden table. Tess went pale and her look of confusion faded into a silent scream.

"Oh. I'm...I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean 'ta-."

"No, no! I don't mind bringing him up!" I said, a nervous laugh jittering my lungs. "I never get the chance to talk about my son, but I think about him all the time!"

I surprised myself when the expected sorrow didn't come. Instead, excitement filled its place -- an odd sense of relief that I could let out some of the thoughts that had been haunting me.

I proceeded to word-vomit about how wonderful it was to be pregnant with my son, and how angelic his parents were to me, and how I knew he would be okay -- even if I missed him -- and so forth and so on. I honestly don't think I stopped for breath.

I saw Ray and Tess glance at each other from the corners of their eyes as I rambled, a pair of knowing grins on their faces.

I'm no mind reader, but I think that's when the Tariqs made their final decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tess was with me for the embryo transfer, her ring-laden hand resting on my arm as everything was prepped. I was bloated as a water balloon from the multiple fertility drugs I'd been plunging into my veins -- every day, might I add -- for the past month. I sure was hoping those suckers worked, because being in a permanent state of PMS was ass. Total ass.

I reclined on the exam table, legs up in those familiar stirrups and my hips covered by a thin sheet of paper. I inhaled through my nose as the doctor inserted a long, thin tube of plastic through the ring of my cervix -- the end of which was attached to a syringe full of clear fluid. Somewhere in that syringe, three little embryos floated around -- and one of them was hopefully about to nestle into its new home.

I watched the fuzzy grey blurs on the ultrasound screen as the doctor angled the wand to see what he was doing. As I watched each of the three tiny balls leave the tube...I just hoped those fertility drugs didn't work too well.

Tess grinned down at me once it was over, her blonde braid falling over her shoulder. "We got three good un's in there," she said. I noticed she was clutching the quartz pendant around her neck like a string of prayer beads. "I'm sure one of 'em will like 'ya enough 'ta stick around."

I think she was just as worried as I was. Tess's egg retrieval, the test tube fertilization, the freezing, and my daily injections all combined into almost three months of prep work just for this ten-minute procedure.

And if it failed, we'd have to do it all over again. And if that failed, we'd do it again. And again.

"Yeah," I sighed, lowering my legs from the stirrups, "I hope you're right, Tess. 'Cause if not, I swear to God I'm gonna have-."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"A girl!" Tess screeched to the high heavens, throwing herself against Ray in an attack hug. She jumped for joy while hanging from his neck, almost pulling the poor man to the floor. "It's a girl, Ray! We're havin' a girl!"

Ray laughed, backing up from the table so his wife didn't mule kick the ultrasound technician. "I don't know, Fawn," he said, looking my way with a huge smile and a raised eyebrow. "Do you think it's a girl?"

"Not sure," I said, my nose crinkling in a snicker, "but I think Tess said something about it being a girl."

"Shuddup you two," Tess giggled, sniffling as tears began falling down her cheeks.

Ray held his wife's face in his hands and gave her a kiss deep enough to explore the sea floor. The technician and I decided to focus on the ultrasound images to give the couple some privacy.

I craned my neck to look up at the screen. What had been a microscopic ball four months ago was now an apple-sized baby girl with wiggling arms and legs, and -- thank God -- there was only her in there. The other two embryos had never taken, but this rowdy little girl had held tight. I smiled as I watched the rapid flutter of her heart beating, amazed at the sight. I remembered being just as amazed by my son's heartbeat, what few times I'd gotten to see it.

"Look how active she is!" the technician said, pointing to the baby's constant wiggling. "You should be feeling those little dance moves of hers very soon."

Ray and Tess returned to admire the fuzzy images on the screen. Tess was drying her eyes on her sleeves, and Ray's smile may as well have been glowing. He had his arm around Tess's shoulders as they watched the miniature dance party going on inside me. The sea glass bracelet rattled as his hand came to rest over his heart.

"That's our daughter, Tess," he said. His voice broke a bit as he repeated: "That's our daughter."

"Yep," Tess sniffled, hugging her husband's torso and resting her head on his shoulder, "that's her."

I watched them hold each other like that until the technician turned off the wand and wiped the gel from my slightly rounded belly.

The Tariqs had already begun the steady payment plan we'd agreed to. Even after the agency took its cut each month, it was still more than I'd ever made in my life. That had been why I'd agreed to do this for them, after all.

That ultrasound appointment is what changed my outlook on what I was doing.

These two people. These two amazing people, so overcome with joy because I was carrying the baby that they could not.

I wasn't an incubator anymore. I felt more like a nanny, protecting their baby for them until she was strong enough to come out. They'd wanted this baby for so, so long -- and I was the one making that dream of theirs come true.

I knew what it was like to desperately want to hold a baby you were unable to have. I may not have been able to heal my own hurt, but here I was...healing theirs.

I wasn't doing it for the money after that.

I never did it for the money again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five days after my twenty-first birthday, I woke up to a rather nasty surprise at one in the morning. I'd gotten kicked in the bladder, and my bedsheets and pajama bottoms were damp and sticking to my skin in the humid July air. Fantastic. Not again.

With a groan, I rolled out of bed and started shuffling my way to my door. I held the weight of my belly in my arms as I made my way to the upstairs communal bathroom, hoping to take the pressure off my hips.

I blinked against the harsh florescent light as it sputtered to life over the toilet. With a gruff sigh, I shut and locked the door.

"Suri, you gotta stop doing this," I slurred, my mouth too tired to move. "I'm letting you use my uterus as a bed and breakfast. The least you could do is not try to pop my bladder every night."

Surinder. Her name was Surinder, but we'd been calling her Suri for short. Ray picked it out. He liked it because it was based on the name of a Hindu god and also sounded like the word 'surrender' in English. Tess had fallen in love with the name. Me? I would've just stuck with 'Suri'. I knew exactly what kind of teasing she was in for at school with a name like 'Surinder'.

You can't exactly walk into public school with a name like 'Fawn' and not get laughed into oblivion.

At least the nickname gave her an extra name to fall back on. If that didn't work, she also had her middle name to use: Elora. I would've done the same back in high school -- I did have three to pick from -- but 'Aspen', 'Coriander', and 'Medulla' wouldn't have made the teasing any better.

I'd gone in at age eighteen and erased two of those names. It was just "Fawn Coriander Sequioa" now. Still not a normal name by any means. I often thought about going back into the records and legally changing my last name, just like my parents had done when they'd joined the commune before I was born.

I didn't need my last name. My family didn't want me anymore.

Alexander may have opened up a whole new world for me, but he made sure I burned every bridge behind me as I crossed it. I was already beginning to question my parents' worldview by the time I started dating him, but he took that little spark of doubt -- a spark that, if left alone, would've grown into a steady burn-away of my old ideals -- and fanned those embers into an uncontrollable hatred.

"They're a cult, babe," he'd told me. "Why can't you see that? I can take you away from that bullshit that says you gotta fuck other guys to be happy. I only want what's best for you, and for us."

After months of letting my teenaged angst and frustration boil over, it happened. An argument started between Mom and I over something asinine, and the geyser fucking exploded.

I parroted everything Alexander had been telling me. I told my parents they were nothing but sexual perverts who wanted me to be a whore all my life. I told them how their "woo-woo" medicine got kids killed all over the country, and that blood was on their hands. I told them how much they'd fucked up in raising me.

I told them I hated them.

I told Dad I hoped the next woman who sucked his dick bit it off.

I told Mom that if it was her, I hoped she died choking on it.

The last time I saw Dad, he was throwing everything I owned out of my bedroom window until I was on the sidewalk surrounded by broken furniture and muddy clothes.

The last time I saw Mom, she was sobbing face-down on the couch and refusing to look at me.

Even now, I would be willing sell my soul -- to lay down and die -- just to undo what I did that day.

I didn't give a shit at the time, though. I picked up what I could carry off the front lawn and walked to the nearest payphone to call Alex. I had to tell him I was finally free.

Free.

Right.

What a fucking joke.

I splashed some cold water on my face to wash off the nighttime sweat. Suri rolled one of her feet against the top of my belly, causing a little moving bump that I playfully poked with my finger.

"I'm going to bill you for all those crazy dance parties you're having in there, missy," I said with a grin, a lot less frustrated with her than I was a second ago.

I grabbed a washcloth to start cleaning myself off, but the realization dawned on me and I stopped cold. That was her foot. Her foot was at the top of my belly...which meant her head was angled down...which meant there was no way she'd kicked my bladder.

As I stood at the sink trying to solve that puzzle, I found the missing piece. My belly clamped down hard enough to pitch me forward. I grabbed onto the sides of the sink with a small gasp, feeling the muscles of my torso all tighten and shrink in the direction of my uterus. As it did, a little more dampness spread across my pajama pants.

Oh fuck.

Oh, holy fuck!

I left the bathroom in as much of a jog as I could manage, rushing back into my room and to the brand-new cell phone charging by the window. I had no idea how to save numbers on that thing, so I manually dialed Ray's number. His was the only one I could remember.

The other side of the call rang for a solid thirty seconds before Ray's sleep-drunk voice picked up:

"Hello?" he grumbled. "Who is this?"

Oh, right. He probably didn't have my new number saved, either.

"Ray, it's Fawn," I said, noticing too late that my voice was trembling. "You and Tess need to come pick me up...like right now!"

I heard a rustle on the other end, and suddenly Ray sounded very much awake. "Fawn? Fawn, what's wrong?!" I thought I heard Tess say something nearby, probably on the other side of their bed. "Why do you need us to get you?! Suri isn't due for another two weeks!"

"She...she had other plans," I said, taking a deep breath to steel my nerves. "My water just broke."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ray's face was illuminated by the highway streetlights as he glanced back at Tess and I in the backseat of the car. "How's it going back there?" he asked, flicking his gaze between us and the road.

"Aughh!" I groaned in response as a contraction stole my ability to speak. I tried to lift my hips off the leather seat as more fluid leaked from me, but the seatbelt held me down. I was already sitting in a small puddle of it, and I was worried I was ruining their upholstery. I was still dressed in my pajamas, but I considered them a lost cause.

"We're doin' fine," Tess said, slipping her hand into mine so I could squeeze it -- which I did. "Focus on the road, Ray."

Tess had buckled herself into the middle seat of the minivan, giving her enough room to tend to me while I was strapped in the window seat. I sat with my legs as far apart as the seatbelt would allow. I could already feel the baby pressing through my cervix, and I recognized the pounding pressure that came with it.

The contraction lasted about forty seconds, and it left me reeling and panting. I had no idea when to expect the next one. "Why is this happening so fast?!" I asked, my voice shrill with anxiety. "I was in labor for over a day last time!"

"It's probably not happenin' as fast as 'ya think, doll," Tess assured me, giving my hand a pat. "You could'a slept through most of early labor. Second baby always comes faster than the first, 'ya know."

No. No, I did not know!

"Tessie, how close did the doula say she was?" Ray asked, obeying his wife and not taking his eyes off the road that time.

Tess's face was bathed in white light as she quickly checked her phone. "Ten minutes," she said. "She'll be waiting outside the house when we get there."

Just before she put her phone away, I saw her clutching the quartz pendant again.

Just as promised, the doula was parked outside the Tariqs' farmhouse when we got there. She climbed out of her car as soon as our headlights lit up the gravel driveway. Ray parked the minivan with a lurch and jumped out to start helping her carry things into the house.

Tess helped me out of the car, letting me use her as a crutch as we hobbled up the front steps.

"You ready 'ta do this, Fawn?" she asked.

"Are you ready to do this?" I rebutted.

Tess paused for a second, and then rubbed my lower back as we reached the porch. "Not really," she said, "but no one ever is."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turns out, I wasn't as deep into active labor as I thought I was. In fact, I'd barely started it. The doula told me I was six centimeters dilated, and that I'd likely been in labor for close to twelve hours at that point.

"No, that's not possible," I protested from my reclined position on the sofa. "I wasn't having contractions until now."

"Trust me, you were," the doula grinned from her place between my knees. She slipped off her blue latex gloves and tossed them in the trash as she stood up. "I'm willing to bet they were just really mild up until you started leaking."

It was a relief to know my water breaking didn't mean I was going to deliver right there and then; but it also sucked knowing I was still in for a long ride.

I spent the rest of that night laboring around the farmhouse. It was so nice to not be stuck in a hospital room that time. I was free to do as I pleased, which Ray and Tess were sure to make clear.

Ray opened a few of the windows to let the sounds of crickets and frogs in, as well as the sweet-smelling breeze of the countryside. Meanwhile, Tess made it her life's mission to make me as cozy as possible -- no matter where I ended up. Thanks to her, pillows followed me from the sofa to the floor, from the floor to the recliner, and then back to the sofa.

Eventually, I got too restless to sit still and I needed to be upright. I was on my feet for the rest of active labor, hanging from the edges of furniture or leaning on either Tess or Ray for support during the contractions. Neither of them minded a bit.

It didn't hurt any less than the first time I went into labor. At times, I was so overcome by the increasing horrible sensations that I began screaming. Each time that happened, either Tess or Ray (whichever I was currently clinging to) would wrap their arms around me and the other would redirect my focus.

"Look at me, doll," Tess said, taking my face in her hands while Ray held me upright.

I was hyperventilating and sobbing my way through a nasty contraction and had forgotten how to use my legs.

"Look at me," she repeated gently. "Focus on my face. See my eyes? My nose? My mouth?" she pointed to each feature as she listed them. "Just think about what'cha see. Think about every detail 'ya can."

It was a technique that sounded stupid on paper, but in practice it was very effective at keeping me grounded. If I counted each of Tess's eyelashes or tried to trace the shape of her mouth in my mind's eye, then I didn't focus on the pain.

I could do it. I knew I could. I'd done this whole song and dance before without painkillers. I could do it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At ten in the morning, eight hours after arriving at the house, I finally felt the shift that told me I was almost done with this.

I was kneeling on the hardwood floor of the living room, my thighs supported by the shallow birthing stool the doula had brought. Beneath me was an absorbent blue pad. Based on the design of the packaging it was pulled it from, it was supposed to be for potty training puppies. Weird...but if it worked, it worked -- and it was certainly needed. The head was descending quicky, and a few bloody strands of cervical mucus were dripping from me as the last of it gave way.

I'd shed the damp pajamas I came in, but the sweat rolling down my back made me shiver each time an outdoor breeze came through. Tess draped a thin blanket over my shoulders and stayed at my back, her hands never leaving my upper arms as I bowed my head and wailed through a transition contraction.

Ray knelt a few feet in front of me, the doula at his side. He looked a strange mixture of nauseous and excited -- we had decided he would be the one to catch the baby, and the doula was talking him through the process ahead of time. I noticed he was holding a hand to his heart as he listened to her, the sea glass bracelet hanging from his wrist.

We all knew it was about to happen.

When the head finally lodged itself into my birth canal, I said nothing. I just acted. I gripped the front edges of the foot-tall birthing stool and let out a feral growl as I started to push. A chorus of encouragement came from the people around me:

"That's it, doll! C'mon!"

"Go with the urge, Fawn. You've got this!"

"Very good, that's what we like to see."

Having gravity on my side this time made pushing feel much less like a chore. I could feel Suri working her way down each push I gave, and she usually stayed where she was once I let up. Kneeling on the stool seemed to be easing her down exactly where she needed to go.

I let out a yelp -- of surprise more than pain -- as I suddenly felt her head pressing against the skin of my perineum. The pressure opened my lips up like a flower, and the doula shined a flashlight underneath me to confirm her head was visible just inside the bulge of my lips, sitting there ready to crown with the next push.

And holy fuck, did she crown! The burn started the second her scalp met the outside air.

"Oww! God-fucking-damn it!" I white-knuckled the wooden stool, a strangled scream leaving my throat as I felt the head bulge out further, peeling my vagina apart like some demented fruit.

Ray scooted closer, rubbing alcohol up and down his arms in preparation to catch. With the doula watching over his shoulder and aiming a flashlight down so he could see, Ray slipped his hands beneath me. I felt his fingers prodding the skin around the head.

"Just like that, yes," the doula told him. "Help her open, this baby seems to be eager."

"No shit!" I roared, my arms trembling as another push sent the head rushing downward. "Fuck!"

I felt Ray's fingers trace the circumference of his daughter's head as more of it emerged, heard the quiet squelching of the afterbirth coating his fingers. When I no longer had the contraction to help me, I let up. Ray kept trying to massage my vagina open, even as I was trying to rest.

"Stop!" I snapped, and he withdrew.

Tess was hiding behind me, her hands on my shoulders the only reminder she was there. She peeked over my shoulder at her husband during the brief lull in my screaming.

"How far is she out?" she asked, unable to see for herself.

The doula craned her neck. "Almost fully crowned."

"She has so much hair," Ray said with a breathy laugh.

"She does," the doula agreed with a grin. "Her daddy's hair, too. Very dark."

I tilted my head to the side, panting heavily but morbidly curious. "Can...can I feel?" I asked.

The doula took my hand and lead it below my belly. I gasped in awe when I touched the hot, gooey ball of hair sticking out from my body.

"Woah..." I muttered, not sure what to else to say.

My fingertips wandered between my legs for a few seconds, and it was both fascinating and horrifying how my anatomy felt nothing like my own body. Everything was stretched and moved around, and it didn't feel like I was touching anything resembling a human body part -- save for the head sitting where a head shouldn't be. Frightened, I pulled my hand back just in time to bear down against a new contraction.

"Hands out, Ray," the doula gently encouraged. "Here she comes."

I felt Tess press her forehead into my upper back. I think she was feeling faint.

"Ah!" A sharp cry, almost a bark, shot from me as the head reached a full crown for a few terrible seconds. Then, with a wet slip, her whole head came free.

"Holy Mother Gaia..." Ray marveled in a half-whisper. His hands cupped the head hanging under me with the most attentive care in the world.

He didn't have much time to admire the view, I wasn't done pushing. I screamed through closed lips as I felt the ring of flesh just behind my skin get stretched wider than it had ever been. I knew something was wrong as soon as that stabbing, tearing burn began. Suri was two weeks early, but she suddenly felt bigger than my son had been.

"Pull her out!" I begged, remembering what the doctor had done. "Just pull her out!"

"Can't," the doula said. "Her hands are up by her ears, there's nowhere for us to grab."

"Take it slow, Fawn," Ray offered. "I've got her, there's no reason to rush."

I took a few quick pants and rested, hoping the stabbing burn would lessen if I let myself stretch out. It's no wonder it hurt so bad delivering her shoulders, she was making this part more difficult than it needed to be.

Tess's hands lightly squeezed my arms and I felt her hiding her face in the blanket draped over my back. Yeah, she was definitely on the verge of passing out.

Gravity was pulling on Suri even as I was trying to let myself stretch, and the shifting pressure triggered me to push without the aid of a contraction.

"Aughh, Suri come on!" I begged, pushing so hard my vision was going double.

Maybe saying her name was intimidating enough to get her to move, because with that push I felt her arms pop free. Ray gasped, and I felt his hands shift to support her upper body as the rest of her slipped out of me. I heard fluid splash and splatter onto the puppy pad, and just a second later, Ray lifted a small blue baby up from under me.

"Get her breathing," the doula urgently instructed. "Turn her over and rub her back. Support her head."

Ray obeyed, gently flipping Suri over on his lap and rubbing his large hand over her back. Her head hung disturbingly limp on her neck as he jostled her around, but I knew that's what it was supposed to be like. It still looked scary.

Suri splayed her arms out, as if she's been surprised, and let out a gurgling wail as her first breath.

"There she is," Ray sighed with releif, turning her back over to hold her in his arms. The doula whipped out a small towel and draped it over her body to keep her warm.

Tess came back to life and rushed to be beside her husband the instant she heard the baby cry. The moment she saw Suri in her daddy's hands, she dropped to her knees and covered her mouth. Her eyes spilled over, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Oh, Ray!" she cried, her voice shaky and breaking. She reached out and pet her daughter's wet mop of black hair. "Ray, she's beautiful!"

Ray couldn't answer, he was too choked on tears of his own. Both parents held their daughter between their bodies, too joyful for words to express. Their tears and shared kisses told the story, though.

As for me, I wasn't too sure what to make of the situation. She was out, she was healthy, and her parents would be taking it from here. My job was done; but it did feel a bit...abrupt.

"Fawn," Tess turned to me, uselessly trying to dry her eyes, "do you want to hold her?"

I didn't think, I just spoke: "Yes. I've never held a baby before."

Ray and Tess lifted Suri up to me. Ray adjusted my hold so I could support the places that needed it, and Tess made sure the bloodied towel was in place so Suri wouldn't get cold. Within seconds, there I was with a minute-old baby in my arms, sitting against my bare chest.

I stared down silently at the tiny person who had been living inside me the last nine months. She was screaming her head off, but her lungs were sounding clearer each time her mouth opened. Her pink, toothless gums reminded me of a fish's mouth.

"Hey, Suri," I said, my voice sounding far away. "Must feel better out here, huh?" Suri wailed again, unhappily flailing her arms and legs around. "Or not."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I rested on the sofa, extra puppy pads beneath me, as the doula and the parents did the 'lotus ceremony' on the other side of the room. I'd had to sit on that stool for an extra twenty minutes until the placenta passed -- Ray and Tess wanted to have a lotus birth, where the cord was burned through only after the afterbirth was delivered.

I didn't want to know what they planned to do with the placenta itself.

Ray had offered to drive back to the women's shelter later that day to grab my duffel bag for me. In my panic, I'd completely forgotten the overnight bag I'd packed. So, for the time being, I was naked and covered only by the thin blanket Tess had given me.

The lotus ceremony finished up, and Ray and Tess pulled up some chairs to sit beside me. Tess had gone topless and had laid a sleeping Suri carefully across her chest, doing skin-to-skin so they could establish the proper mother-baby bond. Her eyes were red and raw, and fresh tears were falling from them.

"Fawn," she began, "you'll never know how much this means 'ta us."

"You're welcome," I said, offering the couple a tired smile. "She was a rowdy tenant, but I'd gladly do it again to give you guys the family you want. You'll be an amazing mom, Tess."

Tess let out a small sob that turned into a chuckle. "Thank 'ya."

Ray rubbed his wife's back, his own fresh tears falling. "We have something very special to give you, Fawn. It's...the closest thing we have to fully repaying you."

Tess nodded. "Money ain't enough. It would never be enough."

In sync, both couples removed the pieces of jewelry I'd never seen them without: Tess, her quartz pendant; Ray, his sea glass bracelet. Without a word, both new parents bestowed the items on me as if it were a coronation. Tess slipped the pendant around my neck and flipped my hair out from under the chain it hung on. Ray carefully slid the band of clattering sea-green beads over my hand until it came to rest softly on my wrist.

I looked at the new gifts with a grateful smile. "Something to remember you guys by?"

The couple gave each other one of their classic knowing grins.

"No," Tess said. "We chose these items months ago. They were always intended for who our surrogate would be."

I tilted my head to the side like a confused dog -- I guess the puppy pads were appropriate after all. "What?"

"From the day we met you, we've been praying over them," Ray explained, repeating the hand-over-heart motion I'd frequently seen him do with the hand that had worn the bracelet. "Each milestone we reached, we made sure our joy in the moment was stored in the crystals."

"Quartz is best to channel the energy of a mother, for Mother Gaia," Tess explained. "Glass shaped by the sea is best for a father's energy, for all life was fathered by the sea."

We were silent for a while, just staring at each other. The only sound was the soft cooing Surinder made in her sleep.

"We want you 'ta be a part of this family, Fawn," Tess said. "We've put a part of our essence into these crystals. Our joy, our love, our gratitude. So, whenever 'ya wear 'em, we'll be with 'ya."

Now I was crying. I opened my jaw to say something, but nothing came.

"We've talked about it, and..." Ray said with a smile. "...if you would like to, we'd be more than happy to have you stay here with us until you get back on your feet."

"Livin' out here has been much less of a headache than in the city," Tess continued. "We could help you find a nice 'lil place of your own sometime soon, a home where you can make a life for 'yaself."

There was another pause. I let tears fall silently down my bewildered face.

"You don't talk much about 'ya family," Tess said. "You don't owe us no explanation, but...Ray and I figured...you might need someone in 'ya corner."

That was it. That was the killing blow.

I jumped forward and threw my arms over Ray, collapsing into sobs I hadn't experienced in months. I would've grabbed both of them, but Tess had the baby. I didn't actually say anything to them, but I think they got the message.

Maybe there was something to those New Age ideas of theirs. As I sat there sobbing, I swear I could feel the warmth of Tess and Ray's love seeping into my skin through those minerals.

It seeped through my blood and sinew, and even though bone. It settled into the bleeding wound in my soul that refused to heal, the one that had been torn open the first time I called my family after the fallout:

My own mother, the one who promised to love me no matter what life threw, plunged the knife in and twisted it. The last words she ever spoke to me...were a threat to kill me if I ever tried to come back home.

The warmth of Ray and Tess's gift poured into that wound like warm honey -- not healing it, but soothing it for the first time in three years.

Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe the heat in the jewelry was just from their body heat.

But I was sure about one thing:

I wasn't alone anymore.

~ END ~

#Fawn Drabbles #mittysins #birth kink #RP Drabble

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starsfic · 8 days

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Long Xiaojiao, Night Guard

Summary: After an argument with her parents, Xiaojiao decides to cut herself off. However, that means moving into a different place, and that's not feasible with her savings. So, Xiaojiao decides to get a job.

Hopefully, this American pizza joint will be nice.

AO3/Ko-Fi

-_-

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“Neither can I,” Long Xiaojiao groaned, fisting a hand in her hair. For once, her phone wasn’t in her pocket. It was upstairs on Xiaotian’s bed, buzzing with so many missed calls and texts with one familiarity. They were all from her family.

Well, former family.

“What even happened?” Xiaotian asked, passing her a bowl of noodles, the smell deliciously fragrant and a balm on her nerves. “You told me a month ago that you guys were doing fine.”

Xiaojiao sighed, picking up the chopsticks. She was glad it was slow today. If Xiaotian wasn’t here, she was pretty sure she would do something stupid. “Well, I went over for breakfast, and we kinda started talking about my summer plans. Well, my dad asked if I was planning to go back to college any time soon and…” She knew that the fact that she had dropped out of college was a sore spot for her parents, but she had hated college. She had gotten all the qualifications to be a mechanic that moment she dropped out, but her parents hadn’t been impressed. “Things went downhill from there.”

“So bad that you decided that you have to move out?”

“I kinda have to,” Xiaojiao loved her swanky apartment, but she had to cut herself off in all ways. “It’s technically under my parents’ names, even if I pay rent. Plus, the landlord’s friends with my dad, which is why I had such low rent.” Thankfully, she had enough savings for the down payment and the first month’s rent for something smaller, a little more worn down, but decent, after some looking. (Did she really need that third monitor?) “Don’t worry about it, I have a few places in mind.”

“I could talk to Red,” Xiaotian offered, his smile bright. “You’re his best friend, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind-”

“Dude, Red’s already got issues dealing with Pigsy flipping his lid over you moving out,” She had not witnessed the announcement, only heard that Pigsy attempted to whack Red with the wok. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. My only concern is finding a job.” Streamer money alone couldn’t fill up her bank account.

"Oh!" Xiaotian said, smiling brightly. "That'll be easy for you!"

"Yeah!" She was Long Xiaojiao, mechanic qualified, smart, and popular. "How hard will it be?"

-_-

Fuck Qi Xiaotian.

Fuck him and getting all her hopes up.

Of course he had an easy time of it. The moment he was old enough, Pigsy hired him to help out around the noodle shop with great pay, the softie. She should've asked Pigsy; it would've been easier than having the honestly brutal amount of rejection emails pop up in her inbox.

Most places didn't exactly like the idea of people dropping out of college because they were bored. Most places saw her as wasting time waiting for a job position that Daddy and Mommy promised her. Others just weren't looking for anyone anymore and simply hadn't taken down the ads yet. At least those were nice enough to say sorry.

Xiaojiao was honestly prepared to beg Red or Pigsy for a job when another email popped in.

And this one was more than excited to welcome her.

Maybe a little too excited, when Xiaojiao stepped into Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

From what the owner had explained, they were in the process of moving in, and she could see that with all the boxes everywhere. But the place still looked incredibly worn down for all its newness. None showed that more than the four animatronics standing on the stage.

Long Xiaojiao had done some research, she wasn't that dumb. Apparently, Fazbear Entertainment had started in the United States, and had quickly developed a reputation. Now, they were moving to China, hoping to escape the ghost stories and accusations of murder. Said stories surrounded the four she eyed.

Freddy Fazbear, the bear himself, stood in the middle, holding a microphone. Bonnie the Bunny and Chica the Chicken stood on either side of him like bodyguards. Foxy the Pirate held his hook up as if in the middle of telling a grand tale. All of their eyes were closed and their heads slumped, like they had fallen asleep on their feet.

“But they’re probably just stories,” Xiaojiao sighed. “You guys look like you couldn’t hurt a fly!”

"Oh, hello!" Xiaojiao nearly jumped at the English interrupting her study, turning to reveal a pretty blonde woman hovering next to the stage. She blinked emerald eyes before awkwardly chuckling. "I'm...sorry, hello," she said in shaky Mandarin. "Do you speak English?"

"Yeah, I do," One of the things she was glad her parents had forced her to learn. "Although your Mandarin sounded pretty good."

The woman shook her head. "No, no, I'm still learning. This move was a sudden decision, so I needed to pick it up quickly." She held out a hand, and Xiaojiao shook it. Her grip felt weirdly weak. "I'm Vanessa Shelly, the owner of the restaurant."

"Oh, nice to meet you. I'm Long Xiaojiao, I'm here for the staff position?"

"Yeah, I figured," Vanessa chuckled, the awkwardness slowly easing out of the noise. "Let me give you a tour, and I can give you a laydown of the situation."

The tour wasn't that long. There was one big dining hall- the room Xiaojiao had entered- a slightly smaller arcade and prize room, two small rooms for private birthday parties, two halls that connected in the kitchen, Parts and Services/storage, and the guard office.

"The office is where you'll be spending the most of your first two weeks," Vanessa explained, allowing Xiaojiao to take in the space. It was small, with buttons next to both doorways. A small fan chugged away next to a tablet and computer, cooling down nothing. "My brother is still in Utah, handling business matters there, but once he gets here, he'll be handling the night guard business."

"Okay, that's good to know," She had worried about that part, not wanting to lose too much time with Xiaotian. Two weeks was manageable. But, those buttons looked weird. She nodded, but her mind was on the buttons. "What do these do-?"

"Wait, wait, WAIT-!" Xiaojiao pressed the button, and a door came crashing down. There was a thud outside, probably from Vanessa jumping back to avoid being cut in half. Xiaojiao blinked at the thick metal door before pushing the button. The door slid back up, revealing Vanessa. She was against the wall, her eyes wide.

"Sorry," Xiaojiao said, stepping forward and helping Vanessa from her lean against the wall. "Are you okay?" Her hands were callused and strangely cold, but her emerald eyes were warm.

Vanessa didn't answer for a moment, eyes locked on their hands. Finally, she pulled away, managing another awkward laugh as her fingers dug into her purple work shirt. "I'm fine. Don't worry. Sorry, I should have warned you about the doors."

"Yeah..." Now that she thought about it, those doors seemed more like something from a military base than a pizza place. "Why do you guys have bombproof doors?"

"They were something from the old place," Vanessa explained, stepping back into the office. Her destination turned out to be a worn yellow locker Xiaojiao hadn't noticed. She opened the door and reached inside. "My brother insisted on it, in case the animatronics..." She shut the door, revealing she held a work uniform. "Misbehave." Ah, right, ghost stories. "Anyway, here is your uniform!"

Xiaojiao took it. This at least looked new, with the buttons all shiny and a shiny new name tag sitting on top with her name. The keys were already on a keychain, hanging from the pocket. "Thanks."

"Now, how about I get the gang to say hello before you head out?" Vanessa was already pushing past, her shoulder gently bumping Xiaojiao. "We want you well rested for your shift tomorrow, right?"

Hello?

Xiaojiao followed Vanessa back to the main dining hall, finding her boss standing in front of the animatronics. She clapped her hands together. "Okay, guys, wake up. I got a new friend working with us. Foxy, I think you'll like her."

Those seemed to be the magic words. The first to lift their head was Bonnie, his magenta eyes focusing on Vanessa. Chica was next, the little cupcake on her plate giving a little yawn that Xiaojiao had to fight to not coo over, and then Foxy reared his head back, giving out a maniacal laugh.

And then Freddy... didn't move.

"Freddy?" Vanessa said, cocking her head. Those green eyes were concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Aye, lass, he's just a lil' tired from all the flying," Foxy said, sounding just like a pirate. "Can't say I blame him. Give me a ship any day!"

"Foxy," Chica said. "You know we couldn't have sailed over. Sailing takes too long, and Ness worries a lot." 'Ness''s face turned red, not disputing the claim.

Wow, this was really great AI. The banter and movements as Foxy and Chica argued back and forth, and Bonnie reached over to hold Freddy's shoulder was so life-like. Xiaojiao's fingers itched for her phone to record and stream. Hm, maybe…

"Anyway, this is Long Xiaojiao," Vanessa said, interrupting Bonnie saying something about the perfect cheese for pizza. She gestured to her, and Xiaojiao waved. "She'll be our night guard until Mikey gets here, and she'll be helping me repair and maintain you guys."

Oh, yeah! “I also know a guy,” Xiaojiao said, pulling up her phone. “Who does commissions. He made a logo for his dad’s noodle shop. Maybe he can do some stuff for your marketing?”

Vanessa’s smile went big. “Really?” Xiaojiao turned to reveal Pigsy’s logo and her eyes went wide. “Oh, that looks great.”

“Yeah! You have a pen?” At the request, a pen was pulled out. “Great! Here’s his number, his name is Qi Xiaotian…” She ignored the heat flaring up in her face as she held Vanessa’s name and scrawled Xiaotian’s number across her palm. “Anyway,” she said as she pulled away. “Give him a call. He’ll be more than happy to help.”

“Oh, thanks Xiaojiao!”

“No worries! See you tomorrow!” Xiaojiao headed out, glancing back. Vanessa was smiling at her palm. Chica was petting her cupcake as Foxy and Bonnie talked. And Freddy…

Freddy stared right at her.

-_-

Long Xiaojiao was eager for her first shift, especially after the day she had, but almost drove away when she came one hour before midnight.

In the light of day, the restaurant had just looked worn and tired. In the darkness of night, barely lit by the neon on the next street, it looked menacing. Vanessa had left the dining hall's light on for her, showcasing the four figures on stage. All were slumped over, looking asleep again.

Xiaojiao barely resisted a shiver as she parked her bike and walked up. The clink of the lock opening sounded like a gunshot, and, as she walked in, she swore a cold breeze slid down her back.

No. No. She was being ridiculous. She was Xiaojiao, the White Horse Dragon Girl (dragon family or no dragon family), former wielder of the Samadhi fire, and current wielder of the Long sword (dragon family or no dragon family). She wasn't gonna get spooked like this!

"Hey guys!" she said for some semblance of noise as she locked the door behind her. "Good to see you guys again!" Nothing came back and Xiaojiao nodded. "Good talk."

Her duties involved checking all the doors to make sure they were locked. Xiaojiao did the lap of the building before settling into her office, which now housed a phone and an old poster. Now, all she had to do was keep an eye on the building and the animatronics until 6 AM.

Her phone beeped, and she pulled it out.

MonkieMAN: CONGRATS ON UR HOME!

Ah, right. Xiaojiao was now the proud owner of a small studio apartment. It was a little smaller than her old place, but she owned it. She still had to unpack and figure out what to keep- goodbye, third monitor- but she was home for now.

You: THANKS! How's moving into your place?

The phone rang. Xiaojiao nearly fell out of her chair at the noise and felt a flash of irritation. Was she really that off her game? She had dealt with scarier things. The phone rang again before something clicked and "Hello? Hello, hello?"

"Hello?"

"Uhh, I wanted to record a message for you... to help you get settled in on your first night. Um, I actually worked in that office before you." Oh, it was a voicemail Vanessa must've forgotten to delete. Xiaojiao shrugged and turned to her phone. "I’m... finishing up my last week now, as a matter of fact, so... I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but I’m here to tell you: there’s nothing to worry about."

"Uh huh, sure."

MonkieMAN: We're doing great! Red wants to remodel the kitchen…

"Uh, you’ll do fine! So... let’s just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay? Uh, let’s see. First, there’s an introductory greeting from the company that I’m supposed to read. Eh, it’s kind of a legal thing, you know."

Huh, wonder why Vanessa didn't give it to her. Xiaojiao shrugged. "Probably out of date or something."

"Um, 'Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza: a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovery of damage or if death has occurred, a missing person’s report will be filed within ninety days or as soon as property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached and the carpets have been replaced.' " Xiaojiao sat up at that, raising a brow. Hang on. "Blah, blah, blah... Now that might sound bad, I know."

"My dude. Seriously?"

"But there’s really nothing to worry about. Uh, the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No! If I were forced to sing... those same stupid songs for 20 years, and I never got a bath? I’d probably be a bit irritable at night too." Speaking of the animatronics, Xiaojiao grabbed the tablet. It awakened easily, revealing a green 100% bar. On a guess, she pressed the only app. "So remember, these characters hold a special place in the hearts of children, and you need to show them a little respect. Right? Okay. So just be aware:"

She froze.

"The characters do tend to wander a bit. Uhh, they’re left in some kind of "free-roaming mode" at night. Uhh... something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long." Oh, that was bullshit. Both the story and the fact that all four of them had turned their heads toward her camera, staring directly at her. "Uhh... they used to be allowed to walk around during the day, too, but then there was the Bite of '87. Yeah... I-It’s amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe, you know?"

"Excuse me?!"

Now concerning your safety: the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters, uhh, if they happen to see you after hours, probably won’t recognise you as a person. Th-They’ll most likely see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on."

"Wait, hang on-"

"Now, since that’s against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, they’ll probably try to... forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit."

"What."

"Um, now that wouldn’t be so bad if the suits themselves weren’t filled with crossbeams, wires, and animatronic devices, especially around the facial area. So you can imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort... and death.

"Just discomfort and death?!"

"Uh, the only parts of you that would likely see the light of day again would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out the front of the mask, heh." Xiaojiao felt a whimper come up at the mental image. Not even the Lady Bone Demon had threatened something like that. And it only grew worse when she looked back down. "...Y-Yeah, they don’t tell you these things when you sign up... But hey! First day should be a breeze; I’ll chat with you tomorrow."

Bonnie was gone.

"Uhh, check those cameras, and remember to close the doors only if absolutely necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright. Goodnight." And the Phone Guy hung up, leaving Xiaojiao gawking at the space where Bonnie should’ve been.

Was this part of her job? Finding Bonnie? She was pretty sure the job description didn't include that and Vanessa hadn't mentioned anything like that. Plus, there was just something about the way that the animatronics stared down the camera that was different from the playfulness that they showed earlier.

It felt... angry. Like, Azure or Macaque levels of anger.

But she also had a missing animatronic.

"Come on, come on... there!" Bonnie was just standing in between the tables, staring at the camera. Xiaojiao raised a brow. He continued to stare. She blinked.

He was moving.

"Crap."

Xiaojiao could hear his footsteps come down the hall- thudding, loud, like the heartbeat in her ears. He was coming and now she understood why Vanessa's brother wanted those doors.

Down went the door.

She couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. There. That should keep him out. Soon enough, she heard footsteps…

Not walk away. Actually, they were coming down the other side.

Xiaojiao glanced down at the tablet and pulled the camera back. Chica was gone. Chica was peering from the doorway. Xiaojiao wasted no time in slamming the door down. For a few minutes, heart pounding, Xiaojiao waited until those heavy footsteps walked away.

They didn't stay away long.

There seemed to be some kind of pattern. Bonnie always came down one side, Chica the other. Bonnie would return to the stage or a broom closet to chill. Chica would head to the kitchen, where she seemed to be unpacking boxes. At least one of them was doing something helpful.

It was a rhythm that was easy to track.

That, Xiaojiao would figure later, was her mistake.

Bonnie was on stage at around 4 AM, talking to Freddy, who never ceased his glare at the camera. Chica was messing around in the kitchen. With that, Xiaojiao allowed herself to relax. Both of them moved slowly. She would have enough time to shut the door-

A clang interrupted her thoughts. At first, she assumed Chica had dropped something. Another clang raised a brow. Another, faster clang made her sit up as it repeated, again and again.

"What in the-"

Foxy sprinted into view, his hook raised and a screech coming out. Xiaojiao screamed back, her entire body going cold with terror.

And, in her state, Xiaojiao could only do one thing.

"SPICY HOT PEPPER BLAST!"

Her sword glowed green, sparking with electricity, and a laser came out. The kickback shoved her out of her chair and against the other door, looking up in time to hear Foxy scream.

"ME ARM!"

That was an issue.

There was a massive burn mark on the wall. There was also one on Foxy's arm, scarring what red fur was left. "FOXY!" Chica called, but Xiaojiao closed the door and the other before the chicken rushed up. She could barely set the tablet down before gripping her knees, taking in deep breaths as she stared at the floor.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, that had been bad. That had been super bad. There was no way Vanessa wouldn't notice.

...did Vanessa know the animatronics would do this?

A different kind of "Oh fuck" came out. If Vanessa knew, she was screwed.

Xiaojiao wasn't sure how long it was before there was a chime. She glanced up as the clock struck six. Quitting time. She took in a deep breath and tried to stand. ‘Stand’ was the keyword. Her legs felt like jelly and she could smell the terror on her. A surge of anger twisted her stomach at the sensations.

“Vanessa better have a good explanation.”

Vanessa was unlocking the front doors by the time Xiaojiao got to the dining hall. Her smile was warm, but Xiaojiao was too angry to consider how pretty it was.

"Hey! How was it? I hope the power didn't die on you. It's weird here, and we're still trying to fix it."

Okay, that was a whole other thing Xiaojiao was not going to get into. She crossed her arms, studying her boss. "You didn't tell me the animatronics moved during the night."

Vanessa raised a brow. "Oh, sorry. I thought I told you. They had this weird thing with free roam that I'm trying to fix, but they mostly move around at night and try to do tasks that need doing."

"You didn't say that they would try to k-"

"Hey, Vanessa," She nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't even noticed Freddy move over. His voice was almost fatherly, but his gaze on her was cold. "I think I might need some help setting up tools in Parts and Services. Mind helping me."

"Uh, sure," Vanessa glanced back as Freddy guided her down the hallway. "Thanks again, Xiaojiao! See you tonight!"

Xiaojiao blinked, feeling some of the anger slide off. Well, that answered one question. However, she couldn't help but follow the duo. Sure, she was a bit upset with Vanessa, but she couldn't just leave her alone. Thankfully, there was no screaming as she crept up to the Parts and Services door.

"Come on, you promised me you would handle this better."

"I know, I know...but did you really have to hire that girl? I don't like her."

"Freddy, you don't like anyone. And Xiaojiao's been great for what position she's in, and nobody else helping her. I know that she can do great things here once Mikey comes, I can feel it. Just...give her a chance, okay?'

Xiaojiao cocked her head, showing the scene. Freddy's arm was extended with the top part off, revealing the endo underneath. Vanessa was fiddling with it, her gaze distant and distracted. Freddy stared at her with what almost seemed like fatherly affection.

"Okay, I promise."

Liar.

Xiaojiao turned and walked away, gaze hard. Now, she needed to move and be ready.

She needed to repair a few things.

-_-

The next night, the phone rang again at midnight. Xiaojiao let the message about the animatronics play until it reached the part about them being more active as the night continued. She could already see that, with Foxy tensing up, getting ready to sprint right off the stage.

She slammed the door close. She bit back a jolt at the banging that started up, but focused on closing the other door. She checked her tablet and smirked at the steady 99%. "And Tang called Pigsy weird for hanging onto that spare generator," she chuckled. Now, she would have enough power to stall until they were all there and for her little show.

Xiaojiao pulled up the camera in the hallway in time to watch Foxy trot back to the stage.

Soon enough, Chica headed down her hallway, waiting. Bonnie, unlike last night, moved third to the opposing door. Foxy made another dash to the door. Each time, she heard their footsteps, heard them paw at the door.

Each time, they walked back, looking more and more confused and annoyed. Finally, Freddy marched off the stage, looking incredibly annoyed. All four of them headed to the left door.

Bang.

Bang!

Bang, bang!

Bang, bang, bang!

BANG BANG BANG BANG-

The power held steady, but it was enough. Xiaojiao pressed the button, the door lifted, there was a shriek-

"I'll tell Vanessa."

All four froze mid strike, staring at her. Xiaojiao barely fought back a smirk. Her gamble had worked. Freddy finally spoke, sounding like he was fighting back the urge to strangle her. "You're bluffing."

Xiaojiao simply reached back and pulled up the video of the past hour. The clanging against the door rang out in the office, as the video perfectly showed what had been going on right outside the office.

"Pretty neat, huh? I noticed that some of the cameras didn't work, so I fixed them. I even fixed the computers." She wasn't gonna mention the bugs she placed everywhere, just to be sure. "I mean, Vanessa did say that you guys moved here for a fresh start and no murder. I wonder how she's gonna feel when you guys don't feel the same?"

Freddy gaped at her. Foxy was the one to speak up, rolling down his sleeve to reveal the burn mark. "Aye, and we'll be the ones to tell Ness that you brought in a weapon."

"I'll just tell Ness that she was scared for her life. Rightly so."

All of them jolted at the male voice. Xiaojiao turned in her chair.

There was a guy in the other doorway, holding a cup of coffee. He wore a dark hoodie and sunglasses, but that couldn't distract from the fact that his skin was purple. Xiaojiao was tempted to poke, but she had more questions. Including…

"How the fuck did you get in here?"

There was a gasp of "Swear jar!" but that was less important.

"I picked the lock." He held out a hand. "I'm Mike, by the way."

She took his hand, still not certain on how to react as she shook it. "Okay. Uh, I'm Xiaojiao-"

"The dangerous lunatic who smuggled in a laser sword and attempted to dismantle the animatronics." He sipped his coffee as Xiaojiao gaped. “Yeah, yeah, I’m willing to tell Ness that the animatronics were trying to get rid of a saboteur.”

...was she being blackmailed? Huh, weird. She was usually the one doing the blackmailing.

"Unless?" She had to ask.

"You both behave and leave me the fuck alone." He took another sip of his coffee. "You don't want to mess with me. I've done some fucked up shit, and Ness is used to that." He looked at her directly, cold lavender eyes boring into her soul. "Don't let Ness figure out what kinda fucked up shit you can do."

Oh. Well, that sealed it.

Before she could do anything, the clock chimed. "Well," Mike said pleasantly. "Ness should be here...about now." Of he trotted down the hallway, leaving Xiaojiao and the animatronics to glance at each other before Xiaojiao followed him down. She could hear the footfalls of the animatronics, but she didn't look back.

"Oh, Mikey! I thought you weren't gonna be here until next week!"

"Yeah, well, stuff concluded faster than expected..."

"Why do you smell like smoke?"

As a beaming Vanessa hugged her brother, Xiaojiao sighed. "I don't like him."

"Neither do we, but he's a good worker, and he's the only blood family Ness has left," Freddy groused.

The two glanced at each other. Now, Xiaojiao nearly had enough with the animatronics. But she had agreed with Mike that she would stay on. So…

"I have some pranking ideas." She held out a hand. "Truce?"

"Ooh!" Foxy cooed, elbowing to hover next to her. "Mind sharing with ole Foxy, lass?"

"I'm gonna pretend this isn't happening," Freddy said, turning and walking away. "Chica, come on. I want plausible deniability."

Xiaojiao felt her smile grow. Okay, so this wasn’t the best job in the world. But it was stable and, with her family forged in ice and Samadhi fire, she would make it work.

#my writing #LMK #FNAF #Monkie Kid #Five Nights at Freddy's #LEGO Monkie Kid #Long Xiaojiao #Vanessa #FNAF Vanessa

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car-lozsigns · 2 years

Text

A few minutes more (pt4)

Synopsis: You and Carlos had crossed paths more than you thought was possible over a short weekend but time was not on your side. A love story that’s about the slow burn and companionship built connection, and how sometimes right place wrong time is the best of the available options

Author Note: I wanted a fluff story to read so decided to write one for myself. So this story will be split between POV and time jumps as they are my favourite to read. The plan is for this to be very slow paced, so if you’re reading this, considered yourself warned that this will not have a quick conclusion.

Length:~3k

Warning: zip, still fluff, still slow

Link to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Part 4

The past two months for you had been busy, you had earned yourself a promotion and as a result you had started to build a team around you to support the work you had been bringing onboard. It meant some long nights, to the point where you had let your social life drop off in order to make it through the stressful period at work. Your boss had come up to you late November to check in on how you were doing. They saw that you had been focused to the point where your mental health had started to slip and took actions into their own hands.

Your inbox slowly became littered with flight deal and holiday package emails sent through from your boss. You ignored them knowing that you’d holiday when it quietened down but your boss did not take no for an answer. The Holiday brochures were getting left on your desk, and now came directly from travel agencies. You huffed as you clicked unsubscribe from what felt like the hundredth email, stood up, looking over the desk partition to meet a pair of sheepish eyes in front of you.

“I get the picture, I’ll go on holiday!!” your boss only looked at you with a smug expression, knowing deep down you needed the break, but hating to admit that others had seen that need as much as you had let it slip past.

You originally intended on only taking the typical Christmas shut down period, however, at the constant insistence from your boss you conceded and ended up booking majority of December promising that if when you returned you were not relaxed and yourself again, you’d take another few weeks off before work picked up again in February.

Your month long break however did not mean that you stopped working until you landed in Australia… at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself as you opened your emails seeing the list that had piled up on your trip to the airport this morning.

Your flight was longer than what you would normally take, opting to take the cheapest flight you could find in order to have a bit more freedom to spend while home. That coupled with the fact it was peak travel time, you conceded you did what you had to do. As a result you had 2 stopovers instead of the direct flight you preferred to take. You had made your way to the gate at Schipol, only to see that your first connecting flight had been pushed back, giving you an extra 2 hours to kill instead of 30 minutes, making your already long trip home even longer.

You made your way to the airline lounge, after sending your sister a quick message to email across a lounge pass for your airline, waiting out the front while she sent a response. One good thing about living so far away from the rest of the world is the points that had banked up after years of travel forward and back across the country. Walking through the frosted glass doors, you were met with a relatively empty lounge space, comfortable booths and arms chairs scattered around in twos and threes. You searched for an available power plug so you could get a few more hours of work done, telling yourself when you landed in Singapore you would not work on that stopover.

You found a vacant one by the windows, tucked away in a corner, far away from the bar and food, thanking your lucky stars. You could make use of the quiet time and space before squishing in the middle row which you knew awaited you for the 13 hour flight up ahead. You pulled on your noise cancelling headphones, set an alarm on your phone for 20 minutes before your flight was scheduled to board and pulled your hoodie over your head, blocking out the room surrounding you.

Carlos on the other hand did not find his flight delayed. He had intentionally arrived at the airport early in the hopes of going unnoticed, arriving a full 5 hours before he was scheduled to leave. His family had made the trip earlier within the week taking a direct flight, whereas he had taken some time in Amsterdam spending a week off first with Lando to fully unwind and begin the summer break , his week full of partying each night. Two of the five hours had already passed when he made his way to the bar to pick up a snack and some more water. Turning away from the bar, he made his way to where he was previously seated, his eyes catching some orange in his peripheral. He recognised that orange, it was the papaya of his team, McLaren, however it wasn’t the colour that held his attention. The orange was located on the side of a pull up hoodie, his “CS55” clearly standing out the nape of the neck against the dark grey of the rest of the sweater.

He would recognise that hoodie anywhere. In any other circumstance, seeing his initials and racing number on clothing would indicate a fan, resulting in him either having an awkward interaction and photo, or turning in the other direction, hoping that no one had seen him. This however was his own jumper which was made specially for him when he signed on to McLaren in 2019 as a welcome gift to the team. He knew that there was only one of them and that he had given away a few months ago to a shivering girl, late at night to keep her shielded from the biting evening chill. He had paid the price for keeping you warm, ending up with a cold that had started the next morning and refused to leave which saw him reprimanded by the team for threatening to impact the next race. Suzuka however ended up being a good result for him, qualifying seventh and finishing fifth. Which he attributed to you helping keep his spirits high despite barely being able to breath during the race weekend.

He hesitated, unsure if you would remember him after leaving you at your doorstep.

That night walking back to his apartment, arms crossed shielding himself from the wind, he had pulled out his phone , and started to type out a message to you but decided not to send it, thinking at the time that the six or so hours you had spent talking were perfect enough. He didn’t want to ruin the illusion he had made by messaging you, only to be ghosted. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling to where you name was saved, pressing the message he saw what he had started to type out in those early morning hours.

He didn’t have the courage to send that text that night, but seeing his hoodie in the airport of all places where he had three hours left to wait patiently, he saw as the opportunity representing itself to him. He stopped a few feet away from you, close enough to see your hair poking out of the hoodie, and his initials stitched on the left arm. He took a deep breathe in, closing the remaining distance, lowering himself slowly into the empty seat directly opposite you.

You were enjoying the warmth on your face from the sun that had finally broken through the thick cloud cover. Mid typing you were interrupted by a figure coming closer and sitting down in front of you. You had seen someone hovering out of the corner of your eye but had dismissed it as one of the lounge attendants who periodically roamed around the room, cleaning and refilling people’s drinks. The person however had not turned but walked towards you, and you had keep your eyes trained on the screen, hoping that your lack of attention would be a signal enough that you were not to be disturbed.

Your body language had obviously failed in communicating that silent message, you looking up from the screen only to see a face you had not thought about in months.

“Nice to see my hoodie is getting some use” he said to you. You looked down and knew what he was talking about. Your face flushed, in all honesty it ws the only clean hoodie you had left, with your piles of laundry not taken care of before you packed for your trip. His hoodie had been sitting on your dresser counter since that night, you too scared to wear it again opting to keep the memory of that night untainted. You had specifically picked this one to wear for the flight, despite in it being the only one not dirty, so that when you landed at home you could tell your sister all about the guy you had met back in October, the jumper acting as a prompt for the conversation.

“No point me not wearing it, you of anyone would know how soft it is” you teased back, Carlos’s face lighting up a little more as you not only remembered him, but answered with the smile he had come to miss.

“So…where are you flying to?” Carlos cursed internally for how nervous he was sounding. He had practiced what he would text you but hadn’t thought he’d see you in person before he had messaged.

“I’m flying home for the Christmas break, time to see some family, get sunburnt, eat my weight in cherries and peaches” you pulled out your boarding pass handing it over to him. “Flight has been delayed so I have a few hours to wait until I go to Singapore then one more flight for Aus” He handed your boarding pass back as you asked “Where are you going?”

“Mexico, I’m going with my family for a holiday before flying back to Europe for Christmas”

And so you picked up where you left off, covering everything that had happened over the past few months as well as both of your plans for your holidays. Your phone alarm interrupted Carlos in the middle of explaining his last few days in Amsterdam, signalling you needed to make your way to the gate lest you miss your flight. You turn the alarm to snooze, giving you another 5 mins before you really had to go. Reaching for the power cord and packing up your laptop you asked Carlos “Do you have instagram or WhatsApp? I never asked you last time, but I want to hear all about Mexico, and see if I should go there next” You didn’t say that you wanted to keep talking to him and to stalk every picture he ever posted, he couldn’t know that you were more invested that you really wanted to be after only seeing him twice. You unlocked your phone, handing it to Carlos not giving a chance to say no before adding “Add me on insta and put your contact in” your fingers grazed his and earned a few quicker heartbeats from him.

Carlos, like practicing what he’d text you, had also prepared for this moment within two different scenarios. If you had found out who he was, he would just give you his number to talk, but if, like now, you still saw him as just Carlos, he would give you his private insta, one that he kept only for his closest friends and family, affording him a small slice of privacy that he clung to desperately as each year passed. You hadn’t brought up him as a driver, so he typed in his profile, clicking “Follow”, before switching to WhatsApp and adding his number. Carlos clicked the camera button within the chat window, took a quick low angle selfie and hit send, exiting the app and locking the phone screen.

You had finished winding the power cord and packed your headphones into your carry-on, ready to leave. Carlos handed back your phone with a “Safe flight, let me know when you land” Taken a back with the concern he expressed to you, you pocketed your phone turned to leave. You’d taken a few steps before turning, calling back loud enough so he could hear you “I’m glad I ran into you again” and with a smile you picked up your pace knowing you has less than 15 minutes to make it to you flight.

You barely made it to your gate in time. Handing your boarding pass to the attendant, they directed you to your seat, you pushing your carryon in the overhead bins, before settling yourself in-between two other passengers who looked irritated at the fact the middle seat was not free, but now occupied. Before their irritation could rub off onto you, your phone buzzed again, with the name “Carlos” lighting up your screen. You clicked open the message and your phone screen was filled with the cheesiest grin slapped across Carlos’ face. That however was not the message that had just been received by your phone. The message read, ‘So you know it’s me”. You sent back a voice note repeating his words back to him, hitting send. You saw the attendant start to make their way down the aisles of the plane, getting passengers to open their window shades and put away their electronics for take-off. Before they reached your row, you switched over to Instagram to accept the following request sitting in your inbox. You had expected to be greeted by a profile with an equally cheesy selfie as the request but instead you were greeted by the most suspicious profile, a grey profile pic, with the user name a set of repeating “cs”. Had you not given Carlos your phone for him to follow his own account, you would have deleted the request, but benefit of the doubt, you hit “Confirm”, clicking on the profile. Here you were greeted by the man whose hoodie you currently wore, seeing his most recent post a compilation of Dutch buildings, with the last photo of the set him eating a Stroop waffle.

The flight attendant had reached your row, asking you to switch off your phone. With a quick double tap you liked the post and turned your phone to aeroplane mode settling for the next 13 hour flight.

Carlos had watched you walk away from him again, however this time he could at least watch you from afar through your posts. He had rectified his lack of courage by stepping up to talk to you and he was glad as he did. The two hours went by so quickly, he was so engrossed in the conversation that he hadn’t touched his water, now warm in his hand. The lounge had remained empty while he was talking to you by the window, his bag where he had left it. He still had an hour left before his own flight, which he planned on scrolling through your Instagram to pass the time. However, you had yet to accept his friend request.

He quickly went through his own profile, archiving any embarrassing posts when he first started his account as well as hiding any that had a mention of racing. His number of pictures dropped quite significantly with the racing photos removed, leaving only those of him with his friends and family either on holiday or at friends birthdays. He knew that most of his life was spent around cars, but seeing it reflected in his newly edited Instagram solidified how much of himself he was trying to keep from you. He knew he was going to get some questions about why he had suddenly cleaned up his page and made a mental note to bring it up to his family while on holiday.

He had just set his phone down on the coffee table by his seat when the screen lit up with your name against a WhatsApp notification. He swiped open, and you had responded with an audio note. Connecting his AirPods he hit play, hearing your voice repeat his words back to him. He hit the microphone to respond, again repeating to you that you should message him when you land, and he will do the same when he gets to Mexico. He exited WhatsApp, switching back to Instagram, waiting on your profile, refreshing it to see if you had accepted his request. On the fourth refresh, the screen changed, your grid becoming visible.

Your profile couldn’t have been more similar to his if you had planned it. Apart from the difference in number of pictures, yours was mostly you on holidays as well. You were smiling with your friends but the majority of your pictures were you with your sister. By the amount that the two of you were photographed together he could tell that she was even more important in your life than you had let on. The only other difference in your account to his was that every few pictures of friends were broken up with a screen shot of your sharing a song to your page.

Perfect Carlos thought, typing each song you had shared into his Spotify, to kill the time he would listen to each of them to get to see you a little better. The playlist ended up being 46 songs long and served as his main source of content for the wait for his flight as well as the short flight across the Atlantic. Knowing his flight was much shorter than yours, he hit play and started to listen to the variety you had shared. With you as well listening to those songs which you had on your own playlist to keep you occupied for your flight. Again you were both in sync with each other already, a bond forming that both of you were solidifying slowly with each interaction.

Link to Part 5

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planetarybound · 1 year

Text

Mar 26, 2023by maia arson crimewin transphobia, leak, politics

the emails pt 2 - 810 more hateful emails

another collection of emails from 2017-2023 from the schupe archive

CLARIFICATION: i, maia, am not the source of this email leak, merely a publisher, since i feel that this should be more widely available than just to selected journalists

a few days after my original public release of 2600 pages of emails showing the massive anti-trans conspiracy in the US, xtra magazine released another article (which i highly recommend reading). this aritcle is notable since it's based on even more leaked emails than the mother jones story, elisa rae schupe has provided several journalists with an archive of her entire inbox from 2017-2023. i do not have access to that entire archive (and don't want to, given the amount of personal information), however i have been given access to 810 more notable emails and email threads, including twitter dm notifications, discussions with fox news journalists and much more.

i will not be providing much more of a summary of the contents here, besides what xtra covers and what other trans researchers and journalists will shortly be covering on twitter, since i do not wanna drown myself in transphobia. much love and respect to everyone who has the energy to do this digging, my job however is on another front, so i hope you undestand why this blog post is rather short <3. this also serves as a reminder to other members of the trans community that you do not always have to consume all the dreadful shit we are exposed to all day you are allowed to take a break and fight in other ways.

so anyways, here is 810 more eml files (which can be viewed with most desktop email clients) + most (but not all) attachments already extracted as files:

the emails pt. 2 - 810 more emails of anti trans hate.zip (810 eml files, ~30mb), available as a torrent (magnet)

if you liked this or any of my other work feel free to support me on my ko-fi. i am unemployed and poor and do this work for free because i enjoy it, so anything goes a long way.

#trans issues #trans rights #transphobes #transphobia #LGBT rights

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lovegingersnapped · 1 year

Text

Amazing

I went to the University of Puget Sound from 1990 to December 1994. During my Senior I was a part of the Pacific Rim Travel abroad program. We traveled through many memorable places. One of the places we stayed was at University in Chengdu. Our class project was to meet students and talk to them about the changes in the country. I met this nice girl who was from the countryside. I also met a girl whose father was high a ranking member of the government but that is s story for another time.

I liked the lady and we got along. I wrote through the trip sending postcards and notes from other destinations. Eventually, I did not hear much from her and I went on with my life.

This morning, I was checking my email and a note from the same woman asking if I was the Brian Steele that she met so long ago. I could not believe it. She had been searching for my name on LinkedIn however she left a letter out of my last name. In my inbox was the invitation to become friends. We connected on Skype and we talk (She was in China and getting ready to go to bed and I was just getting ready for the day. I just not believe it was here

This is me and her posing with the Mao Statue in the background.

I was gobsmacked hearing from her.

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rurpleplayssims · 2 years

Text

It was a hot and dazzlingly bright Monday morning when Pollination Technician #9 (or PT for short) settled himself down in his office.

Every week he took the time out of his day to go through his and his family’s banking account. He might’ve retired to his favourite planet but he was a stickler for details and if it meant they could afford one more treat for their two children, he felt it was well worth the effort.

PT: Now let’s see, what is the damage this month? Well it appears that Johnny and Jill’s college funds are stacking up nicely. Jenny’s doing another bake sale this weekend so that’ll bring in some more funds.

After about an hour of going through their banking statements with a fine toothcomb, PT decided he was content with how they were spending their money. His email inbox pinged with a new message and after logging out of his internet banking, he clicked on the message without glancing at the subject line.

His heart sank at the message’s contents.

Meanwhile, Jenny Smith, PT′s human wife was reading a novel in the neighbouring room. Her mind drifted from the story to how she would tell her children stories when they were very little. A wave of emotion overcame her then as she sat there in the quiet and a powerful longing came over her.

Jenny: Would it be unreasonable to have another child? Am I too old for another baby? Would PT want that? Is it just a selfish impulse? But why do I feel like now is the last time I’ll get the chance. I’m approaching my forties now, maybe it’s already too late?

Jenny: I’ll speak to PT when he comes out of the office. There’s no point discussing these thoughts alone with myself when he might well not want another child. However I know he won’t say no to slipping off to bed early tonight...

#Strangertown #The Sims 2 PSP #Smith Household #PT9 Smith #Jenny Smith

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 1 year

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I posted 320 times in 2022

164 posts created (51%)

156 posts reblogged (49%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@heloisedaphnebrightmore

@jackys-stuff-blog

@velvetcloxds

@iliveiloveiwrite

@suometar

I tagged 311 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#heloise reblogs - 115 posts

#heloise's inbox - 99 posts

#heloise rambles - 55 posts

#heloise reads - 51 posts

#heloise the book addict - 40 posts

#bookish - 31 posts

#bookblr - 29 posts

#books - 28 posts

#reading - 26 posts

#mutuals - 25 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#my dad believed from the moment i turned 4-5 yo that i should be the one looking for him and try to keep contact because i was a big girl

My Top Posts in 2022:

Queen Elizabeth died. May she rest in peace

27 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

Questionnaire for writers!

If you are a writer or plan to write in the future, please, help me by filling out this questionnaire!

[No email addresses or names are being shared with me. It's completely anonymous]

Hey lovelies,

I know I haven't been active lately, however my university has been taking up all my time.

As part of my university assignment, I have been working on a business plan/design of a "Traditional" publishing company but in a new sense that might not be as traditional as the big names are.

I would like to ask you, if you write stories, one-shots, novellas, novels, fanfictions or plan to write in the future, to help me by filling this survey out. It would be much appreciated as I need to test out my theories.

The specific data collected for each question won't be part of my assignment, only the overall result, therefore don't worry about the questionnaire being unprofessional, luckily it isn't a formal research.

I'll tag a couple of people, but anyone who writes or plans to write in the future are welcome to fill it out. I'd need at least 30 responses, according to my lecturer, so any help would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you in advance,

Heloise Daphne Brightmore

Tagging some moots who might be interested in helping:

@iliveiloveiwrite @padfootagain @velvetcloxds @henqtic @girl-next-door-writes @kalimagik @nebulablakemurphy @quillsanddaydreams @pregnant-piggy @sunrisefairy @with-love-anu @awritingtree @oliverwoodmarrymepls @just-a-belgian-girl @deanwanddamons @melmalone @natashxromanovf @flamencodiva @gryffindors-weasley @babycap and anyone who writes or would like to write in the future :)

32 notes - Posted February 13, 2022

Questionnaire for readers!

If you are a reader of published books, please, help me by filling out this questionnaire!

[No email addresses or names are being shared with me. It's completely anonymous]

Hello again! :D

I have previously asked you to fill out my questionnaire for writers, and the replies I have received almost 100% supported the assumptions I had to test so I can not express how happy I am.

However, I have another (last) questionnaire. As part of my university assignment, I have to test the readers this time, therefore I'd like to ask you, if you read published books— unfortunately, fanfiction in this case does not count— then please fill out this survey. Just a couple of questions about what genre you prefer, what makes you buy specific books and where you get these book recommendations.

Don't worry about the questionnaire being unprofessional, luckily it isn't a formal research. Also, I'd need at least 30 responses, so any help would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you in advance,

Heloise Daphne Brightmore

Tagging some moots and people I follow who might be interested in helping:

@iliveiloveiwrite @padfootagain @velvetcloxds @henqtic @girl-next-door-writes @kalimagik @nebulablakemurphy @quillsanddaydreams @pregnant-piggy @sunrisefairy @with-love-anu @awritingtree @oliverwoodmarrymepls @just-a-belgian-girl @deanwanddamons @melmalone @natashxromanovf @flamencodiva @gryffindors-weasley @babycap @fandom-puff @yazthebookish @acourtofbooksandfantasy @acomaflove and anyone who reads published books :)

38 notes - Posted February 16, 2022

It's official: I have a book buying problem!

“Reading is my therapy” masterlist | Goodreads

My collection have reached 804 books. Meaning, I own over 800+ books.

Part of me is extremely happy because I love reading, I love the aesthetic of my chaotic bookshelf and I love being around books at all times.

But another part of me is trying NOT to consider how much f*cking money I have spent on books xD

See the full post

56 notes - Posted March 18, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Beyond Friendship [Sirius Black x Reader]

Title: Beyond Friendship Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader Word count: 8.3k Published: 1 November 2022 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warnings: Swear words, making out, mention of food, mention of sleeping potion Summary: To get back at your good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend, you ask Sirius to help you out and pretend to be your new boyfriend, which seems to agitate your ex just as you expected. However, you couldn't have anticipated how Sirius’ infuriating presence could actually turn out to be not only fun, but almost essential.

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

See the full post

260 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #heloise rambles

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hpcrackficfest · 2 years

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Prompting is now closed! Claiming opens on June 26!

**This is NOT the claiming post! The claiming post will be available on June 26!**

The prompt list can be found here! A huge thank you to everyone who submitted something!

Please review the rules if you have not done so already, but here is a quick summary of some things to keep in mind:

Please remember that this fest is all about crack!fic, so every story submitted must feature at least a hint of that idea. As you can see in the definition I left on our rules post, that idea is pretty broad, haha.

However, I want to be clear: you are in no way required to tag your fic as crack!fic (or any variation), either on AO3 or in your header. Throwing it back to the example of my own questionably cracky work on the rules post, I didn't label it that way, but I do know it can be viewed that way. As long as you are capturing the essence of the fun and fancy-freeness of this fest, you are good to go.

We will absolutely be accepting any written form, as crack!fic does tend to lend itself to so many different things. So poetry, letter!fic, texting!fic. We’re not accepting strictly art, but I think comics and meme!fic, etc., would still fall under “writing” - at least in my opinion. So please keep in mind, anything goes!

All participants must be over the age of 18.

Just like with prompt submissions, the claiming of prompts will also be done via Airtable Form, which will become available sometime on June 26.

Prompts may only be claimed once. This fest is fic-only, so no art, unless you want to submit it along with your fic! I'm so, so sorry to all the artists out there - I just wasn't sure how to fit it in with the theme at this time. However, this may change in the future, and I'll let you all know if it does.

***Please make sure to double check your prompt number prior to submitting your claiming form on the day of, as things have the potential to get rearranged before we get there!

There are no minimum or maximum word requirements. Everything must be betaed, proof-read, checked, and edited.

Once you have submitted your piece, feel free to select another one! (And I definitely encourage this, as I'd love nothing more than to see a slew of crack!fic goodness in my inbox! ;D)

Posting will be anonymous, so please don't give the game away by posting anywhere else, or replying to comments, or hinting on your journal until after reveals. Also, because this is an anonymous fest, the piece you submit must be a complete, stand-alone work and can't be based on any of your other works, prequels, sequels, etc.

If you have any questions/comments/concerns, please shoot me an email at [email protected]!

Your mod, @fangqueen

#hpcrackficfest 2022 #2022 claiming #crackfic #harry potter #hp #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction

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versaceeevixen · 23 days

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Seven Stages of... Ego Death (Part 3)

This is the part of the story where I forget the order of things. My brain is trying to protect me from trauma, but I need to write thisss.

"Fuck!" I yelled as I got off the phone with Kamran. "What is happening?"

I needed to park my car. Like right now before I crash both physically and mentally. We arrived at the mall and I parked my car not caring how straight it was.

"Are you okay?" Ritchie said.

I took a deep breath, I felt myself sinking. It reminded me of that moment of Trainspotting where Renton OD'ed and he sunk into the red velvet.

I kept looking forward at the sunset, it was such a contrast between how this morning started out rainy and the evening ended with warm weather.

I don't know how long I stared, but the only words I could say was. "I'm fine."

I turned the car off, and grabbed my key. I had to figure out how to fix this, where can I go from here? I walked with Ritchie, towards the mall. I had to find Zumiez, somewhere indexed in between the tween ear piercing shops and beggars trying to pawn off something from their kiosks.

"I just need another job, then I'll figure everything else out."

I think Ritchie said something, but he wasn't in my tunnel of vision. I stepped into Zumiez, with some unknown Soundcloud rapper blaring overhead.

"Hey Welcome in!"

Luckily, it was the same manager I talked to during the first semester nearing winter break. He was wearing a black windbreaker, and held a hanger grabber for the t-shirts placed up high.

"Hey, I remember that you needed people to work a few months ago. I was wondering if you were still hiring." I smiled

"Unfortunately, I was looking for people during the holiday season. You can still put in an application, or try for another store." He said bouncing the grabber like a guard would do a pole staff protecting a gate.

"Okay, Thank You."

"Sorry." He shrugged.

I was finally at home surrounded by Home Depot boxes. I groaned trying to figure out how to pack everything. I literally took everything with me. So, I wouldn't have to drive to South Jersey every two seconds trying to pack my ACTUAL room when my Mom moves in the summer.

I packed two boxes, and called it a day on packing. I was mentally tired but had no choice BUT to keep making progress. I crashed on my bed and opened my Mac Book. I actually won my Mac Book at my high school prom raffle, I was cut out in the prom court picture after getting robbed from 1st place. My cousin handmade my backless prom dress with a tennis cut rhinestone trim draped on my back. The first place was a generic store bought dress, that held together the most popular girl in school. It honestly didn't matter, I won a fucking Mac Book. My luck is very strange, shit doesn't align for me unless there is chaos or me getting the short end of the stick.

I typed up 'Sales Associate Position Zumiez' I started to do the job application and submitted it for the same mall I went to. I also opened up my email, for the instructions for my exit as an RA. I rolled my eyes, then I scrolled a lil bit more in my inbox.

NASA INTERNSHIP APPLICATION

I clicked so fast, maybe... just maybe everything turned into shit so my luck can be right again.

Thank you for your submission, however,...

I closed my laptop, I rolled over to my side and curled into a fetus position to force myself to sleep. I think that's it for today.

...It was Friday morning...

I do not remember if I ate, I do not know if I took a shower. I don't remember which side of the bed I woke up on.

What I do remember was telling everyone I knew on campus that I got kicked out. If I walked by someone I knew, I told them everything because right now I had nothing.

I didn't know what to do, where to go.

I texted my RD and told her I got kicked out. She told me there was nothing that she could do. I told my co-workers and Big Sis said nothing, and my other co-workers just said "That sucks." not really caring.

I don't remember how I ended up back in my dorm, that had things scattered about on the floor like a hurricane came through. But I was here, trying to come up with solutions. I had an idea, that might work.

I called my friend from back home, maybe for a weekend I could possibly stay with her until I got my head clear. I dialed her phone number hoping she would pick up. I've known Sadie since 1st grade, literally when MTV still showed music videos... (For a few hours at least) We still kept in touch with each other after all those years.

"Hello?" She said

I explained everything to her. The spark notes version of this blog is what I told her. I remember pacing in my room back and forth and explaining. I probably sounded unstable the whole time, but it just came out all at once.

"I'm sorry Vevi, it won't work out I had a friend stay with me before and it didn't work out."

"I literally just need a weekend."

She sighed "You don't have any other friends?"

"My one friend Richie has ten siblings, I can't stay with him. I literally have no one else."

I don't remember if Sadie outright said yes, or she danced around the idea of yes. But I remember feeling relieved for maybe an hour or two as I was packing. I remember thinking I was going to stay with her for the weekend at least. Because she said something along those lines.

My brother called me, again, I was hesitant to pick up but I did.

"You're just going to couch surf with me at my crib. You can't stay with your friend. Mom said you can't stay with her. I'll be on my way to pick you up, I should be there on Saturday."

Welp, there goes my Plan C. I slowly sat on the ground, laying my back against the bed. I looked off into the distance crying and sobbing, and I held my head into my hands.

"I don't want to go to Georgia." I cried on the floor.

I couldn't cry for too long because I knew I had to pack some more. I only had today and tomorrow to do it. To pack up all my shit and possibly not see it again.

youtube

That was a lot, hopefully everything was coherent. We're starting to get into the bulk of the chaos. I actually forgot how a lot of the stuff went, my brain does an excellent job of forgetting the things that really traumatized me.

Thank you brain.

#college #youtube #dealing with grief #grief #loss #university #writer things #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #crystal castles #Youtube

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cmcsmen · 11 months

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The Why Of CMCS Online

By Frank J Casella

It has been a while since I wrote to you about the story of CMCS. So, as an installment to that, I'd like to take a short but important moment to share the why, or reason, behind CMCS being online as a supplement to our annual live Men's Forum events.

Because when we started out back in 2004, there was no plans or Internet to consider beyond the several events we did each year. However, once the digital world took off we saw the need to start our first blog in 2009 as a way to connect with men, and serve as a resource, between events.

Fast forward to 2023, today people don't access blogs or website's as much as they prefer information served to them through social media and email list newsletters. In fact, the two avenues of CMCS online is the email list as a distribution, and then social media as reciprocity.

In other words, similar to real life, communication is a two-way street when it comes to distributing information online, and reciprocity is the eternal principle at work in the digital world.

Most of you reading this subscribe by email to our distribution list, and are not following our social media channels. As with social media you might follow our posting content distributed on different platforms that you might be on, however with email you find in your inbox the information we send out distributed to whatever email provider you use. This is why it is said that email is the original social media.

If you're keeping our blog posts together in a folder, then you have your own personal resource inside your inbox - especially if you can use your search tool with your email folders! For those of you who don't, you can bookmark the email archive, as well as check the latest blog posts on the email service community page (though it glitches).

This way, you can follow blog posts as though you were subscribing to our social media channels.

On social media we share not only our blog posts, but content from around the web for the purpose of outreach, dialog and discussion among Catholic men. And we post mostly on the efficient alternative channels for anyone who attaches great importance to data integrity and the protection of privacy. Also, tech platforms evolve rapidly, as they change owners or business models, so we keep all our content in a storage archive to be flexible in case transition is needed.

As long as we have your email address then you will be able to (be notified where to) follow us wherever CMCS is online.

Presently we blog on Tumblr and a Tumblr side blog for sharing content. Likewise, a page on MeWe for blog posts, and a MeWe group for sharing content. And we post our videos on Brighteon because again for their privacy and welcoming content policies.

If you like my weekly Catholic Manhood Nuggets videos, one thing I am doing personally is posting them on CloutHub, which is an alternative to LinkedIn and more. The direct link to my video channel is - clouthub.com/c/fjcvideo

To bring this all full circle, the one place where you'll find what you might need is - cmcsmen.net - this is the point of entry for sharing CMCS with other men, that they in turn might discover what we all know as 'Living the Goodness of a Catholic Man'.

However, as we increasingly interact with others through technology, it is also important to be mindful of our digital footprint and the consequences our online activities may have. For Catholics, it is vitally important to develop a personal theology of the Internet, as well as to understand the Internet as a place where technology can be used to evangelize and minister to people. It is also important to be mindful of the ways technology can be used to harm and divide people.

As we become more connected online, we are able to support one another in our faith, and learn more about the Catholic Church and its teachings. However, while online resources can be helpful, there is no substitute for the real presence of the Holy Eucharist, for example, and there is no substitute for the connections made together at our Men's Forum experience.

#theology of the internet #social media #witnessing #evangelize #chicago #catholicism #frank j casella #photography #male catholic spirituality #jesus #religion

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mariacallous · 1 year

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Meduza's The Beet: Georgia — and Moldova — on my mind

Hello, and welcome back to The Beet!

Eilish Hart here, the editor of this special newsletter from Meduza that brings one feature story from across Eurasia to your inbox every week. I’m happy to report that today’s issue marks our 25th edition of The Beet, and we’ve chosen to celebrate by making it a subscriber exclusive! If this email was kindly forwarded to you, be sure to join our mailing list so you don’t miss out on future dispatches. As always, our inbox is open for any feedback, tips, or questions you may have — just reply to this email or write to [email protected]. Happy reading!

Georgia — and Moldova — on my mind

Anti-government protests have rocked two aspiring E.U. members in recent weeks — what’s going on?

By Eilish Hart

President Volodymyr Zelensky couldn’t help but smile after he signed his country’s official request to join the European Union. At the time, Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine was in its fourth day, and Kyiv’s E.U. bid was yet another act of defiance. Within days, Georgia and Moldova followed suit. Announcing her country’s accession application, Moldovan President Maia Sandu said, “The time is now.”

The usually slow-moving E.U. seemed to agree; it rendered decisions in just a few months, awarding Ukraine and Moldova coveted “candidate status,” the first official step towards membership. Georgia, however, received the consolation prize of a “European perspective” — Brussels-speak for the future possibility of candidacy once certain political and policy conditions are met.

The European perspective came as a disappointment for Georgians, tens of thousands of whom had attended pro-E.U. rallies in the lead-up to the final decision. “We organized the biggest demonstration in the history of Georgia,” said activist Nodar Rukhadze, a founding member of the pro-European Shame Movement.

At the next demonstration in Tbilisi, protesters called for Prime Minister Irakli Garibashvili and his government to resign. In response, Garibashvili flatly refused. Trying to put a positive spin on the European perspective, he maintained that the E.U. had “permanently opened its doors” to Georgia. Ukraine and Moldova, he added, had received candidate status as an “incentivizing gift.” “Ukraine is in the heaviest war and Moldova is also in a most difficult situation. So we do not envy their incentives at all,” the prime minister said.

‘The light at the end of the tunnel’

A year on from Georgia’s E.U.-membership application, the country’s ruling party, Georgian Dream, is provoking concerns that it intends to slam shut the door to candidacy.

In February, members of a parliamentary splinter group put forward two controversial bills ostensibly aimed at countering “foreign influence.” Proponents of the legislation — including Georgian Dream politicians — claimed it was meant to ensure the transparency of civil-society and media organizations, and cited alleged similarities to the U.S. Foreign Agent Registration Act. (American officials roundly rejected the comparison.) Critics, in turn, decried the similarity to Russia’s repressive “foreign agents” law, pejoratively referring to the proposed legislation as “Putin’s law” or the “Russian law.” The backlash reached a boiling point on March 7, when lawmakers passed one of the two bills in a first reading. Thousands of protesters gathered outside of the parliament building in Tbilisi and some clashed with riot police, who used tear gas and water cannons to disperse the crowds.

Protesters brandishing an E.U. flag are sprayed with a water canon during clashes with riot police in Tbilisi. March 7, 2023.

AFP / SCANPIX / LETA

“Protests in Georgia are not very uncommon; we have rallies and marches maybe every month. But this was quite spectacular and very different because of the shared history we have with Russia,” Rukhadze told The Beet. The protests, he noted, drew a diverse crowd, ranging from young people (“Gen Z”) to public-sector employees. (The activist also stressed that the Shame Movement, an apparent target of the proposed laws, did not organize this particular demonstration.)

According to Rukhadze, so many people came out in protest precisely because the bills resembled Russian legislation and threatened to “sabotage” Georgia’s path towards European integration. The E.U.’s top diplomat, Josep Borrell, said as much after the first bill’s initial reading. “This law is incompatible with E.U. values and standards,” he said in a statement. “It goes against Georgia’s stated objective of joining the European Union. [...] Its final adoption may have serious repercussions on our relations.”

But that’s not to say that popular concerns are entirely geopolitical. “It’s not only about Russia [versus] the West,” said Olesya Vartanyan, Crisis Group’s senior analyst for the South Caucasus region. “Many [people] have this feeling that the country is stagnating. Losing the opportunity to get closer or stay on track to integration with the European Union is just losing the light at the end of the tunnel.”

Georgians are almost unanimous on the subject of E.U. accession: according to one recent poll, more than 80 percent support joining the bloc. When it came to assessing the government’s efforts to advance Georgia’s candidacy bid, however, the same survey found a clear partisan divide.

The ‘second front’

Under pressure after a second straight day of protests, Georgian lawmakers ultimately scrapped both of the “foreign agent” bills. But after the demonstrations had died down, the leadership lashed out.

Garibashvili defended the legislation and blamed the protests on “destructive, anarchist, and extremist forces” that were allegedly cooperating with the opposition party, the United National Movement. (Georgian Dream chairman Irakli Kobakhidze alsomade similar claims.) At the same time, Garibashvili maintained that withdrawing the bills was the right decision. “Thus, we have demonstrated that we will not allow anyone to cause destabilization, unrest, and chaos, or unleash a ‘second front’ in the country,” the prime minister said.

Claims that the government is under pressure to open a “second front” against Russia have become a staple of Georgian Dream’s criticism of both the opposition and the West (although hints that Tbilisi should move to retake the Russian-occupied breakaway regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia originally came from Kyiv). “There’s strong Georgian Dream propaganda that suggests to Georgian people that if they’re not elected in 2024, Russia will invade Georgia again,” Rukhadze explained. “Georgian Dream has capitalized on Georgians’ trauma [from] the war in 2008 for many years.”

That said, Tbilisi does have genuine security concerns. “Russia withdrew much of its heavy weaponry from Abkhazia and South Ossetia at the very beginning of its invasion of Ukraine, and even with that Georgia remains very vulnerable,” Vartanyan told The Beet.

Indeed, this offers a partial explanation for the Georgian government’s tepid response to Moscow’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Tbilisi did not join international sanctions against Russia, putting Georgia out of step with its E.U. partners and straining relations with Kyiv. “It took quite some time for people in Brussels, and also in the European capitals, to understand that Georgia can’t get into an open confrontation with Russia,” said Vartanyan. “Unfortunately, this has led to an environment of mistrust.”

Mutual frustrations are nothing new, however. For years, the European Union has been trying to strike a balance between supporting the Georgian people’s E.U. aspirations and pushing back against Georgian Dream’s efforts to consolidate power domestically, which are effectively undermining their country’s candidacy bid. The Georgian government, meanwhile, understands that the E.U. and its main partner, the United States, play a key role in warding off threats from Moscow. “Georgia and the European Union — I call it a ‘forced marriage.’ At least with the current government,” Vartanyan said. “They can blame each other and argue and all of that, but in big terms, both understand that there are some limits to how much they can separate.”

By comparison, fellow E.U. hopeful Moldova is in a “similar but different” position, which is why Chișinău has taken a much stronger pro-Ukrainian stance. “Moldova is right next to Ukraine, so for them it’s a stance that’s very natural. For Georgia, [the war] is very close, but it’s not at your border,” Vartanyan explained. “What Moldova is doing is their attempt to keep a middle ground.” The Georgian authorities, she recalled, like to describe their strategy towards Russia as “strategic patience.”

Poverty and populism

Moldova has seen its own fair share of anti-government protests in recent weeks. On March 12, thousands of demonstrators gathered in Chișinău to protest the cost of living, which rose sharply in the aftermath of Russia invading neighboring Ukraine. Amid the ensuing energy crisis, Russia’s Gazprom slashed Moldova’s gas deliveries, utility bills skyrocketed, and inflation topped 30 percent.

But although many people are struggling, the recent protests are “not organic,” said journalist Paula Erizanu, who covered the March 12 rally for The Guardian (and has previously written for The Beet). “The pro-Russian opposition has been trying to build political capital by using this crisis and the social discontent of the poor and the elderly, who are one of the poorest groups in Moldova,” she explained.

Counter-demonstrators, standing behind police in riot gear, hold up placards denouncing opposition politicians during a protest organized on behalf of the Șor Party. Chișinău, March 12, 2023.

DANIEL MIHAILESCU / AFP / SCANPIX / LETA

As with the anti-government protests that took place in Chișinău last fall and in February, the organizer of the March 12 rally was the Movement of the People, a group backed by the populist Șor Party. (Its founder and leader, Ilan Șor, stands convicted of fraud over a $1-billion banking scam, is under U.S. sanctions, and reportedly lives in Israel).

Investigative journalists from the independent Moldovan weekly Ziarul de Gardă previously uncovered that some protesters at Șor’s rallies are paid to attend. Deutsche Welle reported that this was also the case at another demonstration on March 16. “Along with poverty and populism goes the remuneration of protesters,” said Denis Cenusa, an associate expert at the Chișinău-based think tank Expert-Grup.

The protest organizers, he added, offer “unrealistic solutions to the population’s economic difficulties,” such as calling for the government to cover utility bills completely, when it’s already using E.U. financial assistance to provide compensation. “If it were not for the E.U. and its member states, Moldova would have collapsed in socio-economic terms in 2022,” Cenusa told The Beet.

The Moldovan authorities, meanwhile, have repeatedly linked the ongoing protests to external security threats (namely, from Russia). Last month, President Sandu— the staunchly pro-European leader Moldovans elected in 2020 — warned of a Kremlin plot to “force a change of power in Chișinău” through “violent actions disguised as so-called opposition protests.” Sandu’s briefing came just days after Zelensky revealed that Ukrainian intelligence had intercepted an alleged Russian plan to seize control of Moldova.

Ahead of the protest on March 12, Moldovan police chief Viorel Cernăuţeanu told reporters that law enforcement had thwarted a group of “diversionists” whom the Russian intelligence services had promised to pay $10,000 each for provoking clashes at the planned rally. According to Erizanu, the crowd that day included anti-government protesters, as well as counter-protesters and “critical observers.” “One group of people told me that they were there ‘to see how people are being fooled,’” she told The Beet.

‘A perfect storm’

The Moldovan authorities’ recent transparency with respect to security threats is a new development, Erizanu said. “I think part of the reason for doing it is to convince people that the threat is real and that it’s not just rhetoric or a political strategy [aimed] against the opposition or to divert attention from economic issues.”

At the same time, the journalist noted that the general public seems largely unfazed. “There’s a bit of fatigue with war-related anxiety,” Erizanu admitted. “On February 24, [2022,] lots of Moldovans woke up to the sounds of shelling in neighboring Ukraine and that was when panic was at the highest level, [...] but now people are trying to get on with their lives.”

President Sandu and her country’s new government, sworn in amid the February protests and plot allegations, are also trying to forge ahead. Following his nomination as prime minister, Dorin Recean named “order and discipline,” reviving the economy, and ensuring “peace and stability” as his top priorities. He also promised that the new government would continue to chart the course towards European integration.

According to Cenusa, anti-government rallies may not be the biggest obstacle ahead. “Moldova is less vulnerable to destabilization through protests than is commonly thought,” the analysttold the Beet. “However, a perfect storm for political instability could soon arise.” In its eagerness to begin formal membership negotiations with Brussels, the Moldovan government runs the risk of provoking further domestic backlash with its reforms, he explained. “The most problematic area is justice reform, where the government wants to apply shock therapy,” Cenusa maintained. “[This] may paralyze the justice sector and discredit [the reform] itself, raising new waves of criticism from a larger spectrum of actors.”

And of course, there’s the issue of Transnistria, where Russia has had “peacekeeping” forces stationed since Moldova lost de facto control of the breakaway region in the aftermath of a 1992 war. Echoing previous warnings from Ukrainian officials, Moldova’s national intelligence agency said last December that Russian forces may aim to carve out a “land corridor” through southern Ukraine to the Transnistrian region in 2023.

From left to right: a Russian peacekeeper, a Moldovan soldier, and a Transnistrian soldier stand guard in the security zone between Moldova and breakaway Transnistria. Dubăsari, 2002.

YORAY LIBERMAN / GETTY IMAGES

Since then, Russia’s Defense Ministry has accused Ukraine of planning a false-flag attack on the region, and Tiraspol has blamed the Ukrainian security services for an alleged assassination attempt on its top officials (Kyiv and Chișinău have denied both claims). Vartanyan, the Crisis Group analyst, said she observed an uptick in similar rhetoric with respect to Georgia after the recent protests there. “Right away, we started seeing a lot of Russian propaganda about the Georgian government preparing for a new war. And you could see the traction in the two breakaway regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia,” she said. “That also demonstrates how little it can take to mobilize some sort of force that can lead to destabilization.”

While Tbilisi clings to “strategic patience,” Chișinău’s patience appears to be running out. In January, Defense Minister Anatolie Nosatîi confirmed a change in tack: Chișinău was asking its Western partners for air-defense systems. “The war in Ukraine has shown that Moldova’s neutrality status and the discussions about Moldova’s demilitarization are no longer current,” he told RFE/RL’s Moldovan service. The E.U.’s Borrell also confirmed this week that a new civilian mission meant to bolster Moldova’s efforts at countering hybrid threats is in the works.

Thanks for reading!

Remember, only some issues of The Beet, like last week’s story about Central Asia’s burgeoning tech scene, can be found on our website. And be sure to check out the rest of Meduza’s coverage, and our crowdfunding campaign, while you’re there. Until next time,

Eilish

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petnews2day · 2 years

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Glasgow dog owners warned of 'silent killer' as B&M releases 'awesome' heatwave product

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/dog-news/glasgow-dog-owners-warned-of-silent-killer-as-bm-releases-awesome-heatwave-product/

Glasgow dog owners warned of 'silent killer' as B&M releases 'awesome' heatwave product

Temperatures are set to soar in Glasgow in the coming days, with the Met Office predicting highs of around 20 degrees Celsius.

With the increased heat, pet owners have been warned by the RSPCA to take extra care of their four-legged friends and make sure they do not become dehydrated.

The animal charity has urged dog owners to be careful when walking their pets in high temperatures.

READ MORE — Glasgow heatwave car checks every driver should do to avoid £2,500 fine

RSPCA dog welfare specialist Esme Wheeler said: “The truth is walking dogs in hot weather can be a silent killer.

“While the majority would never leave our dogs in a car on a hot day, or even take our dogs for a really long walk in the heat, many people may still be putting their dogs at risk even on a short walk, or taking them to places such as fields and beaches with little or no shade.

“We have long-campaigned that dogs die in hot cars, but this year we’re highlighting that dogs die on hot walks, too. The message remains very simple – never leave a dog in a hot car because ‘not long’ is too long, and when it comes to walks, ‘if in doubt, don’t go out.’”

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In an effort to help their pet stave off the heat, one shopper took to B&M and bought a £6 Pet Crate Fan.

The product attaches onto pet cages, and according to the product description can “help keep your pet cool this summer”.

Sharing news of the product, they wrote in the Extreme Couponing and Bargains UK Facebook group: “Another bargain today i have two dogs who sleep in crates at night so these will help keep them cool B&M”.

It wasn’t long before the post had racked up over 550 likes and a staggering 1,600 comments from concerned pet owners and B&M fans giving their thoughts.

Most fans were impressed by the product (Image: Extreme Couponing and Bargains UK group)

One shared: “I bought this and used it today for my indoor bunny, although she runs around the house she goes to bed in her cage. I used this in her cage today and it did just the job. Happy bunny.”

“What a good idea,” wrote a second, while a third agreed: “Good idea for summer”.

“I need this for the side of my bed,” joked a fourth.

A fifth wrote: “That’s an awesome idea will go today and get one thank you”.

However, not everyone was a fan of the product, with one commenting: “I bought 2 of these for in my car when they are in the boot don’t find them that good quite Loud and don’t give much air.”

“The batteries don’t last very long,” argued a second.

#Dog News

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