#(also fucked her a-levels - high fives with 15 at barely passing school)

[rowanthestrange]

For clarity, cus I know I can be confusing over what I think will happen versus what I’m just saying could happen, I do think Ruby is human, and any “daughter of the Doctor” stuff will be non-literal i.e. he accidentally created her, and she has no birth mother for there was no birth. Her father in the sense of a person being the father of their story or artwork (but one not necessarily created on purpose).

Disagree with the people who think she’s ‘not real’ and will thus disappear or go fill the role of demigod or something - she’s pretty fleshed out: got friends, a band doing gigs, appointments with a fit-dentist, scuzzy people asking her out, a good relationship with her odd neighbour, her A-levels weren’t good, they had to move because they couldn’t afford care for her nan, and had whole episode about being important to the people around her (and also turned into a bug-person in the butterfly situation so we know she’s human enough for that to matter).

She’s real in that she absolutely thoroughly exists, and that’s what matters.

I assume her story’s a Doctor-mirror of ‘sure maybe you weren’t “meant” to be in the universe like this, but you are, and the world is better for it’.

I think a thing that turns some people off her, is she’s one of those companions who already had a place in the world, and more than that, a happy one. She likes being an active foster sister and helping her mum out, and is playing proper gigs with a band she gets on well with. She’s after a bit of fun, but she’s not running from anything, not even boredom. Isn’t desperately in need of personal growth, acts like a nineteen year old but a responsible one. Ruby isn’t lacking anything in her life besides desperately wanting to understand her past and how she got here (which Rusty doesn’t usually write, I think only Martha fits that brief of a perfectly full fine life, even among the single episode companions). That’s the difference between Ruby and the Doctor, and it’s the one already set up for us with 15 vs. 14. Some domesticity, important to have a family and friends about which carves out a role for you, a community, makes a home for you in the universe.

Which offers the Doctor to have an opportunity for a whole new way to love a companion. Cus he’s aware, and has stated directly, that he empathises with her situation and her history. So he could love her as that child that he once was. A love somewhere between friend, and sibling, and a bit parental. Very therapeutic I think. 

How rare for the Doctor to see a mirror in a companion and feel yes sorrow (for that hole in her heart that there was never anything to fill in the first place) but not horror about what she will become. Ruby’s personality isn’t his, her drives aren’t his, none of his damage or self-destructive desires, and she has a supportive and wonderful life that looks full of promise and excitement ahead of her. I think seeing that even though that hole is going to always pain her, that she can live and thrive anyway…Got to be good for him. 

And good for us too. That it’s okay to be in pain about things you should have had but didn’t. Don’t need to pretend you’re not. But you will still be able to live life and be happy even so. Nobody grows up wrong.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Natalya did a disturbing amount of coke for an elementary school teacher.

During our first few rendezvous at her house in Rosemont, I gratefully accepted a line or two just to be polite. Coming down from Shambhala I was feeling extra vulnerable, mental health-wise, and I was trying to transition away from drugs. CrossFit and cannabis, that was the way. When I was being most honest with myself, I knew that I objected to my own behaviour. I knew that it would cost me in more ways than one and besides, I didn’t have the cash to spend on blow if I was barely making rent. But if Natalya was offering it for free, then I was incapable of saying no.

Upon arriving at her house, which was surprisingly palatial for the area, the porn-like fantasy that I’d envisioned back in the Power By You parking lot never materialized. We worked our way through the typical machinations of sex in her ultra-tidy bedroom, and obviously that was better than not having it, but at the same time I found myself blinking in and out of the moment. Why am I doing this? I asked myself, gazing down at her enthusiastically writhing body. What is this even accomplishing? As ego-stroking as it was, it simply wasn’t a replacement for intimacy with someone I actually loved. As I fucked Natalya silly, I felt like I was going to cry.

Afterwards, I stood on her porch smoking a joint while she pranced around the living room nude. I found her little landing strip adorable. She was obviously a regular at Power by You, because her body looked like it was sculpted out of soapstone. She was 15 years older than me, but could’ve easily passed for late 30s. I wondered where she got all her cash from.

“So you didn’t like Shambhala so much this year?” she asked, leaning in the doorway. Her chest was still glistening with sweat.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. It’s like I’m still processing weeks later here. I saw some disturbing shit, heard some crazy stories. I don’t know what to think.”

“Yeah, I stopped going a few years ago. It’s not my scene anymore.”

“Why?”

“It’s just a grody scene. These fucking drug dealers with armies of little enablers. I know like five chicks off the top of my head who were raped at Shambhala. Most of them were drugged.”

I blinked. My throat began to throb. “Did anything ever happen to you?”

She smiled. “Why, you going to be my white knight?”

I took a long drag on the joint.

“No, I haven’t ever been raped. I could beat the shit out of any guy who wanted to fuck with me. But being a women in the Kootenays is a fucking nightmare most of the time. Everyone’s all leering and polyamorous, having orgies and swapping partners. It’s a whole thing.”

I shook my head. “When I was a teenager, I made a pledge to Jesus that I would never have premarital sex, that I was going to save myself for marriage. I was a virgin until I was 22. Then I hit Nelson and everybody’s fucking everybody else and I’m just trying to sort out my relationship with my own promiscuity, you know? Like I just hate myself all the time.”

She snorted, leaned against my chest and reached her arms around me. I liked how small she was. “I gave you too much coke, obviously.”

“I don’t really do coke,” I said.

She laughed, looked at me like I was a floppy puppy in her arms. “You’re cute. In some ways you’re worldly, but in other ways you’re this outrageous innocent. It’s clear you were sheltered.”

“Why, because I’m upset about rape? Everybody gets upset about rape. What am I supposed to say?”

“Don’t get so defensive. I didn’t mean to patronize you. It’s just refreshing to find somebody who doesn’t come pre-soiled by the Kootenays. I saw it at that race summit at the youth centre, you just foolishly charge into situations and try to solve everything by yourself. You think you’re Superman.”

“Well, the thing I always get accused of is having a saviour complex.”

She laughed. “You think you’re Jesus Christ, the Risen Messiah?”

I shook my head. “No, but I believe I can save people. I believe that’s the reason I’m here, on this planet. When I was a kid I wanted to be a youth pastor. I wanted to be a missionary. When I lost my faith in 2005 I didn’t lose my predilection for trying to convert people, to rescue them from darkness.”

Natalya looked delighted at what she was hearing. I felt like I was a rambling goon. I was still flustered by the rape subject, the whole Shambhala thing, so I brought it up again. I asked what else she knew about it, if she knew about anything that was going on locally in Nelson.

“Oh, my ex is a bouncer in Nelson. The stories he could tell you would blow your mind. These fuckers basically have an underage prostitution ring going, all these girls hooked on drugs and not even out of high school.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said.

“Believe it or don’t. He’s the one dealing with them on a street level. He came home one time and he just started crying, sitting on the bed, with his head in his hands. He thinks about our kids. I hadn’t seen him cry for years.”

I chewed on my cheek. I’d been giving some thought to the question lately of whether I was a fake feminist or not. I saw this Jezebel article slamming Joss Whedon because he was shitty to his wife, regardless of how awesome Buffy is. There was lots of talk about sexual violence online, with Trump and Clinton sparring over their respective soiled pasts. I’d always considered myself a feminist, but suddenly that felt charged with a new urgency. It felt like we were under fucking attack. Trump, man. Trump was coming.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said, as Natalya lowered me to the carpet. My arms were seizing and my eyes were bulging. I felt like Tony Soprano, having a panic attack. My face burned. “Sorry, fuck.”

A few moments later she got me calmed down, and I got dressed. She asked if I was okay to drive, and I assured her I was. Tomorrow was production day at the Star, and we had a new editor who would need a helping hand. For the past few weeks I’d been coasting, half-assing my assignments and writing repeat iterations of stories I’d written the year before. Natalya apologized over and over again for the coke, but I told her it was no big deal. I was fine. As I walked down the driveway, I spotted Andrew Stevenson silhouetted on the hood of my RAV. In my head I heard the words Natalya had told me, echoing, and wondered how much of that could be accurate. This was such a pristine-looking, magical place full of beautiful people. Could it also be hosting monsters at the same time? Monsters who were hanging out in plain sight? I rubbed my nose, which still burned from the coke, and faced Andrew. He looked like he knew exactly what I was going to say.

“We’re going to hunt some rapists.”

The Kootenay Goon

[parabellum-rpg-archive]

Congratulations, Joss! You’ve been accepted to play Amelina Martinez. Your request to change her FC to Emeraude Toubia has also been approved. Please make your page and send it in within 24 hours.

Admin note: I’m very excited for the future plotting! - Admin J

IC INFORMATION — CHARACTER DESIRED Amelina Martinez DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS I think the word that stood out to me most in Amelina’s bio is 'obsessed’. Her obsession with avenging Luis and her obsession with bagging Morgan seem to stem from the same unexpressed need. She’s stuck always being that 14 year old girl, never able to move on from seeing her brother selling drugs and then later finding out he was dead. The two events are sort of locked into her head, and after that, she stopped growing up so much as simply getting older. Other people can move on from grief, but there’s this block there for her, and I think it’s surrounding the fact that they weren’t actually that close, that he’d already been to prison by the time she was starting high school, that it embarrassed her in front of her friends to see her brother like that. I think there was a ton of shame for her with this screw-up of a brother of hers, and not just a little anger. Why couldn’t he just get his shit together and get a real job and be a real man? Maybe she even said that to him, and then later, he was dead, and she never really got to know him, or take back her words, or realize she should have told her parents. That getting him sent back to prison on a parole violation, which her extremely Catholic and law-abiding family would’ve done, would’ve been better than dying on the street like a dog. I don’t think her parents ever got over his death either. Him going to prison was hard enough, but then their eldest son dying before he was 25 just broke them. So there’s this house with three broken people, and they all handle their grief differently. To me, Amelina is Inigo Montoya, preparing to take out the whole damn Costello gang. What’s ironic is that she hasn’t done the math on Luis getting shot and realized he was probably shot by a Sinclair. In another life, Ameline became a cop and worked a gang detail, maybe working undercover. In another life, she became a community organizer and worked at a youth centre helping to keep other kids from ending up like her brother. In another life, she got married too young to a boy a lot like Luis and got sucked into a shitty life because she felt like she deserved it, as some sort of punishment. In this world, she swore revenge. She became a spy from the beginning, learning about a world that she had no doorway into by sheer will. She spent 15 years figuring out how to get access to a gang, when she could’ve just joined up. But she isn’t interested in being her brother and owned by someone else. She wants to own them. Which leads me to her interest in Morgan. Now, Morgan has a lot of animal magnetism and is obviously gorgeous, but I don’t really think if he were just a man, Amelina would look twice. I don’t even think it’s the power and the privilege he has, though she probably thinks that’s what it is, that drives her to him. She tells herself she wants to be his wife, to supplant Penny, to satisfy him on some level that he no longer feels, but I think those are just surface thoughts. What Morgan actually is for her, is death. Her death drive is jacked all the way up, not to the point of suicide, but to the point where death seems like an acceptable outcome if the result is revenge. She’s had this need for so long, she can’t plan for the future anymore. She can’t have dreams, she can’t have plans, she only has this one thing, and Morgan will use her to get it, and he won’t care if he breaks her to do it, and she wants that so badly. Everyone else in her life looks at her and wants to protect her or love her or just views her as unimportant. Only Morgan looks at her and sees a weapon. And that’s what she’s turned herself into. She can run a half-marathon in an hour and forty five minutes, she’s learned Krav Maga, she has killer aim, and most of all, she can lie so well that even she believes it sometimes. All she needs is for someone to just pull the trigger and fire her at the enemy. What was she up to in those fifteen years? Can you get experience in revenge? She couldn’t exactly go out and find a swordmaster to train her or something. She got a series of jobs that she hated and never got a promotion because she couldn’t care less. She went to school but never finished that accounting degree, or information management diploma, or even that administrative assistant certificate, because the idea of being anything for the rest of her life seems impossible to imagine. She made friends she couldn’t hold onto, and had relationships she didn’t care about, and she just … absorbed information. She went to Costello clubs, she hung with Costello people, she learned about them, and by doing so, learned about the Sinclairs. It actually took her a while to realize the Sinclairs were useful, because at first she thought she could do it all on her own, like people in the movies. After years of collecting evidence, only to realize it was useless because no one was going to prosecute them, and punishment meant nothing to people who owned the system, she finally turned her attention to the Sinclairs, under the principle that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. WRITING SAMPLE Her target, Luca Costello, was drunk as shit and just turned 18. Spending money like it had an expiration date and begging girls to help him celebrate. She wondered if he even knew what his family did for a living. On the one hand, how could he not, when he was surrounded by it all the time? But on the other, how could he really understand what they did and still throw bills around like the world was a game and he’d already won? “Hi.” “Hey. You’re … pretty. You wanna get married?” This wasn’t what she’d imagined. Was it really this easy? “I wanna go back to your place. Take me home.” “Okay. Yeah, let’s do that, we can totally … I have coke at home. And like, every booze. All the booze. I’ll even order pizza if you want!” He smiled and touched her hair. She let him. It didn’t matter what he did. None of it mattered. It was all just research.               *** He lay on the bed, passed out after she’d fed him three more drinks and listened to him tell her about some girl named Juliet and how she’d broken his heart again. He’d done a few lines of coke and that had pretty much made him tell her everything she could’ve ever wanted to know, and several things that she didn’t, about his life. It was kind of sad how little there was of it. His beloved twin sister, who sounded like a little bitch, his parents who were equal parts proud and disappointed in him, his friends who sounded like the worst sort of entitled pricks, his older siblings who seemed barely aware of him and who were embedded in the business enough to be soaked in blood. Climbing off him, her t-shirt left back in the living room, since breasts seemed to make men more chatty, and her pants by the side of the bed, to give him hope that they might actually fuck, she sat on the bed and just breathed. What the fuck did she do now? She’d thought this part would be the complicated part, that she’d have to jump through hoops, talk her way in, be so smooth that no one suspected anything. She hadn’t really let herself consider what happened next. Mostly all she could think about was the other Costellos. It was obvious Luca wasn’t really involved in the business, but they were. The oldest ones might even have been a part of the business when Luis was still alive. Had they put him on that street corner where he died? Was he just a scratched out line for them in some notebook somewhere? Did they even care? How could they not realize that their choices had left a fucking cemetary worth of bodies in their wake? Did they look in the mirror and see a monster? She was up and pacing and hadn’t even noticed. No one had ever taken anything from them. No one had ever made them face the cost of 'doing business’ before. They were all pampered, precious little vampires sucking the blood out of Chicago’s poor and desperate. She was back on the bed now, straddling him, staring down at his sleeping face that had never known real pain. What did he have to grieve? A girl who didn’t fall at his feet? He was a stupid little boy, a waste of education and opportunity. He’d had everything that she and Luis hadn’t, and he hadn’t become anything more than they had. It was hard to look at him. He was a boy, younger than Luis, his hair curling at the edges. He was a Costello, his very existence an insult to her own loss. She had a pillow in her hand and pressed it against his face. He didn’t even struggle. He could die like this, and maybe his family would think it was just some sort of freak accident. They would know just a fraction of what she felt, with their money insulating them from anything real. They’d know something, even if they didn’t even know her brother’s fucking name. He was moving a little under her, trying to push her off, when she heard a noise. A door opening. Was someone else home? Had someone come in and she hadn’t heard them? Was it the police? The rest of the Costellos? Did they somehow all know what she was doing? Lifting the pillow away, Lina froze and Luca took a breath. He coughed and his hand reflexively grabbed her bare thigh where it pressed against his. She was straddling Luca Costello’s thighs in a mismatched bra and panties, clutching her murder weapon to her chest like she was about to start a pillow fight. There was a man standing in the doorway looking at her. He didn’t look embarrassed, which was the part that confused her. They both looked at each other for a moment, and Lina needed to think of a lie. Nothing stuck in her head, everything was blank. She knew, on some level, she was panicking. She managed to choke out a gasp, and hopped off of Luca and onto the floor. Stumbling, the blood rushing away from her head where it had been pounding moments before, her feet numb from kneeling on them, she moved like a drunk co-ed. Yes, drunk. She was drunk. She was just another drunk girl, probably one of dozens that Luca brought home. “Oh my God, what’re you doing here?” Her voice was unsteady and breathy, but that was normal, right? Was anything normal? “My cousin texted me that he’d just proposed to his future wife. You two aren’t married, are you?” The question was so unexpected that Lina just automatically shook her head and held out her left hand, as if showing that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring was the normal response in these situations. “Good. His mother would kill me if he got married the day he turned legal.” The man, Luca’s cousin, didn’t even seem to be really talking to her, he wasn’t even looking at her directly. “Could you … maybe put something on?” Snatching the sheet off the bed, Lina wrapped herself in it and sank to the floor, so much adrenaline in her system that she couldn’t breathe and could taste her own heartbeat. “I’m feeling … woozy. Can you find my shirt?” She just needed him to leave, to go away. He’d seen her face, but what were the odds he’d be able to ever recognize her again? If he would just leave, she could … Luca made a noise like a sad puppy on the bed and fell off of it onto the floor. He didn’t wake up, but was now curled up like a baby. Why had the cousin come home? Why was he here? What kind of fucked up family were they? “I don’t think I know you. What’s your name?” Oh fuck. He knew. He knew she wasn’t one of Luca’s friends, he knew something was up. Someone at the club had warned him, maybe? She didn’t know. But he didn’t know what she didn’t know, did he? She was just a dumb drunk girl. “I’m Lina. Luca told me he had coke. He asked me to marry him but I didn’t say yes … can you see my pants?” Why had she said her real name? She was a fucking idiot. Grabbing her pants, she went to stand up and fell into the bed, knocking herself into the arms of the cousin. She was pressed against his body, and he had a gun, it felt like a bad joke, is that a gun I feel or are you just happy to see me? Only it was a gun, it really was. And he was looking at her now, and she did the only thing she could think of. She passed out, dead dropping in his arms. He carried her. That was the crazy part. He carried her to the living room like something out of a romance movie, only it wasn’t romantic at all, and then just stared at her for a moment. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell somehow, that he was watching her. Trying not to shake, or even breathe too hard, she lay there and wondered if this was the part where he shot her. Was he going to press the muzzle to her head, or just pull the trigger? Would she hear it coming before she died? Christ, was this how it had felt to be Luis? She couldn’t even cry, weirdly calm, like there was a wall and all her fear was behind it, waiting to crash over her, but she couldn’t quite feel it yet. “Amelina Belinda Pilar Martinez. Where do you live?” Oh Christ, he knew she was awake, he was talking to her, oh God, she was going to die now. But then she realized what she was hearing. He was going through her wallet. The wallet that had been in the pants she was holding when she pretended to pass out. Oh fuck, this was even worse. He knew who she was. He knew her name. He had her goddamn driver’s license. “Mike, can you bring the car around? Yes, Luca’s. Just a girl. They’re both passed out, I don’t want her getting into more of his nose candy and OD'ing. Yeah, exactly. I’ll stay with him, make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. Yes, well, it is his birthday. See you soon.” Lying there, a cold certainty hit her. She wasn’t prepared for this. She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. She didn’t even know which fucking cousin this guy was. She’d made all these lists, all these observations, all these half-baked plans, but she hadn’t done anything about them. Here she was, lying on Luca Costello’s floor, and she had no idea what to do. What if anything had gone wrong before this? What if Luca had woken up while she’d been smothering him? Christ, what if Luca had been playing music and she hadn’t heard his cousin come in? She could just give up. Admit that it had all been stupid. Go back to her pointless life and just keep living, day in and day out, and eventually die, having accomplished nothing. Fuck that. She would just have to figure out how to be better. She would. And then next time, she’d know what to do. And she’d never feel like this again. EXTRAS She reads the tabloids religiously to keep up with the Costello siblings. Not necessarily a playlist, but pretty much the new album from Billie Eilish is Lina’s soundtrack right now, with a lot of Lana Del Rey thrown in and the Kill Bill soundtrack on top (just because she loves that movie and has seen it 10 times).

Her favourite book is the Count of Monte Cristo.

[dontbethatshank]

Teach Me How To Listen

Imagine: High School AU short-series - Newt pairing 

A/N: This series will make the main character multi-lingual. Also, this first part is a bit of a slow start. It introduces the storyline basically and that’s about it. The next part will have more character interactions though, so stay tuned~

Wednesday, December 3rd. It’s third period and good God you couldn’t wait for the day to be over with. It was block schedule at your school so you only had three classes every day; 1-3 on odd days and 4-6 on even days. So it was now nearing 3:15 in the afternoon and you were ready to leave, but as the bell rang and your school work found its way into your bag, a hand stopped on your shoulder and a mumbled phrase of “please stay behind, will you” came with it.

So, with a reluctant sigh, you sank back down into your chair, pulling out your phone from your jacket pocket and sending a text to your group chat, letting your friends know that their ride for the day would be a few minutes late. Once it sent, you slide it back into its designated pocket and instead fiddled with the keys in your hand, toying with the small trinkets you had on your keychain. Soon the class was empty, the last student leaving once they slid in some late work into the teacher’s outbox. You remained in your seat in the middle of the room, your book bag on the table next to you.

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you this fine afternoon?” your teacher, Mr. Blackburn, asked, taking a seat on a table top in front of you, his hands in his pockets and his glasses now in his shirt pocket. With a quirk of the eyebrow, you leaned forward, arms on the table, giving your teacher a questioning look. “No offense, Mr. Black, but why did you keep me...? I’m a straight A, AP student who has over  95% attendance. I’m pulling an almost perfect grade in your class... Did I do something to upset another student or teacher, or...?” you asked, cutting right to the chase, not wanting to mess around or beat around the bush. Along with being one of the school’s highest achieving students, you were also one of the bluntest.

With a sigh, Mr. Blackburn stood up, walking to his desk and grabbing a small notebook, handing it to you before returning to his previous seat. “Well, Ms. Y/L/N, this has nothing to do with you per say... but a peer of yours. I have a boy in my first period who is barely passing this class and with how his test is looking, won’t be passing for much longer. This student is also one of our school’s star athletes and has a possibility of a full ride scholarship. This is one of his only weak classes and his parents contacted me asking for the best tutoring centers. I suggest instead a fellow student... you. His parents are willing to pay you up to 17 an hour for the tutoring; three hours every Friday before his game and an hour every Tuesday and Saturday afternoon. I wanted to give you a chance to make some quick money... you are one of the only students in this school to know more than two languages fluently, which this boy needs desperately,” Mr. Blackburn explained. With a bewildered look, you looked down at the book in your hands, flipping open to the first page.

Newton Issaics Junior - 1st Period French Level 2

“So... this is the guy?” you asked slowly, flipping through the first few pages, seeing simple verbs, pronouns, simple dialect and conversation skills written on the page, a small lesson plan written for you, highlighting weak and strong points. “Newton Issaics?” you clarified, a small amused smirk on your lips. “Yes, that’s him. You are already fluent in French, and you only took French 4 as an easy course as well as to get your certificate at your graduation next year... Ms. Y/N, you know English, Russian, French, and your father tells me you know most German and are working on Spanish at home. That is four languages and counting. If anyone can teach this poor lad a thing or two about French it’s you - and you can make quick and easy money! So, what do you say?” your teacher asks, looking at you with an almost pleading glint in his eyes. With a sigh you nod, agreeing. You knew he wouldn’t leave you alone until you agreed. Everyone knows the only tutoring center in your small town honestly sucked. They taught Spanish, French, and English - all of which new learners who aren’t necessarily literate in it. So yes, this boy’s best bet was you. He was pulling a 60.2% in the class and that was only because of his spotless attendance record and the fact that Mr. Blackburn gave a 50% as the lowest test score possible as long as every question had a legitimate attempt at an answer. Besides those facts, the boy would have had a 30% at best, honestly.

“Oh thank you! This boy’s father is a family friend of mine and a business partner of my wife’s. I truly do appreciate it, Y/N, I can even talk to the principal and probably get it written off as community service so you can add it to your college applications as well,” Mr. Blackburn smiled brightly, a hum in his tone. “Oh! And here is his address,” he said, handing you a piece of paper from his pocket, “this Friday will be your first meeting with him. I’ll see you on that day so I can give you some papers to use with him before you leave.” With a nod you took the paper, tucking it into the notebook. You smiled politely at your teacher, quickly saying you had friends waiting for their ride, aka you, and you had to leave. You rushed from the classroom, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you stuffed some books and folders into your locker before you left the building, making your way to your car that had three people leaning against it.

“Ah! There she is,” Minho grinned, clapping as he straightened up to give you a wide, toothy grin. “FInally,” Teresa groaned, sliding off of the hood of the car, pushing Gally on the shoulder to get him to stop falling asleep on the other side of the car. With a laugh, you unlocked your car, Teresa climbing in front and the two boys int he back. “So, what did Mr. B want with you? Become a naughty little rule breaker overnight, did ya?” Minho teased, winking at you through the rearview mirror as you all buckled up. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, backing out and heading out of the school parking lot. “No, he just wanted to ask me to help tutor another student in French or whatever. Nothing really. But, moving on from anything school related, who wants to grab some burgers and shakes at Ferrel’s before we head home?” you replied, already putting your blinker on to head towards the old fashioned themed ice cream and burger joint down the block.

“Fuck yes, I love you,” Gally sighed, his arms lazily encircling your neck from behind you as he began to fall back asleep, “I’m starved.” Teresa snorted, turning in her seat. “You ate an entire bag of chips and half my sandwich from lunch while we waited for Y/N, fatass. But whatever, I’m totally down for one of their mint chip shakes and their cheese fries,” Teresa agreed after teasing your friend. Everyone chuckled at her and your rolled your eyes, laughing at your friends. God you lot were a mess. 

When you got to Ferrel’s, you all climbed out of the car and made your way inside. Chatting and laughing as you went, you all made your way to a small booth, plucking out some menus on the way as a waitress instructed you to seat yourselves. You and Gally sat on one side and Minho and Teresa on the other. You all began to chat aimlessly, briefly looking over the menu - as if you didn’t all get the exact same fucking thing every time.

“Hey, I gotta go tot he bathroom real quick, don’t order without me,” you stated, slipping from the booth. “Here, I’ll join you. I think Minho got some candy of something in my hair after he threw all that crap at me in your car,” Teresa grumbled, putting her phone back into her back pocket. She had been grumbling about it for the past five minutes, staring at her front camera and raking her fingers through her hair as the Asian boy beside her smirked triumphantly at his handiwork. “Girls. Always have to go in packs,” Gally muttered, flipping lazily through a menu. “Maybe they’re all just trying to get away from you, shuckface,” Teresa muttered back, earning a grumpy ‘hey!’ as she scuttered away with you in tow, both laughing like school children at Gally.

As you both walked towards the bathroom, talking about random things, mostly about how Minho “finally got the balls” to ask Teresa out a couple weeks ago, you both ran into someone. Well... more so something. As Teresa was talking about her date with Minho to the country fair in immense detail, you didn’t see the distracted boy walking to your right and you both collided. Unluckily for both you and Teresa, said boy was carrying a large to-go cup full of a caramel brownie shake in his hand. As you both stumbled into each other, his cup went flying from his hand, the top coming off in the process, and both you and Teresa got a... sticky make-over to say the least.

“Hey! Watch it you- oh fucking shit,” came the mumbled voice, accent thickening as he began to curse, sliding his phone into his back pocket as he came to look at both of you fully. “Jesus Christ!” Teresa groaned, looking down at her shirt and pants, both covered in the cold, sweet drink that once belonged to the stranger. With a sigh, you wiped the whip cream and caramel off your cheek, only making yourself stickier in the process. “Thanks,” you deadpanned, glaring at the guy in front of you. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one not watching where I was going,” he frowned. “Here,” he mumbled, sliding a backpack off his shoulder and offering a gray sweater to Teresa. She grumbled and snatched it, walking off to the bathroom. You stood there, still getting bits of whip cream and brownie off your face and tossing them in the trashcan near you, as the mystery boy watched.

“Enjoying the show?” you rolled your eyes, throwing the last bit of brownie bits for your shirt into the trash can. “What? Oh- no- oh well... here,” the boy stuttered, sliding off a varsity jacket from his shoulders. It had your school colors and mascot on it, and you’re sure if you looked on the back you would find a team number. The football, soccer, basketball, and hockey teams all had the same jackets. The only difference was the small badges on the left shoulder, each one representing the individual sports. You didn’t have time to look at the sport’s badge, but you hesitantly took it. “You sure...?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. With a shrug, the boy just nodded. “I’ll give you my number, you can give it back to me tomorrow or something.”

With a mumbled thanks, you walked off to the bathroom to get changed. You found Teresa, head half way in the sink and a soaking wet t-shirt hung over the side of said sink. She had managed to get most of the shake out of her hair and off her chest, the small remains left on the thigh’s of her pants were now wet patches. “At least he gave up clean tops,” Teresa grumbled, slipping on the gray sweater that was barely too big for her but way too long for her height. With a laugh, you continued washing out your hair, your shirt discarded to the side and the jacket hanging over a stall door. “Yeah, I guess. Driving home like that would have been terrible,” you agreed. You both continued the conversation of Teresa’s date, you scrubbing your chest and neck as you listened. Once you were as clean as you were going to get, you took some paper towels and dried yourself off, ringing out your hair and tying it in a high, messy bun. You looked like a trainwreck, but you at least weren’t covered in milkshake anymore.

“Let’s go. We have to get that guy’s number to give him his clothes back later this week,” you muttered, pulling on the varsity jacket and buttoning it up. But, upon exiting, you saw the mysterious, clumsy athlete nowhere in sight. With a shrug, Teresa led you both back to the table. “Well, it looks like he at least goes to Heights High, so we can find him tomorrow or something,” Teresa said, sliding back into the booth. Both of you immediately began the story of the milkshake and the jackets before either of the boys could ask.

But, God damn, were those burgers and fries worth that sticky situation.

[cashmierathoughts]

Riley 'Nem pt. 7: The Virgin

"Did you cum?", whispered a deep, immature voice.

"Yea", I lied.

"Good. Me too. I love you, baby", he said.

"I love you too", another lie. Then I hung up the phone.

I sighed deeply, rolled over, and headed for the bathroom to wash my hands. The floorboards were old and creaky so I tried to walk as softly as I could so that I didn't wake my folks up. I wasn't supposed to be up this late on a school night, let alone, be talking on the phone.

"Keeshaaaa?!", rang a stern voice.

"Yes, ma'am", I answered.

"Why aren't you in bed? And I KNOW I didn't hear you on my telephone a few minutes ago".

I rolled my eyes, "No, ma'am", I answered and continued on my way to the bathroom. "I know I didn't hear you on my telephone...", I mimicked to myself. Boah she killed me. Ain't paid a bill since she moved in here. "Nigga dis my daddy house" -- I laughed.  

I got back to my room, shut the door behind me, and turned on the lamp by my bedside and picked up my tattered copy of 'The Coldest Winter Ever'. It was one of my all time favorites. My cousin Riley and her bestfriend Jordyn and I were sharing this one copy and it was my turn to read it. I'd read it once before in eighth grade, then again sophomore year, but it was senior year now and my boyfriend, Mike, was pressuring me to have sex, so I thought it was appropriate to revisit the storyline.

You see, I was a virgin. Most of the guys I dated assumed I would fuck because of how developed I was. I guess they thought that just because I was built like a grown ass woman, that I was ready to do grown ass woman thangs. And every time, they were left with a hard dick and hard feelings.

I did like Mike, really, I did. But did I love the nigga? No. Did I think that he loved me? Hell nawl. He just be sayin' that shit 'cause he thinks it sounds good. Not to mention, he thinks saying, "I love you, baby" is gone get him some pussy. But if he can lie about lovin' me to get what he wants, so can I. What did I want, you're probably wondering... I wanted status! Mike was the shooting guard for our school's team and was ranked top five in the nation amongst high school ball players. I was gonna make sure that I was on his arm when the time came.

I scanned the pages of the novel, skipping past a few words here and there because I'd read them so many times that I was able to finish the sentences without having to actually read them. My daddy never touched no dope, and we didn't live some unimaginable lavish lifestyle, but somehow, I could relate to Winter's dumb ass. She was a go-getter and so was I. She used niggas for their money and status, but unlike Winter, I wasn't giving away my body for trinkets and designer threads. Shid, I was barely giving out my time. But that was more of my parents' doing than my own.

I couldn't do shit. Couldn't go on dates, couldn't have people over, couldn't go to parties. None uh dat. It's a wonder that I wasn't fast and bussin' it already. People always talking abut how if you keep a teenage girl locked up in the house, she gon' be the biggest hoe of all. But I liked to prove people wrong. Yea, I snuck out from time to time. Got caught a couple of times and got hands put on me for it, but it was worth it. Most times though, I'd just go over to Riley's and go from there. My aunt and uncle were real cool and didn't mind us going out. I'm pretty sure that they were hippies in their day. Every time I go over there, they're playing old Isley's records and burning sage, tryna mask the funk of the weed they smoke in the basement. Riley thinks it's embarrassing, but I think it's cool.

It's funny how the same thing a man loves, is the same thing that he hates. What makes me stand out as a woman is that I have non negotiable principles, strength, and faith in my people. From the time that we shared that, you seemed to love that, admire it, even. Now you hate it because my ways have isolated you. The truth is, you've isolated yourself. --- (Sistah Soulja Excerpt TCWE) 

And on that note, I passed out, book resting on my chest and all.

The next day at school, I skipped homeroom to meet up with Riley to copy the trig homework. Riley was super smart and good with numbers. Jordyn was the chem wiz and me; I wrote all our papers. We had the whole school on lock; charged $25 for book reports, $10 for trig worksheets, and $15 for chem homework. I don't know if the kids were dumb or just plain lazy, but either way, we was eatin'.

I found Riley all caked up against the lockers by the gymnasium. She and Rod had been going out off and on since freshman year. She was holdin' out on him too but every day, I could tell she was getting weaker and weaker. They had the "real thing" though. Equally crazy about one another. Inspiring.. if you believed that your high school sweetheart was really the "one". But as for me.. you already know where my head is.

"Ahem", I cleared my throat, hoping it would catch their attention and interrupt them. Nope. They were still swallowing each other's tongues. So, I got a little louder the second time..

"AHEM, got dammit", I joked.

"Oh hey Keesh", said Riley as she wiped the corners of her mouth, never even looking in my direction.

"Wassup girl", followed up Rod, also not breaking his gaze from Riley.

"Well I hate to interrupt BUT, Riley, we got somewhere to be..", I reminded her. I didn't want to say out loud that we needed to meet up with Jaron to make a drop 'cause Rod wasn't Riley's biggest fan when it came to her doing homework for students. You would think he'd be proud that his girlfriend had a hustle hand. Guess not, though.

"She's right. Get to classsss babe. See you later."

They kissed again, then we headed for the back of the auditorium to make the drop and so I could copy her homework.

"Wassup, Jaron?", he was waiting for us by the bleachers.

"Wassup, Keesh? Wassup Riley? Aye, Keesh, when you gon' stop playin' and fuck with a real nigga?"

"Jaron, do you have the money or what?", I said, getting straight to the point.

"Dang, it's like that? Bet. Yea. I got yo money".

He dangled the wrinkled bills in my face, snatching them away every time that I reached for it; then he finally handed the money to Riley.

"She isss the math wiz, right?", he teased.

"Whatever nigga, here..", I said as I handed him the paper. Me and Riley left and headed in the opposite direction.

Riley gave me her homework to copy and disappeared down the hallway. I hurried up and copied it, then met up with Mike in the stairwell to "talk". I already knew what he was gonna want to talk about. Senior prom was coming up and according to the rumor mill, he had a suite downtown that night.

"Hey, baby", he said, greeting me with a warm hug and a bag of M&Ms. He knew they were my favorite.

"For me?", I asked, knowing damn well they were.

"Anything for my baby", he said.

Okay nigga, cut the theatrics. Now he was doing the absolute most. He was really trying to butter me up. I liked it though, so I let him continue to do his thang.

"Okay, Mike...wassup? What's all this for?". I can be a bit direct at times.

"Soooo..after prom...I was thinkinggg....that you...and me... could spend a romantic evening at the Westin downtown. My cousin George got the hook up on the rooms and said he would look out".

"You want to spend the night there? You know my folks are not going for that, Mikey. I'm sorry, I can't".

"So that's it? Just like that? A flat out no? You not even gone TRY to think about it or come up with a plan or a lie like you usually do?".

"It's PROM, Michael.", my tone got a little more defensive. "My parents are gonna be on the defense about my every little move and be noided about everything. There's no way they're gonna let me break curfew or "spend the night" at Riley's on that night. They might be old, but they're not stupid."

"Alright, fuck it then. If you not even willing to try, that tells me you don't love me like you say you do and you're not willing to take this relationship to the next level."

I couldn't even argue with him saying I must not love him like I said I did.. 'cause truth be told, I didn't. So instead, I said,

"Nigga, what!? So because I won't lie to my parents and sleep with you, I don't "love you like I say I do"? Yous a clown, Michael."

Like I said before, all the while, I knew damn well that I didn't love this boy, but it was the principle of the matter. I felt I had to take a stand for all the virgins and girlfriends out there who weren't ready to give it up!

"You damn skippy", he shot back. "And as a matter of fact, gimme my hoodie back. Oh yea, I'm taking Tasha to prom. It's over, Keesha."

And just like that, I'd gotten dumped and left in the stairwell. For whatever reason, hot tears fled my eyes and ran down my face like lava down the side of a volcano. I was heated. I was sad. But I was not heart-broken. I cried, gathered my shit, wiped my face and headed to class and pretended nothing had happened. At least I still had the M&Ms. I was starving.

It was the end of the day now and by this time, damn near the whole school knew that me and Mike had broken up. Probably because we didn't sit together in the commons at lunch and more evidently, he was all hugged up with Tasha at the pep rally. I immediately started going through the mental list of niggas that I'd turned down. I couldn't think of one available guy that was up to par. In the middle of my brainstorming, I got a text from Riley saying she had to tell me something and to meet her at her bus.

I followed orders and went to bus 938 and waited. It wasn't too long before I spotted her through the crowd of kids. She looked...different, somehow.

"Wassup? What you gotta tell me?", I asked, getting right to the point.

"Dang, what's wrong witchu? Why you shitty?", Riley asked.

"So you haven't heard?", I said dully.

"Heard what?", she asked.

I could tell that she really had no idea.

"Mike broke up with me because I wouldn't fuck. He's taking tacky Tasha to prom", I blurted out.

"Big booty, Tasha??".

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, nigga".

"Aw damn. I'm sorry Keesh. Well that makes me not even wanna tell you my news now...".

"Girl, I'm coo. Two tears in a bucket won't fill it so fuck it. (My dad always says that) What's going on? And why you lookin' all...different?"

"Wellllllluhh...", she said hesitantly. "I did it. Well, we did it! Me and Rod...made looovvvee".

I was secretly disappointed but I didn't want to make her feel bad about her decision so I went along with it. In the back of my mind, all I could think was that she had given away her power.. something I vowed not to do for as long as I could. It was that moment there that I told myself I would never have casual sex.