#can do everything backwards in high heels meme

[allthebestscreennamesaregone63]

McCracken the 10 Man can do everything Milligan can do, backwards in business shoes.

[nrth-wind-a]

SO. I... don’t have an excuse; I was exploring the rough patch of the Fashion AU at the time of doing this meme and uh. The ending of this spawned. I consider everything up until the kiss ‘canon’ for the AU. The kiss is... purely because this meme was still on the brain lol

Accompanying Playlist --

"...congratu-fucking-lations." Bellroc's voice was low, as they glared at the sketch they'd been working on.

Some of the lines had nearly pushed through the paper. 

Skrael glanced over to them, the smile previously on his face sliding off. He knew this was going to happen. He knew it.

So why did it still hit so hard?

 "...excuse me?" He fought to keep his voice steady. 

Bellroc's grip on their pencil tightened when Nari slipped from the room. 

Skrael followed their eyes, getting distracted for just a moment, stomach sinking when he noticed Nari's absence. She'd been doing that lately, whenever they seemed like they were about to have it out once more. 

Skrael turned back to face Bellroc-- there was little he could do to stop Nari, and he’d never subject her to even more of this than she’d already had to handle-- raising his chin in defiance. "Why aren't you happy for me? I just broke one of the best deals any one of us has ever gotten. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but this is our dream, isn't it? To get into the big leagues? This is our chance to do that, Bells." 

Bellroc's eyes were a viper's. "Okay.” They set their pencil down, but did not stand up. “First of all, Starr Occult is barely above Hot Topic, and you know it. That’s hardly big leagues-- it’s not even a high-end department store. So what-the-fuck-ever; big fucking deal, Skrael. They growled. “And secondly, it’s not even a deal for all three of us. I thought we were supposed to do this together.”

Skrael scoffed. “And we will. But we have to have some kind of in, first, and if this has to be it, then, I don’t see why not. Besides, they didn’t say I couldn’t get help from you two.”

“But they didn’t say you could, either, did they?” Bellroc stared into his eyes, lip curling. “In fact, I wouldn’t be shocked to hear that you didn’t even think to ask, did you?”

Skrael went silent. 

It wasn’t that he’d intended not to ask… it had just happened so quickly…

“I-” Skrael huffed. “I didn’t need to. They know we’re a package deal; we’ve never hid that.”

“And yet, I am quite certain mine and Nari’s names are not on the contract, Skrael.”

“That… that doesn’t have to mean--”

“Yes it does, Skrael! We can help you all day, but Nari and I don’t get to see a single ounce of credit for our work if we do! Not to mention the royalties, and god, I don’t even care about that, but you know we would get nothing!” They noticed him open his mouth, but held up their hand to stop him. “Don’t you dare. I’m sure you’d share it with the rest of us, because every dime any of us makes goes to keeping this car crash going-- I am plenty aware. It isn’t about the money, Skrael-- hell, it isn’t even about the deal. I need you to listen to me; the problem is that you did this without us.” They couldn’t quite clear all of the pain in their voice, and they wanted to scream, yell, be loud, because he wasn’t supposed to know they were hurt; he was supposed to know they were angry. 

But they could barely even feel a hint of the flame. Instead, they felt the way the Titanic must have. 

“You did it without us, even though a decision this big should be something we all talk about first. What ever happened to talking, Skrael?”

Skrael had clenched his jaw, his fists, against the avalanche on his tongue. “I just wanted to advance our careers, Bells… it’s one deal. It’s not even that big. Nine pieces, total. Three pants, three skirts, three shirts. Straightforward. It should have been easy.” 

Bellroc gave a haughty laugh, “Easy. As if anything is easy these days. Things haven’t been easy for us in weeks, and you know it.” They paused there, to see if he’d say something. They almost wanted him to. They wanted him to fuel their rage; they wanted him to retort, and they wanted to rebut it, and they wanted so badly for him to strike that match, grate against them, push back, cry out.

But Skrael didn’t say a word. 

They almost got what they wanted, though, as his cold stare locked onto their heated one, and ah, it wasn’t nearly enough, and that, too, irritated them-- how could he just stand there like that? While they were twisting, curling, crackling-- so they took the opportunity he presented them anyway, even if it wasn’t the one they’d silently begged him for, and continued.

“Did you really think that this was okay, Skrael?” They glared.

Skrael’s shoulders went visibly tenser, and-- a vicious delight ran through them, seeing that-- he finally broke. “I’m sorry; did I think giving us a leg up in our careers-- our dreams, Bellroc-- was okay? How fucking dare you. Of course I thought giving us an in to the professional world was acceptable! Since when did I have to clear everything with you? I didn’t know we were a hivemind, Bellroc; I didn’t know I had to go and get a permission slip to do my job.” 

Bellroc bristled, and finally stood up. One, two, three long strides, and then they were crowding Skrael’s personal space, “Your job is not to do ours for us-”

“-then maybe you should make more contacts in the industry! At least I’ve gotten a deal at all!” Skrael spat, resisting the urge to step backward.

“Oh, yes, I see; because it’s my fault a second-rate retailer with shitty fabric and bad stitching hasn’t picked me out for mass consumption to idiot teenagers who don’t know the difference between cotton and polyester. Wow, I feel so bad, Skrael; really! I’m just aching for Wal-Mart to set their sights on me! You piece of shit. You got lucky that they’re still looking for clothes that thirteen year olds wear to pretend they’re being rebellious. As if a paper-thin graphic tee makes you Alexander fucking McQueen, Skrael! This deal is stupid, and you know it. What happened to not selling out? To a mass retailer, Skrael? A chain?”

Skrael couldn’t resist a humorless, shocked laugh, “Are you kidding me? You’re really going to act like you’re gonna suddenly get asked to collab with Westwood on your first fucking try? We have to start somewhere, Bellroc!”

“I know that, Skrael! I just thought that maybe-” they cut themself off, looking to the side, shutting their eyes. They took a steadying breath… then leveled him with a mercilessly disappointed glare. “Well. You know what I thought.” 

The air stilled for half a second. 

And then Skrael rolled his eyes. 

“I never said we aren’t going to do this together, Bellroc. You are wildly overexaggerating.”

Ah… there was the strike. 

They accepted it in stride, lighting up. “Oh…” They growled. “Fuck you, Skrael. If that’s how you want to do this, fine. I’m just delighted to oblige! Fuck you and your stupid fucking deal-- I hope you have so much fun with your brand new, shiny contract, and all the assholes who come with it. And you know what? Don’t even bother asking for my help. This is your deal, remember? So take it, cherish it, and then shove it up your ass.” They slung their words at him like blows, before whirling to collect their coat and their backpack, stopping just before the door to hiss, “Don’t fucking show your face here tomorrow.”

The door was on its way to being slammed, but Skrael managed to catch it, as he followed on Bellroc’s heels, out into the rain. “You cannot tell me not to come in-- you don’t have that right! You don’t have the authority.”

Bellroc spun on their heels to face him. “Like hell I do! I’m not telling you that as a business partner, Skrael; I’m telling you that as a--” don’t say friend, “...a co-worker. If you show your goddamn face tomorrow, Skrael, I will make you regret it.”

Skrael looked unbothered, “What are you gonna do, get in a fistfight with me? Duel me at sundown? Please. Avoid the empty threats, Bellroc; they’re not a good look on you.” 

Bellroc made a hateful noise. “Do you want me to? Because if you keep fucking pushing me, I just might.” With how wired they felt, they almost, almost, wanted to… but Skrael was-- unfortunately-- right. Their words were empty.

Still… when Skrael had the audacity to start laughing, it was much easier to see the appeal. 

“You would never.” He managed between laughs, and god, they just wanted him to shut up; between his laughter, the rain, the blood rushing in their ears, the bonfire in their chest--

Something had to give.

As if they were watching from outside of their own body, they reached up, clapped their hands onto the sides of Skrael’s face, and he looked so stupidly beautiful in the rain, in the street lights, and they weren’t even sure what they were doing, but they were leaning in, suddenly, and it felt like a fever, it felt fake, it felt--

It wasn’t a nice kiss. 

They were too angry for that.

Instead, it was vicious, and too hard, and mean, and Skrael wasn’t moving, except-- was that bite from them or him? They couldn’t even tell. So they stepped closer, making him crane his neck, and he should have pulled away then, but he didn’t, so they didn’t, and neither of them understood what was happening, and--

The kiss wasn’t supposed to be good. 

It wasn’t supposed to light yet more of their insides ablaze. 

But it did. 

And they hated it. 

And they loved it. 

Eventually, they pulled back, slow, full of hesitation and something that wasn’t regret, but felt like it.

Bellroc cut Skrael off before he could ask.

“Shut. Up.” They said, tone dangerous, before they let him go and stormed to their car. 

The apartment was a graveyard that night.

[fvlminare]

✗✗✗   you see [ camille rivas ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis female ] is up to no good. [ she / her ] has been here for [ three years ] now but they’re still pretty [ calculating ] which is fine because they’re also [ ardent ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-six ] year old [ dancer at mayhem ] actually looks like a lot like [ sofia carson ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ the rush of cocaine in her veins & a vice grip on her throat ]. 

henlo it me again! i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc here’s my other bb! say hello to my boss-ass bish gal camile! she’s sassy, classy and a lil badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger who cba with ur bullshit tbh n she’ll tell u this too if u piss her off enough! she’s lowkey cutthroat and always out for number one, aka: herself. but, i mean, she does have some redeeming qualities and her hair is bomb af so that makes up for it all really, doesn’t it? basically that meme: ‘ she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll punch you in the face. ’ anywho, you know the drill, slap a lil luv on this n i’ll come pester u for all the good stuff : - ) 

fundamentals.

CAMILLE ALARA RIVAS     —     twenty-six, dancer at mayhem,   +   an honest-to-god vixen   /   hellcat   /   lil demoness ! 

aesthetics   ➤   dresses of black lace and red velvet, the scent of chanel perfume lingering in the air as she floats past, blood-red fingertips coiled around the pistol grip of a gun, red-bottomed heels clicking against marble floors, rose gold highlighter shimmering along the height of prominent cheekbones, satin dresses draped over a svelte frame that is shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue, baby pink roses in a vase on the window sill, deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long raven locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, a sense of freedom and carelessness when dancing for fun, & a sense of allurement and captivation when dancing for work.

nicknames. cam, cami, mil, millie, spawn of satan >:~)

date of birth. april tenth.

gender. cis female.

pronouns. she + her.

birthplace. manhattan, new york.

orientation. pansexual + demiromantic.

education. bachelor of dance degree obtained from nyu tisch school of the arts.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, caustic, brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, poised, elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

talents. ballet, knife throwing, hand-to-hand combat, horse riding, figure skating, piano, violin, painting, singing, & dancing.

physiology. hazel eyes. dark brown hair. five feet, four inches tall. of a petite, slender stature with subtle curves and long hair. has a long silvery scar on her back. her skin is clean of any tattoos. has both earlobes pierced. requires glasses but wears contacts most days. is right-handed.

psychology. aries zodiac. fire element. ravenclaw house. istp-a. true neutral. type seven enneagram. choleric temperament. intra-personal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and abandonment issues. her vices are lust, greed and wrath. her virtues are ... ( again ) honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers   :   child abandonment, abandonment issues, foster homes, alcohol, drugs, violence, gore, blood, murder, & death.

a synopsis.   ok so for this gal, let’s all give a big, warm welcome to sadness ( no, i was in no way at all inspired by salem from sabrina for that line ) bc boy oh boy, her life has been constant grief and pain, tbh. strap in for the bumpy ride, i’ll give u cookies for compensation. OK SO, camille was abandoned as a baby, never did—and still doesn't—know her biological parents and she doesn’t want to either, tbh. she bounced around from foster home to foster home, never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her. it didn’t take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, camille knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. she always felt starved of love: as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void that nobody could ever fill. anywho, she fell in with the wrong crowd which did little to aid her foster families hostility toward her. truthfully, most of her experiences in various homes were ... not pleasant. she’d encountered abusive ‘parents,’ horrible ‘siblings,’ and even worse schooling days. pressing the self-destruct button is this gal’s speciality thus she found herself gravitating towards her vices: things and people she knew were no good for her. drink, drugs, people, you name it. quickly, she realised that these things were no longer any good at keeping her dark side at bay: she needed something more, something deeper. thus, she began going down the road of petty crimes—stealing cars, smashing windows, theft, setting fires both metaphorically and literally. due to this lifestyle, she wound up entangled with some real shady folk who did … even shadier things. most specifically, she started dating a real jackass who was violent and truthfully, a horrible person, really. stupidly, she decided to run off into the metaphorical sunset with him * insert eye roll emoji here. * so, fast forward a year or so and things took a swift nosedive when her lowlife boyfriend’s hands were round her throat and not in the kinky way. while she’d clawed at him and tried to fight him off, she struggled against his weight and strength until, eventually, she lifted the first makeshift weapon she felt: a rusted pair of scissors. [ TRIGGER FOR VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, MURDER, DEATH ] and, in a blind state of panic, she jammed them right into his jugular vein, his blood squirting out and decorating her face in crimson splatters. he’d stumbled backwards, clutched onto his neck, blood spurting from the webs between his fingers. naturally, camille was shook about this but somehow managed to flee the scene with less guilt rattling her soul than she’d imagined. [ TRIGGER OVER ] in her mind, it was an act of self defence. it wasn’t too long after the incident that she found herself in a rather perilous situation that resulted in her sudden realisation that she needed to get her damn life on track. therefore, she done the responsible adult thing and got herself a decent education. somehow, she managed to get into university where her life started to shape into a positive one—the kind she’d always dreamed of. once she graduated, camille decided that she wanted to see the world. following a couple of years travelling, she wound up in santa ysabel where she quickly fell into the employment of mayhem. admittedly, this was a far cry from the future she’d envisioned when she was just a sweet, innocent lil child. still, all in all, she kind of digs who she is and what she is: after everything she’s been through, she loves herself. it’s been a long and winding road but camille finally believes that she’s settled in her life now. tho she still refuses to let people in, her abandonment issues terrifying her to the degree that she feels that anybody she’d ever let into her life would eventually leave her in the end. * insert sad face emoji here. *

random extras.

her tell? playing with her hair: when she’s lying, nervous, flirting—you name it!

can drink any man under the table. 

she loves art in every form: paintings, sculptures, music, dance, people, etc. she loves the freedom that expressing herself through these mediums gives her.

she’s ... experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people ...

can be hella calculating and vindictive so do not cross her.

quite power-hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century-long list shkjsh.

high key is not above killing people who don’t do things her way.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

she’s lowkey a perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, also cutthroat and egotistical.

if ya ain’t of use to her, then what the heck is ur purpose???

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be ... aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues.

dry sense of humour one million per cent.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. and always carries one on her person at all times.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo lighter. it has her initials engraved into it and where she got it from, or who is something she’ll never tell.

always says she needs to quit smoking but never does and probably never will either.

did someone say ... resting bitch face???

tho when she smiles it’s like sunshine uwu

high key will sleep with anyone.

first place is the ONLY acceptable place, ok??? 

one of those people who just excels at everything she tries her hand at.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

much too sassy and sarcastic for her own good.

really, she does what she wants to, when she wants to, without seeking the approval of others.

truthfully? she’s a bit of a spitfire if you really irk her. so, watch out.

you can find a pinterest board for her by clicking anywhere here.

[brynnmck]

 Tagged by @agirlnamedkeith, @pretty--thief, and @samirant, thank you! <333

What is the colour of your hairbrush? Mostly black, with a green ring on it.

Name a food you never eat: I have quite a few foods I can’t eat anymore thanks to some random health issues I developed a few years back (friends, aging is great from a mental/emotional perspective, Not Great from a physical perspective) but in terms of voluntary stuff, green peppers. I’ve outgrown a lot of my childhood food dislikes but that one is in my SOUL.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? Too cold, definitely.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? I was in a boring meeting!

What’s your favourite candy bar?  Probably Snickers? I really like 100 Grand too, though. And Butterfinger. And Twix. And I want Claire Saffitz to make all of them for me.

Have you ever been to a professional sports game? I’ve been going to Major League baseball games since I was a kid (it was my dad’s favorite sport), and the past few years, I’ve been to 20-30 games a season. I usually go for my birthday, too, which is in a couple of weeks, and it’s just kinda sinking in that there will be no birthday baseball for me this year. :(

What was the last thing you said out loud? Just saying hi to my husband. 

What is your favourite ice cream? Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. I can’t have caffeine anymore so this summer I’m gonna try to make a decaf version for myself. (WHY IS ALMOST ALL COFFEE ICE CREAM CAFFEINATED. There are so many reasons people can’t have caffeine! Sigh.)

What was the last thing you had to drink? Water!

Do you like your wallet? Sure? It’s a nice blue and it holds my stuff.

What was the last thing you ate? Fruit and Greek yogurt for breakfast.

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? I didn’t! I actually ordered a couple of soft bras from TomboyX on Monday, but nothing on the weekend.

What’s the last sporting event you watched? A replay of an old Mariners game a couple of nights ago. If we’re talking live sports, I watched about half of a Korean baseball league game a few nights back, which was delightful.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? Butter!

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? @ajoblotofjunk 

Ever go camping? Not in a long time. My husband has been getting the urge to go lately, though, so maybe we will!

Do you take vitamins? I take supplements due to the aforementioned health issues. And vitamin B.

Do you go to church every Sunday? Lol no. My mother is very Catholic and she brought us to 6 am Mass every weekday when I was a kid. It was well-intentioned (her dad had a pretty volatile temperament and she always felt safe at church, so she subconsciously wanted us to feel the same way) but it did not sell me on the experience! Heh.

Do you have a tan? I live in the Seattle area and it’s May, so... lol no. I’m also pretty pale so I don’t get that tan anyway, but. I usually get a little something going in the summer, enough to have tan lines anyway.

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? Tough call, but I’m going with pizza.

Do you drink your soda through a straw? I don’t drink soda anymore (though I drink a LOT of carbonated water), but I’ll drink my drink through a straw if I get it at a fast-food place. Otherwise I don’t usually use one.

What colour socks do you usually wear? Most of my winter socks for work are black. Otherwise it’s a pretty random selection of colors.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? Sure. Usually 5-10 miles over, rarely more (or less) than that.

What terrifies you? Climate change. Global pandemics. You know. Just generally suffering (both mine and other people’s).

Look to your left. What do you see? Through window of the room I’m sitting in: my neighbors’ house, and a cherry tree in their yard.

What chore do you hate most? Cleaning the bathrooms.

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? The hot Australian woman who’s been on Gold Rush recently, or a dear fannish friend of mine I haven’t talked to in years who is actually from New Zealand and I KNOW IT’S VERY DIFFERENT but it’s close enough to make me think of her!

What’s your favourite soda? I used to drink a lot of Diet Mountain Dew. I really miss ginger beer, too. I love a good spicy ginger beer. Root beer too.

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? Drive-thru all the way. Isn’t that part of the advantage of fast food?

What’s your favourite number? I don’t really have one!

Who’s the last person you talked to? My husband!

Favourite cut of beef? Boneless ribeye. I finally bought a propane grill a couple of years back and I have now learned to make a badass steak, if I say so myself.

Last song you listened to? Eve 6 - Inside Out. A few months ago I suddenly remembered that this song existed and so I bought it and now I have to listen to it at least twice every time it comes up, ha.

Last book you read? An as-yet-unpublished Rose Lerner novel, because I am very lucky! (It’s a wlw Gothic. SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT.)

Favourite day of the week? Saturday

Can you say the alphabet backwards? In this economy??? Idk, I could probably figure it out, but it would definitely be work.

How do you like your coffee? I love a caramel macchiato, especially iced so you get those weird globules of caramel coming up through the straw. But a nonfat decaf double latte with a little bit of some kind of syrup is my go-to these days--hot when it’s cold out, iced when it’s warm out.

Favourite pair of shoes? I have these 40s-ish heels that tie over your instep with a little bow and I love them. I also have some extremely cool red velvet with black cording peep-toe Louboutins that I bought off some discount site years ago, except I can’t wear them for long because they’re about a half size too small. But they’re SO PRETTY.

Time you normally get up? In isolation, I’m discovering that my natural sleep schedule is about 2 am - 10 am. But I have a daily meeting at 9:30, and I try to get my workout done before that, so I get up at 8-8:30ish. I am discovering through this meme that SO MANY of you are morning people! What is that like???

Sunrises or sunsets? I love sunrises but I am not remotely a morning person, so. I see a lot more sunsets, and I love them too!

How many blankets are on your bed? Just one duvet.

Describe your kitchen plates. We have some with blue perimeters and kind of a white/oatmeal middle that we inherited from my in-laws, and the ones we actually bought on purpose are white on top and either sage-y green or charcoal black on the bottom.

Describe your kitchen at the moment. Somewhat messy, or at least there are dishes to do. I made some pretty epic cauliflower mushroom risotto with shrimp last night, though, so it was for a good cause.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic drink? Perfect Manhattans with rye are my go-to, or a Quebecois, which is basically a perfect Manhattan with a little bit of maraschino liqueur added (and ideally a lemon twist, though we’re usually too lazy for those). In the summer, I’m getting really into gin these days: either gin and tonic, gin and some kind of citrus spiked seltzer, or a Last Word. I also really love a good craft beer, and sparkling wine too.

Do you play cards? Not really. We used to play a shit ton of gin rummy in high school, but I haven’t really played cards much since.

What colour is your car? Blue!

Do you know how to change a tire? Theoretically yes, though the one time I actually tried to do it myself, I had a hell of a time getting the lug nuts off. I was fortunately in my driveway at the time (good place for a flat tire!) and my neighbors kept coming by and offering to help, and I was like NO I WANNA DO IT. I think I did need help eventually, though. Stupid pneumatic tools at tire installation places!

Your favourite state? That rare, usually-brief phase of writing where everything seems to fit and flow and you’re a genius and you understand all the secrets of the cosmos. Also Washington.

Favourite job you’ve had? My current one. It’s not my dream job, but it pays well and I like my team and I get to learn new stuff fairly often and I can work from home in the midst of all this, so. I am very lucky!

How did you get your biggest scar? The summer after my freshman year of college, I was part of a summer stock theatre troupe, and we performed half the summer at my college, and half the summer in a very small town in eastern Oregon that had an outdoor stage. One of my entrances involved running over the grass to get to the stage, and one night the grass was wet, and my costume involved ballet slippers, and I slipped and fell onto the stage stairs in front of the whole audience. It hurt SO MUCH that I got very light-headed onstage while I was trying to get through the scene, lol. Anyway, my costume also involved harem pants that had elastic around the calf/ankle area, and I got a friction burn from those, which ended up scarring because the skin over your shins is very thin! (I also got a few massive bruises on my leg that didn’t go away for weeks, so eventually my mom nagged me into going to the doctor, who promptly started gently hinting to see if my boyfriend at the time was responsible for the injuries. Which was actually pretty cool of the doctor! But then I was like, lol no, trust me, a hundred people saw me bite it, this is 100% dumbass mistake.) And that’s my scar story.

Tagging, if you want to do it: @ajoblotofjunk, @snowymary, @halcyon-red, @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined, @unadulteratedkr, and anyone else who feels like doing this!

[aldysfool]

𝖉𝖔𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖊, 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘  — nate’s audition for macbeth.

alriiiiiiiight, so! a few ooc notes: nate loves macbeth, but i genuinely don’t think he ever really considered he was the protagonist/hero type, so that’s why he chooses to steer away from those roles. should he have given it an honest shot? i’m not sure ─  i don’t think he’ll know what to do with himself if he even got the title role, macduff, or even malcolm. frankly, i just don’t think he’d be inspired enough by them to put his all into it. anyway. enjoy! // triggers: mentions of drug use. word count: 1400+? google doc for better viewing!

so, here’s the thing: nate didn’t know what the fuck was happening anymore.

ever since heidi made the announcement of their spring play, he had been feeling one step behind everybody else. while most of his classmates jumped on rehearsal spaces, monologue runs, and every other kind of audition prep and/or ritual, nate couldn’t seem to share in their enthusiasm. and it scared him. there was something eerie about it all ─ like some kind of storm had formed over the department and no one seemed to notice, or worse, care. or maybe they were better at hiding their fears than he was. nate had tried his hardest to prepare for this audition properly, but he hadn’t been able to focus long enough to even give it an honest try.

serious talk about what happened that night had pretty much ceased amongst the group, but now it felt like no one had given the winter masque a second thought. did everybody know something he didn’t? either way, he had been so distracted that the auditions came sooner than he realized. nate considered just waltzing in and recycling one of his faves from hamlet, because as much as he wanted to go for the big roles, he felt like this wasn’t the play for him to take that risk. nate already had a lot of other shit to deal with on a daily basis, and he convinced himself he would be a liability if he even considered the thought of going for, say, the title role. and in all honesty, the amount of emotional and psychological lifting he would have to do in order to portray macbeth (lady ‘beth or macduff for that matter) accurately was something he just didn’t have the capacity for at the moment. 

so that’s where he was the day of auditions. the waiting was always the easiest part for him ─ being able to send quick texts or share jokes backstage was where nate shined. he didn’t think about the stage, or heidi, or the audition piece, because right now what mattered most was making sure other people felt comfortable and strong going into their auditions. lately nate had grown introspective as fuck, and he didn’t really understand why. 

or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the facts as they were: he and teddy were having their drug-induced fun, but it was unsustainable by the way things were going; jason was probably guilty for something, and nate was sad that he was still too afraid to just confront him; discovering orson’s body had done something to nate, and he hadn’t stopped worrying about his own mortality since. he didn’t want to end up like that ─ drugged up, miserable, and alone. nate wanted to be this upstanding, nice guy, but there was this heaviness that had been creeping up on him after all these years of destructive behavior. and of course everyone saw the silly, carefree nate who was so easily relatable and funny all these years that it would be near impossible to believe by almost anyone that he had a personality beyond popping vallies like candy and sharing internet memes in group chats at 3 am. fuck. 

he doesn’t hear his name at first, because he’s too busy thinking about a lot of other shit, but then he hears his name called once more, and nate comes back down from the stratosphere for two seconds to remember oh yeah, he has something really important to do right now. like audition. nate walks out on the stage just like every other audition for alderidge, except this time when looks up and sees heidi’s face, a fire ignites under his ass.

“yo. my name is nathaniel palmer and…,” he resists the urge to say, ‘and welcome back to my youtube channel’, “i’ll be auditioning with iago’s soliloquy from act two, scene three of othello.” maybe it’s the look on his face or how he takes a few steps backwards from the edge of stage, but heidi doesn’t verbally respond and nate’s thankful for it. his nerves are already bad enough, so he closes his eyes and counts his deep breaths. he tries to remember something of what he’s learned before. the exhale expels the fear, the inhale centers him in place. by the time he’s opened his eyes, iago takes form. 

“And what’s he, then, that says I play the villain?”

at base, iago is written off as one of willy’s cruelest characters; he’s manipulative, cold, and intense as hell. but nate understands a part of iago, though, where who he presents to the world is not always how he feels behind the closed doors. honest iago, just like honest nate, has dark tendencies. but while nate has chosen to run from his (via literal running, drugs, or sex), iago sees no other choice but to embrace it. and here, in a rare moment, nate allows himself to embrace it too. where does that darkness come from? nate’s eyelids are low and he moves slowly, but each step is calculated in a wide S shape towards downstage center. in this moment, there are only two players: nate as the predator, and heidi as his accomplice and his prey. "─His soul is so enfettered to her love / That she may make, unmake, do what she list, / Even as her appetite shall play the god / With his weak function.” his breath is a little shaky, so he takes a beat to collect himself. 

if orson could see him now, he’d probably laugh to spite nate’s attempt at pulling out something else besides the humorous, non-threatening fool. but that’s where orson was always wrong. humor was present in everything, especially in moments of high drama and danger ─ like conspiring to see the downfall of one’s appointed general, for example. and as long as humor is there, nate knows how to tap in. so he smiles then laughs, short and dry, before switching tactics and continuing with the piece. that’s the thing: navigating iago was second nature for nate, because he had become an expert at thinking on his feet and blending in wherever seemed necessary. it’s what he had to do to survive, and he wasn’t going to apologize for that. neither did iago. 

 “─When devils will the blackest sins put on, / They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, / As I do now.” 

iago was basically airing out nate’s dirty laundry right there on the stage, because holy shit, how else would devils know how to act, how to behave, how to charm like their heavenly counterparts? maybe they didn’t ─ but fallen angels did. and nate never once felt like he was an angel, even when he was young and his family tried convincing him otherwise. he had a lot to be grateful for of course, but there was an anger that lurked deep below the surface. it manifested in his bad behavior in school. in his drug abuse. in his relationships. and that was no one’s fault, he’s had to realize. even though he wants to blame someone so badly. anyone, really. maybe that would help him hurt less. 

the audition comes to a close, and the room is so quiet he can hear his heart beating through his chest. heidi breaks the silence at first, but nate feels a little lightheaded, so he non-verbally motions for her to hold her thought. putting on iago’s jealousy, his speech patterns, and his demeanor takes a little more effort to let go, so nate has to shake him out. literally. exhale to expel, inhale to center. 

damn, he misses his therapist. 

after another few seconds of obnoxious bouncing around, nate turns on his heel and beams in heidi’s direction. honest, silly nate was back in control. he hears her question for the second time and doesn’t miss a beat, “oh, sorry i didn’t mention it earlier. that was my audition for one of the weird sisters ─ the first witch, if you wanna get more specific.” she looks at him expectantly, but his grin refuses to falter. what else had she been expecting from him? nate thinks about his classmates, especially jason, and doubles down on his decision. it would be better this way. “and no, i’m not interested in other roles.” nate crosses his arms behind his torso and sways from side to side. there’s a lot more he could say, and in fact, a lot has already been left unsaid. but that was always the case, wasn’t it? 

nate shrugs, and just like that, his audition is over.

“what can i say? i guess i’ve got a thing for sexy, bearded hags.”

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 13

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora 

Summary: Glimmer finally answers Adora’s text and gets to spend some quality Mom-Daughter time with Angella because they deserve it 😤

Warnings (for this chapter): Some descriptions of anxious thoughts (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: Updates have really slowed down on this fic simply due to the current conditions of the world but I’m very excited for the future of this fic and I appreciate your continued support through all the ups and downs 🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Hey I was wondering how you were? Lmao I sound like a grandma but really. You seemed kinda out of it today and I wanted to make sure you were doing alright (it’s probably cuz I kept you up working on the dumb project all night lol) so yeah just wanted to check in cuz we didn’t really get to talk today :)

The first thing that struck Glimmer about the text was the fact that Adora had written her an entire paragraph. The second thing that hit her was that the entire said paragraph was all basically to ask how she was. It was silly and overly concerned and so very Adora. Nobody else would do something so sweet and manage to make it so ridiculous at that same time.

A wave of relief washed over Glimmer. So Adora wasn’t asking about Elizabeth and hadn’t mentioned anything about Glimmer’s crush. Glimmer could remain safe in her little bubble as long as Adora stayed within her own lines of ignorance. That would only last so long, however. For all she knew, that bubble had already popped.

Glimmer realized with a start that it was quite possible that Adora was simply leading up to that point, too polite to confront her right off the bat. Just wanted to check in... we didn’t really get to talk today.

Either Adora actually was just asking her what was up, or she wanted to “talk” to her. Glimmer wasn’t sure which option was more terrifying. Given how their past conversations had gone, Glimmer had absolutely no confidence in her ability to talk to anyone, let alone to someone she was crushing on- let alone to Adora.

She chewed her lip for a second, unsure of what to do. If Adora was still clueless and she started confessing to something Adora was completely unaware of, it would be worse than Elizabeth confessing it for her.

She thought of Adora, chilling at home, probably working away on some assignment like the nerd that she was. Glimmer started giggling at the idea of Adora pausing for a moment because she got a text and it was just Glimmer screaming: YES I HAVE A MAJOR CRUSH ON YOU EVERYTHING ELIZABETH SAID WAS TRUE ALSO WOULD YOU LIKE TO RUN AWAY WITH ME AND START A SHEEP FARM IN THE NETHERLANDS???

Yeah, ok so that option was not going to happen. She should probably just play it cool, like a normal person texting their normal friend. Her brain felt the need to interject: Yeah right- “normal person,“ that’s you. The little voice continued: “Normal friend”- that’s a funny way to put it.

Suddenly another wave hit Glimmer, and this one felt like an entire brick wall crumbing on top of her. Except it was good. It felt soft and warm and made Glimmer feel like maybe, just maybe, things would be ok. The sensation spread up from her toes and erupted in her chest until it reached the very tips of her fingers. It made her stretch her legs out and reach backwards with her arms until they were fully extended because it filled her heart up so much, she couldn’t contain it all in her small form.

Because even if Glimmer wasn’t as close to Adora as she wanted, they were friends. At least, that’s where things were hopefully pointing to. Was it perfect? No. Was it everything Glimmer wanted and more? Obviously not. But was it good? God, yes. It was something Glimmer had never thought was possible; it was something she had been actively trying not to pursue out of the conviction that it would all go wrong and she would get hurt. But this didn’t hurt. Not in the slightest.

Riding on the euphoria, she typed out a quick response:

I’m good. And yeah sorry I was pretty tired today lol Weaver has destroyed my sleep schedule. Also you sound like you ACTUALLY want me to talk to you?? How absolutely scandalous???

Glimmer let her feet swing back and forth, heels kicking against the side of her mattress. Tiny little bubbles of hope kept rising up towards her head because this was almost- very, nearly maybe- a step forward. A step towards being a little more than friends with Adora. Ha, this isn’t a step towards anything. You’re not going to get anywhere with her. Getting this high off the ground just means it’ll hurt more when this cloud dissolves under your feet. Because that’s exactly what this is- you’re letting yourself rely on cotton candy daydreams and sooner or later they’re going to dissolve beneath you.

Glimmer shook the negative thoughts off and switched conversations to scroll through the memes Bow had sent her. They were undoubtedly funny but she hardly registered the images; she had other things to be happy about.

Bow was probably going to annoy her about this later but Glimmer couldn’t resist the urge to gush:

BOW BOW BOW

SHE’S TEXTING ME

LIKE A FRIEND

ASKING ME HOW I AM

OOO???

Glimmer grinned at Bow’s quick response but she knew the real reason she was smiling.

I knoooooooow. I so happy

So you still think she hates you?

Her grin faltered for a moment before returning, slightly weaker than it had been before.

BLEH why’d you have to bring that upppppp

And I don’t know? Maybe she doesn’t hate me but she doesn’t have any reason NOT to

Glimmer i love you but you can be SO DENSE sometimes

She DOES have a reason not to hate you?? Maybe it’s possible that she thinks you’re smart and funny and talented? I don’t know tho- I’m just throwing stuff out here. Also she might actually LIKE you maybe as a friend,,, maybe more ;)

Glimmer snorted at Bow’s ranting. He was sweet and a far better friend than she could ever rationalize deserving. But he was high off his own optimistic ideals.

There is definitely nothing “more” I don’t even think we’re officially friends yet. More like uuuuhh acquaintances with benefits

OHOHO???

Glimmer immediately regretted her word choice, laughing as she buried her face in her hands.

NOT LIKE THAT. PERVERT.

She waited for Bow’s answer, laughing quietly at their ridiculous conversation. As the little dots marched to indicate Bow’s typing, a buzz and flag altered Glimmer that Adora had responded.

She texted back gotta go

Switching once more to her and Adora’s conversation, the first thing Glimmer found herself marveling at was her own stupidity. The giddy feeling that had been all-consuming now faded away as she reread her message. It sounded clingy and overly confident. It definitely felt worthy of the cringe the shuddered through her body and made her want to curl up in a ball. What had her euphoric-high brain been trying to do? Flirt? If so, she had desperately failed.

Still in embarrassed pain, she moved on to Adora’s message:

How many times do I have to tell you YES I want to talk to you.

But there was something in particular I wanted to talk to you about

The second part made Glimmer’s blood run cold. Adora continued typing but she didn’t dare respond, too frozen to type. All the stars that had been floating in her eyes crashed around her. So she did know. So Glimmer’s worst fears were reality. And there was nothing she could do about it now. After an eternity, Adora’s message finally jumped onto Glimmer’s screen.

It’s about this morning. Well and today. And last night. Kinda. I just feel like I might have made you uncomfortable last night, like I was being really clingy so then this morning I felt really awkward and I’m sorry if I came off as cold or anything. And then in class you seemed all tense and I was just wondering if I had crossed some lines or anything?

Glimmer could have sworn she heard a record scratch in her head, nearly getting whiplash from reading Adora’s message. The situation kept switching so quickly; as soon as she got one foot on the rug, it would be pulled out from under her and she would look down and it turn out she had been standing on raft in the middle of the ocean the entire time.

She squinted to reread the message one more time and gave a breathy laugh when she had determined she had read it correctly the first time. Adora was the one that thought she had crossed lines? It was ridiculous. It seemed so unrealistic, Glimmer nearly slipped into her original thinking of Adora. If only she hadn’t been forced to see that nuclear core that made up that crazy blonde. That would have made everything so much easier. She could just brush the whole message as a ploy to gain sympathy. But know she had to know better. Now, she had to acknowledge that Adora was being completely sincere.

Glimmer had no idea how to respond. Adora was being completely open, completely vulnerable; and it was terrifying. It was almost worse than when she was wrapped up in doubt. It was the difference between not knowing why someone was ill and knowing exactly what was wrong- all while being expected to find the solution. Except Glimmer wasn’t a doctor. She had no cure for the situation.

She forced confidence, pushing away all her question just long enough to respond.

Are you going to make a habit of sending me essays?

She immediately regretted how cold she sounded and hurriedly began trying to remedy the conversation.

I’m sorry but really you’re fine. I didn’t mind you... if I came across as stiff or weird about anything it’s just because I’m not really used to people getting that close that quickly

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the complete truth either, but it was close enough for now.

oh god I’m really sorry

What no?? I just said it was fine??

Still... that really sounds like I made you uncomfortable

Glimmer let out a sigh. She never thought she’d find herself trying to convince someone she was becoming increasingly infatuated with that it was ok to be close with her. It sounded strange when she thought about, but there was something endearing about how Adora barreled her way into Glimmer’s life and was now trying tiptoe out of the china shop.

I was a little surprised that’s all. You’re all good

Really? Even after I said I would kill weaver in class today?? You didn’t think that was weird??!

No lmao again I was a bit surprised but I mostly thought it was funny

You sure about that

Yep 100%

If you were in person right now you would hear me go hmmmmmmm

Glimmer snorted quietly out of her nose; Adora made her laugh at the stupidest things. She was entirely convinced that she would never be as funny as Adora, but she hoped she could bring her at least just a little bit of happiness.

Yeah well if you were in person right now you would see me roll my eyes and yell at you to stop being dumb

A shallow pain spread across Glimmer’s chest, a coat of lead paint over her heart; milky indigo weighing her down. If only Adora’s casual jokes were a reality. If only she were face to face with Adora. If only Adora’s face was inches from her own and quickly coming closer. Glimmer’s hands ached to run through Adora’s hair and her ears cried to hear Adora’s voice. She didn’t want to look anywhere if it wasn’t into the storm of Adora’s eyes. Her throat was hoarse from emotion but she would sing if it meant she could bear witness once more to the way Adora wove melodies out of the air.

Glimmer sat up as if startled from a dream. This- this, oh no. Oh shit. This has gone much too far. You should have stopped this before it even started. How did you even let this happen?

Glimmer had know Adora was beautiful since she saw her on the first day of school. Ignoring her and twisting her into some villain had made it a simple thing to deal with, but she couldn’t ignore the iceberg once her Titanic had begun sinking. And now she was officially sunk, water far above her head and no hope of survival to be seen.

There was a sliver of Glimmer- some crazy little fraction of her mind that had to scream to be heard- that just wanted to rip the band aid off. She wanted to stop giving all the power to other people. If someone was going to tell Adora that Glimmer had hopelessly fallen for her, it might as well come from the source.

She looked down at her phone, suddenly aware that Adora had responded.

Hey I gotta go I just wanted to check that we were ok! I’m glad you don’t mind me lmao

Glimmer took a deep breath, making an attempt to gather her thoughts. It was a hopeless effort, her mind fragmented across the room. Did Adora really worry that Glimmer “minded” her? Was there in way to describe the burning that struck in her chest whenever Adora gave her one of those soft grins- that dull ache that constricted her heart and seeped through her ribs. How could she ever reassure Adora she could never be bothersome when every one of her actions struck Glimmer with wonder? How could she even attempt to say such a thing with revealing everything, admitting her mind’s greatest fear? How could she try to convince Adora of something that she couldn’t even admit to herself.

Because the answer was quite simple. She loved Adora. Deeply and painfully. But no matter how perfect Adora was, it still felt dangerous to love her. To Glimmer, it was just as good as putting a target on her back. It was like saying HEY EVERYONE!! I’M ALREADY WEIRD AND SO SO DIFFERENT FROM YOU AND NOW I’M PUTTING THAT ON DISPLAY!

Glimmer was being pulled apart. She knew she shouldn’t show her affection to Adora. But she knew just as deeply and far more truly that she loved Adora- and keeping that inside of her would break her heart.

She threw or phone and thoughts (momentarily) aside, flopping backwards on her bed. Her body bounced slightly from the force of throwing herself down and it only added to the sensation that her head was floating away. There was just too much to tackle right now. Glimmer could tell from the growing pressure on her head that if she kept picking it all apart, the pressure would quickly shift; it would tighten around her lungs, making it hard to breathe and squeezing what she couldn’t force down to pour down her face.

Glimmer took a deep breath, through her nose and out her mouth- once, twice, three times, she lost count as she focused solely on the rhythm she was creating. These past few days had been chaotic and exhausting and good part of that had been created by her. She was tired. Her brain felt heavy as gravity retook control over her head. In fact, her whole body felt heavy; she was sinking deeper into her mattress with every exhale.

——————————————————————

When Glimmer woke up, the last hues of dusk just barely reached her window. It was obvious that the night had happily creeped onwards while she had slept. She must have been out for at least an hour.

Down the hall, she could hear voices of some TV show her mom was watching as they flickered out of the speakers.

Glimmer opened her door, peaking around the frame and looking down the hall. She could just see the top of her mother’s pastel hair above the top of the couch. In front of her, what looked like Hell’s Kitchen was playing. Glimmer was somewhat amazed that she had been able to sleep through Gordon Ramsey’s yelling.

She walked towards the living room and sat down next to Angella on the couch. She was asleep, hair mussed up in the back as she leaned up against the cushions. Glimmer felt a wave of affection wash over her. Whatever happened at school, whatever happened with Adora- hell, whatever happened within herself- she would always love her mother. Sometimes things got in the way of her remembering that.

Glimmer nudged her mom gently in the side, “Hey, wake up.”

Angella stirred, smiling as her gaze fell upon Glimmer, “Hey, dear.”

Glimmer squirmed under her mother’s softness, guilt over how she had acted earlier hitting her, “I’m really sorry. About how I treated you at dinner. I was really rude and nights like this are basically the only time we have together; I shouldn’t waste them being a brat to you.”

“You’re a teenager and we don’t exactly see eye to eye on everything- I expect this sort of thing to happen occasionally.”

“But I-“ Glimmer tried to argue but was cut off.

“But I appreciate you apologizing.”

“Mom!!” Glimmer felt like her mother should have been angrier, should have at least told her off for stomping down to her room as rudely as she had. And she had done it in response to her mom just trying her best to help. That must have hurt.

“Glimmer!!” Angella mirrored her daughter’s exasperation, “You really think I didn’t slam doors and yell and act out when I was your age? I don’t necessarily like it, but a little angsty rebellion is normal. Like I said, I expect some of this.”

“If you say so… just don’t expect to see it often,” Glimmer felt a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. Her mom wasn’t exactly the most relaxed person but she understood Glimmer better than probably anybody else on the planet.

“Good,” Angella reached out and tucked one of Glimmer’s fluffy locks behind her ear, “I prefer when you talk to me instead of just hiding away in your room.”

“Yeah,” Glimmer laughed somewhat nervously because she totally didn’t do exactly that most of the time instead of talking to people.

“So… you want to tell me about that girl now?”

Glimmer tucked herself next to Angella’s side and turned to face the TV where Gordon Ramsey was berating a man for having rats in his kitchen, “No, not yet.”

She felt her mother shrug and smiled as Angella wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Drama could wait. And if she loved Adora? Well, she would deal with that later too.

Quick announcement that I am (FINALLY) starting a taglist for this fic, so if you are interested, please just send an ask or reply to this post <3

[positive-lesbian-vibes]

I recently found out that I'm a lesbian (I realized I don't like men at ALL) and I'm femme, but sometimes it bothers me that people might not know I'm a lesbian. Is there any way I can still be femme but dress in a way that Fellow Gays would be able to recognize me? (I realize that stereotypes don't matter- I'm just asking in case there's any advice you can give. If there's anything ignorant I said, please let me know, because I'm still pretty fresh to this. :) )

this is a thing! it’s called flagging, its dressing in a particular way in an attempt to signal to other wlw that you like women!

i can super relate, people never even entertain the idea that i might not be straight, and it can be hard to meet other women when you dont even come up on their radar

before i get any further, i should give a quick disclaimer: there is no one way to “look gay,” and you dont have to conform to any sort of fashion standard to be a part of the lesbian community. if you’re a lesbian, then congrats! you look like a lesbian! but sometimes other people don’t say it that way, which can be disappointing. so i get it. i’ve been there.

there is a lot of stuff online for flagging, but some basic things that a lot of women do to signal that they are into other women are very femme-friendly, although there are certainly ways to “look gayer” that might not suit your style

I have a “how to look gay” tag but knowing tumblr, i cant imagine any of my posts on it would come up with a search, so here are my hot tips!

some common (but sometimes used by straight girls) things would be:

 a flannel, i prefer mens because they are softer and warmer, but tying it around your waist can be a nice femme touch, although i will layer with flannels too.

you can double-denim/canadian suit it up. one way i like to do this is with like a black denim pant and a loose denim shirt or jacket over the top of a t-shirt. if double denim is too tacky for you, splitting it up into two separate-looking denims can help. but theres nothing wrong with a tacky denim get up!

things like undercuts or sidecuts, with one section of your hair buzzed short. may not be your style, but definitely gets the message across if youre into it

asymmetrical piercings. i have a double cartilage in my left ear but nothing special on my right. i hear industrial bars are a big thing, too. nose rings can be pretty hit or miss, i tend to believe they are gayer than other people do imo. but i have a nose stud so... i guess i cant really talk

in the same vein, tattoos. this one is also pretty hit or miss, because there are PLENTY of straight people who like tattoos (tats are cool, who can blame them) but i always think twice when i see a girl with a sleeve or a shoulder tat.

less conventional makeup. it doesnt even have to be too out there, but maybe like, you just dont wear foundation, or only do lipstick, or go really bold with your brows. my first term at college i saw a girl with really bold brows, a couple face piercings, and a flannel, and i just. Knew she was into women

boots. they dont have to be combat boots. but combat boots are pretty gay. people usually say wlw dont wear heels, but i know some who do.

accessories. this is a big one. i know a lot of lgbt people who are big on the rainbows, like rainbow bracelets, earrings, headbands, belts, pins, buttons, etc. generally i feel a little too loud with big rainbows all over my body, but there are other options! i like the interlocking venus symbols as a lesbian symbol, as its a bit more subtle but also relatively recognizable. i have two interlocking venus symbol necklaces, and a hat with a little rainbow on it. some lesbians like the labrys from the labrys flag, but it doesnt really seem as recognizably gay to me 

theres definitely a quirky kooky femme fashion niche that i (sadly) cant say im a part of, but a bunch of femmes like to dress kind of tacky. there’s a big joke about “tacky lesbian fashion” because lesbians can be known to wear some interesting combos, like crocs with a skirt, etc, but this can be dressed up, too. louder prints that might not be too appealing to the average straight man OR woman can be a subtle way to give off vibes

hats. the classic beanie. even in the year of our lord 2019, i know nary a straight girl who would dare don a beanie. its just so classically lesbian. but you can opt for a baseball cap or bandana, too. backwards hats? very gay. my belief is that this stems from the classic lesbian pastime, softball.

dyed hair. usually unconventional colors. this one can go both ways, too. pastels tend to be “less gay” but that doesnt mean there arent lesbians out there rocking some pastel pink hair. streaks or an ombre of a bright or non-natural hair color give off vibes. the ends of my hair have been purple on an off since i was a freshman in high school.

the way you carry yourself. this one isnt a way of dressing, yeah, but it can be just as effective. my gaydar tends to go more off behavior/body language than appearance. it obviously isnt 100% (none of flagging ever is) and takes some practice, but I’ve generally been pretty good at figuring out if someone is gay from interacting with them. it isnt instant, takes practice, and can easily be wrong, but its usually my method of choice. unfortunately, this method almost NEVER gets the point across the straight people, who tend to think if you have long hair then there’s no WAY you could be a lesbian. body language to look out for: not sitting in chairs properly (a meme that reflects reality) like “manspreading” but as a woman, generally more confidence/self-assuredness, focusing more on women, being less “meek” and more “aggressive” with taking up space, accommodating for women’s comfort but not for mens, disregard of the male gaze, that sort of thing.

lastly, all of these things are just suggestions of how to “look gayer” based off stereotypes, some of which were played up by the lesbian community in an attempt to find each other. you dont have to change how you dress, act, look, or anything else to be a real lesbian or to “look” like a lesbian, because there is no one “thing” that lesbians look like. some of us dress to stereotypes, and some of us dont, but we are all lesbians at the end of the day, dressing and looking the way you feel most comfortable should be the goal. if that includes some things on this list, great! if not, thats fine too! you don’t have to do everything. just the stuff you feel good about

[kdtheghostwriter]

SNK 116: V Has Come To

Alexa: play “Roundabout”

When I first saw the Kanji that represents “rumbling,” my first two thoughts, in immediate succession where as follows: “Oh, shit, is it already happening” and “Oh, no, wait it’s just like JoJo.” (Fun fact about that ED, since Ded Memes live here. The little To Be Continued arrow always flies in before the drums hit. Like everything it gets adjusted for the purposes I suppose. Anyway!) Honestly, every chapter in this volume has ended like the episode of an anime, including this one with its hero/villain stare down and triumphant proclamation from the narrator. More on how those tables have turned later.

 I want to spend most of this essay talking about Eren, since I spent most of the last one talking about his older brother. I’m not so much surprised at the direction his character has taken after so many years of pain and abuse. What does take me aback is how so many people are apparently sympathetic to Zeke while hating Eren, especially considering how Eren had a comparatively awful upbringing while spending a lot less time being shitty to people.

But maybe I shouldn’t be too shocked. Even as the main character, he’s always been controversial. Whether by people who want him to be paired with one character or another, or those who just plain don’t like him. Even in-story, good will has been hard to come by. One minute they’re honoring you and your friends in front of the Queen. A few years later, you’re locked underground as a fugitive of the military-controlled government.

It was the Chapter 112 recap where I broke down the nuance of a pro wrestling storyline – specifically in regards to their character-driven nature. I used performers like Shawn Michaels and Brett “The Hitman” Hart to outline the natural progression of a character from fan favorite to hated ne’er-do-well. Now, I’ll be using an example much more relevant to the story. The Rise then Fall then Return then “Turn” of Daniel Bryan.

Most important thing to note about Daniel Bryan is that he’s not supposed to be in the ring at all. A series of concussions and other injuries forced him to retire from active in-ring competition. This was directly after a year-long saga of him trying to prove himself as a main event player. After what seemed like endless waves of red tape and front office hurdles, he achieved the absolute pinnacle of the business. Winning in the main event of the year’s biggest show, WrestleMania, and becoming the World Heavyweight Champion. It was always going to be downhill from that point. What couldn’t have been predicted was the suddenness of it.

Three years pass and Daniel Bryan announces his imminent return to active competition. His first match back is yet again at the Showcase of the Immortals. He receives a hero’s welcome and for several months is riding a familiar high as the most popular superstar in all of wrestling. And then, he fights AJ Styles and something changes.

I must note here briefly that at this point in the latter part of 2018, AJ Styles himself is enjoying a year-long run as champion of the world’s largest federation. He and Daniel Bryan were scheduled to have a match at the Crown Jewel event in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Yes, the same Saudi Arabia that allegedly orchestrated the murder of Washington Post contributor Jamal Khashoggi. Daniel Bryan, along with other members of the roster, refused to make the trip. As such, his WWE Championship match was pushed up a week to be contested on TV. Bryan lost this match, but that would not be the last time they faced. In fact, the very next time the two squared off, Bryan captured the title, albeit via some nefarious means. It was after this match (followed by a match with former UFC Heavyweight Champion Brock Lesnar) that something broke within Daniel Bryan.

The WWE’s relentless media schedules as well as the punishment of months of fighting on the road finally broke him down mentally as well as physically, and he decided that enough was too much. Daniel Bryan utilized his newfound platform as champion and killed the movement that catapulted him to worldwide fame. In its place, a message of repentance. He replaced the leather strap of his title belt with one made of hemp and naturally fallen oak. He railed against the paying fans for their unchecked consumerism and even admonished his boss, billionaire Chairman of World Wrestling Entertainment Vince McMahon, for exploiting their more reductive tendencies.

This is going to sound weird because, honestly, these things change month-to-month but, yes, Daniel Bryan is supposed to be the bad guy here. And for a segment of the audience he absolutely is. Live crowds across the country (excluding his home state of Washington) hate Bryan with a fiery passion. Meanwhile, all of Twitter asked all at once, “Wait, you want us to…boo him?” It’s the most famous Heel Turn in recent memory due in part to the circumstances and the performer involved. This was the most popular wrestler in the world not six months prior. But even though the crowd still loved him, they were not clamoring for him like they had been. The magic of the Yes Movement was largely gone.

In Shingeki no Kyojin, I’ve witnessed this cycle ad nauseum. It’s the ebb and flow of fandom. I’ve been reading this series long enough to recall a time when Eren was seen as a useless, whiny geek as opposed to the badass world-beater he is now. There was a time, believe it or not, where Reiner was as polarized and hated as Eren is now. Before that even! Reiner was little more than the cute, air-headed jock before he and Bertholt revealed themselves as spies. Isayama reveals him as his favorite character and he’s been the darling of the fandom ever since. Second perhaps only to Commander Handsome himself who is even more popular in death. Annie still has her fans, despite only being in maybe fifteen percent of this manga.

My point is the same that Isayama has been getting at for the past three volumes or so. (Maybe more than that if we accept Kruger’s monologue as the first example.) Your notion of how the world works has been fucked from the start. Good and evil; right and wrong; Marley and Paradis. Reality is only as good as your perspective. The author was not content with just stating this, though. To prove his point, he deconstructed his own carefully planned narrative, rebuilt it backwards, then flipped it upside down so that now, we’ve come back ‘round to this.

Funny thing, life is. When your idols become your rivals. Eren once confided in Reiner for support in his darkest moments. Now, it’s very likely he’s going to try and kill him. Simply for getting in his way. This is more of the framing I’ve talked about before from Isayama. This looks like any other match card from an actual title bout. To show you what I mean, I’m going to line up several examples.

Seeing it now? Classic promoter tactics. Building up the hype. People rib on the Dragon Ball series for doing this sometimes – in the case of Z – to a comical extent. But really, this method can be seen elsewhere in stuff like JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, One Piece, Yu Yu Hakusho, Lupin the Third; I really could just name twelve more titles.

This is a rematch four years in the making. Yes, they met in Liberio but I don’t count that as a fight, considering Eren won long before anyone even transformed and Reiner was literally begging for his death. In present day, the Warriors have caught The Usurper off guard and they have much needed backup. This conflict has been set up like the apex of any Marvel movie. The mismatched group of heroes converging on one point, because the only hope they have of defeating the super villain is if they do it together.

This is why Pieck didn’t pull the trigger when she had the chance and also why Eren didn’t transform and splatter her and Gabi against the dungeon walls. Pieck is part of a team. A team with a plan. Part of that plan involved getting Eren Jaeger out in the open where he would be exposed to an all-out attack. Eren had prior knowledge of the Warrior Unit’s arrival and knew his best option was to track their location and cut them off. Pieck was likely dead whether she cooperated or not. What Eren didn’t account for was Porco, who was actually in plain sight amongst the other Jaegerists, but in a world where photography has just recently been introduced, one could not expect them to recognize him out of his Titan.

 Pieck trusted her friends, and now they are all dropping in to Shiganshina to aid in her rescue. Eren did not trust his friends, and now they are all dead, mutilated or locked in a cell and they won’t be coming to his rescue. In another manga, this would be the turning point of the story where the Big Bad got his comeuppance and learned the ultimate lesson about the Power of Friendship and the series would end with the two brothers embracing in a pile of rubble. This is not any manga. Eren has three Titan powers at his disposal. (Four if he can get his hands on Porco again.) Unless there is a legit airstrike of some sort or some other secondary offensive, Reiner has no chance of winning this. Maybe he doesn’t have to, depending on what the plan is.

We still don’t know what Eren’s plan is either! That’s probably the biggest difference between him and Daniel Bryan. The Daniel Bryan character was developed weekly on television over many months and his motivations up to this point have been fully fleshed out. Eren’s motivations are a mystery to everyone except Eren. Even his brother Zeke doesn’t know what he’s up to. Zeke who, by the way, can magically appear in this upcoming battle as well. No, I don’t think Eren is the final “bad guy” of this story. I just wish he was, because he’s damn good at doing it.

I do not know how this ends. I am, however, sure of one thing.

  Stray Thoughts

- I wouldn’t say either Eren or Pieck had the other fooled at any point. They were at an impasse and Eren decided to move the plot along.

- Eren isn’t the classic mwahaha villain (yet) but wow is he angry. And not the violent, explosive anger we know him for. Cold, cunning, calculated. I genuinely feared for Pieck’s life despite her holding the gun.

- I know we’ve been conditioned by this story to search for subtext, even when it’s not there, but I wouldn’t read too much into certain…stuff that happened with the 104th. The point here was to re-establish what we already know about the crew. Jean is a very perceptive lad and almost certainly the next Commander if anyone survives this story. Armin is…having a moment.

- I have to wonder how good Magath’s intel is for this op. Does he know that Shiganshina is deserted? Has he accounted for Zeke’s appearance? Does he know the God of Destruction is nearby?

- Yelena has been a favorite of mine since her debut, when everyone thought Connie grew three times his size. I won’t call it a Heel Turn because it doesn’t count if you weren’t wearing the White Hat to begin with.

[1dffexchange]

to fight (when you feel like flying)

To: Anna @twomoonstyles

From: Inm @in-madhouses​

Summary: harry has never had a place to call home, not since one direction became a thing. zaemira has intentionally avoided home, fearing the monotony and a life not lived. their paths cross and like two lines that are meant to meet and fall apart every so often, they find a home in one another. 

a story about binge drinking, tattoos, and how sometimes, building homes out of people can be the only thing that keeps you going. also known as a tribute to brasil!harry and the (not so) secret thigh tattoos.

Warnings: some offensive language, alcohol use heavily implied, hints of substance abuse (if you squint) and sexual references. there are also mentions of hendall, hadine and hamille although not explicitly named. the timing is also nowhere near accurate but let's call it artistic freedom.

rio de janeiro

may 2014

They break up on the eve of his departure. It’s the band’s first all-stadium tour and somehow, as quickly as they were a thing, they just weren’t by the time February rolled around.

They’d clung onto one another for dear life through the winter months and the physical hole she leaves behind is filled by the pictures of her everywhere. There are fall fashion shows, and there are music festivals, and there billboards, and there are gossip rags. As far as the eyes can reach, there she is, in one form or another.

Harry leaves for the tour with the boys and it’s exactly like he expected. He is grinning from ear to ear standing atop of the world night after night, the stars in his eyes left by the glow of the headlights is eclipsed only by ear-ringing screams they are accompanied by.

Each night is a swirling tide, even when he is not on stage.

But the mask cracks eventually.

The air stills.

They do seven cities in twelve days and he’s tired already. He’d inadvertently frowns at the wrong moment, or sigh, or have a faraway look in his eyes, barely anchored to the present. And they catch it. They always catch it. But the walls come back up as swiftly as they tumble down.

He’d smile. Smile, smile, smile. Smile until it hurts.

Smile until it’s believable.

(It never is.)

He spends too much time bouncing between staring holes into his phone and wanting to go at it with a hammer. There’s just something confusingly enthralling about the pictures and the videos of her that keep popping up. The precise red carpet movements, the long lithe legs, the perfect posture, the jawline for days.

Niall sends him memes round the clock to try to distract him from looking at new pap shots, and Liam tells him to just not to think about it.

“It’s called a quarter life crisis,” Zayn announces, elbowing Louis as they chuckle at his melodrama.

As though it’s the simplest problem ever to grace the earth, Louis offers a solution, “What you need is a good bender and a good cleanser.”

He’s got good mates, he thinks.

But then he’s in Rio and there are pictures of her at the Met Gala and next thing he knows, he’s downing caipirinhas by the glassful and there’s sun and sea and sightseeing and then more caipirinhas. He remembers exactly how everything unfolded, like watching a lifetime worth of dominoes collapse into a rather large portrait of a car crash.

&&

It’s a slow night.

There’d been exactly one walk-in so far; a giggly nineteen year-old girl who wanted a Taylor Swift lyric tattooed on the middle of her lower back.

“It’s our song,” Swiftie says in regards to the tattoo, and whether the blonde haired, blue-eyed, cherry lipped teen was referring to her boyfriend or the title of the song, Zaemira will never know.

Since then, she’d been all by her lonesome for four whole hours and the tan skinned brunette is bored. She’d left her latest acquisition, a tattered first edition copy of Factotum back on the couch she was crashing on and with nothing to read or distract herself with, she is decidedly… bored. She’s antsy and she’s restless, and she’s super tempted to just flip the ‘open’ sign around to read ‘close’ and get drunk on cheap booze at the dodgy little bar down the road. That’s what soul-searching girls do when they end up working part-time at a seedy tattoo parlour in the tv shows anyway, why should she be the exception?

She’s so bored that her mind wanders and she's thinking that maybe it’s finally time to go home, not like call it a day home, but home home.

Zaemira had packed a bag and left the comforts of London right after graduating from her graphic design degree, hoping to find some kind of excitement out in the world before living out the predestined rest of her life in a cubicle churning out ad after ad for the nihilistic consumerist society she lived in before kicking it too early. But after a year on the road, honing the needle and ink in her hands and collecting first edition Bukowski’s, she is left wondering if there’s even a home for her to return to. The concept of it now so foreign to her even though her childhood had not been lacking in much.

The tinted shop door swings open right then with a squeak and a clatter of really impressively expensive sounding heels echoes through the tight little tattoo parlour space.

It’s all limbs and hair, flailing and tumbling forward face first into the floor.

She instinctively backs up away from the swirling mess.

“I’m fine! I’m—fine, just—I’m fine,” the bloke says, waving his arms about before rolling onto his back, splayed on the floor, taking up most of the floorspace, “You should—there should be a sign. Two. Yeah, two. One in English, and one in—what country are we in?”

Zaemira blinks at this hurricane on the tattoo parlor floor and studies him for a quick second.

“You’re in Brasil,” she starts saying once appropriately convinced that he’s not about to sick all over the shop floor, “And a sign for what exactly?”

He huffs, blowing several strands of thick brown hair out of his eyes in the process, “The stairs, love.”

She squats close by to examine this specimen interrupting her plans to close early and get hammered.

“There aren’t any stairs,” she says dryly, arching an eyebrow at his direction.

He sits up, coming dangerously close headbutting her and blinks at her.

“Then what’d I trip over?”

And he sounds so fucking plaintive, adorably dismayed and hilariously distressed, that Zaemira can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Well, if I had to guess,” she starts saying, biting down on the laugh teetering on her lips because he sounds so honest to god confused and hilariously distressed sitting there on the tattoo parlour floor, “You tripped over the fucking distillery you inhaled at wherever you went to dinner.”

He squints up at her like he’s doubting the validity of this observation.

And then, “Are you English?”

She rolls her eyes at that, “What gave it away?”

He shuts one eye to peer at the girl before him, as though considering her seriously, “You’re far from home.”

“I could say the same about you,” Zaemira contests as she recognises his too young and too pretty and too distractingly familiar face, “You’re Harry Styles.”

He blinks and there are alarms blaring in her head as he smirks.

“You’re doing the introduction thing backwards there, sweetheart.”

“You don’t like people telling you who you are then?”

“Not very much, no,” he scrunches his nose, deep in thought for a second, before turning his attention back to her, “What’s your name?”

“Zaemira,” she replies, realising they’ve been on the floor way too long and her leg is close to falling asleep.

She holds her hand out to pull him up, and he accepts it all too enthusiastically.

“What kind of name is… Samira?”

She shrugs as she helps the six footer to his feet wobblily, eyes scanning the door he stumbled in through, wondering where his entourage is, “It’s Zaemira, actually. But you know what, you get to call me Mira, drunky-pants.”

“Well, I want a you tattoo,” he announces, voice a little bleary but determined. But there’s something dangerous there, too, something that reminds him of the sting of needle piercing skin.

She eyes him up and down as he wobbles and crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t think so.”

“No, no. You don’t—” Harry hiccoughs and takes several steps on the spot to balance himself, “—understand. I want your name— Zaemira— tattooed on me.”

He takes extra care to pronounce her name right the second time around that she is just inexplicably fucking endeared by the entire spectacle.

Zaemira blinks.

“What?”

He frowns, as though worried he’s not articulating well enough for her to understand him, “Your name— I want it tattooed on me.”

She stares.

And then she stares some more.

“It’s a beautiful name— I never—” Harry hiccoughs, frowning and stopping himself mid sentence, “I never want to forget you.”

She’s definitely not bored anymore, she thinks.

So she cocks an eyebrow at him in a wordless game of truth or dare and he’s reckless and he’s dramatic and he’s beaming at her so brightly that she’s blinded by it, and her brain goes hazy and her thoughts switch frequency with an abrupt high-pitched whine of static.

&&

cape town

april 2015

Harry thought he was doing better, he really did. It’s been almost a year since Rio and he’s Harry fucking Styles. He’s in one of the most popular bands in the world, he has a PR perfect sense of humour, sharp fucking cheekbones, and the word Brasil tattooed on his thigh to remind him that even when life feels like it’s spinning off its axis you can always find a centre again.

But then she breaks up with him, craving a more definitive commitment that he can’t offer, and they’re on tour again when Zayn, out of nowhere, announces that he’s needs to leave for a little bit which everyone knows is code for he’s tired and done with it all.

And the world just... started to spin a little off its axis again.

So he makes plans to arrive in Cape Town earlier than he needs to and heads straight to where his life last made sense when things moved too fast for him to catch up.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he drawls from the doorway, smug and half a bottle of duty free booze dangling precariously in his hands.

Her whole body stalls, eyes the only thing that whips up from the book she’s engrossed in. The smile that carves itself onto her lips hits him square in the chest.

She sets the book aside, breathless, “How d’you know I was here?”

“I keep tabs on you,” Harry shrugs, tone casual, with a small smile playing on his lips playfully.

He had long made a mental note to keep up on her current location whenever he could since she’s far from forthcoming about her travels. Seems only fair since his movements in contrast is so easily trackable. One quick internet search and she’d be able to know if he was in Holmes Chapel or recording in Los Angeles or out grabbing a bite in New York.

“Why, because no one else will tattoo country names on you when you’re drunk?” Zaemira teases, taking a step forward, as though challenging him to crack first.

“Precisely,” he nods in all seriousness.

They both start grinning for no reason whatsoever and the laughter that sits in their chest bubbles over soon enough.

After Rio, he had gone back to his life and she went back to hers. She moved from city to city, continually avoiding home, and he went from stage to stage, seeking solace in the certainty of instability. But still, the heartfelt conversations and indelible experience they shared in various states of sobriety in Brasil bonded them together. Somewhere along the night almost a year ago, they had reached a point at which they both understood implicitly that no matter what, one could call and the other would answer no matter where they were.

And so they did.

They shared the big news; Zaemira whenever she found a new old Bukowski book and Harry whenever he was thinking about a new tattoo. To the layman, it may sound like a shallow kind of friendship, completely lacking any kind of commitment, but it wasn't.

On the contrary, it was the healthiest and longest lasting form of a relationship that either one of them ever had. Despite geographical and emotional distance, they were allowed to grow in their own way and not have to live through minute everyday highs and lows and petty dramas.

It was as liberating as it was peaceful.

And he could tell that his sudden physical presence is throwing her off.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” She asks, tone light but the slant of her jaw more rigid than he’s used to and her posture brittle.

“We’re on tour,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly as he walks in around the tattoo parlour.

The space is small and intimate and starkly lit. The walls are embellished with clean lines and immaculate designs and it’s just like the spot in Rio where they met a year ago. Her caramel brown eyes are tailing him around the room and he wonders how someone who works with men looking to cover up prison ink all day can look so soft.

“I know that,” she says, her tone more curious than it is wary, “But what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy just drop by to see his friend when he’s in her neck of the woods?”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“A guy can, but a guy never has,” her voice dripping with the implication that he’s never lacking in the means to find her.

Which isn’t untrue.

He sighs.

“I was in New Orleans for all of a day, Zaemira.”

Harry likes saying her name in entirety. She prefers Mira, but he likes the unshortened version. It’s beautiful, it’s the kind of name that commands the full use of the orifice that most people use to stuff full of food or as a tool to lick and suck.

She stares at him, surprise evident.

“How could you possibly—”

“I have you on Instagram,” he replies, crisply, before taking another swig of the bottle in his hands.

“No, you don’t.”

“Only because I can’t publicly follow you.”

“So you just check my account obsessively like some kind of creepy stalker?”

Harry shrugs.

“Think we crossed that line when I fell into a certain tattoo shop a year ago, don’t you?”

Zaemira huffs out a breathless sounding laugh that hits him right in the center of his chest.

He had thought their paths would cross when after their last tour ended. He thought he might go out to New Orleans and get into that gumbo life for a couple of days. Stroll along the French Quarter and check in for a drink at Bourbon Street. Bask in the jazz and have a look around in a voodoo shop.

But when he’s back in LA after the tour, he finds out that she’s in Japan when he calls.

“Oh yeah, I’m in Tokyo,” she said over the phone distractedly, like it’s no big deal.

He frowned at that, confused. She had a tendency of not staying in one place for too long, but it was abrupt, even by her standards.

“What are you doing in Tokyo?” Harry questioned, brows furrowing so hard he felt frown lines forming.

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Zaemira said noncommittally, “I thought Japan might be good after finding the boy I shacked up with completely naked and asleep with his ex.”

He gaped at that casual over-the-phone confession non-confession, befuddled and aghast.

“Did you let him have it?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Did you rip his dick off? Sock her in the nose? I could get some people together and hit him in the balls for you if you want,” Harry offered, only half-joking.

“No, I just packed my stuff and left.”

“You didn’t wake them up to confront him about it?”

“Why would I?”

Her confusion confused him. Harry paused, opening and closing his mouth several times, thinking back to break ups and make ups he’s been through, talked through, and fought through.

“You didn’t want any closure?”

“Why would I want to give him a chance to hurt me more?” Zaemira retorted, quick and sharp as ever, “He’s either going to lie about it, apologise and do something like it again, or completely be like whatever about the whole thing.”

“You... didn’t... think he deserved to know that what he did was wrong?” He prods along, cautiously.

Even after months of phone calls and texts, her candor and point of view never fails to catch him off guard.

“It’s not about him though,” she said all matter-of-factly, “I mean, he wouldn’t give me any kind of honesty, respect, or consideration, so fuck that closure.”

Zaemira isn’t shy. That’s for sure.

And she isn’t coy.

She’s loud and she’s outspoken and she had no qualms telling him that she didn’t want to die where she was born having realised that she’d done nothing out of her comfort zone which is why she left and took to sleeping on couches. Harry remembers how much he enjoyed that about her. How it had been refreshing to meet someone who enjoyed the newness. Someone who actually took pleasure in what life had to offer instead of just going through the motions.

“Well, now that you’re here…” she says as she moves towards the door, flipping the sign over from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, “What d’you feel up for tonight then, pop star?”

Her voice anchors him to the present. And she’s grinning up at him like he’s a firefly and she’s a mason jar, and he feels the countdown to self-destruction rumble in the hollow space beneath his ribs like the roar of a sports car engine.

His heart skips a whole beat at that.

&&

The sun is creeping up slowly and steadily on the horizon. She’s sitting fully clothed in a fancy bathtub in a fancy hotel, clothes soaked and doing a piss poor job of trying not to smile.

She gives him a look and he just laughs, sat on the edge of the bathtub, also soaked through.

“We need to come down,” she said earlier, shaking her head as though the movement would clear her head of all that they’d indulged in through the night.

The first rays of sunlight had started to dot the skyline and he grinned devilishly, taking her by the hand, promising he knows just the thing that would do the trick. Harry promising he knows ‘just the thing’ was how they ended up high as a kite to begin with but she had trusted him thus far so she decided to trust him a little bit more. Which in hindsight was where it all went wrong because that’s how they end up in his hotel room filling up the bathtub with water and foam shampoos and bath salts.

The windows are open, carrying their laughter and giggles to the streets below. But that’s not her main concern. Somehow, in an effort to make the bath as enjoyable as possible, Harry had turned on the shower head and initiated a spray war. The physical exertion and the laughter had sobered her a bit, but the tradeoff was that she now wanted a cigarette which was not possible since he all but dunked her into the tub to claim his victory.

She pulls the soggy packet from her denim jacket breast pocket, the gross brown liquid oozing from it indelicately.

“You’ve wet my cigarettes,” she says as she tries to look upset.

One glance at him though and she’s reduced to a puddle within the puddle she’s sitting in.

“You should really quit anyway.”

“Piss off,” she tosses the wet box at him.

It lands two feet off its target with an unceremonious splat and they laugh at her aim. They laugh and they laugh some more and talk about nothing and everything.

She talks about her mum. She never talks about her mum. But suddenly she’s talking about her mum and how she left and how it broke her father and it had hurt her to see him hurt the way he did. How he had let himself be hurt like that and still cling on to the hope of her mother coming back one day.

Harry is nodding and then they’re both just complaining about how unfair and shitty life is when he says it. Blurts it out, almost, like a secret that he can no longer contain.

“I want a tiger on my thigh.”

She’s so dazed that all she can do is look at him.

“D’you reckon you can do a tiger for me?” He repeats himself, almost as though in fear that she wouldn’t understand the urgency of his request.

She doesn’t question it, but she understands the symbolism instinctively.

“Sure,” she smiles, leaning her head back.

“Tomorrow morning?” He quirks his head, eyes glazing over as he tries to, in his solidly drunk state, try to remember if he has any other planned activity.

“That’s right now,” she laughs, lifting her heavy head to look at him, “And neither one of us are sober enough to walk a straight line, let alone hold a tattoo gun.”

“I trust you,” Harry says, voice dropping impossibly lower and she hears alarm bells start to ring in her head.

She’s makes a joke about him always being so eager to drop his pants around her and regrets it instantly because he’s smirking at her and looking at her the way he does and she almost forgets how to breathe.

“Maybe you just have that effect on me.”

“Careful,” she says dryly, “Or I might think you're trying to flirt with me, Styles.”

“Oh, you'd know if I was trying to flirt with you.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, before deciding that the best course of action is to slide further into the tub, “But would you?”

His smile that follows is breathtaking and the unabashed laughter that spills over is something else entirely. It’s warm and new, with some kind of never seen before sparkle in his eye. As though it’s an exclusive layer of whoever he is when he’s around her and her only. A smile that’s peeled back and raw and intimate.

Her chest blooms of something she can’t quite explain.

&&

los angeles

jan 2016

“Look, I don’t mean to sound outrageously savage here but… you have a thing for collecting winter clings,” she says.

“What on earth is a winter cling?”

Zaemira pauses.

“It’s the Harry Styles version of a summer fling,” she states simply, “But you have them around in the winter because that’s when you get loneliest.”

They’re in a bar, it’s small and it’s cosy and it’s not the kind of place that he would be recognised which is why it’s perfect. She pours him a shot of whiskey from behind the counter because it’s harder in LA to get a legal tattoo artist job (or any other job for that matter) than one would think.

“That’s not true,” he frowns before downing the amber liquid in a go.

She stares at him pointedly from behind the bar.

“You always get a girl at the end of the year so that you have a cosy Christmas and a nice New Year and then a blowout birthday party and then you break up with them before Valentine’s Day because commitment scares you. There are multiple blogs dedicated to the this specific phenomenon.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, a ball of something hard and sour and guilty forming in the pit of his stomach.

“No. Definitely,” she says as she tops him up for another shot.

“Is that what you think of me?” Harry frowns.

There's a beat of noticeably tense silence.

“Is it untrue?” She quirks her eyebrow just a touch.

Harry drops his gaze to the liquid he’s been swirling around his glass, “Is it really so bad to just want someone?”

“Not usually, but it takes twenty-one days to make a habit and you’re in too deep.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m flat out saying that you don’t know how to be alone,” Zaemira gleefully volunteers, completely without provocation, before topping up his drink again, “Which isn’t a shocker because you’ve never really been alone. Even when you snuck out to have your solo adventure in Rio, you dragged me along for the night. And now that the band’s on hiatus, you’re falling back into old habits with an ex.”

He promptly forgets how to fucking breathe.

She does that to him a lot, he realises.

Even though the band is officially on hiatus, he’s never felt more trapped. He feels caged in and claustrophobic in his own skin. That’s why he even took up that yacht holiday up at St. Barts. He had a physical urge to flee his life. To escape. But he didn’t think that it would become another source for frenzied paparazzi shots which fueled speculation and rumours.

He throws back the liquid in his glass in another swift go and feels the burn trickle down his throat.

“You keeping tabs on me, Zaemira?” He asks, playfully, with a teasing lilt in his voice.

She merely rolls her eyes at that.

“I’m just saying. Maybe it’s time to work on solo you.”

“You’re taking this bartender psychologist thing way too seriously.”

She opens her mouth to contest that but another patron is waving over at her from across the bar and she excuses herself to see to the obviously lost Wall Street gentlemen in the suit and tie.

The moment of silence allows Harry to think back over her words.

But her tinkering laughter cuts through his reverie.

Harry glances over and sees that Wall Street has a shit eating grin on his face, and something unpleasant churns in his stomach.

His friends were all coupling up, or getting engaged, or getting ready to pop out kids, and he realises that the only constant in his life over the two years has been their over-the-phone friendship. While media was content having him as a charming albeit a little secretive little fucker, a true lothario, kicking up rumours with grainy pictures, reaching out for a comment anytime he so much as speaks to a person of the opposite sex, she’d been his odd inner balance through it all.

And increasingly, he’s finding it difficult to share her with anyone else.

&&

Zaemira has a lot of bad habits.

She knows that.

She smokes and she drinks and she gets some kind of perverse sort of thrill out of spending her inheritance from her dead father. First she spent his insurance payout on a graphic design degree that was basically just a piece of paper. And now it’s been four years and the inheritance her father willed her hasn’t run out (mostly because she takes odd jobs to earn her keep in the various cities she bums around in) and she’s certain that this is what a quarter life crisis must feel like.

Her mother left her when she was barely eight and it broke her father’s heart. She is resolved not to make the mistakes her father made though. She’s determined to live, truly live. Even if it means not having a place to call home, crashing on couches of new friends and old. Even if it means spending one way plane tickets around the world and living out of one packed bag. Even if it means sleeping with strangers and leaving the moment they showed any sign of weakness.

What it means, is that she isn’t ashamed of her life choices.

Mostly.

There’s the small matter of a newly acquired bad habit — answering a certain call from a certain pop star whenever he rang.

She knew who he was before he accidentally wandered into her temporary place of employment of course. He was the golden boy from the band. The Harry Styles from One Direction. She hadn't been aware of much else to be honest, just that he had his start in fame from that reality show everyone watched and was involved in a band that was hailed a new coming of The Beatles.

Apart from that, he had never been relevant to her life in any way.   

So when he tumbled into the dodgy, seedy little tattoo joint in Rio and practically falls head first onto her feet, she catches sight of the oddly familiar looking guy who is too long limbs and all overgrown hair, it takes a full minute before she makes the connection.

She’d seen photographs of him before, photos and headlines on Facebook shared by news organisations (or what passes for news organisations on social media anyway), and she recalled the basic impression of this Hollywood favourite in the making; the t’ shirts and the tight jeans and the expensive shoes and the barely thought out tattoos. He was basically like any young rock star in the making, cheeky and reasonably good looking, and perfectly groomed for the media and the fandom to dislocate their jaw to swallow whole.

But the boy who stumbled into the small tattoo studio is not the boy she’d seen on the interwebs.

They become friends.

He tracks her down to her exact location whenever he’s in a city she’s in and she allows it.

When she finds herself in Los Angeles, he finds himself on hiatus.

The band had been splintering since Zayn left, that much was evident. And then the band went on their ‘break’. And he’s lonely, an ailment he had long suffered from far even before he became the Harry Styles of One Direction.

So it doesn’t surprise her when he saunters into the pub she’s working at for the past month and a half.

As a rule, she doesn’t drink on the job. She’s not allowed to. But it’s hard to say ‘no’ to Harry. He’s lonely and he’s heartbroken in more ways than one and they comes dangerously close to depleting the bar’s whiskey stock because it’s a shitty little hole-in-the-wall kind of place that doesn’t really stock up often and so they go back to his place after her shift.

The too big Los Angeles house came with a pool and a view and a fully stocked bar and one moment they’re drinking some more and the next he’s on his piano, absentmindedly playing a tune he has stuck in his head and talking about life.

She’d been good at not feeling. For a long time, she didn’t even have to try. Zaemira just didn't let herself feel for people like that and it was easy. But around him, it’s suddenly not.

He’s talking about being afraid, and how he’s afraid a lot, and how he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and how the house feels too big and he’s too alone.

She kisses him.

She kisses him because she doesn't like what he's saying, doesn't like what it means, doesn't like that this boy, this rock star, this heart of gold and boots to match who had the world on his feet could be as lost and lonely and confused as her.

She kisses him so he can stop talking, and she kisses him so she can stop listening.

It works out fine.

Except—

She isn't entirely sure why he kisses her back.

His name rolls with disturbing ease off the tip of her tongue and she thinks she can get used to the way he says her name when he comes. It sounds like a prayer and a punch, a gasping exhale that hits her in the chest, or maybe in her heart, and he collapses backwards onto his bed, pulling her close to him like she belongs there.

Zaemira doesn’t sleep a wink and when morning comes she leaves her latest find from a seedy bookstore downtown, Love Is a Dog from Hell, on his bedside before she walks out the front door.

The sun hits her straight in the eye, like the glare of a cafe employee when you ask if the have soy milk instead of regular full cream. The city was a place for the hopeful, she realises. The hope that one day you’ll find love. The hope that you’ll luck out. The hope that working hard will get you where you need to go, as long as you hope and never let go of that hope.

It was decidedly not a city built for her.

She was a shitty bartender and an even shittier dreamer and the only thing that’s been a constant in her life is her slowly expanding collection of tattered Bukowski books that she will gladly throw actual wearable clothes out of her overhead carriage bag to keep said books with her. Through the years, the only thing she could rely on was the gritty, filthy words that a dirty old man could provide.

And she had no problem sharing that part of her life with him at all.

&&

paris

march 2018

It’s just a flash, but he swears he sees her in the crowd and he thinks he’s going mad.

He’s barely two weeks into his world tour. His solo world tour.

He should be thrilled. He should be basking in the victory of it all. The world is loud and roaring in his ears but in the dreams he barely remembers dreaming, he sees her there, quiet and serene and bright, as though he is finally seeing her in the light of day instead of in the cover of night. (As though his mind is trying to make up for memories that didn’t happen.)

Not too long ago, it was another face he sought out amidst the crowd in Paris. But he catches a flash of what he thinks is her and suddenly he can’t think of anything else.

Harry hasn’t seen Zaemira in two years. Two years and then some. Not since that night.

They call and they text and they avoid discussing what happened in his LA house or why she left before he woke with not even a note but just a book by his bedside table.

There was no designated moment, no exact timing, but their dynamic changed. Because life is not a Shakespearean tragedy where it’s all fade to black and bittersweet endings. There’s mundanity and somehow, they sought each other out more in that monotonous day-to-day.

Their friendship was stronger despite having flirted with the very line that kept them together. She’d gone home to London and was spending her time putting together fragments of a former life and her current life like a jigsaw, jamming the pieces together hoping they’ll fit while he, well, he had a movie to film, and then an album to write, and that same album to tour after. He’d also landed himself in another relationship. She’s a model, because as Zaemira would say, he’s a glutton for punishment and ‘no seriously, same lips red, same eyes blue, you so have a type.’

His ‘type’ gets along great with his friends and his mum likes how laidback she is when she was over for Christmas and it’s a relationship that he’s only sure has lasted for as long as it did because of the change in their friendship.

But then he realises that he hasn’t seen his friend in over two years and it suddenly doesn’t sound like a real friendship anymore.

He can’t shake the thought and the screaming fans do nothing to help set his mind straight.

His heart aches like a broken bone over something he can’t explain.

Barely off the the stage, he whips out his phone and calls.

&&

“Sorry, wrong number,” he says.

“You know it isn’t,” she says, eyes flicking toward the living room as a burst of laughter carries itself to her ears.

Zaemira grabs her pack of cigarettes and shuts the front door gently as she exits, “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

But she’s known him long enough to read into the subtext, the world that exist in between the words he’s actually saying.

“What’s wrong?” She asks again, determinedly, taking angry long strides down the road.

He sighs, voice sounding like it’s jumped through various hoops and crossed many a timeline in many universes to reach down the phone line to her.

“It’s nothing, Z.”

But she knows something is. Knows it from the way he says ‘Z’ instead of ‘Zaemira’. Or maybe she hopes it’s something more than knows it because she wants an excuse to see him. To wander the streets of London with him. To get drunk with him. Anything with him.

Where he’s calling her from, she wouldn’t know; could be a pub, a hotel, backstage of his concert, anywhere. And she’s not sure she wants to know. They haven’t physically seen each other since that night over two years ago.

Has it really been?

He’s travelling again, on tour, alone this time around, and his schedule always seems at odds with hers. Of course, it didn’t help that he’s seeing someone. She knows because he’d rung her up to ask if he should invite said someone home for Christmas and again to ask how many times you can ask someone to come to your concerts before it starts seeming narcissistic.

She pulls out a cigarette from the pack and puts it between her lips before lighting it, taking a long drag, trying to remember if there’d been any sign that his relationship had been on the rocks the last time he called.

Zaemira inhales the fumes while he quietly stays on the line.

Harry doesn’t say anything.

“How was the concert tonight?” She prods.

“It was good,” he says, but there’s no enthusiasm in his voice, just exhaustion, “Paris is always good.”

He doesn’t sound right.

It’s the stupidest, most clichéd thing ever, but he doesn’t sound like himself.

“Harry,” she says, voice softening because he’s quiet and he’s the one who called her and she has a horrible feeling that he’s about to cry and the last time he sounded like that on the phone, she found out that Robin had passed, “Has something... happened?”  

He’s not saying anything, like he’s waiting for her to say something, and she doesn’t.

“I’m just… I’m having a minute”

Zaemira sighs.

Sometime in the past two years, she’s thought on more than one occasion that she might love him. Like proper love. More than just platonic love.

But other times he just feels so fucking far away that she’s not so sure anymore.

She heaves a not-quite calming breath and takes another drag of the cigarette before filling the line with chatter. Because she gets it. She gets that empty kick in the gut sometimes. She prattles on about how home doesn’t feel like home and even though life at home is, more or less, alright it feels like something is missing. She complains about her aunt who disapproves of her decision to spend the rest of her inheritance on getting her masters and she begins to outline in exhaustive detail just how dissatisfied she feels, how everything makes her feel like a shitty daughter and a shitty niece and a shitty friend and a shitty student and a shitty—whatever the fuck else she's failing at—when he cuts her off.  

“When can I see you?” he asks, like they can pretend for a second that they haven’t spent the past two years apart, like they live on the same street and he could see her in an hour if he wanted to.

She flicks her eyes back towards the house, thinking of her aunt and her cousins and how they’ve been going on and on about this big Easter party they’ve been planning.

“Tomorrow?” She suggests, knowing full well that he can’t. Not really. He’s got schedules and plans and commitments.

And a girlfriend, a voice in the back of her head pipes in.

She doesn’t need to silence the voice though because reality has its way of doing that and she hears him exhale on the other end of the line, as though letting go of a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Tomorrow’s no good. How about day after?” Harry suggests, “I’ll be in Amsterdam. I’ll get you a ticket.”

And Zaemira thinks about that for a bit, seriously considers taking him up on the offer.

And then she thinks about him, about how maybe they’re like those horrible math love stories; like sine and cosine, meant to meet and fall apart every so often, forever out of step with one another.

She drops the cigarette to the ground and watches it burn.

“I don’t think I can do Amsterdam right now,” she says after a second, “I mean I have it on pretty good authority that if I don’t go to my classes I won’t be able to complete my masters.”

She chuckles to herself at the terrible not even remotely funny joke.

“I’ll be in London in April,” he says and she can hear his breathing all but stop on the line, like he was holding his breath for her answer and she almost wishes she’s not about to say what she’s about to say.  

“I’ve got work on weekends.”

He sighs again and the line is heavy with words unsaid.

“See you after tour then?”

“Yeah,” she says, forcing a grin, forcing the lie, “Yeah, guess so.”

It’s quiet between for a bit. The silence is deafening and it steals her breath a little and she’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the cigarette she just smoked.

And then the line goes dead.

&&

london

december 2018

He doesn’t call her again after Paris.

His tour ends and his relationship ends and he half-heartedly makes excuses to himself and for himself for not calling; he's busy, of course he’s busy, he’s busy catching up with his mum and his sister and his ex co-workers and his industry friends and he tells himself that he doesn’t need anyone to help him get through the cold lonely winter nights.

But then it’s December and he calls and she picks up and they pick up exactly where they last left off. It felt good. It felt like breathing again. And he thought it was enough, but two days later, despite the promises he’s made to himself, he texts her a meme.

And then he calls again. And again. And again.

It would be almost like she’s his phone therapist except he’s also sort of keeping her functioning like a normal human that doesn’t lash out at people by texting him her darkest thoughts, so it evens out.

He’s realising with every call, and every passing day of his newly found (and truly enjoyed) singledom, that he was kind of a fuck-up. Not in any obvious, tangible, measurable way. He didn’t have a dozen different child of divorce issues, or problems with abandonment that run so deep he is constantly choosing to leave before he is left, or a mile long list of insecurities and fears that leave him utterly crippled, but he was fucked up in ways that were difficult to fully articulate.

And their relationship was a home that allows for it to be okay because they were both honest about just how fucked up they were.

Harry doesn’t know when exactly he figures it out, but he decides he’ll go see her in March. He’ll ring her and say ‘wrong number’ and she’ll call him a twat and then he’ll throw rocks at her window and hold up a copy of Bukowski she doesn’t yet have that he’ll have to find by then and yell, “Did someone order a creepy stalker?”

It’s a good plan. Except it’s two days to Christmas and she’s complaining about her cousins and her nieces and her nephews and how she just walked out when they were making pies together ahead of Christmas and now she’s just going to sequester herself in her shitty flat and spend the yuletide alone and he can’t help but smile at the whole thing because that’s so painfully Zaemira and he can’t help himself.

“I’ve got it planned out,” she says, “I’ll just Netflix and eggnog myself to sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, come over to mine for Christmas,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth completely of their own accord without passing through his head at all.

“Yeah, I’ll just come to Holmes Chapel at the drop of a hat,” she says sardonically.

“I’m serious. My mum won’t mind.”

“There aren’t any flights out, Haz.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it, I just called to rant anyway,” she says dismissively.

And Harry can see it play out at the back of his mind, the way her lips quirk, all wry and self-deprecating. Except there’s more of a bite to it than it usually would.

“What d’you mean you’re used to it?”

“I mean I only exist when it’s convenient for you,” she says it so matter-of-factly that he’s not sure if she’s making a piss poor attempt at a joke.  

Her words are just so thoroughly her, and no one could say it without sounding like an attention seeking arse, but they hit him square in the gut and Harry feels all semblance of breathable air leave his body.

“Hold up—” He starts but she’s having none of it.

“You’ll see me when you see me. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

She changes the subject and tells him to bring over ‘like ten crates of Vodka’ when he ever decides to drop by because she’s acquired a taste for it and he chuckles half-heartedly at that.

He makes a joke about her trip to Russia and she’s saying how she should have tried harder to seduce an oligarch. But he’s roughly only a quarter present. His mind is a riot. It’s like the time in school some kid hit him with a baseball bat and he feels all the blood rush to his head.

His gut twists with a vague, rumbling kind of horror.

The words left unspoken stings more than it should.

I don’t want to be your next winter cling anyway.

&&

Her door buzzes.

It’s Christmas eve and she isn’t expecting anyone, but when she rushes down the hallway to open the building door, there he is.

It’s pure electricity in his eyes and a fire so hot in her bones that it feels like ice.

It’s been a full thirty-five months since she’d seen him in person and not through her phone. That’s almost three whole years. They’re just shy a week of the anniversary of that night and he’s still just so pretty. Painfully pretty.

He cracks the weakest smile she’s ever seen, “Hey.”

“What are you—”

“You’re not a winter cling,” he blurts out, eyes ringed red and slightly swollen like he’d been crying or up all night.

Or both.

She ignores the statement, crossing her arms across her chest as they stand out in the cold.

“Did you drive here all night from Holmes Chapel?”

“I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait until after Valentine’s Day. Because you’re not something to hold onto while I wait out the loneliness.”

“Harry—”

“Do you remember the night we met? In Rio? I was tired. I was so tired of being who they expected me to be,” he interrupts her, plaintive and gentle, “It’s why I got so drunk and slipped security. I wanted something that was just mine.”

He takes a step forward and she holds her ground, still not inviting him in. She’s not sure she wants to. Like the hours she spend not sleeping in his arms, she’s not sure she wants to be another warm body to him. But Harry is staring at her, expression terrifyingly open, honest, and contemplative, like he's looking right through her to her heart.

“Like a me tattoo on your body?”

Zaemira hates that she’s doing exactly what her aunt says she does when she’s uncomfortable; makes terrible jokes and thinly-veiled badly-timed humour in an attempt to hide her discomfort which never helps.

She hates that her aunt is right and she hates that this is how she’s realising it.

“Every other relationship I had never felt right,” Harry continues, holding her gaze as though he is equally fascinated and terrified, “Something was always missing.”

The tick-tock pounding thump of her heartbeat is so loud and gushing she can practically feel it in her veins. But he just keeps going, heart on his sleeve at the door of the girl he spent three drunken nights with and fell into bed once. As though he didn’t know he had the power to so completely destroy her.

There’s a taunting, almost brittle quality to what he’s saying that it makes her nervous. He’s making her nervous and it pricks like annoyance at the back of her head. It’s jarring what he’s saying. Striking.

“People aren’t answers to whatever mess that’s going on in your life, Harry.”

It's ridiculous and it's rude and it’s out of control and out of character for her except—

Except that it isn’t.

She wonders when exactly he’d figured it out.

And how it took her so long to realise that she’s the same as what she’s accusing him of.

She wants and wants and wants and then she takes, and takes, and takes, until she inevitably loses interest, and leaves.

And most people just let her.

But Harry isn’t most people.

And he’s there now to show her exactly that.

“I don’t want people,” he says so softly it’s practically a whisper, like he’s confiding a secret, like he knows that the harder she pushes the more she wants you to fight for her, “I just…want you. I just didn’t realize there was a difference between wanting you to want something and wanting you for you.”

The words slot into her heart perfectly like a deck of cards. The words that she never even knew she wanted to hear.

They taste like a perfectly brewed shot of espresso and too expensive whiskey all mixed into one heartstopping drink and she wants to savour the shockwave-sweet intensity of the moment.

She hesitates. And then, “Careful, Styles. Or I might think you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He grins at that. A real smile curving on his lips.

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to flirt with you.”

He tucks a stray curl behind her ears, simultaneously keeping his distance and drawing her close.

Her breath hitches on a tremulous little laugh.

She's paralysed with an emotion that feels a lot like fear and it's scraping at her skull, rhythmically ebbing into all corners of her brain like a growing virus and he's just there, staring at her.

She wants to say something. Something smart or witty or funny. But instead she just lets herself fall forward into his arms and onto his lips.

It tastes like a promise.

It tastes right.

It tastes like two beating hearts and a slow summer burn.

[jjakhosh]

Chapter 12

Word count: 1.9k

Whenever the prisoners of Seungcheol torment and haunt me in my sleep, I would drive to Jisoo's lab and he would know what just to give. Although it can only last for some hours, it would be enough to keep them at bay. Jisoo understands my struggles the most because whenever Seungcheol would punish the prisoners, he would be by his side along with Jeonghan. He's a brilliant chemist and Jisoo acknowledges but he says he's too brilliant that he forgets his boundaries. He says it has gotten worse when he joined. Sometimes, Jisoo and I would just talk about everything except Young God. Those times, I feel normal. I think he does, too. But he wouldn't admit it; sometimes, I think Jisoo doesn't want to be labeled as a human therefore he neglects feelings. For him, feelings are abstract and lie. What we feel are merely chemicals. But he is human; he's the most human of all of us.

S

-

He couldn't believe his eyes. There you are, dressed in a yellow long sleeved dress that rests just above your knees. Your hair, cascading down your back in waves. Soonyoung could see that you're uncomfortable with the heels you're wearing but he couldn't do anything about it even if he wants to because someone else has their arms around you. And he knows exactly who that someone else—Kim fucking Hanbin.

"Soonyoung, have you been listening to me?" The now red-haired Soonyoung turns to his side and sees a newly dyed blonde Seungkwan looking at him with a wicked smile. He always have a wicked smile.

"I'm sure whatever you say is not of great interest so what is the point?" Soonyoung grins at his friend who rolls his eyes and punches his shoulder. Soonyoung laughs but his eyes quickly lands on where you are and something within him stirs.

"What are you looki—oh shit, isn't that Kim Hanbin?" Seungkwan asks, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. "Who's that girl he's with?"

"No one," Soonyoung replies. "Probably another one of his girls."

Seungkwan smirks. "You think so? I think he looks whipped."

"I know Hanbin like the back of my hand, Seungkwan. He's not the serious type." Soonyoung says, slicing his steak rather harshly.

"Yeah, you would know who's serious or not," Seungkwan winks at him and the red haired man ignores him. "The girl looks so familiar."

Soonyoung freezes. "Keep your nose out of other people's business, Seungkwan. At least when you're with me."

Seungkwan finishes his wine and smirks at Soonyoung. "But where's the fun in that?"

Soonyoung glares at him and the blonde sends him a wink before getting up from his chair and walking towards you and Hanbin. The red hair curses and follows Seungkwan. "Seungkwan!"

"Hanbin!" Seungkwan exclaims, opening his arms out wide.

Soonyoung wants nothing more than to kick Seungkwan in the crotch. Hanbin along with you turns to them and when Soonyoung and yours eyes meet, a fluttering feeling settles in the red haired’s stomach. Your eyes are wide and Soonyoung wants to smile at you, reach out and ask how you’ve been doing. Just like when he was calling for you up at his hotel room and the two of you would just chat. But he didn’t do that; instead, he looks away and acts like he doesn’t know you.

That’s what you two have agreed on anyways.

“Boo Seungkwan,” Hanbin smiles and stands up to greet the blonde haired man with a hug. Then, he turns to Soonyoung. His smile turns into a smirk. Soonyoung feels his blood boil; oh he knows Hanbin alright. He knows him damn well. “Kwon Soonyoung. Long time no see.”

Soonyoung keeps his face passive. “Kim Hanbin, its good too see you as well.”

“Always so formal,” Hanbin says with a fake laugh. “How is your brother doing? Is he... well?”

Soonyoung clenches his fists and jaw. “Would you like to see for yourself?” He says through gritted teeth.

Hanbin’s smirk widens. “Are normal people all—,”

Before Hanbin could finish, Soonyoung already swings his fist and lands it on Hanbin’s cheek, causing the brunette to stumble backwards and hit the table, causing it to crash on the ground. You stand up, the napkin on your lap falling. You push Soonyoung away and help Hanbin up.

“Hyung...” Seungkwan trails off, for the first time unsure of what to say. He looks at Soonyoung who is red with fury.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss at Soonyoung, glaring.

“None of your business,” Soonyoung snaps at you which causes you to take a step back. The red haired furrows his eyebrows, stares at you for a while before ultimately leaving. “Fuck off, Kim.”

-

“Well, some first date right?” Hanbin says with a scoff as you two walk out of the restaurant. He has an ice pack on his cheek.

“I’ve been through worse,” You reply, hopefully to cheer him up. “Are you okay?”

“I forgot how strong Soonyoung is,” He laughs as he reaches out for his pocket and presses the unlock button. The doors open up, literally. “I’m fine.”

“How did you know Soonyoung?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“I think I should be asking you that, Y/N,” Hanbin smiles and gestures you to step inside the car. “Let’s move onto the next part of this date, shall we?”

You manage to smile back at him. “Okay.” You reply before stepping inside his car and he closes the door after you.

This isn’t how you imagined your night would be. Going on a date with someone was the last thing in your mind. No one who went through an abusive and toxic relationship could easily date again. The fear would always be there. Even now, you still feel fear whenever you are alone with someone other than Sohye. She’s the only person in your life that you feel comfort and not fear. Well, she and Soonyoung. There’s just something about him that makes you feel safe and secured. But then there are times where you feel so terrified of him. The thought saddens you; its the exact feeling you had with Jaesuk.

Hanbin, on the other hand, is a different story altogether. He respects your space, your boundaries and limitations. You suspect that Sohye must have told him some things so you would feel as comfortable as possible. He didn’t force any skinship with you nor push your buttons about getting to know you. He was a good guy, you decided after a whole day of doubting. The dinner was a last minute set up. You, Sohye, Jungkook and Hanbin should have gotten home after sun set but Hanbin thought it would be a great idea if the four of you eat dinner together. No one protested and thus, you found yourself in a five star restaurant... and Soonyoung.

His red hair, posh suit and the blonde guy whom he called Seungkwan. Of course you already knew who Seungkwan was. You read about him in Soonyoung’s diary and in that short moment you met him—kind of met him—it was clear that he was wicked. It sent shivers down your spine, really.

But more than Seungkwan, seeing Soonyoung made you feel something. You terribly missed him. He was the first person in your new life. You never thought it was possible but you missed how you two would just talk about whatever until it was time for you to go back to your duties. Behind the world he lives in and behind the world you live in, the two of you just seem to fit one another.

“What are you thinking about, if I may boldly ask?” Hanbin’s voice snaps you back to reality.

“Just some things. Nothing of importance.” You reply, playing with the hem of your yellow dress.

“I don’t know if I ever told you today but you look really beautiful, Y/N. Not a lot of people can wear yellow.” Hanbin says and his words make you blush.

“Thank you.”

Hanbin nods, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. “I still have two hours before the curfew Sohye gave us and this is going to be an hour long drive. Can you do something for me, Y/N?”

Your eyes widen, head quickly turning to him. “Hanbin, what—,”

“No! God, I don’t mean anything about what I just said. Jesus, Y/N, its nothing like that, I swear.” Hanbin quickly reassures you.

“Well, what is it then?” You ask.

“You see, in the world I live in, well the world Sohye, Jungkook and I live in, we rarely get time to stop and breathe. Believe it or not, this has been the first date I had in years. The last time I was on a date was high school and it was set up by my uncle. An arranged marriage, can you believe that? I said no, obviously, and dear God the look on my uncle’s face was something that could turn into a meme if I could have just captured it.

“I turned down the offer because I was not going to marry someone I don’t even know and I was seventeen then. Who marries at seventeen? It was bullshit too because I knew it was just a set up for my uncle’s business. We own one of the biggest construction firms in Asia and for it to be taken down? My uncle was not gonna let it happen.

“So, he set me up on an arranged marriage with one of the richest investors of the company. Apparently, she liked me to the point of wanting to marry me. She was beautiful, alright. Smart, beautiful and talented. But I didn’t like her. She was too perfect. Her name was Mina, a Japanese girl. People told me back then how crazy I was for turning down Mina. She was everything a man could ever dream of and I let her go.

“My Uncle was furious. He was so set on disowning had it been not for my cousin, Namjoon hyung. He took me under his wing, taught me all the things I needed to learn about business. When it was time for Uncle to step down, instead of hyung taking the position as CEO, he gave it to me instead. People doubted me but he was always there by my side. I could never thank hyung enough for giving me a chance.”

You are in awe when Hanbin stopped talking. You certainly was not expecting that. Hanbin stops as the two of you reach for the traffic. He looks at you.

“May I ask you something?” He asks and you nod. “How did you know Soonyoung?”

You frown. “Is that the reason why you told me something personal?”

Hanbin chuckles. “That’s not personal. That’s just something I’ve been wanting to get out ever since I became a CEO but never had the chance to. Now, I did, I have you. I have ears to tell my problems to.”

You lower your head, biting your lip. “I don’t really have the best advice on everything.”

Hanbin looks at you fondly. “Your presence is enough to make someone sane.”

You sigh. “He was staying at the hotel I work at and we just got close.”

“Soonyoung rarely gets close with other people besides his gang of friends. We call them the Gods because each one of them acts like they’re bigger than all of us,” Hanbin scoffs, obviously irritated by the thought of Soonyoung. “Sorry but in case you didn’t catch on, he and I are not on good terms.”

Is that why they call themselves Young Gods? You thought but quickly shakes it away. Now is not the time for that.

“Why are you not on good terms?”

“Because of his brother, Kwon Jiyong.”

I have rewritten this a lot of times so that’s the reason why it took so long to update. I’m so sorry you guys! This story has so many information to take in and I hope you guys are not getting overwhelmed. Thank you!

[jeansbaz]

Carry On spell-themed asks!

Use your words!!! 60 questions you can put in my asks, feel free to reblog!

A little bird told me! – Do you prefer texting or calling?

A place for everything, and everything in it’s place! – Are you organized?

An Englishman’s word is his bond! – Have you been to England?

And we all fall down! – Have you ever pushed your crush down the stairs?

April Showers! – What’s your favourite season?

As you were! – Do you have a job?

Back Off! – Are you going to watch GBBO on channel 4 or boycott it? (hmu either way)

Back to start! – What token do you pick when playing monopoly?

Be our guest! – What’s your favourite Disney film?

Bend over backwards! – Are you flexible?

Carry on, carry on! – When did you first read Carry On?

Cat got your tongue! – Are you a cat person or a dog person?

Clean as a whistle! – Do you prefer showers or baths?

Clear the air! – What’s your favourite smell?

Come out, come out, wherever you are! – If you had to spend the rest of your life as a tree what kind of tree would you be?

Dead in the air! – What scares you?

Don’t worry, be happy! – Who is someone that inspires you?

Early to bed and early to rise! – When do you usually go to bed?

Easy come, easy go. Little high, little low! – What are your favourite song lyrics?

Fine-tooth comb! – What’s your favourite book?

Float like a butterfly! – What is your favourite animal?

Hair of the dog! – Have you ever been hungover?

Have a break, have a Kit-Kat! – What’s your favourite chocolate/candy?

Head over heels! – Do you believe in love at first sight?

Hear ye, hear ye! – What would you say if everyone in the world was listening to you?

Hell hath no fury! – Have you ever accidentally set something on fire?

Helter skelter! – Do you like theme park rides?

Hit the floor! – What is your middle name?

Hold fast! – Where is somewhere you want to visit?

Hurry up! – Are you an impatient person?

Hush little baby! – Do you want/have children?

Into thin air! – What was your first phone?

It’s show time! – Can you sing/play an instrument?

Keep it together! – Who is your best friend?

Let there be light! – What’s your favourite Snowbaz fic?

Make a wish! – When’s your birthday?

Make way! – What’s your dream job?

Make way for the King! – Who is the most famous person you have met?

Nonsense! – What is the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?

Open Sesame! – Do you believe in magic?

Out, out, damned spot! – Do you do your own laundry?

Paper beats rock! – Rock, paper or scissors?

Run for your life! – What’s your favourite sport?

Scooby-Dooby-Doo, where are you! – What’s your favourite TV show?

See what I mean! – What is your favourite colour?

Simon says! – Who is your favourite Carry On character?

Some like it hot! – Do you like spicey food?

Stand your ground! – What makes you angry?

Stay cool! – What is your Hogwart’s House?

Stay put! – How many languages can you speak?

Steady on! – Can you drive?

Take it away! – What is ur fave meme?

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth! – Have you ever told a lie?

There’s nothing to see here! – If you could get away with one crime, what would it be?

These aren’t the droids you’re looking for! – What is your favourite film?

Time flies! – What do you do for fun?

Twinkle, twinkle little star! – Are we alone?

U can’t touch this! – What is your favourite song?

Up, up and away! – Are you scared of flying?

You’re getting warmer! – Do you prefer hot weather or cold weather?

[itsjesperfahey]

modern soc au

inej: 

loves to dance !!! esp ballet but she can dance to whatever tbfh, she’s that good 

likes to wear caps, esp backwards. really loves bomber jackets too. 

has a couple, small tattoos dedicated to her saints 

is that one kid who loves to do parkour (both ironically and unironically) for instance is really good at it but sometimes just yells PARKOUR and steps over a rock

usually found eating lunch with her pals on the roof of the school 

is amazing at hide and seek like holy fuck ????? hid for 2 hours once and wasn’t found, came back the next day and was like “y'all losers SUCK" 

loves to study other people’s cultures, as well as history and is great as p.e (never has gotten a bad grade in the flexibility tests) 

likes to read poem books 

has a black cat as a pet named "saint" 

pronounced meme as "mehmeh” the first time she read it 

only has snapchat and instagram. is that kid who ALWAYS posts the sunset every day, esp from weird/high places and the comments are always “HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET UP THERE" 

cried the most during fox and the hound 

always braiding nina’s hair. Knows how to do all the super advanced onces as well

"I don’t know, CAN YOU?" 

 the best one at pushing people on the swings 

AMAZING AT JUST DANCE WITH JESPER 

"sorry I ran out of fucks to give try again later maybe?" 

gives the nicest presents. always knows what a person wants for christmas/their birthday 

the one who’s really into photography and is always taking aesthetic™ pics of Nina for her social media accounts 

Prefers tea over coffee

wylan:

bullied for not being able to read (at least up until high school), so is super shy 

loves drawing. the artistic™ one who takes anatomy to be able to draw people better 

MASTER FLUTE MUSICIAN. On the school band. Jams hard af when he plays it 

is in gem math and AP chem with kuwei. 

loves sweet. addicted to blue jolly ranchers. his tongue is always blue 

constantly pushing up his thick rimmed glasses (even if they ain’t on, which causes him to poke his eye)

looooves all the superhero shows on the CW 

V neck sweaters. always

always has his trusty satchel

only has tumblr. has like 10k followers because of his artwork. 

”‘illuminati’ ? is that a band?“ 

cat person even though he’s allergic to cat fur. absolutely adores inej’s cat. settles for owning a horned lizard named "shrek" 

secretly a huge fan of memes 

really gay for tom holland and ed sheeran (calls him "ginger Jesus”) 

gamer with jesper. they always play overwatch together, wylans better tho. a genji and Ana main 

cried the most during big hero six 

wylan, with blank eyes: “I like my coffee how I like my men” // jesper: *spits out his drink* 

matthias: 

sports fan obv. On the schools hockey team bc his fav is hockey. is extremely competitive when he plays it. Is constantly checking but never gets penalties (aka slamming the other players against the walls)

played basketball against jesper and surprisingly lost. jesper won’t let it go 

dog person. owns a pet pomsky (Pomeranian-husky) with nina who’s name is “bub" 

“long hair don’t care”draws inspiration from Harry styles 

really philosophical. takes all the philosophy/ethics classes available 

kind of sounds like Thor (thick and deep accent) 

a good™

"you’re all horrible trash”

“do we really have to be doing this now? I have to finish my homework" 

loves baking. bakes everything for the love of his life 

grey sweatshirts and adidas shoes 

wears contacts Because he hates how glasses look on him. only wears them when he’s home 

oblivious to all the women in love with him

"CAN YOU EVEN LIFT BRO? BECAUSE I SURE AS FRICK CAN” (doesn’t curse) 

real 👍🏻🤘🏻👌🏻life🤰🏻👼🏻🌱student📚✂️✏️athelete🏃🏼🥇🏆🥅🏒

has Facebook and Twitter only

cried the most during bambi and dumbo 

little spoon™ 

has a couple tattoos with very deep meanings

jesper: 

dancer with inej. dances like those ppl who look like robots ??? the ones who look like they freeze parts of their body while the others move. AMAZING at it 

loves jazz but also dubstep/edm and rap/r&b. Beyoncé is MOM/QUEEN. 

sometimes djs parties 

again, huge gamer with wylan. he’s a lucio and junkrat main for overwatch. loves like every video game ever 

loves all the marvel movies, in love with black panther (was team cap) 

dresses like a hipster but also sometimes a fuck boy (tank tops and shorts with a backwards cap style) 

favorite subject is business and debate. great negotiator 

cried the most during the lion king 

A+ cosplayer (especially his lucio cosplay) 

big supporter of human rights (LGBTA+, feminist, black lives matter, poc representation). Will LITERALLY get into fights over anyone who thinks otherwise. Fist fights, always supported by Kaz and Matthias. Got suspended for 3 days for breaking a kids nose who thought LGBTA+ people should **** ** ****) 

that one kid who has 50 fidget spinners and can do cool tricks with them. also manages to sell all of them 

skateboard pro™ 

always sends the blinking face meme, even if it’s out of context 

all the social medias. 

one tattoo only of a gun with a 'bang’ flag coming out of it 

nina: 

 PROFESSIONAL👏🏻 MAKE 👏🏻 UP 👏🏻 ARTISTS 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 HAS HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF FOLLOWERS ON HER INSTAGRAM AND THE SAME FOR HER YOUTUBE CHANNEL 

Speaking of YouTube, she always does cute videos. Baking/cooking tutorial videos featuring Matthias, 'i do my boyfriends makeup’, 'my boyfriend does my makeup’, 'my boyfriend buys my makeup’, does make up tutorials obviously, challenges with her best friend inej like the 'whisper challenge’. everyone loves her and says her and Matthias are their otp 

loves fashion design, takes that class. 

loves horror movies/creepy things but also Disney 

great at roller skating 

always wins the best dressed awards ad school 

also huge fan of ed sheeran. loves little mix more than 5h. 

cried the most during 'up' 

Can speak like 4 languages (English, french, Latin and spanish) 

loves traveling and learning about new cultures too 

dancer!inej’s biggest fan and hockey!matthias’ biggest fan 

always breaks snapchat streaks 

likes to (friendly) debate with jesper, especially over stupid things 

amazing with kids. babysits all the time. calls “bub” (the dog) her and matthias’ baby 

big spoon™ 

notes are so fucking pretty. buys the most expensive stationary and notebooks 

also huge supporter of human rights. runs the feminist club. (Jesper is the Vice President) stresses loving yourself and your body, and makes sure to design comfortable yet GORGEOUS clothes for “"plus sized people”“ 

wins 'dynamic duo’ award with inej 

always eating lollipops 

has a few very small tatos of cute things like roses and crowns. has one quote written in cursive on her rib

kaz: 

prefers black coffee as well 

loves crime shows, whether they’re real or fake. for instance loves both 'Dateline’ and 'Criminal Minds’ also loves 'House’

 favorite class is psychology, learning how a person thinks and acts and feels

has the dregs tattoo on his arm * edge lord 9000™ * such a drama queen and diva like damn 

*deep sigh* "I think I’d rather go take a nap” *gets up and leaves* 

also loves computer science. knows how to hack shit like a pro 

always rough housing with jesper. broke a table once 

does walk with a cane. likes to slap matthias’ ass with it 

“bow down you fucking peasants" 

only types in lower case with 0 emojis and no punctuation marks. CONSTANTLY leaves people on read 

only has Twitter and snapchat. His posts on snapchat never have captions, yet somehow has a 200 day streak with Jesper and a 250 day streak with inej 

loves watching horror movies with nina 

 *in a fight* "oh I’ll sHOW YOU SOME DIRTY HANDS” *swings* 

gets second place for best dressed award 

always sending memes with no context in their group chat, as well as vines 

indie and alternative rock fan 

“does it look like I care because I’m sorry if it does I didn’t mean to give you that impression" 

head over heels for inej Ghafa like wow 

likes to read a lot of mystery books and non fiction books 

cried the most during finding dory 

can solve a Rubik’s cube under a minute and won’t let you forget it 

The one asshole who picks either Kirby or metaknight in super smash brothers brawl

 hates seeing the notification bubble so he always has all chats muted and notifications turned off for apps 

kiss ass to all the teachers to get them A’s

Kuwei: 

SCIENCE NERD. ALWAYS singing the bill nye theme song. Loves ASAPScience on YouTube. Master at chemistry and biology 

"hey did u know bill nye is, like, my dad" 

nina treats him like a baby 

loves everything to do with Star Wars while wylan loves star trek more. Fighting ensues. 

has a pet Siamese cat name sparky 

Used to have a huge crush on jesper and everyone knew it except jesper. 

knows the intro to the bee movie ("according to all known laws of aviation-”)

 jesper in the group chat: “gonna go shower be right back” // kuwei: “without me ;)?” // wylan: “KUWEI SWEAR TO FUCK” // kaz: “watch your fucking language wylan" 

obsessed with Pokémon go even if it died out (chose team instinct) 

"fight me on this" 

has Twitter, snapchat and instagram 

Always drinking ginger ale 

master at bop it 

the one kid who always forgets to pay you back for stuff 

is also into the CW super hero shows, so him and wylan are constantly talking about it 

loves cartoons and anime 

speaks fluent fuckboy 

God awful at comebacks 

"let’s take a selfie guys !!!” // “kuwei no-” // *snapshot sound* 

talks !!! Like !! This !!!! for,,, some reason ???????? 

huge nerd for other things too like lord of the rings and Harry Potter and game of thrones 

cried the most during inside out

 "do you think planes are scared of heights?“ // "for fucks same kuwei it’s 4am”

[mytherapistsays-blog]

Halloween Costume Ideas That Prove You Don’t Live Under A Rock

Halloween Costume Ideas That Prove You Don’t Live Under A Rock ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ @MyTherapistSays ⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣ https://mytherapistsays.ca/halloween-costume-ideas-that-prove-you-dont-live-under-a-rock/

Halloween is officially around the corner, which means there are two choices: 1) dedicate all your free time to creating a very cool, original costume that someone (read: YOU) will eventually throw up on; or 2) throw some bullshit together last minute and hope it works. If you’re like most people and have procrastinated on your Halloween costume, just like I procrastinated on this article, then fear not!

We here at MTS have you covered with Halloween costume ideas that are on trend with pop culture from 2018.

Stormi Jenner

Kylie Jenner’s not-so-secret pregnancy was definitely the best way to start off a wild year of pop-culture.  Baby Stormi made every Kardashian fan’s heart melt, so this costume will def be one of the cuter (read: not uber-slutty) ones you’ll see on All Hallow’s Eve.

What you’ll need: Nike hightop sneakers, a white halter romper, and black criss-cross details across the chest. Gather your hair in a bun, making sure to show off some baby hairs, and hold a Kylie Lip Kit for good measure.

Cardi B at ‘NYFW’

As you probably heard – and if you didn’t, do you live under a rock? – there was just a tiny scuffle between Nicki Minaj and Cardi B at the Harper’s Bazaar icon party at New York Fashion Week. Specifically, Cardi threw a shoe at Nicki. How classy.

What you’ll need: A red dress (long or short), a bunch of statement necklaces, one high-heeled shoe, and make sure you draw a huge lump on your forehead.

Kanye and Lil’ Pump in the ‘I Love It’ music video

If you don’t want everyone telling you that “you’re such a f*cking ho, and they love it”, then this is the costume for you! This music video took the internet by storm, purely because it was so fucking whack. So your costume should also be so fucking whack.

What you’ll need: a MASSIVE box, and just make everything bigger than your body and you’ll be fine.

Hailey Baldwin and Justin Bieber

Ah, Hailey Baldwin and the Biebs, 2018’s golden couple. Since their shocking impromptu engagement, this couple has been inseparable. If you and your fuck-buddy/friends with benefits/ boyfriend/husband are looking for a couple costume that’s super-easy, this one should be a no-brainer.

What you’ll need: FOR HAILEY: Athletic pants, cute sports bra, a cropped denim jacket or bomber with striped sleeves, a bling-worthy engagement ring.  FOR JUSTIN: Backwards baseball cap, a blonde wig, baggy basketball shirts, baggy hoodie, and slide sandals with socks.

Incredibles 2

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t waiting for this movie to come out since you were 10 years old. Get the squad together and dress as the Incredibles, all while looking incredible!

What you’ll need: Black facepaint or a black mask, red longsleeve shirt, back gloves, black boy shorts, red pants or leggings, black shoes, and an Incredibles logo (you can print one from the Internet).

Khabib vs. Conor McGregor

Yay, Sports!!!! Apparently, this fight was a really big deal or something, I don’t fucking know. Anyways, if you’re athletic, here’s a kick-ass costume idea, I guess.

What you’ll need: FOR KHABIB: Big, curly blonde wig, muscle shirt / tank top, big heavyweight belt, and black pants.  FOR CONOR: Fluffy white bathrobe, big-ass tattoos on your chest (temporary, but feel free to get permanent if you’re badass), obnoxiously printed pants, and massive sunglasses.

Post Malone

Post Malone is having a moment in 2018. He went triple platinum, his singles peaked at number one on the Billboard Hot 100, and he spent $40,000 on Postmates, making him their number one customer. I just love Post Malone, like, a lot.

What you’ll need: A big flannel shirt, jeans, a can of beer, a cigarette, face tattoos, a beard, and a grill.

Tide Pods

In case you forgot about the great Tide Pod fiasco of 2018, here’s the Sparknotes version. In January, dumbass teenagers started biting into Tide Pods on camera and then posting the videos to social media. This soon became known as the Tide Pod challenge, and countless memes sprung up to make fun of how dumb our future leaders are.

What you’ll need: A plain tshirt, fabric paint or an empty Tide Pod container

Drake and his secret son

Drake shocked the world this summer when he announced he knocked up a random French porn star and was now the father to a nearly one-year old son. We don’t know how music’s most high-profile, and most emotional, rapper managed to keep this news under wraps for so long, but it’s making for a great Halloween costume, so thanks, Drizzy!

What you’ll need: A beard, Timberland boots, and a large OVO sweatshirt or jacket (taping the logo onto other clothes is okay too, we guess), and baby doll tucked into the inside pocket of your OVO swag. Remove the baby from your clothes periodically throughout the night, saying “shhh” each time.

A JUUL:

The JUUL is 2018’s newest version of the e-cig. It looks like a USB, but is as skinny as you were in high school. Everyone and their mother has a JUUL, so obviously this costume is a must for this spooky season.

What you’ll need: Black mini dress, DIY Juul Sign, DIY Juul Pod hat

Yodelling Boy:

Only in 2018 can an 11-year old boy yodelling in a Wal-Mart go viral. Honestly, I have no jokes to make about this, because Mason Ramsey is a national treasure.

What you’ll need: Red bowtie, button down white shirt, cowboy leather belt buckle, blue jeans, cowboy boots

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, BOYS AND GHOULS!

By: Hunter Sol

[cherylsvixens]

Pink Skies

PINK SKIES — you are my favorite everything. been telling girls that since i was 16. shut up, i love you. you’re my best friend. ( pink skies, lany )

REQUEST — archie comforts his best friend.

WORD COUNT — 2.3k

NOTES — a late v-day gift from me in the form of head-over-heels archie and his aloof best friend, the reader. this was originally going to be a quick little piece about y/n spraining her ankle and archie being her overprotective boyfriend; somewhere along the line, it ended up becoming archie trying to keep y/n’s mind off jason on her first valentine’s day without him. ( requests: open )

“AND LASTLY, RIVERDALE High and its River Vixens want me to wish you all a very lucky Valentine’s Day.” As if the seductively indolent slurring of her words wasn’t already saturated in sexual innuendo, Y/N Y/L/N then drops her left eyelid into a cocky-wink-unhinged-jaw-combo. Archie struggles to contain the dance of his thin lips, as if a sudden jerk or spontaneous movement could shatter the frangible moment between best friends, but then wolf-whistles, hoots, and hollers erupt from his classmates, and he’s left with shards; a television in the corner of the room, the outro of Riverdale’s Morning Announcements, a fading screen, a teacher shushing his now animated peers.

Irises fabricated of molten gold and honey veer to his left, where Betty Cooper sits in their homeroom class, where she’s always sat in their homeroom class. Luck would have it that the pair’s surnames were alphabetical neighbors, and in a time like this, Archie is grateful for the blonde serving as his focal point. Betty rolls her pinkened brims into her mouth and shrugs, physically saying, ‘sorry the best friend you’re in love with is such a slut!’ The blonde, herself, would never verbalize such a statement, but he’s sure she’s thinking it. She’s probably had more than a slick thought or two about the trail of flings and shortcomings the River Vixen’s left behind since the unfortunate demise of her boyfriend, Jason Blossom—especially upon discovering that Y/N was the friend Archie chose to fall in love with, and not the girl who actually loves him back.

It’s all been very messy, this year (problematic might be a better word, a word Y/N would say), a continuous thread of nadirs that ought to break under the weight of their own misfortunes. He’s seen Y/N heave sobs over an open casket, heard her voice go raw as she spoke of Jason, watched her die all over again when she learned that her boyfriend was not the golden boy mask he’d woven for her; and she’s seen Archie break, enveloped him in her arms and allowed him to mourn a relationship that never should’ve been, listened, and comforted, and bent over backwards for him when she could hardly stand upright for herself on most days. Somewhere amidst the timeline of glueing themselves back together, it cracked down on him like an epiphany: She’s his favorite person.

And what better day to tell someone that than V-Day?

Betty tethers Archie’s cognition back to his current surroundings with a flick of her toe to his ankle. “Bell rang,” she says, gathering her books into the crook of her arm. Only after he’s stood from his seat and swung the straps of his backpack across his shoulders does the blonde ask, “You gonna tell her today?” Unprompted, she continues, “Yanno, that you like her?”

He’s become so accustomed to denying it over the months (no, they’re just friends; no, she’s dating someone else; no, he isn’t interested in her like that) that his tongue’s sputtering out a ‘what?’ before he can even process it.

Identical brows, somewhat darker than the flaxen waves growing out her scalp, perk. “Don’t tell me you’re chickening out, Archie. It’s Y/N’s first Valentine’s Day without Jason, you have to make it memorable for her.” Betty gesticulates when she’s passionate; Archie has to duck his head to miss a flying hand.

“I’m not–I’m not chickening out, Betty. I’ve” —Passersby stumble their way around Archie, who’s abruptly stopped feet away from Y/N’s locker— “actually got something planned.”

The blonde follows the jut of Archie’s head over to the woman of the hour. She hasn’t neared her locker yet, still on the adjacent side of the hall, immersed in conversation with Valerie Brown and Josie McCoy. Archie knows even the vaguest of outlines of her, though, knows the coiled tendrils that plummet past the nape of her neck, knows the silver hoops that always dangle from her lobes, knows her toothy smile like diamonds embedded in her gums, knows the laugh he spends most of his time with her goading. Betty does not know her in a similar fashion, and only recognizes Y/N for who she is once she’s fumbling with her padlock—and then steps aside so Josie can do it for her.

The following seconds are so agonizingly tedious that Archie’s heart swells in anticipation.

One: Y/N opens her locker.

Two: Y/N’s full lips part.

Three: Quaking fingers extract a bouquet of yellow petals bound in ribbon.

“Those are the roses you gave me and Ronnie.”

Archie grins. “Yeah.”

Betty reiterates her previous statement, stringing her words together in that patronizing way reserved for naughty and aloof children. “Those are the roses you gave me and Ronnie.” Archie doesn’t know why she repeats herself. “Yellow roses mean friendship, Archie.”

Huh. That’s certainly not the message the ginger wanted to get across.

The curve of his lips falters gradually, and then all at once. “I didn’t know the colors had meanings!”

“Didn’t you ask the florist?”

“Florist? One of my dad’s employees was selling flowers out of his trunk.”

“You bought me, Ronnie, and Y/N trunk flowers?”

“Archiekins!”

Matching flushed countenances swing to Y/N’s beaming disposition. Fluid as the water, as all her movements are, she jumps him, limber legs fastening around his waist and long arms clasping at his neck. The friendship roses, still entangled in her digits, rest on his shoulder. “I lovelovelove the flowers sooo much. And the card, it’s too fuckin’ cute!”

“Card?” Betty echoes. The singer’s embarrassed to admit he’d forgotten the girl was there.

A dimple hollows into Y/N’s cheek. Archie’s grip underneath her thighs tightens, determined to keep her balanced even as she unfurls one hand from around him to showcase the cheesy Valentine’s card he printed online. The Guy Fieri meme had seemed like a good idea in pretense—she likes the cooking channel, she likes memes—but the slow arch of his friend’s eyebrow is a silent shit on that thought.

“Ay, lil mama, let me go down to your Flavortown?” she reads, an amalgamation of disgust and what the fuck? weaving her words together with a pretty bow. “Archie!”

“Isn’t it so funny?” Y/N interrupts, unperturbed by the girl’s exasperated timbre. “I haven’t even seen that one on Twitter.”

For all it’s worth, Betty does force the corners of her mouth into a polite grin. “Very funny,” she agrees, then shoots daggers above Y/N’s head. “Not very romantic, however.”

“'Cause it isn’t supposed to be romantic, Betts. Me and Archie are just friends. See? Yellow roses mean friendship.”

The ground opens up and swallows him whole.

(Or, at least, he wishes it had.)

Smack! Thwack! Thwop!

It’s a scene straight from a teen romance movie; his hand is bent at the wrist, thick digits enclosed around the fourth pebble he’d found by the Y/L/N siblings’ tree house, when the girl divides her baby pink curtains. Ignited is the pulse in his chest, the mere sight of her bathed in her bedroom’s warm lighting sending his heart into a flurry of rampant thumps. Y/N appraises him for a beat and then lifts her windowpane.

“What is your childhood trauma, Archibald Andrews? Do we know?” Archie isn’t foolish enough to be disheartened by the slice of her tongue. He’s witnessed the uncoming and, later, redoing of the girl too many times to shy away from her at her most vulnerable. And it’s sweet, he thinks, in their own sort of way. Everyone gets Y/N, the River Vixen or Y/N, the Femme Fatale, but he gets the Y/N that sheds her falsified smile and overzealous antics, and just is. She’s so busy compelling her peers to forget she was one wedding ring away from being a widow that she rarely is.

The material of his button-down stretches across his shoulders in a boyish shrug. “Too many 80s movies with my dad, I think.”

“Evidently,” she remarks, tucking her chin into her soft open palm. “I find it hard to believe you couldn’t find a date tonight.”

Truthfully, he hadn’t been searching for one. “Didn’t want one,” he shouts. “I wanna spend tonight with my best friend.”

Y/N dips her head, ponytail sliding against her right cheek. “That’s sweet, but I’m not gonna be a good time.”

“Shit, I always have a good time when you’re around.”

“It’s gonna take me hours to put on my makeup, get dressed, find the right shoes.”

“Then don’t.”

“You really should be getting to second base with a girl right now, Archiekins.”

“You’re the only girl I want.” Shock blesses the apathetic hue of her eyes. Her lips part, and her brows elevate, and she just looks at him, like she’s waiting for the punchline. Archie delivers: “To be with. Tonight. You’re my best friend and you, you need someone. You need me.”

Her stiff posture alleviates. He can breathe again. “Meet me by the front door.”

(The second crack.)

Riverdale's—the town with pep!—greatest woe is the girl they’ve swallowed under passing vehicles and manicured lawns and streets that turn desolate after midnight, under colonial homes and suburban families with 2.5 kids and a golden retriever. She’s destined for events better than graduating high school, and enrolling in the next town over’s community college, and returning to begin the mundane life of the previous generation’s. So if anyone breaks out of this town, it’s going to be Y/N. While he has her, though, Archie’s just gonna count his mini blessings.

Their mode of transportation to Pop’s is Mr. Andrews’ junky jalopy. A month and a half of strenuous labor (chores), busting his ass at construction sites, and maintaining a high B average was a fair exchange for the chance to drive Y/N around for once. It isn’t that Archie’s uncomfortable or emasculated by the girl in the passenger seat being a year older than him—believe you him, it takes a lot more to even bruise his ego—but he wants today to be special. It’s his last opportunity to bury her memories of Jason with his body.

“What are you thinkin’ about over there?” the sophomore inquires, shifting his gaze from the road for a well-deserved glimpse.

She segues into a different topic. “This your song?”

Pride clutches the boy’s sharp features. She can recognize his voice. “Yeah. You like it?”

Y/N hums, a discernible tune from his guitar. “You’re good with words.”

“Thank you. What are you thinkin’ about?”

She says it, and he slams down on the breaks. Their automobile lurches forward; his seatbelt thrusts him back into the torn pleather seat; Y/N nearly slips out of her own.

(“I don’t think Jason loved me.”)

Archie Andrews has never heard a bigger load of bullshit in his life.

He wishes he had—really, he does. How easy it would be if Jason hadn’t loved Y/N, if she’d been another name scrawled in their 'fuckboy handbook,’ as Veronica labelled it, if he’d hit it and quit it and left her. This agonizing uphill battle that seemingly never plateaus wouldn’t exist. Y/N would be his girl, and he’d be her guy, and who’s Jason Blossom? His existence would be like grains of sand slipping through the interstices of their fingers. He wouldn’t have to see her die every fucking day; Cause of Death: Grief. Y/N is so overraught with grief some days that God, does he wish Cheryl’d been an only child.

Of course Jason Blossom loved her. Jason Blossom had to love her. Because nothing is ever delivered to him with a golden spoon in its mouth.

Because she is Y/N Y/L/N, and it is utterly impossible to not be bewitched by her.

“And you said you passed your driver’s test?” she asks, her shade-too-innocent tone delineating a joke. Archie’s lost his appetite for jokes.

“Is that what you’re spending your Valentine’s Day thinking about? Y/N, he loved you. If there’s an afterlife, he still loves you. And maybe it hadn’t started out that way, but that’s the way it is now. Look, th-there’s a lot of stuff being dug up about Jason, and he isn’t who any of us thought he was, but what we can’t dig up—what no one can dig up—is that he didn’t love you. You know this.”

Curious gaze scans his profile, absorbing the thin line of his lips, the skin between his brows marred with creases, the eyelashes that dust the apples of his cheeks with every blink.

“Do you love me?”

Archie’s spine straightens, head tilting to meet her wide optics. This is the shot he’s been waiting for—"you know the answer to that, too"—but he decides against taking it. It isn’t a question of when he’s ready to tell her just how much he adores her, it’s a question of when is she? And she isn’t ready, not quite yet.

He’ll wait.

He was willing to wait 'til he was 18 to make his relationship with Jennifer public.

He can wait for Y/N.

“You’re good with words, Archibald Andrews. Very good.” Her lips curve into a glossed crescent, the most honest smile he’s ever spotted on her delicate countenance. “And you’re my favorite person.”

Cloud 9 looks like the effervescent pull of his lips. “You’re my best friend.”

So, it goes like this:

“Thanks for the best V-Day ever, Archiekins. I mean it.”

“Of course, anything for you.”

“And thanks for paying for all the fries I ate.”

“I, uh, I didn’t pay? I thought you did.”

“I left my wallet in my car, I thought you did.”

“Well, it looks like we don’t pay for food anymore.”

Curls fall down Y/N’s backside like rivulets as she tips her head and laughs. She then shifts her weight to the tips of her beaten-down converse, puckers an already full pout, and misses his mouth just centimeters to the left, designating a kiss at a pink corner.

And Archie loves her, he really does.

[fadingfartconnoisseur]

AK Monthly Recap: December 2016

And just like that, 2016 is over. It couldn’t have come soon enough. I didn’t buy into the “Fuck 2016” memes until the election in November, and then I was fully on board. Talk about an awful year.

Now that it’s 2017, even though it’s just an arbitrary difference, I feel like a lot of people will be able to let go of anger and begin welcoming more positivity into their lives. I feel inspired to get a lot of work done this year.

I already recapped a lot of this month in my best of the year posts, so let’s push on through and talk about what made this month special.

Destinations Visited

New York, New York

Munich, Nuremberg, Bamberg, Regensburg, and Passau, Germany

Reading and Lynn, Massachusetts

Favorite Destinations

Regensburg really jived with me — its small size, its pastel colors, its many espresso bars.

Nuremberg is fun and has the best Christmas market ever.

Highlights

The big travel highlight was my Christmas market trip to Bavaria. Uncharacteristically, I wrote the post before the month’s end, so you can check it out here: Christmas in Bavaria.

That was a nice trip. An easy trip. A chilled out trip. A trip that I planned and got to enjoy on my own terms, which is exactly what I needed at the time. A trip where most of the itinerary involved aimless wandering, taking trains, and drinking various warm beverages.

I also got to see lots of blogger friends, spent time with a reader in Passau, and met up with a friend I met in Colombia in Munich!

Spending Christmas at home. I still feel crazy guilty for missing Christmases in 2010, 2012 and 2013, so it’s always good to go home and spend time with my family, drink a lot of port with my dad, and do a lot of cooking with my mom.

I also sent my first Christmas cards ever! This is one of the things I looked forward to most when getting a place of my own! I definitely wanted to send a funny card that wasn’t the usual sad-single-girl-drinking-and-eating-her-sorrows-away-at-Christmas variety. So I chose to do something different…

Spending New Year’s in Harlem. I haven’t done much on New Year’s over the past few years, mostly due to memories of walking through deep snow in high heels in downtown Boston to spend $75 on a cover charge (but hey, free glass of champagne!), but I wanted to go out this year. The best thing? Two bars in my neighborhood were having a New Year’s pajama party. My sister and I went and it was so nice to be comfy while drinking spiked Capri Sun packets!

Two great New York activities. I had a great time gallivanting around New York this month, but two activities stand out: first, my friend Oneika and I went to a holiday showcase of Amateur Night at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. They were all 21 and under — and we were both blown away at how good some of the singers and musicians were! Such a cool event, and it was nice to see so many families with kids in the audience.

The other was when my friends Amy and Anubha came into town. On a whim, we decided to go to Death and Co., a popular cocktail bar in the East Village. Well, we picked the right night — it was their 10-year anniversary and all their expensive cocktails were just $5! So much fun.

This month I got my hair re-keratined and left it in a long time. I left the keratin in about 88 hours before washing it (48 isn’t enough and I aim for 72) and as a result, my hair has never been this straight this long! I don’t have to do a thing — I just let it dry and it’s perfect.

Also, you really don’t realize how bad your hair looked until you get it done and it looks normal again! I look like a hobo in that top pic!

And I joined a gym! Finally. I joined Equinox, one of the nicer gym chains in New York, because I will only work out if I have somewhere fancy and nice where I enjoy going. And Equinox has tons of cool classes and Kiehl’s products in the bathrooms and it is the cleanest gym I’ve ever seen. (PS — are you interested in joining an Equinox? Give them my name, Kate McCulley, and you can get a free weeklong trial.)

Challenges

The biggest challenge was one that I’ve mentioned previously: I fell and hit my head in Germany and ended up with a concussion. It was the stupidest thing ever (I wanted to make a funny video for Snapchat, fell backwards, and greatly missed my target when I hit my head on the corner of the bed frame).

I felt okay at the time, but I suddenly started feeling nauseated and dizzy with a headache about 20 hours later. I then started wondering whether I should see a doctor and get a CT scan.

I want to reiterate to you all: please see a doctor if you have a head injury. You can die from a seemingly innocuous head injury — sadly, Natasha Richardson died after hitting her head while skiing, and thinking of her is what got me to go to the hospital.

I went to the ER in Munich and it was a relatively quick and easy experience, though it cost me 300 EUR ($316) for not being an EU resident and having EU health insurance. That money will be refunded to me through my World Nomads travel insurance — yet another reason why to use travel insurance! The good news is that there were no abnormalities on my scan, though I definitely had a concussion.

The doctors cleared me to fly home the next day, but that flight ranks among the worst I’ve ever taken. There’s nothing like having a pounding headache and being unable to focus on your Kindle or the screen in front of you and even though you turned up your headphones, your plane is full of American college students returning from a semester abroad and discussing everything they did in Great. Loud. Slow. Detail. (Yes, I realize this is karma for how annoying I was during my own semester abroad.)

Also, someone burst into my hotel room in Nuremberg. The front desk gave a man a key to my room by mistake. It was scary to have a stranger burst in after midnight when you’re hanging out in your underwear. Lesson learn — always double-lock your door or use a doorstop, even in the hotels in the developed world that seem nice.

Most Popular Post

My Worst Travel Moments of 2016 — everyone always loves this annual post!

Other Posts

My Best Travel Moments of 2016 — all my favorite memories.

My Favorite New Destinations of 2016 — did your favorites make the cut?

My Favorite Reads of 2016 — the top 12 books from a year of hardcore reading.

Christmas in Bavaria in 25 Photos — an overview of my Christmas market trip before I write a big guide later this year.

Win a Trip to Chile (including Easter Island!) — one of the better contests I’ve featured lately. Contest now closed.

Most Popular Instagram Photo

Far and away, this photo of Nuremberg at night was my most popular shot. But the professional shot I edited in Lightroom afterward came out even better.

For real-time coverage of my travels, follow me at @adventurouskate on Instagram and Snapchat. I’m getting close to 100k on Instagram!

What I Read This Month

I took a break from reading to recover from my concussion this month, so I didn’t read as much as usual.

Swing Time by Zadie Smith — I named this book one of my favorite reads of 2016 in my earlier post. Two girls grow up in a rough neighborhood in northwest London. Both are poor. Both are biracial. Both love and live to dance — but only one of them has the talent. The book follows their intersecting lives and the twists and turns of their friendship over decades. If you enjoyed Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels, you need to read this book next.

The book asks a lot of questions at the end. Just how much are we a product of our upbringing? What do we owe to the people who raised us? If we hide a key aspect of our personality, is it going to come out at some point? I loved this book and can’t wait to dive into Zadie Smith’s other works.

I also tried to read Strangers in Their Own Land by Arlie Russell Hochschild, but honestly, I couldn’t get past 25%. The book was a lot harder to get into than I expected, and it was so frustrating to see Louisianans vote against their own interests again and again. People in coastal communities destroyed by environmental disasters caused by lack of environmental regulation, where everyone was getting cancer and you could no longer eat the fish because they would kill you, would say, “No, the real problem is environmental regulation.”

I get that it’s an important book; perhaps I’ll finish it when I cool down a bit.

I also read two self-help books this month.

What I Listened To This Month

CHANCE THE MOTHERFUCKING RAPPER! I’ve been hearing great things about Chance the Rapper’s new album Coloring Book for months, but it took me this long to actually give it a listen. And I fell in love with it immediately.

This isn’t an ordinary hip-hop album. It’s a gospel hip-hop album — far less audacious than Kanye West’s attempt with The Life of Pablo and with far better, down-to-Earth results. This album is the warmest, happiest, most inspirational hip-hop album I’ve heard in quite some time. And I think it might be a good “gateway album” for people who claim to hate rap.

I adore this album. It’s my favorite album of the year. And the song above, “Finish Line/Drown,” is the perfect introduction.

Coming Up in January 2017

I’ve got a grand total of zero travel plans for this month, and I’m happy about it. Even as dark and dreary as January is, I don’t mind staying put in New York. September through December were very busy travel months for me (especially when you include three home visits) and January will be a good time to catch my breath and get work done.

I will be speaking at the New York Times Travel Show on Friday, January 27, at 11:00 AM. This is a Friday morning, and as such it’s more a talk for the travel industry, but if you happen to not be working and want to come by, I’d love to see you. I’ll be floating around the travel show on the other days as well. You can get a $5 discount off industry tickets and $3 discount off consumer tickets with the code SPEAK007.

What are your plans for January? Share away!

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[allthebestscreennamesaregone63]

I forgot about this post... I need to reread MBS.

McCracken the 10 Man can do everything Milligan can do, backwards in business shoes.