#i’ve also smoked so much weed with my brother today this kid doesn’t quit

[hellfireeddiemunson]

i think i will take a nap. a christmas nap.

[sometimes-i-write-4-you]

Steven Hyde x reader

Butterflies. Terrible.

Trigger warnings: weed (probably badly written cause I don't smoke but I tried), cursing, some angst I guess.

I sat in the basement, watching TV and eating chips. I was in my brothers superman pajama, which I steal from time to time from the laundry. He didn't care until the time Steven saw me wearing it and now he won't stop reminding Eric his pjs fit his baby sister. To be fair, he had it for years, it's just really stretchy, and I have to tie a double not for the pants not to fall. Steven didn't care about the small details tho.

It was quite, which was unusual. The longer I sat there the more it bothered me. Something was off. Why isn't my brother here? Where's his friends? They can't be at the hub, they'd invite me. Sure I was a year younger, but I had weed connections plus, it is my birthday. Wait a minute. It's my birthday. I turned off the tv and went upstairs.

"Oh, honey, why are you still in your pajamas?" My mom asked when you entered the kitchen. "Because only you, dad and Eric are going to see me, and You saw me in my pink faze, these superman pajamas are an upgrade" i replied, taking some water out of the fridge. "We are not the only ones who are going to see you" My mom said, but once she realised what it meant, she hurried up and added "not because i'm throwing you a party, it's just that, um, Steven lives here! he'll see you" she said. "Yeah, Steven already saw me wearing this, and as much as I hate being seen in the same outfit twice I could not care less" I said, and left the kitchen to go to my room. "Wait!" My mom said before I could follow through with my plan. "I need you to go get some sugar from the store. So put on some normal clothes, preferably fancy. Something you'd wear for a party, you know, just so that people can look at you and know you are the birthday girl. A birthday girl, in general" my mom said. "Fine" I sighed, and went upstairs to get ready.

I got to the store, wearing a bottom up with a fun print on it tucked in a Jean skirt. My shoes had a small heel, just enough to a little fancy, yet casual if paired with the right outfit. Now, where's the sugar… I finally found it, and went to the counter.

"Hi, (y/n)" the cashier smiled at me, "happy birthday" he added, taking the sugar from my hands. "Hi Derek" I smiled at him. Derek is my classmate (and my weed connection), who is incredibly hot with his dark hair, and eyes as blue as the sea, but he's as desperate as Fez if not more. "Thanks" I added, just to be nice. "and that'll be 2 dollars, should be 2.50 but, I'll give you a happy birthday discount" he said, "I also forgot to give someone 50 cents back, so..". I laughed,  he was charming in his own way. "Well, I'll see you later at your party" he said, waving goodbye. "I fucking knew it" you muttered as you waved him goodbye. 

I got back home to find Hyde sitting in the basement, wearing a decent button up. “Yo, Hyde, whatcha doing?” I asked, sitting down next to him. “Watching TV in hopes your mom won’t call me upstairs for your party. I am not going to hang out with a bunch of 17 year olds” he said. “You’re hanging out with me” i said, “and i was 16 until today” i said. “Yeah, but you’re forman’s sister” he replied, ending the conversation. “By the way, 17 suites ya” he said. “Thanks hyde” I smiled. “Ya know what, as a birthday gift, here, take a sip of my beer” he said, handing me the can in his hand (obviously it was wrapped so it looked like a can of orange soda). “Hyde. I drank with you guys more than a sip of beer” I said. “Fine, take the whole can. Women, you give ‘em a finger they grab your wallet” he sighed as i took the can off of his hand. I laughed and took a sip. “Steven. Come upstairs. I need your help with something only a man can help me with” i hear my mom. “Ask donna!” Hyde called back. I laughed. “STEVEN” my mom yells. “Well, (y/n), i gotta go" he says, tapping on my thigh. I smiled at him, "bye for now". Gid, I hope he didn't notice me blushing.

A few moment later I was called upstairs too to find my mom, my dad, my brother and the gang plus a few of my classmates. "Suprise!" They all called in unison. "Wow! I cannot belive it, mom, you throw me a party?" I said, and Derek looked confused. "I told you I'll see you at the party-" "shhhh" I cut him off. My mom bought the fact I was surprised every single year. She looked at me, then at him, confused. "You? Really? I do not…. Okay fine mom, I knew about the party. I know every year" I finally admit. "I can not belive you…" she opened her mouth, but gave up and left the livingroom, allowing us kids have fun. My dad walked behind her, in a mission to comfort her. 

The hours passed by, and most of the people left. It was now the gang, me and Derek. Turns out the guy actually has a personality. We laughed and talked, and I was actually having a decent time. I sat with him on the couch,  drinking a beer sponsored by Kelso. "Okay, okay, so here's a joke. Once there was this doctor, and he visited a mental hospital, y'know, for like, crazy people. Then one of the guys just slaps him, like" he said, and then softly "slapped" me. His hand stayed on my cheek for a moment, but soon enough he needed it for his overly dramatic way of talking. So many hand gestures. "And then the doctor goes to the principal and he's all like, "why did this guy slap me?" And the principal is like "that's just how they say hi here" so the doctor is like, okay, whatever, and he keeps walking around and then that guy slaps him not once, but 10 times. Now, one time is acceptable, y'know, it's polite to say hello, but 10? That's crossing a line" Derek said, and I laughed. "I'm not even at the punchline!" Derek smiled, nudging my shoulder and smoothly resting his hand on my shoulder as he took a sip of his own beer. "So anyway, he goes back to the principal, and he tells him just that. The principal looks at him and say, "well, this one stutters" " Derek smiles. I laugh, and so does the rest of the gang who apparently listened. The only one not laughing was Hyde, "yeah, saw that joke on playboy too" he said. "There are jokes on playboy?" Eric asks. I look at him, mortified. I did not need to know my brother.. uses these. "Because I don't… I don't have any, so like, maybe I should get one to check out the jokes" Eric said, attempting to save himself from Donna's stare. She rolled her eyes and decided to let it go. "Well, it's getting late, I should probably head home" Derek said, and took my hand, dragging me to the door and hugging me goodbye.

"Finally, I was dying for a smoke" Kelso sighed, and grabbed a metal box off of his pocket, taking out a joint as the rest of the group arranged in the infamous circle. "Y'know he is my weed guy, right?" I say, and he looks at me surprised. "Are you kidding me? He can get you weed, he looks good, he is funny, and so clearly into you? Girl, make a move" Donna says, nudging you. "He is not good looking" Hyde says, taking a puff off of the joint Kelso just passed him. "He is" Jackie said, "like, really good looking" I agreed. "Whatever, man" Hyde sighed, giving up, "but you gotta admit, the weed I get is better, I'm better looking and I'm also funnier" Hyde said. "Whatever, man" I mimic his tone, taking the joint off of his hands. "Guys,do you think I have a chance with the pretty lady that was at the party?" Fez asked. "You mean Josaleen? I've seen you talking to her" Jackie said. "I don't know her name, she said it but I was focused on… something else" Fez admitted. "Oh, definitely Josaleen. She was wearing this top, i wouldn't even call it a top, her boobs were completely out, she's such a slut. She'll sleep with anyone" Jackie said, taking a break from talking to inhale the smoke, "so no, I don't think you have a chance Fez". "But I am anyone" Fez said. He sounded so broken, "and she gave me her number, look!" He added, showing us a piece of paper he kept in his pocket. "Sweet!" Kelso smiled, taking the number off of Fez's hands, "thanks men, I'll call her later".

The next day, I went to the basement to find Hyde smoking all alone. "Hey man" I said, jumping on the couch from behind it, grabbing the joint off of his hands. "Hey" he says, taking the rolled cigarette before I could smoke it. "Hyde, are you okay? You were kinda quiet at the circle. You barely even laughed when kelso stole the number of the hot girl from Fez" I said, resting my hand on his far shoulder. "Yeah, I'm fine" he said, blowing the smoke and handing me the joint. I took it, "yeah okay". I gave up getting anything out of him. He just had no emotions and I had to face it. This is why I said yes when Derek asked me out over the phone two minutes ago. He doesn't make butterflies appear in my stomach like Hyde does, and his touch doesn't burn my skin but whatever, Hyde is a non-reachable dream. "Listen, uhm, Derek asked me out" I said, a part of me hoping he'd get jealous. "poor guy" he said. "Why's that?" I ask him. "Well, you crushed his heart. You shouldn't have let him hold your hand and be all over you, got his hopes high" Hyde said as he took his cigarette back. "Actually I said yes. Donna was right, ya'know, he is hot, funny and got weed connections" I say, moving my hand that still rested on him. He faced me, shocked. "But you deserve better than that drug-dealing-playboy-reading, pot-head teen" Hyde said. "You're a drug-dealing-playboy-reading, pot-head teen!" I reply, slightly amused but mostly upset. "Well, I'm better at it!" Hyde replies, and gets up. "Whatever, man" he says, and makes his way to the door. "No, non of that whatever man shit, hyde. Sit down and tell me why the fuck do you care" I say, and Hyde turns around. "He's just trying to get in your pants cause your hot" Hyde replies. "I- did you just say I'm hot?" I say, tempted to laugh. "No, I didn't. Look, (y/n), all I know is that you can do better than him" Hyde says, turning off the bearly used cigarette and resting it in the ashtray. He finally sat back down next to me. "Look, Hyde, in case you missed it, there aren't any guys lining up to date me. Is it so hard for you to believe someone can be actually interested in me for more than sex?" I sigh. "It's not, you're a cool person, (y/n) it's just… god, how do I explain that? I don't want you to get hurt okay? You're like… my best friend's sister, and…" he started, but gave up what he wanted to say. "And…" I ask. "Do you promise not to laugh?" He says. "Sure" I say, intrigued. "Well, it's just that… When i’m around you, i have this annoying feeling like- like there are butterflies in my stomach. Have you ever felt that? It’s terrible" he says. "I know what you mean, got someone that makes me feel like that too. It is terrible" I agree. "Derek, I'm assuming? I really think that-" he starts, but something cuts him off, and I am proud to say that something is my lips crushing into his. He breaks the kiss quickly. "Woah, man, hold up" he smiles. "God, I'm so sorry" I say, covering my mouth, "i- I guess I misunderstood you" I say, getting up. "Nononono you didn't, you didn't!" He calls, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the couch. I fall right in his lap. "I just wanted to make sure you mean it" he admits, looking anywhere but into my eyes. "I do mean it" I say, cupping his cheeks as he pulls me back into a second kiss. This time we are far more into the kiss, our lips move in perfect synchronization. It was amazing, I bet Hyde is a much better kisser than Derek. "Wait" I say, cutting off the kiss even tho I wish the moment would last forever. "I need to cancel on Derek".

[just-another-writer-cherry]

The one where Harry is a drug addict and Y/N fines out

Warning: mentions of drugs

Requested: yes

Type: imagine

A/N: I don’t know how drugs work, so yeah I did my best, also kids don’t do drugs it’s not good and it only hurts you more. Anyways, thanks Lovie for the request you know who are, I hope you guys really enjoy this one.

Harry’s POV

Acceptance, something us people are very stubborn about.

Help, something we refuse to take even if we needed or when we needed the most.

I don’t when or how it happened, but it did and little did I know it was going to be the end of me.

Drugs

I Harry Edward Styles am addicted to drugs. It was all supposed to be innocent one time thing. Just take puff and move on. But it didn’t, it started out with weed, I was hanging with some friends when they ask me if I wanted some.

I said yes

Big mistake

Then I moved on to marijuana, next thing you know I’m snoring cocaine. Than suddenly I fine myself trying something new. Crack. Fuck! How did this even happened? It started out with what I thought was just fun and then it becomes a stress reliever. People around you go saying they understand what the pressure of being a musician is. But they don’t they simply don’t. And when you start to talk about the stress and your feelings, people tell you it’s your fault for using such career. Hell! Was it that bad to follow my dreams.

Anyways now I’m here once again meeting with James, my drug dealer, the one that delivers the goods. I see him walk towards me, it’s hard to forget what someone face looks like after meeting with them for over a month. I’m currently dress as if I was a gym. Why you might ask, well nobody knows this side of me, so I need to keep a cover. That and I can’t afford to lose the people around me. My mom, sister, my princess y/n, my friends. I just can’t, specially y/n I can’t afford to lose the best thing that has happened to me. I’m madly in love with that woman, she does things to me, makes me feel things that no one has ever made me feel before.

I’m snap out my thoughts by a voice

It’s James

“Hey brother” he greeted me

“Hey, did you bring it? I ask him, looking around making sure no one was taking pictures or anything

“Course I did, the usual right?”

“Yes, um here” I handed him $500

“It’s hice doing business with you sir, have a nice high” he says his goodbyes

I find myself walking home to my beautiful girlfriend with a brand new bag of weed and cocaine to smoke my stress away.

God what have I done.....

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N POV

Harry has been acting weird lately, not that good kind of weird. Had been distance, I try to talk to him but it doesn’t work, he either avoids it or just changes the subject. Either way, today he told to me he was going to the gym, right before diner. Strange but I decide not to question him either, just go with flow.

As I’m cooking dinner in the kitchen I hear our front door open

“Babe, I’m home!” Harry said, dropping his gym bag on the floor

“In the kitchen H” I reponded him

“Smells good in here, what ya making sweets?” He ask coming towards, planting a sweet kiss on my forehead

In that moment I smell something weird on him, almost like weed. It can’t be, he won’t, he knows better than drugs.

“Your favorite” I say with a sweet tone of voice at the same time putting a sweet smile across my face looking up at him

“Did you go to gym?” I ask him, he isn’t sweating or smells like sweat, plus he doesn’t have his headphones on or hanging anywhere

He gives me a strange look

“ course I did, why you ask darling?”

“Well for one you don’t smell like sweat and two your headphones aren’t hanging from anywhere ” I say as matter of fact

“Well that’s because I took a shower at the gym before coming here, I put my headphones in my gym back , lovie” he said,

“Right but you never take shower at the gym”

“Decided to change it up a bit today”

I just look at him for a second, he looks drained, pale, tired, dark circles underneath his eyes, god H what are you doing to yourself

“Go get change H, so you can come down on time for dinner” I tell

“Yes ma’am” he said and left the kitchen

Once he left, I turn the stove off and go where his gym bag is.

I pick it, open it and start looking around to see if I can fine something.

What I fine next makes me question wether I know the real Harry or not and wether he loves or not

I drop the gym bag, my shaky hand only holding a ziplock bag, tears form in my eyes

It’s not just any ziplock bag

One with drugs in it, if I had to guess it’s weed and cocaine

What have you done Harry

I’m in so much shock, I didn’t even notice Harry standing there, I look at him slowly, with red eyes trying to content my tears.

“Please tell me it’s not yours, please” tiny tears start to fall

“I can explain” it’s all he says,

I just look at him, disappointed, mad , hurt

“Explain then, tell me why in the fucking world you have drugs in your bag?!”

“I’m sorry”

He is crying, I’m crying we are crying it’s a mess

“Why?! Why Harry?! What did I do wrong?! I have always been there for you! Why?! I say throwing the bag of drugs on the floor

“I don’t know, it was supposed to be a one time thing I swear it” he says, crying sobbing

I give him a “are you kidding” kinda look

“Seriously Harry! You have to be fucking kidding me! Anne raised you better than this! Drugs are never and will never be a one time thing!” I screamed angry with tear rolling down my face

He stays quite, doesn’t say anything else

“I can’t even look at you right now” my tone is normal this time, I walk pass him, getting bag

He turns around

“Where are you going? Please tell me your not leaving, you can’t leave Y/N, please don’t leave me” he says

Harry tries to crap my arm but fails when I pull away

“I need to be away from you” it’s the only thing I say before I walk out the door

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

Harry’s POV

No no no she left, my love left, fuck how stupid could I’ve been. It’s all my fault. I’m crying, I’m a mess but I do the only thing I have been doing for the past few moments.

Drugs

I take the bag and get the weed out and roll it up

I start to smoke it but it’s not enough, I need to numb this feeling

I take the cocaine out, put it onto the table, make the lines and start to snore it

What have I become

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N

I walked like a block before I decide to call Anne, my crying as calm down now, it’s more so of a shock. I still can’t process what just happened. It’s a lot to take in. I’m in no condition to drive which is why I didn’t take the car. I’m scare I don’t know how Anne or Gem will react to this, Harry really took it too far this time.

I dial Anne phone number

( phone conversation) Anne Y/N

Hey

Hello sugar, are you okay?

I’m- can you please pick me up, I’m like a block away from our house

Yeah, of course. What did he do this time?

I will tell you once we get to your home

It must be really bad if you had to call me

It is

Ok hang in there sweet heart

Thanks Anne

(Phone coversation end)

I wait for like 15 min before I see Anne car, she stops in front me.

“Hey”

“Oh no, you’ve been crying, it’s that bad?”

I just nodded

The rest of the car ride is in silence

~~~~~~~~~

Once we arrive to Anne’s house the first thing I do is seat on the couch, she follows after me.

“Where is Gem? This is better with you two here”

“I’m here” Gem said coming from downstairs

“What did he do now?” Gem ask sitting besides Anne

“I can’t beat the bush around with this one, he is doing drugs guys and I don’t know how or when it happened” I say breaking down and crying

They both look shock, speech less

“No him, no my son” Anne says crying

“We have to help him” says Gemma

“ I don’t know anymore, I’m so mad and angry, I feel like I have fail him and our relationship”

“You haven’t failed anyone dear, you’ve done more than enough” Anne told me

“You’re right Gem we have to help him, I don’t what are we still doing here” I tell them and both of them nod in agreement

We get our bags and head to the car

~~~~~~~~~~

Anne park in the drive way, I’m the first one out the car, I open my bag in search for my keys. I get them out, Anne and Gem already behind me.

I open the door and the first thing we all notice is the smoke and smell of weed but the second thing worries me the most

A crying Harry, sitting on our living room floor. I start to walk towards him, the closer I get the more I can hear him whispering my name.

“Harry, baby it’s me, I’m here” I’m kneeling down in front of him, trying to separate his arms so he can look at me

“Y/N” he said

“Yes baby it’s me, are you okay? What have you done” I ask him

“I think he needs a cold shower y/n” Gem said

I look up at her and nod my head

“Anne can you help me get him off the floor”

“Yes dear”

“I’ll get him a change of clothes” Gem said

I gave Gem a nod. Anne and I both somehow manage to get him off the floor, we start to walk towards the shower. Anne gets out the bathroom and I start to undress Harry. I turn the water to cold.

“Get in with me please” he ask

“Course baby” I cant deny him anything at the moment

The water hits Harry first, he mumbles a “cold” I start to wash him, he starts to shake a little bit but I decide to just stay in for a bit

Once we are done with shower, I get out first and grab towels for both us. I rap a towel around his waist and around my body.

We get out the bathroom and walk up to our bedroom, that’s when I see Gem standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You’re stupid Harry, I left his clothes on the bed”

I nodded, Harry didn’t give her any reaction. I guess is from being drained from all the smoking and snoring he was doing before we got here. At the corner of my eye I see Anne cleaning the living room, little tears falling down her face.

God how did we get here

~~~~~

I change Harry into some fresh clothing as well as myself and set him down for nap, I stayed with him until he was completely asleep. Once I was sure he was asleep I got from the bed when down stairs.

I see Anne and Gem sipping on some tea, they both look drained, tired ,pale and I have a feeling I don’t look any better.

I walk towards them, I take a sit with them

“He is taking nap right now” I told them

“What are we gonna do?” ask Gem

“Help him” said Anne

~~~~~~~~~

3hrs later

The three of us are sitting on couch doing whatever when we hear Harry coming down the stairs

I was the first one to get up, I walk towards him and gave him a hug, he seems a little taken aback at my actions but quickly reciprocateds

“Have a nice nap?” I ask him once I pull back from the hug

He just nods

“Want some water sweet heart?” Anne ask from behind me

He just nods again, Anne walk towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water

“You’re stupid and deserve to get the beating daylights out of you, I would do it if it weren’t for your current state” yeah that’s Gem

“I know” he said, Anne comes out the kitchen and hands him the glass of water. He drinks it all in a blink of an eye

“I think we need to talk” I said

We all take a sit at the kitchen island, I sit on Harry’s lab, gem and Anne sit beside eachother in front of us

“When did you start?” Gem ask

“It was while I was on tour, I swear it was supposed to be a one time thing but I don’t know what happened, I guess the stress got too much. It’s not excused but it’s the truth”

“Have you tried to stop?” I ask him

“No I can’t, it’s part of my life now , I need it” he said and all I wanna do is cry

“ we are all here to help you” Anne said

“Why didn’t you told us earlier?” I ask

“I didn’t wanna lose you guys” he said with guilt in his tone.

“We will always be here for you, Sweets” Anne said

Gem and I nodded

“Thank you guys ” he said crying a bit, I hug him, then Gem and Anne join the hug

After our little group hug gem said

“Mom do I have your permission to beat the shit out of my stupid brother?”

“Hell yes you do” Anne said

“Even I agree” I said getting down from Harry lab

Harry just look at Gem who was holding a plastic knife , next thing you know he is running and Gem right behind him

Anne and I just look at eachother then we burst in a fit of laughter.

Then I knew we’ll be alright

[modestybae]

I wrote a recent post that made what I thought was a simple, uncontroversial point about early marriage as a solution for avoiding zina and all kinds of concomitant sins and social ills.

I've been absolutely *shocked* at the kinds of opposing statements some people have made, at the leaps of logic, at the vehemence of some people's disagreements with this fairly straightforward point.

Let's break this issue down a bit more, as there seems to be a need.

My initial claim: We as Muslim parents should try (as a collective) to facilitate marriage for young Muslim men and women so that they have less of a need/ excuse to go behind parents' backs and hook up/ date/ have a boyfriend or girlfriend/ watch porn.

Less haram stuff, more halal stuff.

Seems like a no-brainer. Or so I thought!

Some people's reactions:

-No, they should masturbate instead of getting married early.

This is one of the most shocking things I've ever heard a fellow Muslim say with a straight face. *Multiple* people have commented recommending masturbation while shooting down marriage as a solution for young adults.

A brother: "just have a wank, bro."

A sister: young men "should lower their gaze and are permitted by some scholars to relieve themselves (masturbate) as long as it doesn't become a habit. It's that simple."

Really? That simple, huh?

How have we come to this??

Anyway, let's continue.

-No, because divorce is worse than zina. Just "try getting divorced in today's society!"

-No, because "marriage doesn't prevent zina."

-No, because "marriage is not only for fulfilling sexual desires."

-No, because easy come easy go. Anything that comes too easily "won't be appreciated." You "can't have everything on a silver platter."

-No, because what about the children?

-No, because late-teen or college students are not emotionally mature and have no communication skills.

-No, because they first need to be settled and have built something to prove their competence.

-No, this solution is "too simple and idealistic."

-No, because "marriage steals childhood." (???)

-No, because who is going to provide?

-No, because you can't "deflect to earlier Islamic cultural practices" that are only "idealistic, simplistic, and unrealistic" for our modern times. Plus, "romanticized ideals from earlier times is not going to solve the problem of youth."

-No, because you just need self control and you need to learn to "regulate your behavior."

-No, because this "supports the trend of ghosting" and teaches people to "walk away from relationships."

-No, because people in their early 20's don't really know themselves and might change.

-No, we should instead "teach our kids to self-soothe as babies and teach them delayed gratification. Rape is a classic example of what happens when people don't have patience and want instant gratification. Marital rape included."

-No, because sexual urges "are actually quite easy for a lot of people to control!" And "if you can't stop yourself from having sex or you can't control your sexual desires, then there is something inherently wrong with your ability to self regulate your behavior."

-No, because marriage solves nothing. "Sexually deviant people will continue to be sexually deviant whilst married."

-No, because "it's difficult and problematic to compare today's society to the society of the Sahaba and the Prophet SAW."

-No, because "young girls shouldn't be groomed for marriage from the age of 12 just because horny testosterone plagued boys can't control themselves." And also, I "don't want my daughter's youth cut short just to save a young boy who can't control his sexual desires just because he has more testosterone than her."

-No. "Sex isn't everything!"

This sums up the majority of the reasons people brought up to disagree.

It would make this already-long post much too long to respond to each point individually, but here is my general reaction:

1. Marriage, Sex, and Zina:

Marriage is, in fact, one of the strongest and most primary ways to avoid zina. Yes. This is true. I cannot understand how some people try to deny this basic fact.

There are certainly some people who cheat even though they are married. I know this happens. Yet these outliers still do not invalidate the institution of marriage as a way that *on the whole* protects one from falling into zina. Islam encourages marriage as the default for most human beings, as this is more virtuous and safeguards against a plethora of كبائر, grave sins.

2. Masturbation:

How is masturbation a serious solution that some people prefer over marriage?? I am still astounded.

I think people may be confusing the idea that masturbation is preferable to zina, and make the blunder of asserting that masturbation must also therefore be preferable to getting married early. This is false. Masturbation and zina are both sins. There are degrees of sins, and zina has a hadd and is a graver sin than masturbation (which is ALSO still a sin). Getting married early is not a sin.

3. Marriage and Babies:

When I talk about early marriage for young adults (age range of 17-22), that doesn't mean I'm also recommending that they start having children immediately. You can be married and wait for several years before having kids. We all know this is very possible, right? It is a leap in logic to assume that marriage = instant parenthood.

4. Maturity, Readiness, and Preparation for Marriage:

Recommending early marriage does not preclude recommending proper childrearing (including teaching kids early on delayed gratification, patience, self-control, taqwa of Allah, healthy boundaries, etc) or proper marital training, anger management, healthy communication, emotional and psychosocial skills. All of these aspects are important. But they can all work together, no?

It is a leap in logic to assume that we have to choose between marrying as a young adult and emotional maturity.

When I recommend marriage for 17-22 age range, I am in no way trying to say marriage is a joke or a light matter to be played around with. It can be done in this age range with all due seriousness and responsibility and readiness.

5. Severity of Zina:

Zina is classed as a كبيرة , a major sin. Allah commands us clearly and severely not only to avoid falling into zina, but actually to avoid COMING NEAR zina.

وَلَا تَقْرَبُواْ ٱلزِّنَىٰٓ ۖ إِنَّهُۥ كَانَ فَٰحِشَةً وَسَآءَ سَبِيلًا.

"Do not go near adultery. It is truly a shameful deed and an evil way." (Surat Al-Isra', 32)

There are different types of zina, as we know from the hadith: zina of the eyes, zina of the hands, zina of the feet.

The reality is that zina comes with a whole host of concomitant sins. It doesn't just happen by itself. There are precursors to zina. It comes with خلوة (khalwa, blameworthy seclusion), تبرج (tabarruj, displaying feminine beauty), إختلاط (ikhtilat, inter-gender casual mixing), flirting, sexting, porn, masturbation.

And people get addicted. Some youths have serious porn addictions, others are addicted to masturbation, while others are addicted to the haram relationships they're in. They can't get out.

Knowing that "I can get married soon; I don't have to wait another whole decade before I am allowed a halal outlet" really helps young people. It gives hope. There's light at the end of the tunnel for them.

Making marriage difficult to attain is one way to shut the door in their faces, and so, in despair and spurred on by a gleeful Shaytan, they just shrug and masturbate/ watch porn/ hook up.

6. Libido: Girls vs Guys:

Some people are under the mistaken impression that early marriage serves only men. They seem to think that teenage girls and young women have little to no sexual urges and only teenage boys have those. This is false.

Many girls (starting from the onset of puberty and through young adulthood) have high libidos and strong sexual desires. Marrying earlier would tremendously help these girls and satisfy their desires and protect them from falling into sins. Marriage is NOT just a tool to help "horny testosterone plagued boys" at the expense of poor abused girls.

I know that anecdotal evidence may not count, but for what it's worth: I personally have known and worked with many girls and young women who have either skirted the territory of zina or fallen headfirst into it.

One Muslim girl who was a sophomore in high school (15 years old) joined the drama club just to meet after school with a non-Muslim male classmate so they could make out without her parents finding out.

One Muslim girl I know went to college deliberately far from her parents with the express purpose of going to parties and having sex. She "experimented" sexually with both men and women. She became so promiscuous that even her non-Muslim friends worried about her.

One young Muslim girl started secretly texting online with a non-Muslim American guy. She was 14 and he was 19. Now she's 21 and he's 26, still talking daily. She occassionally flies to meet him in a different state under the guise of visiting her older married siblings so that her parents don't find out. She goes out with him to eat, smoke weed, and chill. She knows that zina is a very bad sin, so she hasn't had sex with him, but she takes off her hijab when she's with him and wears crop tops that show her midsection and show off the bellybutton ring she secretly got.

Please open your eyes and see the reality of the young Muslim men and women raised in this secular society surrounded by promiscuity and hypersexuality.

Please don't deceive yourself or others regarding the enormity of kaba'ir like zina and masturbation. Don't minimize the gravity of these destroyers.

Please help Muslim youth.

- Umm Khalid

[calumcest]

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter one

[ao3]

have i ever mentioned my britpop au? i don’t think i have :) this is quite literally the definition of self-indulgence like genuinely this is so self-indulgent that it probably counts as a deadly sin and i have literally no justifications for it 

before anybody comes for me for starting another chaptered fic: i have 50k of this lined up and i’m still going at the speed of light (as sam can attest to) fear not we’re going to get there with this one i promise also for anyone still waiting for the soulmate au thats going to get finished too once this is out of my system 

i have an inordinate number of people to thank for putting up with me/this fic so let us begin: @tirednotflirting​ deserves every single ounce of praise and love i have to offer for reading this whole thing, listening to me talk about it, bouncing ideas with me, being so patient and kind about it, coming up with such brilliant ideas and for just generally being an all-round sweetheart. @calumftduke​ also deserves excessive praise and thanks for reading a big old chunk of this and being so sweet about it. @killingangels​ genuinely breathed life into this fic and cheered it on to the place it is today thank u for diving into a britpop phase with me. @ashesonthefloor​ and @clumsyclifford​ listened to me whine about this fic even though neither of them care and i truly owe them for that. @kaleidoscopeminds lets me thirst over the gallaghers but keeps me in my place about it which is truly the vibe check i need and also listened to me talk about this fic over the past few weeks and is just generally such a joy to speak to. i’m certain i’ve forgotten someone my brain has not been switched on in weeks now but anyone who’s listened to me talk about this over the past few weeks deserves a ticket straight to heaven honestly 

quick bit of vocab: our kid is a term used by siblings in manchester. not sure why i don’t understand mancunian culture myself but the gallaghers are always saying it in interviews and my mancunian friend concurred that it is correct so idk what goes on up there 

warnings: heavy drug use (its oasis and blur in the ‘90s theres a lot of coke/weed/alcohol) and lots of swearing (including the c word because they’re british)

-

He’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now.

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford.

-

or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

Liam had once asked Calum if he believed in fate. 

“D’you think it’s all real?” he’d said one day, out of the fucking blue. Calum, though, used to Liam beginning conversations in the middle after two long years of knowing him, had just looked at him. 

“Do I think what’s all real?” he’d asked. Liam had indicated up at the sky with his eyes and cigarette. 

“Fate, and all that,” he’d said, lifting the cigarette back to his lips. Calum had watched as his cheeks hollowed around it, turning potential answers over and over in his mind. 

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he’d said eventually, and Liam had raised his eyebrows and nodded as he’d exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that had blended in with the sky and the council houses. 

Calum thinks he probably should have known then. Maybe Liam had been trying to make a point, in that strange way he sometimes does - what are the odds you’d end up here, with us? Calum hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, just rolled his eyes and nudged Liam’s foot with his own and said Noel’s going to do his fucking nut if we’re not there in ten, and that had been that. The conversation never even crossed his mind again until it was too late, until fate had already had her way with Calum. 

In Calum’s defence, though, fate never showed her hand. She never threw him any hints, no flashing neon signs that said Calum, your destiny is this way. Fate came piecemeal, came in short snippets of conversations or flashes of familiar faces or, on occasion, Liam and Noel swearing loudly at each other as they stomp up the stairs in Calum’s house.

“I’m arsed,” Liam’s saying loudly, when he barges into Calum’s room. Noel’s hot on his heels, midway through a spiel he’s clearly prepared which Liam’s having none of, and he turns to Calum when they get through the door, an annoyed expression on his face. 

“Tell him he’s a prick,” he says. 

“Why?” Calum says, setting his magazine aside, because he needs to know what he’s supposed to be endorsing before he picks a side in an argument between the Gallagher brothers. 

“Our kid wants us to miss the match tonight and go to some fucking gig,” Liam grumbles, throwing himself down on Calum’s bed and picking up his magazine. 

“It’s not ‘some fucking gig’, Liam,” Noel says irritably. “It’s the fucking Boardwalk. We’ve got to hear what else is out there right now.” 

“I told you, I’m fucking arsed what else is out there right now,” Liam says, flicking about five pages on from the article Calum had been in the middle of reading. “I don’t write the fucking songs, do I? Go on your fucking own. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Noel rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, and Calum’s Gallagher Explosion Incoming senses start tingling, followed swiftly by his Peacekeeping Skill Set activating. 

“Look,” he says hurriedly, before Noel can say something that’ll lead to a couple of black eyes, mostly because neither of the brothers have ever cared much about collateral damage and Calum values his bruiseless skin. “What if we start the match, and if City look like they’re going to lose, we go to the gig?” Noel closes his mouth, and then opens it again, and then closes it again. 

“Fucking whatever,” Liam grumbles, which is the closest they’re going to get to acquiescence from him. Calum stares at Noel beseechingly, because this is the best idea he’s got and pretty much the only one he thinks Liam’ll agree to, and Noel rolls his eyes, sighs dramatically, but then nods reluctantly. 

“City won’t fucking lose,” he mutters, as he sits down in the chair at Calum’s desk. “Not to a bunch of Scousers.” 

“Lost to Liverpool not four weeks ago,” Calum reminds him, and Noel scowls. 

“That second goal was fucking offside,” he says. 

“Ref was a fucking wanker,” Liam chimes in, from where he’s lying on Calum’s bed, still thumbing through the magazine. “‘Ere, what’s this, then?” he adds, with a grin, and turns the magazine around, tapping on the page. It’s a picture of a (very pretty) boy spread across a motorbike, and Calum rolls his eyes, snatching the magazine out of Liam’s hands. 

“Fuck off,” he says, but Liam’s just laughing, head tipped back on the bed, all full lips and bright blue eyes and long, dark lashes. If Calum hadn’t been doing lines with Liam for half of last night, he could almost believe the angelic innocence the boy gives off. 

“Looks like our kid,” Noel says, sitting down on the chair at Calum’s desk. Liam raises his head far enough to give Noel a two-fingered salute, but he’s still grinning, and Noel’s grinning too when he flips Liam off in return. 

Fucking hell, Calum thinks. It’ll take more than his three O Levels to fucking understand those two. 

 -------

 City end up conceding three goals in the first twenty-five minutes, and Liam’s the one who stands up, voice already hoarse from screaming at the TV, and demands they go out. Noel, never one to resist pressing buttons that only he can find on Liam, makes a snide comment about it, and Calum, to keep the peace, makes a comment about United, giving both brothers something to spend the entire bus journey to the Boardwalk ranting about. 

Noel gets them in for free, because he knows someone who knows someone who’d been a roadie with a band who had been on tour with the Inspiral Carpets for like, half a second, or something. Calum doesn’t really care how they get in for free, whether Noel gets them in by knowing someone who knows someone or by hiring a hitman on the bouncer, as long as they do get in for free, because he’d rather save his money for weed. 

The band that’s playing are immediately declared to be boring little fuckers by Liam, who beelines for the bar and only has to flutter his lashes twice before the pretty girl behind the bar sidles up to him with a coy look on her face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t linger after getting the drinks, weaving through the crowd to Noel and Calum with a mixture of shouted insults and threats at anyone in his path, three overfull pints balanced precariously in his hands. 

“You’re paying me back for these,” is how he greets them again, taking a sip from Noel’s before handing it to him. Noel just rolls his eyes, turning back to the stage and raising the pint to his lips. 

“Am I fuck,” Calum says, taking the other beer out of Liam’s outstretched hand. Liam scowls, but lets him take it, taking a sip from his own glass. 

“I’ll just smoke your weed, then,” he says, like he doesn’t do that anyway. Calum just shakes his head and turns back to the stage, where a new band are setting up, fiddling with their amps and mic stands. 

“D’you even know who these pricks are?” Liam asks Noel. 

“Don’t even know if they’re worth knowing yet,” Noel says. Liam shrugs, like that’s a fair point, and then a squeal of feedback makes all three of them (and the rest of the crowd) jump, causing loud swearing from at least eight people in the vicinity as their drinks slosh over them. 

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters, shaking his hands off. 

“Evening,” the lead singer says, voice deep and rich. “We’re Blur, and this is Popscene.” They immediately launch into something that’s all guitars and overdrive and beat, and Noel’s soon tapping his foot along in interest, spilled beer forgotten, as the singer starts jumping around enthusiastically. They’re not standing anywhere near the stage, and the distance and bright lights combined with the movement are making the singer look more translucent than opaque, which is making Calum’s head hurt. He chooses to focus on the bassist instead, because Noel’s kind of got a point that they should be listening to what else is around, although he’s probably just looking for more people to nick ideas off. 

By the third song, though, Calum realises he’s really stood far too far away to get any benefit from watching the bassist - he can’t even tell whether he’s using a plectrum or not, and his eyes are already starting to hurt from squinting - and lets his gaze wander across the stage. There’s a guitarist wearing glasses, which Calum’s pretty sure Liam’s going to have a comment about that’ll involve the words ‘fucking’ ‘not’ and ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, with maybe ‘cunt’ chucked in for good measure. The drummer’s so far back that all Calum can make out is a shadowy figure behind the kit, and when the singer stands still long enough for Calum to see more than just a hazy figure all he can vaguely make out is what looks like very pretty features and blonde hair. 

It’s the other guitarist, though, that makes Calum stop, his heart stilling in his chest for the briefest of moments. 

He looks so familiar, messy blonde hair sticking up at all sorts of angles that Calum’s only ever seen on one other person, that it makes Calum’s stomach lurch. He’s got his face down, focusing on whatever they’re playing, so Calum can’t really see - not that he’d be able to tell from this distance, anyway - but there’s something that’s so achingly known to Calum that it makes him swallow, mouth suddenly dry. Even the guitarist’s posture is familiar, a little tense, a lot focused, with an edge of something cool and relaxed. 

Calum’s so mesmerised by the guitarist, heart hammering in his chest, that he barely even realises three more songs have come to an end until the band all stop, gather together at the front of the stage and do an awkward half-bow-half-wave to the crowd. There’s a smattering of applause as they straighten up, and the lights are too bright for Calum to see properly, but he sees a flash of a smile that looks so much like one he hasn’t seen in almost four years that it makes something electric shoot through him before he’s even processed it, and then they’re turning around and heading off the stage. 

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. 

It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. 

But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. 

 -------

 They stay to watch three more bands, and then Liam’s in a fucking mood and even Noel’s had enough of the music, so they head back to Noel’s flat to drink and get high. Liam and Noel bicker the whole way there, first about whether or not Liam should be paying for all the weed Noel buys that he smokes, then about whether or not Liam had actually slept over last night or whether he’d been at home, then about whether or not the shirt their mam had bought Noel for Christmas had been green or blue. Calum offers his input on all of them, siding with Noel twice and Liam once, but gets snapped at to shut the fuck up by the both of them each time, making him roll his eyes as he kicks stones along the pavement. 

(“Noel’s a fucking cunt,” Liam had said to him once, fuming, after a particularly nasty argument that had ended in every bag of frozen peas being dug out of the freezer. 

“Yeah,” Calum had said. “So are you, though, mate.” 

“Don’t call my brother a cunt,” Liam had said, and Calum had rolled his eyes, picking up the now-defrosted bag of peas on the table and taking them back into the kitchen, where Noel was nursing his own black eye. 

“What the fuck is his problem?” Noel had said furiously. 

“You’re both twats,” Calum had said with a shrug, tossing the peas back in the freezer.

“Hey,” Noel had said sharply. “That’s my fucking brother.” 

Calum’ll never pretend to understand them.) 

They spend the night lying on Noel’s living room floor, pleasantly drunk and so stoned that Liam and Noel forget to argue for about three hours. Calum drifts in and out of sleep, listening to Liam and Noel mumbling to each other and remembering to speak once every twenty minutes or so, until Noel nudges him at what must be about five in the morning. 

“What’d you reckon?” he says, looking thoughtful. 

“About what?” 

“That band, tonight.” They saw five bands, so Calum would be well within his rights to ask which one, but somehow, he knows. 

“Good,” he says. “Interesting. Sounded new, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says, rolling on his side to face Calum. He hums, like he’s thinking Calum’s words over. “Liam reckons they’re not rock ‘n’ roll enough.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Liam reckons the fucking Stones aren’t rock ‘n’ roll enough,” he says, and Noel snorts, and it sounds so fucking ridiculous that Calum giggles, which makes Noel burst out laughing, and soon they’re cackling on the floor, tears streaming down their faces as they gasp for breath and clutch at their stitches. Liam, who’s been sleeping soundly, looking peaceful and tranquil and not at all like the guy who’d threatened to knock Calum’s teeth out for suggesting City should have played a different formation not six hours ago, stirs and opens his eyes, blinking blearily. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, and then rolls over, and goes back to sleep. Noel glances at Calum, flushed and panting from laughing, eyes bright and gleaming, and that one look is enough to make the both of them collapse in laughter again, cheeks and sides and throats hurting. 

The next morning, when Liam wakes Calum up by nudging him in the ribs and saying get up, lazy bugger, we’re late for work, that’s what Calum remembers from the night before. He remembers laughter, Noel’s living room going blurry around the edges, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol, weed and two of his best mates thrumming through his veins. He doesn’t remember the boy on guitar in the Boardwalk.

 ------- 

 The next time fate has her way with Calum is a good year and a half later. 

They’re recording their first album, which Noel seems to think means he’s recording his first album and everyone else is just there to complement his fucking genius. He’s not managed to stop being a cunt for about six months now, and, not one to let Noel beat him in anything, Liam’s getting equally insufferable. The studio is a fucking battleground, and Bonehead always takes Liam’s side and Tony’s just fucking useless, and Calum thinks to himself at least twice a day: is this really worth it? Maybe I should’ve just stuck with construction. 

They’re getting there, though, and when it’s good, it’s fucking good. They can all sense that there’s something there, something new and bold and, as Noel in all his endless humility declares it one night, groundbreaking. They’ve recorded Supersonic, a song that Noel somehow wrote in about half an hour, recorded a video for it on the roof of some warehouse in London, and there’s something about it that none of them can quite put their finger on, something that feels almost overwhelming, feels like it’s bigger than them. They’ve even been on the radio a few times, been playing bigger and bigger venues, got a contract and management and all that nonsense, and for all the flaws that combine to make up the Gallagher brothers, Noel’s got a fucking knack for songwriting and Liam’s voice is unlike anything Calum’s heard before. 

The problem is that lately, it’s been bad more than it’s been good. They’d done sessions at Monnow Valley which had sounded like absolute shit, too clean and thin, and with every day that passed and every track that couldn’t be used Noel got more and more frantic, snapping at everyone who dared speak to him. Liam, never one to resist a fight with his brother, had risen to the challenge, and the fallout had been messier and dirtier and involved more collateral damage than even Calum had expected. It had culminated in a trip to Amsterdam which had ended before it even began after a fight broke out on the ferry. Calum remembers seeing Liam zooming past, a happy grin on his face, heading right for the middle of the action, and then twenty minutes later zooming past again, bruised and bloody, still grinning, being chased by a policeman. It had ended in Liam being deported, handcuffs and all, and a screaming match between the brothers in which both of them quit and were fired by the other at least twenty-three times. 

Since that, though, things have got a little better. They’ve started recording in Sawmills in Cornwall with Noel as a co-producer, and Noel and Liam have started talking again, and everyone had breathed out a collective sigh of relief when Noel had announced he was going to head to the shops and Liam had wordlessly got up to join him. Slowly but surely, things have started looking up. 

It’s in the middle of one of those sessions that everything changes. 

“Eeyar, Calum,” Noel calls, from the corridor outside. “Your mam’s on the phone.” Calum sighs - fucking hell, what does his mum not understand about we’re recording an album and I’m twenty-two years old, I’ll call you when I fucking call you - but puts his bass aside and gets up grudgingly, trotting outside to see Noel holding out the receiver for him. 

“I want you back in in ten,” he says warningly, like he’s Calum’s dad and they’re eating dinner soon, and Calum rolls his eyes and flips him off, which is as good of a yes as Noel’s going to get. Noel sticks his tongue out at him and heads back into the studio, probably to yell at Bonehead from the soundboard for being too loud, or maybe too quiet, or maybe too middling. He’ll find something. 

“What?” Calum says, a little irritably, lifting the receiver to his ear. 

“Hello to you too, Calum,” his mum says smartly. “I haven’t heard from you in over a week.” Calum rests his arm against the wall, and his forehead against his arm, and stares at his shoes. 

“I’m recording an album, mum,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound too annoyed. “We’re busy.” She makes a small hmm, a you should have stayed in a real job kind of hmm, but doesn’t push it. 

“Are you eating well?” she asks, a stern undertone to her voice, like she knows Calum’s diet right now is entirely liquid. 

“Yes,” Calum lies. He gets another disapproving hmm for his trouble which sounds like it might be the prelude to a speech about how he should stop wasting his time and come home and do a proper job and eat some vegetables, so he decides to change tack. “How’s home?” 

“Oh, home’s good,” his mum says. “Janet next door’s got a new man, invited us to the wedding next month - can you imagine? A wedding in March? I said to her, I said ‘you’ll be wanting to move it to May’, and she said ‘oh, we want an indoor wedding anyway’.” Calum hums noncommittally, because he has absolutely no idea what that’s supposed to mean. What the fuck’s wrong with an indoor wedding in March? “Anyway, your dad and I have decided to go. Janet extended the invitation to you, too, but I said I didn’t know if you’d be back from your recording session.” 

“I don’t know either,” Calum says. “Noel’s being a right cunt about the whole thing.”  

“Calum,” his mum says reprovingly, like she wasn’t the one he picked the word up from in the first place. “Well, regardless, you’ll be home by April, won’t you? I told your dad you’d help fix the wall in the garden.” Calum groans, because that’s pretty much the last thing on the list of things he wants to do, including having Noel claw his eyeballs out for fucking up the bass on Supersonic again, and his mum tuts. “You’ve got experience in construction, Calum. You should put those skills to good use.” 

“I’ve never fixed a fucking wall, mum,” he says. 

“Well, the wall needs fixing,” she says, like that’s that. The wall needs fixing, so Calum’s got to suddenly develop the skills to do it. 

(For her, though, Calum’ll do it.) 

“What’s wrong with it?” he says, already mentally ringing up the cost of the bricks and mortar he’s going to need. “Looked fine last time I was home.” 

“I think the ivy must have loosened the cement,” his mum says. “I was watching TV the other night - I saw Michael on Top of the Pops, actually - and then-”

“Hang on,” Calum interrupts, because he only knows two Michaels, and one of them’s here in Cornwall with him. “Michael who?” 

“Michael Clifford,” his mum says, like it’s obvious. “Anyway, then I heard a huge crash outside, and I told your dad to go and take a look, and he said the wall had caved in. Just a bit, you know, near the shed, but-” she’s still talking, something about foxes and de-weeding the garden, but Calum’s not listening. 

Michael Clifford, she’d said, like it was simple and obvious. Like it stood to reason that she saw him on Top of the fucking Pops. Like it made sense that Calum’s childhood best friend, his fucking everything from the age of seven to seventeen, was on a British music show. 

“Michael Clifford?” he repeats, in the middle of whatever his mum’s saying. 

“Yes,” she says, sounding a little annoyed that Calum’s not listening to her impassioned speech about ivy. “Anyway, your dad said he’d need some help with it, and that it can wait until you’re back. But I want it done as soon as you are, because I don’t like the idea of Janet being able to see into our garden. Oh, that’s the chicken done. Call me in a few days, let me know how things are. Give the others my best. Love you.” She doesn’t even wait for a response, just hangs up, leaving Calum staring at the floor with a dial tone ringing in his ear and a name bouncing around in his mind. 

It can’t be him. She must have been mistaken. What the fuck would Michael Clifford be doing on Top of the Pops? What the fuck would Michael Clifford even be doing in Britain? The last Calum had heard from him, about a year and a half after he’d left Sydney, Michael had been sure about becoming a policeman. He’d seemed so dead set on it, had signed himself up for the academy and everything. Calum might not have heard from him in almost half a decade, but he’s pretty sure nobody would stray so far from ‘policeman in Sydney’ to end up at ‘musician in Britain’. No, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall with his arm, his mum must have been wrong. She hasn’t seen Michael since they’d moved from Sydney five years ago either, so it’s understandable that she’d mixed him up with someone else. 

But, a little voice says, as he heads back into the studio and is greeted with the sight of Liam sprawled across the sofa, laughing at something Noel’s just said, both of them looking far too high-spirited for Gallaghers, she watched Michael grow up. She knew his face better than you ever did. 

“‘Ere,” Liam says, interrupting the voice in Calum’s mind as it’s about to start reeling off a list of times Calum’s mum had spotted Michael in a crowd or down the road or in a photo before Calum had. “Noel says he’ll sprint around the house naked if Tony doesn’t fuck up his drums on this take. What d’you reckon?” 

“I reckon it’s a good thing Tony can’t fucking play drums then, isn’t it?” Calum says, as Liam drops his feet to the floor to make room for Calum on the sofa. Liam snorts, and Noel scowls, but his eyes are still lit up with amusement. 

“Well, I reckon you’re both cunts,” Noel tells them, and Calum grins, hoping they don’t see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and reaches over for Liam’s beer to try and calm his churning stomach. 

 -------

 Calum can’t sleep that night. 

He’s usually so drunk that Liam’s gentle snoring doesn’t even register to him as he throws himself down on his bed, often fully-dressed, and falls right asleep, only waking up to fumble around for paracetamol in the middle of the night when his throbbing headache overpowers his exhaustion. He’s not used to lying there, stomach still unsettled, mind racing, staring blankly up at the ceiling, growing more and more frustrated by the noise of Liam sleeping. 

Liam rolls over in his sleep, mutters something under his breath, and then his breathing evens out again, and Calum times the minutes passing by the way he breathes in, out, in, out. The moonlight’s getting brighter - or maybe it’s the sun rising, he’s not sure - and eventually, when Liam rolls over again and smacks his lips in his sleep, Calum’s had enough. He gets up, pads out of the room and down the stairs, heading in the direction of the kitchen for a drink. 

He’s surprised, though, when he pushes the door open, to find Noel sat at the breakfast bar, a sheet of paper in front of him, still wearing the same clothes from the day before. He turns around at the noise of the door opening and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a greeting to Calum, who grunts back at him as he grabs a glass out of the cupboard and fills it with water. 

“Can’t sleep?” Noel asks, and Calum raises his eyebrows over the glass of water he’s gulping down. 

“No,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter. “You?” Noel shakes his head. 

“‘S Bonehead’s fucking snoring,” he says, by way of an explanation, but Calum’s known Noel for five years now, and knows him better than that. 

“And that’s why you’re still dressed?” Calum says shrewdly. 

“Fuck off,” Noel mutters, raising a can of beer to his lips so he won’t have to say anything else. Calum sighs and shakes his head, but chooses not to push him on it, hopping up on the counter and swinging his legs. 

“You writing?” he asks, and Noel looks down at the sheet of paper under his hand, and shrugs. 

“Trying,” he says. Calum hums, and the two of them lapse into a comfortable silence for a while. 

It helps, Calum finds, to be with Noel. He’s never been a man of many words - neither him nor Liam have ever been particularly gifted in that area - but Calum knows he’s always safe with Noel, thrives in the quiet comfort of Noel’s presence. Noel never asks, never pushes, but he’s always there if Calum ever needs anything, and even though they never speak about it, they both know the same is true vice versa. 

(Calum can count on one hand the number of times he’s needed Noel, and can count on one finger the number of times Noel’s needed him.)

That’s not to say Noel doesn’t have his moments, though. He’s obstinate, brash, loud, arrogant, thinks his opinion is worth at least twelve times as much as anyone else’s, and takes himself far too seriously half the time. Calum’s had some of his most memorable arguments with Noel, edged out only slightly by how spectacular his arguments with Liam have been. Both of those, however, are eclipsed by how fucking nuclear the arguments between Noel and Liam are. The two of them bring out both the worst and the best in each other, grating at each other’s virtues and soothing each other’s flaws. They don’t know how to be happy unless they’re dancing along the line between love and hate, and Calum’s not sure it’d work any other way. He’s seen them in their brief, private moments of peace - Liam’s head on Noel’s chest, Noel’s arm wrapped around him, Liam murmuring something about a song or a memory that makes Noel snort, which in turn makes Liam’s lips curve up in a proud smile - but neither of their ships could sail anywhere without a restless sea to guide them. They need the fighting, need the bickering, even need the punches, to keep the wheels turning. A conversation’s not really begun if Noel and Liam haven’t called each other cunts at least twice, Calum thinks, and if Calum’s not been called upon by both of them to call the other a cunt within ten seconds of the inevitable argument breaking out. 

It had been an argument like that a year or so ago that had led to them traipsing to the Boardwalk to watch that band play. Calum remembers the energy they had, raw and a little off-kilter but something there all the same, remembers the lyrical shouting of the singer and the way he’d bounced all over the stage, but not as much as he remembers the guitarist. 

He’d looked so familiar, blonde hair and posture combining to make Calum’s heart ache like no music had ever quite managed to. It couldn’t have been him, though, he’d told himself. There was absolutely no way that Michael Clifford could have been playing in the fucking Boardwalk. Michael was in Sydney, back home, probably sunning himself on Bondi Beach and laughing at something Ashton was saying as Luke grinned at Ashton with wide blue eyes. Michael wasn’t in Manchester. 

Except, a little voice in his head says, maybe he was. Maybe Calum’s mum hadn’t mistaken some guy in a band on Top of the Pops for Michael. Maybe it was Michael. 

“D’you know that band we saw, a few years ago?” Calum says, out of the blue, before the thought to say the words has even crossed his mind. Noel looks up at him, thick brows furrowed. 

“Seen a lot of fucking bands,” he says, a little slowly, like he’s trying to figure out what Calum’s actually asking. Calum half-considers dropping the subject entirely, but Noel’s been in the business far longer than he has, and if anyone’s going to know, it’s him.

“The one in the bar. After the City match.” Noel purses his lips, brows creasing further, before nodding thoughtfully. 

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. They’re famous now, they are.” 

“Oh,” Calum says, and swallows. That’s not what he expected - or, he finds, wanted - to hear. 

“Yeah. Heard their first record. Or maybe it was their second, I don’t know. It wasn’t all that.” 

“What’re they called, again?” Calum asks, hoping the question sounds innocent, but Noel’s eyes narrow a fraction. 

“Blur,” he says. 

“Blur,” Calum repeats, testing the word out, letting it sit on his tongue. 

“Why?” 

“No reason,” Calum says. Noel looks at him for a moment, like he’s weighing up whether or not to say something, but then seems to let it go, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking odd one, you are,” he says, which is the nicest thing he’s said to Calum in months. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, with a grin. “Good-looking, too.” 

“Don’t push it,” Noel warns, and Calum laughs, swinging his legs. 

“What’re you writing, then?” he asks. Noel looks back down at the sheet of paper. 

“Don’t know, really,” he says. “Just can’t seem to get it right.” 

“Want me to take a look?” Calum offers. 

“You?” Noel says sceptically. “You barely even play a fucking instrument.” 

“Bass is a fucking instrument, you prick,” Calum says, only half-incensed. 

“You’re up there with the fucking tambourine player,” Noel says, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Fuck off,” Calum says, and Noel leans back in the chair, grinning. “You’re the one who bought him that fucking tambourine, anyway.” 

“Little twat might as well do something worthwhile,” Noel says, like Liam’s voice isn’t one of the two indispensable elements they’ve got. 

“At least I can play guitar,” Calum counters. Noel raises an eyebrow.

“Playing?” he says. “Well. If that’s what you want to call it.” Calum scowls and flips him off, and Noel just laughs and gives him a two-fingered salute in return.

“Go on, then,” he says, shoving the piece of paper to the edge of the breakfast bar. “Let’s see how much damage can be done to my genius.” Calum rolls his eyes but reaches over to pull the piece of paper towards him. There’s barely anything on there, just two lines: I can’t tell you the way I feel/Because the way I feel is oh so new to me. Fucking hell. 

“I’m off to bed,” Noel says, like he can sense the questions bubbling under the surface of Calum’s frown, and pushes himself back from the breakfast bar. Calum looks up, catches the brief look of don’t you dare fucking ask me what that’s about that flits across Noel’s face, just the most fractional chink in his armour, and nods, hopping off the counter and tucking the sheet of paper into his pocket. He should probably try and get some sleep too, if only because he’s going to have to be in the best frame of mind possible to deal with how insufferable Noel’s going to be tomorrow on three hours’ sleep. 

“I’m going to smother your brother if he’s not stopped snoring,” he tells Noel, following him out of the room. Noel snorts as he starts up the stairs, that strange mixture of derisive and fond that the Gallaghers manage so well. 

“You’ve got more of a fucking chance of him waking up a bird than you do getting him to stop snoring,” he says. Calum sighs, all long-suffering, like this is news to him, even though he’s been sleeping in rooms with Liam since they were seventeen and sixteen respectively.

“Good thing the tambourine player’s expendable, then,” he says, and Noel laughs, soft and quiet in the stillness of the night. 

“You’d be doing the world a fucking favour,” he says, but there’s a strong edge of pride and fondness that Noel only ever gets when talking about Liam, and Liam only ever gets when talking about Noel, and they never get when talking to each other. Calum thinks they’d probably both rather switch to being United fans than ever admit any semblance of love exists between the two of them, but it hums lowly beneath the surface, visible for anyone who bothers to look beyond the black eyes and hurled insults and weeks of refusing to even look at each other. No one can deny that the two of them fucking hate each other half the time, but without the push and pull of their relationship, without the back and forth and the give and take, the band couldn’t work. If the two of them ever lost that, if one of them ever pulled or pushed too hard, that’d be it. It should probably concern Calum more than it does that his entire career is poised on the knife’s edge that is Liam and Noel’s endless tug-of-war, but he's yet to lose the strangely settled feeling in his stomach every time Noel quits or fires Liam that tells him they'll be alright. You'll be alright. There are still better things to come. 

“You’re just saying that because you want to sing,” Calum retorts. 

“Nah,” Noel says with a grin, hand hovering over the door handle of his and Bonehead’s room. “I’m saying it because I want more royalties.” Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning too. 

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” he promises. 

 -------

 As Calum had predicted, Noel’s a fucking nightmare the next day. 

He snaps at everyone who dares come within a ten metre radius of him, and, when everyone stops going into the same room Noel’s in, he specifically goes out of his way to find Liam to start an argument that ends in Liam complaining that one of his teeth is loose. 

(“It’s not fucking loose,” Bonehead says, and then decides to leave the room, presumably because he doesn’t want to deal with Liam’s moaning and whining. Calum can’t really blame him, and starts to shift surreptitiously towards the door himself.

“Since when are you a fucking dentist, you cunt?” Liam shouts after him, and Bonehead flips him off as he walks away. “You’re coming with me to the dentist, you are.” He’s rounded on Calum now, blocking the path to the door, and Calum sighs. 

“If we get more beer on the way back,” he bargains, and Liam nods.) 

That’s how Calum’s ended up in some posh dental surgery, spread out across a leather sofa and looking very incongruous in his oversized shirt and baggy jeans amongst the glass and the fancy-looking plants, waiting for Liam to come out of his appointment. It’s taking far longer than he’d expected - he’d thought it’d be a quick your tooth’s not fucking loose, you knob, you’ve definitely had worse, like everyone else had told him, but Liam’s been in there for a good fifteen minutes now, and Calum’s getting bored. 

The receptionist keeps making eyes at him, and Calum can’t tell whether they’re I want to fuck you eyes or whether they’re you look like you’re going to try and rob this dental surgery eyes, so eventually he picks up the nearest magazine off the coffee table and flicks it open to a random page just for something to look at that isn’t her. 

There’s a very pretty guy staring back at him when he looks down, blonde and blue-eyed and grinning inanely at the camera, and the caption reads BLUR: the cocky rebels you’re allowed to love. 

Blur. That’s what Noel had called the band from that bar in Manchester last night. They’re famous now, they are, he’d said.  

Calum barely even notices the way his heart speeds up as his eyes fly across the page, scanning the article for any mention of Michael before he really realises what he’s looking for. The author and the singer - Damon, apparently - keep referring to a Mike, an Australian Mike, which puts Calum right on edge, but Michael had never gone by Mike. He fucking hated it, corrected anyone who called him anything other than Michael, refused to respond to any teachers who tried to call him Mike, threw glowers at any classmates who did the same. He’d barely even let Calum call him Mikey in his most vulnerable moments, rubbing small circles on his back soothingly as he coaxed him to throw up all the cheap booze they’d nicked from the corner shop. 

Calum’s fingers are slick with sweat as he’s turning the page and his eyes are starting to water from how little he’s blinking, and he’s not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing, whether he wants Mike to be Michael or not. When he reaches the bottom of the second page, however, Calum’s heart stops. 

There’s a picture of the whole band. Damon’s standing second from the left, right arm holding his left bicep, head tilted upwards, looking lazy and effortlessly beautiful, like he fucking knows he’s worth looking at. It reminds Calum of Liam a little bit, the way he plays into the camera, the way he knows that with a small tilt of his chin and a slight lowering of his lashes he’ll have half the fucking nation on their knees for him. Maybe that’s just the way singers need to be, Calum thinks, eyes flitting to the ginger guy to Damon’s left, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then to the guy directly on Damon’s right; tall, broody-looking, dark hair swept across his face. To his right is a shorter dark-haired man, looking tense and on edge, and to his right is-

Michael Clifford. 

There’s no mistaking him. He’s got the same blonde hair still sticking up at all sorts of angles, the same sleepy, sea green eyes, the same pretty lips slightly parted in a pout. He’s holding himself confidently, miles away from the slightly scrawny teenager Calum had left behind, staring into the lens of the camera like it’s a challenge. Come on, Calum. Tell yourself I ever stopped mattering to you, go on. 

Calum doesn’t need to read the caption to know it’s Michael, knows it from the way he’s clutching his right wrist with his left hand, but does it anyway, one final, desperate grasp at a straw - from left to right: David Rowntree, Damon Albarn, Alex James, Graham Coxon, Michael Clifford. 

Michael Clifford. 

The words seem to sort of swim in front of Calum’s eyes, like they’re not really there, like his mind’s superimposed them on the article somehow, but the picture’s still there, clear as day. Michael, a hint of stubble on his jaw, face more angled and figure fuller and shoulders broader and God, he looks so fucking good that Calum’s stomach flips and drops and flips again. 

“-fucking hell, Earth to fucking Cal,” Liam says, sounding sort of muffled, and Calum nearly drops the magazine in shock, yanked back into reality so suddenly and jarringly by the sound of his voice. 

“What?” he says, looking up to see Liam with an irritated expression on his face, cradling one cheek in his hand. 

“Let’s fucking go,” Liam says, already halfway to the door. Calum stares after him for a moment, mind trying to process Liam wants to leave over the tangled jumble of Michael Michael Michael currently winding its way through every cell in his brain, before he jumps up, magazine still in his hand. 

“Sir,” the receptionist calls immediately, like she’s had her eye on him the whole time. “You can’t take the magazine with you.” Calum looks down at the magazine, and Liam turns around from the door, a slight tension in his posture that Calum recognises as the one he gets when he’s spoiling for a fucking fight. Christ, he’s not about to deck the fucking receptionist, is he? 

“Or what?” Liam says, a little menacingly. “You gonna fucking stop him?” 

“I just-” 

“What the fuck do you want with the fucking magazine, eh? Fucking paid enough for the appointment, buy yourself another." 

“C’mon,” Calum mutters, rolling the magazine up and hurrying over to Liam, putting a hand on the small of his back. “Let’s go.” Liam hesitates for a moment, like he’s torn between going to get beer or shouting at a receptionist, but eventually the alcohol seems to win in his mind, because he settles for throwing her one final glare and letting Calum guide him out of the door. 

“What’d they say?” Calum asks as they walk out, his hand still on Liam’s back, because he knows Liam better than to trust he won’t just change his mind on a whim and go storming back in to give the receptionist a piece of his mind for not wanting Calum to take a fucking magazine. 

“Don’t fucking know,” Liam mutters, pushing open the door to outside. Calum shivers a little when the cool late-February air hits him, and decides that Liam’s probably safe now, letting go of him to wrap his arms around himself as they head back to the car that’s been waiting for them. “Sounded like he said something about my flaps.” Calum snorts. 

“Bit forward of him,” he says, and Liam grins. 

“Why’d you take that fucking magazine, then, eh?” he says, rounding the car without looking into the road and flipping off the car that has to screech to a halt to avoid running him over. 

“What?” Calum says, a touch shiftily. “Oh. Saw a good article in it. Wanted to finish reading it.” Liam throws him a look over the top of the car, a look that’s unnervingly shrewd, but then shakes his head and ducks into the car. Calum does the same, taking a moment to tuck the magazine into his pocket and feeling it weigh down one side of him, unbalancing him just slightly. It’s kind of apt, he thinks as he gets into the car. Michael had always made him feel a little unbalanced, too. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” Liam announces, and Calum grins, trying not to think about the way the magazine feels pressed between him and the seat. 

“Let’s get some fucking beer,” he agrees.

 -------

 Calum doesn’t look at the magazine again until a good week later. 

He’s drunk, and maybe still a little high, which is the driving force behind the whole evening. They all are, because Liam had scored some great coke off some guy called Neville, which Calum had declared to be the funniest dealer name in all of history, leading Bonehead to admit that his weed dealer used to be called Barnaby. Noel had sided with Calum, claiming Neville was far worse than Barnaby, and, predictably, Liam had jumped straight in on Bonehead’s side, and after about two minutes of shouting Tony had mumbled something about not being drunk enough for this and slipped out of the room. 

“Fucking useless,” Liam says derisively, as Tony walks out. “I should fire him.” 

“I fired you two days ago,” Noel says, pointing at Liam with the card he’s using to cut up the coke. “You can’t be firing anyone.” 

“It’s my fucking band,” Liam says, incensed, like it’s not actually Bonehead’s band that Liam had wheedled his way into. 

“Who writes the fucking songs?” Noel counters. “You just play the fucking tambourine and look mardy.” 

“Fucking greatest frontman in the world, I am,” Liam says indignantly. 

“You’re too fucking high to find the front of the stage half the time,” Noel says contemptuously. 

“I know where the front of the fucking stage is,” Liam says, pointing at Noel with one hand and Calum with the other. “‘S between knobheads numbers one and two.” Noel rolls his eyes, too busy cutting lines to flip him off, so Calum does it on both of their behalfs, and Liam grins, swigging from his beer. 

“Save us a fucking line,” Bonehead says to Noel, who’s just bent down to hoover up at least four of the thin white lines on the table. 

“Get your fucking own,” Noel grumbles, like he’s the one who’d scored it, not Liam, but he lets Bonehead push him aside, slumping back against the sofa. 

“Greedy cunt,” Bonehead mutters, and Noel swats him upside the head, handing him the card. 

“We should have a fucking celebration,” Liam declares grandly, gesturing widely with his beer bottle. 

“For what?” Noel says. “Album’s not even fucking finished yet.” 

“Sounds fucking great, though,” Liam says. 

“Well, you’ve clearly not heard it then, have you?” Calum says with a snort, accepting the card Bonehead holds out to him and leaning over towards the coke. There’s not much left, but Liam’ll fucking do one if he doesn’t leave any for him. “Fucking hell, Noel. You a fucking vacuum?” Noel just grins and shrugs at him, cocaine clearly starting to settle into his veins, and Calum rolls his eyes, cutting two thin lines for himself and leaving enough for the same for Liam. 

“It’ll sound great once it’s mixed,” Liam insists, as Calum bends down.  

“That’s what you said last time,” Bonehead points out. 

“No I fucking didn’t,” Liam says, even though he’d literally spent about a week bouncing around saying it’ll sound fucking great when it’s mixed, just you fucking wait. It’ll be fucking biblical. Calum straightens, wincing slightly and pinching the end of his nose, and throws Liam a look. 

“You fucking did,” he says. Liam scowls at him, and motions for the card. “Come over here. No way you’ll reach the coke from over there.” Liam rolls his eyes but complies, heaving himself up and then throwing himself down next to Calum, making a noise of outrage when he sees how little is left for him. 

“What the fuck, Noel?” he demands, and Noel just cackles. Christ, he’s blitzed out of his fucking mind already. 

“We should fucking celebrate,” Noel says, like he hadn’t shot down Liam saying it not two minutes ago. 

“Celebrate what, you prick?” Calum says, wrinkling his nose as the bitter cocaine drips down his throat. Fucking grim. At least his mouth will be too numb to taste it soon. 

“Fucking all of it,” Noel says. “Us. Recording an album. The fact that we’re going to be number fucking one.” Calum snorts, but he’s starting to feel a little giddy, a little warmer, and he leans back with a grin. 

“Number fucking one,” he repeats, and Liam nods solemnly next to him. 

“Fucking right,” he says, like it’s what they’re owed. Calum catches Bonehead’s eye and grins, knows he’s thinking exactly what Calum’s thinking - yeah, us two fucking deserve it for putting up with the both of you. 

“Just wait ‘til we release Supersonic,” Calum says, shuffling up a little to rest his head on Liam’s shoulder. Liam’s arm comes around him, warm and comforting, and he squeezes Calum absent-mindedly as he hums contentedly. Calum lets his eyes flutter shut, euphoric and a little overheated, grinning to himself as he lets himself fantasise. Number fucking one, he thinks to himself. Fucking imagine. 

“Knock those Blur cunts off the top,” Noel says, and Calum’s eyes fly open. 

“What?” he says. 

“Their new song,” Noel says scornfully. “Fucking, what’s it? Girls who like boys who like girls who like boys, something like. Fucking shite.” 

“New song?” Calum echoes, mind trying to work around the cocaine to process what he’s being told. 

“Am I the only one who fucking listens to the radio?” Noel demands. “That’s our fucking competition, that is. We’ve got to knock them off the top spot.” 

“Competition,” Calum says slowly. Competition. Michael Clifford is his competition. 

And, fucking hell. Does Michael even know Calum’s his competition? Does Michael even know Calum’s in Oasis - does Michael even remember Calum? It’s been what, four fucking years now since the letters had petered out, since Calum had got too caught up in his new life of Liam and Noel and drugs and music and Michael had been too busy with his family and friends and the fucking police academy. Michael might not even recognise Calum, might not even remember his name. 

(Something tells him, though, even through the haze of drugs and alcohol, that they could never forget each other. After all, it says, who forgets their first kiss? Who forgets their first fuck? Who, it says, a little too knowingly for Calum’s liking, forgets their first love?) 

Liam seems to have sensed something’s up because he’s frowning, waving a hand in Calum’s face, and Calum blinks, shakes his head abruptly and sits bolt upright. He stopped loving Michael. He fucking did, no matter what the churning in his stomach might be telling him. That’s just the fucking booze.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Liam says, sounding annoyed.

“Don’t feel great,” Calum says, which isn’t entirely untrue. The high’s too high, and the alcohol’s making his stomach clench and contract, and he’s sweating a little too much, and his hands are clammy, and- 

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, a little faintly, and lurches to his feet, crashing into the bathroom next door and only just making it to the toilet bowl before he’s throwing up everything he’d ingested in the previous twenty-four hours. He’s glad he’s still high because it means he can’t quite taste the bile in his throat, can’t entirely feel the way his stomach’s heaving that he distantly registers is going to absolutely fucking kill tomorrow. 

Halfway through his retching someone appears behind him, kneeling down beside him and rubbing small circles on his back comfortingly. Calum feels fucking pathetic, slumped over the toilet bowl with tears leaking out of his eyes, someone making quiet, soothing sounds behind him, all because of fucking Michael Clifford. 

(That thought makes him retch once again.)

“Waste of fucking coke, that is,” the person says mildly when he’s finished, leaning up and flushing for him, and it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. No one else would willingly spend their short high in a tiny, cramped bathroom watching Calum throw up. Noel would probably lock him in and turn off the water supply, maybe grab a camcorder for good measure. 

Calum huffs out something that’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like more of a sob as he sits back, wipes his upper lip and forehead and rests his head against the cool tile wall. Liam sits down opposite him, legs pressed against Calum’s because they’re both too fucking big for the bathroom on their own let alone together, and blinks at him. 

“Fuck brought that on?” he says, more curious than anything. Calum’s stomach lurches again, images of Michael smiling at him sleepily on a Saturday morning, of Michael with his head tipped back in detention, laughing at something Calum had said, and the picture of him in the magazine, so much older and yet so fucking familiar, flashing through his mind in rapid succession. 

“Probably just overdid it,” he says weakly. Liam gives him a hard stare. 

“A fucking baby would’ve had a hard time getting high on what you snorted,” he says. 

“Baby wouldn’t’ve drunk five fucking beers beforehand, though,” Calum says, coughing slightly and wincing as he tastes the echo of acid at the back of his throat. 

“Depends whose baby it is,” Liam says. “Pretty sure mine would.” Calum snorts, and lets his eyes flutter shut as he starts to come back to himself a little, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself as he realises how cold he is. Fuck, he’s all clammy. Gross. 

Almost as though he can read Calum’s thoughts, Liam nudges Calum’s knee with his own. 

“You’re fucking rank,” he says. 

“Cheers,” Calum says, not opening his eyes. 

“Take a fucking shower.” Calum pulls a face. He’s not in the fucking mood to shower. 

“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s not like Liam’s never done the same. 

“You’re fucking rank, ” Liam tells him again, like he’d not thrown up in the sink two nights ago and left it there overnight, but he puts his hand on Calum’s shin and pats it, and Calum offers him a weak smile. 

“You don’t have to stay,” he says. 

“What, go back in there and listen to our kid break his neck sucking his own cock? Don’t fucking think so,” Liam scoffs. “I’ll be fucking sober in five minutes, anyway, given the amount of coke you pricks left me.” Calum smiles again, a little less wobbly this time. 

“Sober?” he says. “You drank twice as much as me.” 

“Not all of us are fucking Aussies, though, are we?” Liam says, and Calum can hear the grin in his voice. “Might as well be a fucking southerner, you.” That makes Calum open his eyes a fraction, enough to glare at Liam. 

“Piss off,” he says. “You and your fucking Irish blood. I’d drink anyone else under the fucking table.” 

“Fucking right,” Liam says proudly. “Never met anyone who could outdrink me, let alone an Aussie.”

“You’ve never met any except me, you prick,” Calum says, and Liam grins. 

“Well, most of you fuckers are smart enough to stay where it’s warm and sunny and the birds are fit, aren’t you?” he says. “Only the stupid ones end up here.” Calum scowls, and kicks at Liam’s leg half-heartedly. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “Didn’t choose to move here, did I? Got dragged kicking and screaming.” 

“But you’re still here,” Liam points out, and Calum finds he doesn’t have an answer to that. At least, he thinks, not one he’s willing to give Liam. 

“You must miss it,” Liam says when Calum doesn’t answer, a little surprised, like the thought’s only just crossed his mind after five fucking years of friendship. Which, knowing Liam, is probably the case. 

“Australia?” Liam hums his assent. “Dunno. I guess. I miss Vegemite.” He hesitates, before adding: “Mostly miss my mates, though.” 

“Oh?” Liam says, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You still talk to them?” Calum shrugs, a little uncomfortably. After all, it had been him that had ignored the last letter Michael had sent him. He’s the one who hadn’t written back. 

“No,” he says. “Phone calls are too expensive, and none of us are fucked writing letters.” 

“Ah, well,” Liam says, stretching out on the tiles and sighing contentedly. “Just you fucking wait ‘til we’re number one. You’ll see them then. We’ll be touring Australia three times a year, and that.” Calum can’t help but snort. 

“Three times a year?” he says. “There’s only five fucking cities worth playing in.” Liam grins. 

“And you’d better have friends in all of them, mate,” he says. “Not bloody paying for hotels if I can help it.” 

“My mates are all in Sydney,” Calum says, and there’s a little tug in his chest as he realises that actually, that might not be true anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to Ashton and Luke, either. If Michael can go from police cadet in Sydney to fucking famous musician in the UK then Ashton and Luke are probably, like, astronauts, or something. Maybe he should check with the ASA. 

“What?” Liam says curiously, clearly seeing the expression on Calum’s face, and Calum hesitates.

He’s not sure whether he should tell Liam. What the fuck would he even say? My ex, sort of, is in the band Noel’s lining up as our competition? You know Blur? Yeah, I fucked one of the guitarists. Liam wouldn’t get it. Great, he’d say, eyes gleaming. Eeyar, you must have some good stories about him. You can embarrass him in the press. Or maybe, get in, mate. Infiltrate them, eh? Fucking good thought. Oi, that Damon’s alright, isn’t he? Maybe I’ll have it on with him. He wouldn’t understand the weight behind it, what Michael meant to Calum. Means to Calum. Fuck, he doesn’t know anymore. 

“I think a mate of mine might have moved over here,” Calum says eventually, when Liam raises an expectant eyebrow. It feels fucking weird calling Michael a mate. The word doesn’t feel quite complete in his mouth, like maybe there should be a soul prefixing it. 

“Oh aye?” Liam says, raising his other eyebrow too, like he knows what Calum might mean by ‘mate’. “Where’s he living?” 

“I don’t know,” Calum admits. Liam hums, like he’s thinking it over. 

“D’you want to know?” he says, in that strangely perceptive way he sometimes does. Calum shrugs, and hopes Liam doesn’t catch the tension in his shoulders. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Dunno. Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Liam doesn’t ask him to. Instead, his emotional capacity probably filled for the night, he claps his hand on Calum’s thigh. 

“Want to see if we can get Noel to piss himself?” he says, eyes bright, and Calum can’t help but snort. 

“‘Course I fucking do,” he says, getting to his feet. Liam braces himself on the sink as he pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and grins. 

“Ten quid says he does,” he says, and Calum snorts. Noel had pissed himself once, three years ago, and Liam can’t fucking let go of it. 

“You don’t fucking have ten quid,” he says, following Liam out of the room, still feeling a little light-headed and woozy, but no longer nauseous. 

“Neither do you,” Liam counters, pushing open the door to the living room, and Calum has to concede there.

“How about the loser sucks the other’s dick, then?” he says, grinning, and Liam throws his head back as he laughs. 

“You’re on,” he says over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. 

“Who’s getting who to suck their dick?” Noel demands. 

“You’re helping me get Calum to suck my dick,” Liam tells him, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Noel and resting his head on Noel’s chest. Almost instinctively, Noel’s arm comes around him, holding him close. Calum could almost be fooled into thinking they’re in some sort of a truce, that the booze and cocaine have broken down the barrier of hatred between them and left only the underlying love, until Liam reaches forwards, picks up a bottle of beer and holds it to Noel’s lips with a wicked grin. 

“Drink up.”

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfukimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @makaylaa1113 

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chapter two

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #409

“when everything is wrong, we move along”

Are you a good kisser? I mean there's no way for me to actually know, but I guess history suggests I'm not bad. What question do you hate being asked the most? "What does your tattoo mean?" I'm so self-conscious of my "strange" interests that I can't stand that question and I get SO awkward. I know, I know, "Then why did you even get it?" Reason being it makes me happy and I don't want my fears to win anyway. What do you think the hardest part of surviving is? Just that very thing: surviving. Getting through rough patches with your sanity and good health intact. Do you own any clothes you wouldn’t wear in front of your mother? No. Do you honestly hate anyone? Sometimes I think I still hate the girl Jason dated after me. It's entirely unjustified, and even knowing they're not together anymore (at least, to my knowledge), thinking of her just... makes me angry and jealous and just generally uncomfortable. I also sincerely hate someone who violated my best friend. What song did you hear last? I'm listening to a slowed down mash-up of "Circus" by Britney Spears and "Poker Face" by Lady Gaga. It's actually p dope man. Have you ever walked in on your friends having sex? YIKES no. Where do you find you take most of your naps? I nap in my bed. Do you like sleeping just wearing your underwear and a top? No. I had to do that once and I was SO uncomfortable. Are you named after a parent or grandparent? No. Who was the last person to ask you out? Girt. Do you have nice legs? No. Has a boyfriend’s brother ever hit on you? No. Do you have a nice butt? That's an even bigger "no." I have like, no ass lmao. What do you have a massive attraction towards? Some short Korean dude that is the literal avatar of "chaotic good" lmao. Have you ever made a sex tape? NOOOOOOO and I never will. How do you feel about your weight right now? I am immensely unhappy and just seriously depressed by it. Have your parents ever told you that you’re a disappointment? Oh my god, no. I would die. I feel like they think that, but they've never said or acted so. Do graveyards thrill or terrify you? They give me a feeling of peace, and I find them humbling as a tiny, mortal being that's only here for a flicker in time. They remind me to try and make use of that spark. What song’s your current favorite? I've really been digging "SAVIOR" by SWARM as of recently. Do you miss any of your exes? Yes. Did you ever take pottery class in high school? They didn't offer a course for specifically pottery; it was just included in Art. I made one or two things. Have you ever felt yourself fainting? A few times. Who’s the last boy to make you cry? Guess. His memory, anyway. Did he know that he made you cry? I honestly wonder what he'd think if he knew all these years later, I still have times where I cry over him. When’s the last time you felt like a total asshole? I don't really know. Has anyone ever threatened you? Yes. Would you ever own a rat? I've owned quite a lot. I LOVE rats, and a part of me wants another pair, but I'm just not a great owner of pets that require so much cleaning. Would you or do you ever spank your kids? NO. I will ALWAYS say this regarding this subject: you do not teach your children through fear, nor do you instill in them, deliberately or not, that it is okay to hit people when they upset you. Have you ever considered being a cop? Nope. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever kept a goldfish alive? Not long. Fish husbandry is more complicated than people make you think, so your ordinary fishbowl situation isn't going to work long. Have your parents ever questioned your virginity? My mother has. Dad has never said anything regarding this subject, thank god. That would be uncomfortable as shit. Have you ever spent over $100.00 on an article of clothing? What was it? Fuck no. Honestly, have you ever mooned or flashed somebody? No. Have you stayed up past 3 in the morning this week? Actually, yes. I pulled the first all-nighter in eons a few days back. What was on the last sandwich you had? Ham, cheese, and mustard. Do you own a trenchcoat? Bitch I wish. Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? Christ, my iPod that I've had since middle school. Seriously, a 4th gen. iPod Nano is still running, and I use it HEAVILY. I have no fucking clue how it's still alive. Tell me the last thing you searched on the internet? A definition just to make sure I was using it correctly. Are you currently in a smoking environment? Nooooo. Ma would never allow someone to smoke in here, and I honestly wouldn't either. Have you ever owned a tire swing? No. Have you ever taken care of a drunk friend? No. How about a hungover friend? No. What’s your opinion on people who go hunting for sport? You gross me out. (: Do you know anyone who can fluently speak more than two languages? No. Have you ever gone in a sauna? NOOOOOOOOOOOO. I would hate that SO much. What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn’t have? ALWAYS wanted? Probably a ferret. I don't actually want one now, but the idea is still nice to imagine. They're such characters. Is there any TV show that ended that you wish hadn’t? Ugggghhhh, Deadman Wonderland. It ended on SUCH a cliffhanger. I mean the manga continued, so I could've chosen to read that, but I don't read manga. Have you ever seen your parents drunk and what was your reaction? I saw my dad drunk all the time when I was younger because he was an alcoholic for as long as he lived with us. I knew he was either going to be hilarious or volatile and withdrawn. 50/50 chance. I've seen my mom drunk a couple times, and it was always surprising to me because she drinks very rarely. She's a very social and silly drunk, and it's a rare occasion where she seems happy. What’s your biggest body worry when you wear a bikini? Hunny, you would NOT see me in a bikini. Even if no one else was around, I wouldn't put one on. If you had the chance to redo high school knowing what you know now, how would you redo it? I think I probably wouldn't have dated Jason. Do you or anyone you know have an account on deviantART? I have for many, many years, and have friends that do, too. Do you get your eyebrows waxed? Not anymore. If you draw, what's one thing you always have trouble with? HANDS. Who was the first person you made out with, and where was it? Jason, in his bed. When was the last time someone said you were attractive? WOW, who the fuck even knows. Have you ever had to pretend you were sober, even though you were wasted? How did it turn out? No. Have you ever smoked at school? No. Have you ever thrown up from working out? No. Do you think machines will take over the world? I think it's a possibility. Technology keeps advancing faster and faster that I wouldn't be all that surprised if we design them to such an advanced state that they have some sort of sentience. Is the way you typically behave congruent with your ethnic background? What the ACTUAL fuck is this question. Literally fuck off. Have you ever lived in a brand new house? No. Has the last person you kissed met your father? Yes. What’s your favourite breed of dog? I have a strong bias for beagles. As far as visual appeal of breeds goes, I REALLY couldn't tell ya. There are so many beautiful dogs. Do you think more about the past, present or future? I'm pretty obsessed with the past. Do you swear in front of your parents? Dad, freely. Around Mom, I try not to say "fuck" or "goddamn" because she really doesn't like those. I still say some words, though. It's just pure habit. What’s something that’s bothering you? I've just been having envy problems lately, and it's not an emotion I'm used to or enjoy whatsoever. Have you ever been asked out by someone you didn’t want to date? Yeah. Did any particular thing brighten up your day today? Not really. Do you know who your latest ex is dating? Nobody. What are your plans for the weekend? My sister Katie and her husband are coming to visit, and we're probably driving up to a lake that Ash and her little family stay at all the time so Katie can meet the kids. But with that storm coming through, it's questionable if we'll actually go, because it's an hour drive. When were you last in a car? Earlier today to go to the TMS office. I officially start my tapering sessions, so I won't be going every day now. Have you cried today at all? No. Have you ever gone out in public in your pajamas? That is noooot rare, honestly. Depends on where I'm going. Have you ever had bronchitis? Nope. Think back to the last person you kissed, how many times have you cried in front of them? Twice, I wanna say? What do you want right this second? To actually have motivation to draw a picture I have planned. If you were offered to smoke some weed right now would you accept? No. If I weren't so opposed to smoking because of the lung damage I honestly would, though. I'm curious how it would affect my anxiety. Can you control your dreams if you realize you are dreaming? No. When was the last time you cried really hard? I'm really not sure. Do you think you can last for an hour without talking? Very, very easily. I probably do that on a daily basis. Do you know anyone else with your name? Yes, but spelled differently.

[things2mustdo]

A while back, I came across a thought-provoking article about r/K selection theory. The basic idea is that r-selected species are adapted for environments with unlimited resources, while K-selected species are adapted for competition. The typical examples of these are rabbits and wolves. As the article explains:

Rabbits (r-Strategy)

They’re herbivores with near unlimited resources (never a shortage for grass).. The virtually unlimited resources are a primary reason why rabbits are not territorial. This is also part of the reason why they opt for breeding often; unlimited resources means they’re not going to starve.

They have no defense against predators other than running. They do not have any loyalty towards their group. It makes no sense for a rabbit to rush to the aid of another rabbit being attacked. Then you’d just have two dead rabbits.  Because they can be killed so easy, it makes sense to reach maturity as quickly as possible so they can begin birthing children.

Hierarchies are pointless in rabbit society. Rabbits lives are rather simple; eat grass and run away from danger. There’s no need to invest heavily in their offspring. As such, there’s no need to prove who’s the superior (alpha) and the best candidate for passing on their genes.

Wolves (K-Strategy)

They’re carnivores that must hunt to survive. Hunting requires more intelligence and training than grazing on grass. Due to the increased difficulty of hunting compared to grazing, more time is invested in training the offspring to survive.

Because prey is limited, wolves must viciously protect their territory from intruders. While it might seem heartless, if another pack is allowed into their territory the supply of prey will be exhausted and both packs will starve to death.

Wolves are monogamous/pair-bond. Because raising the offspring is so important for the continuation of the species, the wolves will pair for life in order to raise their young. As such, they will choose the best mate they can find to further improve their chances of birthing strong, healthy cubs. This process of choosing leads to hierarchies with an alpha male leading the pack. Wolves also wait longer before reproducing and generally have less offspring. If they reproduced early and often, there would be too many wolves for the ecosystem resulting in the consumption all the prey and starvation.

Wolves are more complex. This is true for carnivores in general. Because carnivores typically live in groups, they must have more sophisticated ways to communicate. The same is true for their domesticated brethren. Look at a dog and you can easily identify if he is scared, happy, angry, or bored by his body language and barks. Can you tell the same moods on a rabbit?

This isn’t a completely binary distinction. For example, some herbivores (such as bovines) will flock in packs and defend themselves. Lions are more K-selected than domestic cats.

The social angle

Humans are mainly K-selected; that’s what is natural for us. There are individual differences and statistical outliers, of course. As an extreme example, imagine two brothers; one picks up Atlas Shrugged and is inspired to become a successful businessman, and the other reads the Communist Manifesto and then continues to live in Mom’s basement where he smokes weed and posts social justice memes on 4chan all day. Compare also the factory worker who is a pillar of his community and is proud to bring home the bacon to his wife and kids, versus the starving artist who has yet to produce much of value.

Differing societies have their own average balance between r and K selection. Those mostly r-selected tend to be more collectivist; those more K-selected are generally individualist. In isolation, societies find their own level and work out what’s best for them according to their own unique cultures. When one group enters another group’s turf, problems can happen. I’ve already described how this was a factor in my witty take on the demise of the Neanderthals, who might have been too progressive to survive, rather than too backward as is often assumed.  That, of course, was an analogy for what’s going on in today’s society.

This even has implications for mating strategies. What we’d now sometimes derisively call “provider game” used to be the only game in town, and was natural for our society at the time, as it had been since antiquity. After the Sexual Revolution, all the rules changed seemingly overnight, and what used to work became ineffective. The flowers, gifts, and poetry stuff once showed you were dependable and good-natured, which (believe it or not) used to be desired qualities. That will get you Friend Zoned now.

The weird thing is that today’s game strategies are an adaptation in response to our society’s unnatural shift from K-selection (where being hard-working and stable is valued) to r-selection (where being “exciting” and flashy is valued). This is why in today’s dating arena, those continuing to use traditional courtship strategies are like fish out of water. These days, being at least somewhat game-aware is pretty necessary even to get a steady girlfriend. These differing strategies lead to much confusion about what best exemplifies an alpha—a socially savvy and successful man, or a meth head ex-convict with missing teeth and a high “notch count”?

The political angle

Ideologies tend to support either K-selection or r-selection as a model for society. Now consider the part quoted about rabbits given above. Which ideology favors handing out unlimited free goodies, is anti-military, puts down traditional morality, believes in gun control, despises their own society, will run from a fight, seeks to eliminate the consequences of promiscuity, considers any hierarchy to be “privilege” or “oppression“, and doesn’t believe in self-improvement?

That certainly hits the highlights of the culture war. This presents a new perspective on why Social Justice Warriors want to re-invent society their way. All along we thought it was only cultural Marxism, but maybe there’s something even deeper going on psychologically with the SJWs.

This is reflected in policy arguments too; compare Bush the Elder’s “family values” with Hillary’s “it takes a village to raise a child”. As we can see, quite a bit of leftist ideology is basically about turning human society from the K-selected model into one friendly to the r-selected model. Two competing ideologies (or two societies living in the same space) with differing ideas about these things will come into conflict. The more K-selected ones will get themselves dragged down by the others if they let it happen, or even destroyed. Also, take a look at any bad neighborhood; consider it a low-investment parenting theme park.

In the wilderness, these things wouldn’t happen. Apex predators don’t tolerate rivals coexisting in their own turf. The smart lion drives away a pack of hyenas, and the smart bear chases away the foxes. In human societies, this has worked out quite differently, especially when clever manipulators weaponize our own societal values of tolerance, fairness, and all the rest of it against us.

The greatest problem is that we don’t actually have unlimited resources available to meet our wants and needs, like rabbits in a grassy field. All the free goodies a government hands out must come from taxpayers, with bureaucrats getting their piece of the action. (So who are the predators in that situation?) As Margaret Thatcher put it:

I think [The Labour Party] made the biggest financial mess that any government’s ever made in this country for a very long time, and Socialist governments traditionally do make a financial mess. They always run out of other people’s money. It’s quite a characteristic of them. They then start to nationalise everything, and people just do not like more and more nationalisation, and they’re now trying to control everything by other means. They’re progressively reducing the choice available to ordinary people.

In the Communist world, those faced with the task of implementing the silly theories of Karl Marx had to ration resources, which resulted in inefficiency and corruption. Things didn’t go according to theory, obviously. Ideologies out of touch with reality become dysfunctional pretty quickly.

The endgame

Now here’s something even more disturbing. In advanced species, adulthood means being able to fend for oneself. In the beginning, people relied on families and tribes (extended families writ large) for resources, protection, and support. Some degree of interdependence in a community is natural to us, since organized hunting and agriculture increased the odds of survival, and thus we’re social creatures. The head of the household called the shots in the family, and the chief led the tribe.

At the dawning of civilization, related tribes bound together into nations. The model of families living under kings was the norm up until the Age of Enlightenment, with the main drawbacks that the nobility (and those close to them) got rich at the expense of others, lorded it over their subjects, and sometimes got into short-sighted wars. Afterwards, the transition into democracies moderated some of these problems, though graft and corruption and badly-conceived wars still happened.

Now we’re moving into the “New World Order” model, where a few thousand plutocratic elites around the world use their wealth and influence to implement managed democracy, get into spit-in-your-eye wars, and other forms of skullduggery to influence things their way. They’re pushing to open the borders, erase national sovereignty, turn the diverse peoples of the world into a mass monoculture, and they’ve conspired to make the public unaware and compliant.

Overall, the elites are causing increased dependency on the nanny-state governments, which meanwhile neglect the public’s safety and well-being. They’ve shown great hubris, trying to live as kings and make us their serfs. Meanwhile, young adulthood has become increasingly an extened adolescence, and these days many are seeming more childlike than ever. The more all this goes on, the less citizens resemble independent adults.

The extreme model of this in the animal kingdom is with some insect species, such as ants and bees. Joseph Sobran used The Hive as a metaphor, and so have I. If you don’t feel like being one of their worker bees, or a neutered drone, then it’s time we get the globalists off our backs.

Read More: Cultural Collapse Theory: The 7 Steps That Lead To A Complete Culture Decline

[ytsthepodcast]

Infinite Consciousness Could Be Predetermined As Energy (#20)

Infinite consciousness could be predetermined as energy, which is never created or destroyed, which kind of lends to reincarnation. But that might be another thing, but definitely what we do in life. And those set milestones, you know, get a diploma, get a job, get a big house, nice car. Having the awareness that there is life and certainly something that you can look into things.

    Enjoy!

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        Did you hear the last episode with Bobby Tester? The Biggest Obstacles In The Culture Of Toughness And Self-Sufficiency (#19)

            LINKS FROM THIS EPISODE

  Is the D.A.R.E. program good for America's kids (K-12)?

The 5 big lies that D.A.R.E. told you about drugs.

David Icke

David Icke is an English writer and public speaker, known since the 1990s as a professional conspiracy theorist

David is the author of over 21 books, 10 DVDs and has lectured in over 25 countries, speaking live for up to 10 hours to huge audiences, filling stadiums like Wembley Arena.

        Wanna get heard on Your Transformation Station? Leave us an audio review here.

      SHOW NOTES

How our social upbringing plays an impact on complacency.

It's when you're at the lowest frequency and we're soaking up informationSubliminal messaging in television shows.

The problem with the DARE program.

And much more.

      Interested in getting on the show?

      Previous Episode

Should You Feel Ashamed For Wanting To Kill Yourself? The first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one. But if you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, you need to know that you're not alone. The Biggest Obstacles In The Culture Of Toughness And Self-Sufficiency (#19)

        Transcription

  You have to have a definition of success. If I could go back, this does not mean things that I would go back for, but what do you do when you lose your purpose? It's okay to struggle. It's okay. That you're not okay. I am your host Craig for Vasa together. We will go on a journey. The show is all about surpassing our internal dialogue.

We discovering. The true identity in new foresight, we have a chance to make the world a better place for our chip. Starting leaning in the example today and become your future self tomorrow. If you can leave our viewers with some good advice to follow, what would you let them know? These things that you're afraid to do?

Go boom.

  We're tapping into surpassing expectations from the most successful people in the modern-day and honing in on new foresight, methodologies, and clairvoyance. You never knew this is your transformation station with your host, Greg Abaza.

Then, the military gave me this fire inside, and lately, I just feel like I've been struggling to keep it ignited. I'm pretty sure it's probably not so much the fire that they instilled in you as much as it is the fire that you already have, that they help jar out. You already have that power and that flare and drive.

It's just that being put in that situation drew it out of you more than it would if you will like a regular citizen, the situation that I've noticed. Okay. I'm an introvert. However, you put me into a situation where I have men that are below me waiting to react to my command. I can, I completed one 80 into an extrovert, all a passion, anger, and frustration to deliver the very best I can be for them.

  And that is wood is something that I don't because you want them to be able to obtain the frequency that you have got to. You want to draw out in them the same way things which are not in you. Which still means that they have that fire in them. But in this scenario with you as a leader, you draw that fire that's in them up to the surface.

And that is within the regimen. It's in command is taking orders and following tasks. Nate, welcome to your transformation station. How are you doing brother? I'm great. Thanks for having me. What's that with you when you do it right now. Now right now, I am trying to find out where I'm going in life. And, uh, obviously I'm doing this podcast with you.

  It's really relatable. Like what are we doing with our lives? I was dunno, man. I fell out. Most people just go day to day and never think it through like wake up and react to the day rather than planning it out. Exactly. That's all people do. They let things happen in set up, making it happen themselves. What do you think that complacency it's taught through childhood up until school?

You know, the entire indoctrination of the system is kind of why most people are where they are now. So it's like an industrialized mindset. Hasn't left. That they're still, it still carries over because it's enforced through school such as we were taught to just obey, listen, learn, and then go to college, then get a job, get married, and then die.

Exactly. It is. This sounds miserable when you say it out loud, that is, that is. Um, it's what you make of it to a certain extent, but it starts from before school, you have parents, for example, that will transition the knowledge of the system. They were taught to their newborn baby babies to toddlers young children before they even get the chance to go to school or kindergarten or whatever it may be, keep going.

  Okay. So for example, we are taught from an early age, that dreams are not real. So if a young child has a nightmare or a bad dream, it's put down to be in a boogie man under the bed, or, you know, Oh, it's just a dream. It wasn't real. But keep in mind, this is some of the most influential ears of your life.

It's when you're at the lowest frequency around that four Hertz range and we're soaking up information. And it's all coming from parents that have been felt through the system and a system through technology, through phones, tablets, TVs. Um, that has become a surrogate parent of sorts to children because they spend so much time watching television and soaking up all of this information.

Not realizing that it's not organic and it's preprogram prescheduled pre-installed is all decoded and they're recounted into saying a child's show. And then it's broadcast and the child was soaking up all that information, not knowing whether it's positive or negative because their young brains are too young and underdeveloped to process that from wrong.

  So are you saying subliminal messaging in children's shows? Exactly. Can you elaborate on that? Um, I mean, I wouldn't say it's necessarily a child show, but the Simpsons have, let's say, had its fair share of interest in the media over the last few years. Um, they predicted a lot, you know, obviously Donald Trump's presidency, the nine 11 incident we had happened here in America, um, is being installed into personal homes.

You know, they've polluted to quite a lot of stuff. I can pick that up in a second. As far as indoctrinated of what our family values are, what our parents believe. How did you come to understand that is what's happening today in America? Well, here's the thing. Um, being able to, and being allowed to are two separate things.

Most children won't venture out because they're afraid of what their family, their peers or say. And when you're a young child, you have more fear of both Dorothy than certain people do as they progress through life. But. When all is said and done, the child was told not to put the curve and the hands in the cookie jar, normally of the children that end up doing it and have a face full of crumbs.

  I don't know if you're familiar with the dare program. It stands for drug abuse, something. I can't remember the exact words I have to look that up and then I'll enter in the show notes, but the whole point of it is to teach children that drugs are bad. It's like, if you smoke weed, you are Brian to smoke other drugs.

You will pretty much, the backfire as well, they tried weed. Oh, I didn't end up homeless. Okay. So let's try it. Let's try some heroin. Let's try some, let's try some crack. It just kept going. And they were like, well, fuck, they didn't plan that. So would it relate to what you're saying? Or is this a completely deeper topic that I'm going on too?

So I think with drugs is subjective to an addictive personality and it depends on why someone would use weed, um, would lean into whether they were more prone to, or not try other drugs, have a harder, more chemical substance. Is let's face it, not everyone that smokes cannabis ends up being a method.

  It's just not known plus cannabis hasn't as far as I'm still aware, ever had a recorded history of death in human history. So, and obviously math, cocaine, heroin opium, all of these other things they can kill and they have, and they will, I think the tobacco industry. Is also fighting that, wow, it's not death from a cigarette.

It's cancer that is caused by proxy. Yes. Cell killing people left-right. And center every day. Doesn't change. Let's go back. You've said the child being brought up at a certain frequency. What do you mean by frequency? So when you are born and you're out of the worm, As, you know, a child's head is not the same size as an adult head, which means, you know, the brain is softer and more vulnerable, I guess, to young babies.

That's why, you know, people take extra care with babies over a 13-year-old boy, for example. Um, and with that, The brain, as it evolves and grows gains mass, as well as soaking up all this information. And so I guess the frequency that I was pertaining to is when you are a certain age between. One and four you're around a lower Hertz frequency range, um, like radio waves for G wifi, um, and information that you process through the senses.

You know, the smell, touch, airing, taste, all of this pertains to what a child will learn. So basically. If they're exposed to the good things that those senses can pick up, then they're going to have a headstart over someone who is born into negativity. I'm a broken home. Uh, parents are, it did to a substance of some kind, um, abused being shown.

  Some things on television aren't appropriate for that age range. But most importantly, I think it's what the child sees outside of the home as well because that's another thing that they decode different than say, someone of older age, because someone that say 13, that's been to school and being a part of the programming.

We'll see. Mainly the programming outside of the score outside of the family hub. It's. Pre-installed whereas a young child, they don't have a bad experience with the outside world and they haven't been indicted translated yet. So they decode it differently than someone older say, decode, I'm referring to the way they perceive things.

The way they look at the world and everything in it. They look at the world in a more your perspective, something that caught my ear. Uh, it was, uh, Broke up was prime. It made me want to think of prime, a decode Prince sold. Maybe these children are being primed or something it's preemptive. Yes. Yeah. Now, what do you think people in societies actually being primed for?

  To answer. Some of this is to open up a real big hole and it's kind of endless. So you have to first acknowledge the separation of self and everything else that isn't the self. So when you say what splits up a person's life, pretty much from their true calling, you have. You know, for me, Nate, that works at the store and it's Nate at the store.

That's what people say. But the real stuff isn't even bound to Kara tourist steaks or the true South. Isn't the body I'm in. It's more of infinite consciousness now. Yeah. Again, I've been inspired by David Ike for years. And a lot of this, I have picked up from him and when I was younger, I really didn't understand it.

But nowhere near as much as I'm starting to now. And he just described the life that we lead as an experience, we are infinite consciousness, living, and experience, and infinite, conscious snares could be predetermined as energy, which is never created or destroyed. Which kind of lends to reincarnation, but that might be another thing, but definitely what we do in life.

  And those set milestones, you know, get a diploma, get a job, get a big house, nice car, have a family and kids that are nice. And that's certainly something that is good and you can look into it, but the true meaning of life and this is where it gets kind of dark there. Isn't one. It is purely what you make of a miraculous existence that you've been thrown into because no one's ever asked to be born.

They just are. But the energy for that existence is drawn from somewhere. Yes. There's conception, childbirth, all the Scientifics that you can apply to it. But if you look so much. Deeper than what may as science and that alone has a lot of gravitas. Me as science. Science is a base Foundry for everything pretty much.

But if you look further than science and just, you know, an egg or sperm and, you know, contraceptive, not contraception, um, conceiving, then you really start to look way deeper, a lot deeper. Like the chicken before the egg, which came birth and still no one really has the definitive answer to that thing.

  Now that is really interesting in who is David Eick. David Ike is someone that actually was born and raised, not too far from where I lived in England. A car thinks quite off the top of my head where it's from. It might have been, sorry, maybe Norfolk. But I was born in Leicester, share, raised in a little town called Burbage.

And I think the sky was like maybe an hour or two in a car away from where I live my whole life growing up. So now it just took a wild turn. What are you doing in America? So I actually met a girl that I knew online, did the whole internet date in thing. And between her and my wanting to leave England because of everything I had seen that growing up and I felt like there was never really a good Avenue for me to branch out into not many job opportunities, really, not a lot of anything.

There are all the manufacturing jobs were closing down because England had been in a recession for many years. And there was just no room for growth there. So between meeting her and the potential of life over here and my wanting to leave, that was kind of where that came from. Do you tell me you met a girl off tender protocol now it was back in 2013, 2014?

I believe to leave England. Yeah, the pursuit of happiness. I guess. So you, you don't have any family here, you met a girl online and you just said you're the one I'm I'm a nappy. Yeah. Yeah, pretty much. It was, uh, she, uh, she came to visit England before we left. Wow. Yeah. She originally went to Wales and then came them, I say, over to England, depending if you're wild shot, now it's the same place.

  But, um, yeah, when we got together and did our little thing and you know, and we, I came over on a visa originally and then, uh, transitioned through that, paid my dues to the government, got an old uncle. Sam's got to have his current right. And, uh, basically here I am still living in America and all my paperwork up to date.

Don't come to get me and we are all good. So we did you come here on a temporary visa for a little bit, and then somehow had to go back and then the chick that you're seeing go back to Anglin. And then from there, you decided to. So originally how that was meant to play out as I was meant to go back after six months and it never happened because we got married.

Yeah. And in the state of Missouri, if you do that, it waivers the visa. Apparently, this sounds like one big green card thing going on here, but it's not a problem. Let's, let's rewind. And let's what got you into understanding how our minds pick up neuro. Would that be the frequency in our brains that is being delivered out?

  And how did you come upon this information? I think I figured it out at a very young age, probably around. Doris says four or five. And basically what that pertains to was I looked at things differently than all the others is in my classes. And I'm not really sure why, but they were so focused on doing this paperwork and pleasing the teacher.

And I would just sit there thinking about all the things taken in the day before, or. You know, little things, you know, like out of the window in the school. And I guess that's one of the reasons why they labeled me as like special needs kid in school is they put me on a statement soon after I didn't really perform to their standard in the classroom.

And, uh, it kinda just snowballed from there, but I was never really into the whole, you know, Being a part of the mainstream, even as a little child, I didn't really know what it was back then, but I knew it didn't feel right. And like, guess everything I did from that point on was more self-discovery than letting myself be in a cog in the system.

  When you say self-discovery, were you something that, that happened later on in life and you kind of just blown with the system, but lived in a different realm? Perse, you know, for me, Nate, that works at the store and it's Nate at the store, that's what people say. But the real self isn't even down to characteristics of the true self isn't, the body I'm in, it's more of infinite consciousness now.

Yeah, again, I've been inspired by David Ike for years. And a lot of this I have picked up from him and when I was younger, I really didn't understand it that nowhere near as much as I'm starting to now. And he described the life that we lead as an experience, we are infinite consciousness, living experience and.

Infinite consciousness could be predetermined as energy, which is never created or destroyed, which kind of lends to reincarnation. But that might be another thing, but definitely what we do in life. And those set milestones, you know, Get a diploma, get a job, get a big house, nice car. Having the awareness that there is life and certainly something that you can look into things.

  But the meaning of that, we don't, this is where it gets kind of dark hole there. Isn't one. I think we can understand that is surely having a love of Mirage likes this instinct to, or how do we think no one's ever asked to be born. They just are, but the energy for that resistance is drawn from somewhere that happened in the past, conception, childbirth, all the Scientifics that you can apply to it.

But if you look well so much deliberate science and alone has a lot of gravitas. Mia science, science is a base Foundry for everything pretty much. But if you look further than science and just, you know, an egg or sperm and, you know, contraceptive, not contraception, I'm conceiving, then you really start to look way deeper, a lot deeper by the book before the day.

Yeah. And still, no one really has the definitive answer to that of think. Now that. Really, I'll be sure to link a bit. First off I have five or who is David? David. Ike is someone that actually was born and raised, not too far from where I lived in England. Uh, coughing quite off the top of my head where he's from it.

  Might've been sorry. Maybe Norfolk. But I was born in Leicester, share, raised in a little town called Burbage. And I think the sky was like maybe an hour or two and a car away from where I live my whole life growing up.

What are you doing in America? So I actually met a girl that I knew online, did the whole internet date in thing. And between her and my wanting to leave England because of everything that I had seen that growing up. And I felt like there was no right branch out because. Yeah. Or to challenge somebody let's say knowledge would have another lens.

England had been in a recession and there was no room for growth there. So between meeting her and the potential of life over here and my wine to leave, that was kind of why that came. Can you tell me, you meant girl?

It was Facebook. Oh, Facebook. Yeah. Back in 2013, 2014, I believe. And that was your primary driver? Yeah, the pursuit of happiness, I guess. Very well, but

  you don't have any family here? Is that a girl? You're the one. Yeah, yeah, pretty much. It was a share. She came to visit England before we laughed. It seems like no, everybody's she originally went, nobody's going to step outside their own, say over to England, depending if you're wild Shaw, now it's the same place.

But, um, yeah, when we got together and did our own little thing and you know, and we came over on a visa originally and then, uh, transitioned through that, paid my dues to the government, got an old uncle. Sam's got to have his current right. And, uh, basically here I am still living in America and all my paperwork's up to date.

Don't come to get me and we are all good with it. So I'm going to go off.

We did you come here on a temporary visa or a little bit, and then somehow had to go back and then the kick that your theme. Go back to Anglin. And then from there, you decided to come back. Yeah. So originally how that was meant to play out as I was meant to go back after six months and it never happened because we got married.

  Yeah. And in the state of Missouri, if you do that, it waivers the visa apparent. This sounds like one big green card thing going on here, but it's not a promise. No, no, I'm curious. I heard this story. Well, what was the girl's name? Uh, wow. She went by many names on a real name's Jess in the note. What's the last name, but I'll be sure to edit this out.

Alright, bringer. Yeah, no, cause it blows my mind. Because I don't know. I was talking to the girl. It's all starting to take a picture of when we originally started out children being a blank canvas, all their parents' values passed down onto them, whether they want that or not. Is based on it indoctrination, that's the beginning process, the moment.

  And they have the self-realization to know that they're worth more and can do more. Most people find that when they're at the lowest place in life and they will question, why am I here? What am I doing? Where will I end up? It's kind of like how people in an interview will say, where do you see yourself in five years from now?

Now, um, they're talking about the system, the construct in the workplace, the real self-discovery of why you'll be years to come can only be unlocked three around self-realization. And I think a part of that is revisiting past events. I'm looking at where you are currently and having that movement, that plan, that regime to progress for the, as an individual.

Cause I have so many cons there are so many things that are going through my head that I want to take this. As far as we reach self-actualization between age 35 to 45 or even never. And that's for somebody who. Takes the appropriate steps to learn their own image that they carry. And also who others perceive them as, because what we think about ourselves and what people perceive us are two different identities.

And once we

Marker

reach that self-actualization, we understand those two factors plus our purpose, our direction, and our vision in life. And that's how we define meaning. When we come to that ultimate question. What is the meaning of life that there's so much work behind that? And that's what we have to do. We have to put in the work nature, want to leave our audience with anything?

Yeah, I would basically say no matter how you feel, when you wake up in the morning, take a second to quiet your thoughts. Don't reach straight for the farm. Don't turn on the television thing to yourself. What would I like to achieve today, analyze to yourself if it's possible and how much you can port of yourself and that effort that you have?

Into that plan. And even if you don't succeed, you do everything you can to make it happen. Because like I said before, I have everything to gain from trying and everything to lose from not trying. So no matter how bleak it may seem in the day and in the moment take life by the horns and you don't know necessarily is it's going to lead, but it'll lead somewhere and somewhere is always better than nowhere.

Nate. I appreciate you coming on to your transformation station for this weekly uplift. Absolutely man. Thank you for having me. You've been listening to your transformation station, rediscovering your true identity and purpose on this planet. We hope you enjoyed the show and we hope you've gotten some useful and practical information.

Join us weekly on Monday for the YTS challenge and biweekly on Wednesday for the exclusive interviews at 8:00 PM central time. In the meantime, connect with us on Facebook and

Instagram at. Y T S the podcast we'll be back soon until then this is your transformation station signing off.

  Check out this episode!

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Jenny’s Belated Live Blogging - 31st October 2019

- well that was boring

- First of all...not nearly enough Aaron and no Seb even though they talked about him a lot. 

- Good on Seb for having like 3 cars by now though. He really is Robert and Aaron’s son. However, the fact that we yet again did not get to see Seb in a Halloween costume is a travesty. 

- Since I’ve seen the anons on my dash already, I don’t know how I feel about the idea of Seb being with Aaron tomorrow for the visit either but I’ll wait and see what the scenes are I guess. I genuinely expect nothing. It really does feel like he’s just already gone and it has since friday of week 42 to be honest. I mean of course I want a final emotional scene and I want him to get a final shot of the episode or something if this is his last one but I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll be annoyed when it doesn’t go well and everyone here hates it but I just sort of expect it to be disappointing and for them to be the E plot even though that’s dumb but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least. I just feel like we had our goodbyes in the woods and that phone call and everything after is really just fuel for Aaron’s story. As much as that’s frustrating from a Robert fan perspective. But we shall see tomorrow. 

- I really hate that Luke is Lee’s brother. I mean obviously the family of a rapist is not inherently evil, see all the conversations surrounding Aaron and Vic’s baby etc but the idea that they might make Vic’s next relationship be with the brother of her rapist after also giving her the baby she always wanted through said rape, it’s just gross and I’m not a fan. But if that’s not where they’re going with it, then I don’t know what the purpose of Luke is. So...

- I do like Vic and Aaron being friendly though. Obviously the spiral is probably going to throw a spanner in that but I miss the friendship they used to have and when Vic isn’t being thrown under the bus for plot purposes, she’s actually a tolerable character and I like her and Aaron being there for each other in this sad sad post Robert world. 

- As for the rest of the episode...ugh

- I mean I like Vinny with the Dingles but I have no clue where they’re trying to go with that. I feel like even if they found out he wasn’t her son, they’d be mad at Mandy for lying, not so much at Vinny who just wants to be part of their family. Although, I didn’t like the way he was looking at Belle. That was creepy. 

- I’m glad that, on screen, Aaron and then Robert were the first people to drink from the Welly because now it’s so overused. And after Lachlan they should really be more discerning with who they let drink from it. 

- The weed story...sigh...I’m glad it’s sort of mostly come to an end aside from telling Nicola and it did bring up some interesting stuff between Jai and Laurel that wasn’t immediately resolved so that has some mild potential. But I’m still just sort of confused by the whole thing and why it has gone on quite so long. And why would you just burn the weed in a barrel to get rid of it??? And then stand over the smoke and breathe it in??? Haha. 

- All the kids were out in this episode again. The Arthur/Archie rivalry reminds me of when Arthur was getting jealous of all of the attention April was getting back in the Laurel/Marlon days. Similar thing with Archie having just lost his mum. Also...hi Dotty...you’re like a real little person now. 

- As for Jacob...like, I’m glad they haven’t totally forgotten about Maya and that he’s still dealing with the after effects of that whole story, but I’m still really mad that they never properly resolved anything with him or had him make any kind of breakthrough. Even if he eventually does have one, it’s way too late. I do think it’s interesting exploring the possibility of a new age appropriate girl liking him though. There’s definitely good potential content there, I’m just still mad they messed up that original ending so badly. 

- I just don’t know what to make of Kerry. She was back sort of being her quirky side character self in this episode and it worked apart from the fact that I’m still thinking about the Frank story and how they’ve done nothing to properly resolve that either. Same thing I felt with Amy and Cain before she left. It just doesn’t work. And Tracy has been MIA along with Vanessa so we haven’t even had them around to know the truth and Charity who does hasn’t been involved with them at all. And I still think the Sharma’s deserve to know the truth. I just really don’t get that story, especially if they never really do anymore with it. 

- And then we have more convoluted backstories from the Home Farm gang! Hooray! I just...it’s so bad. I mean I want them to burn Home Farm to the ground so we never have to deal with these families again but god even the Whites worked slightly better for me. At least they had present day problems that didn’t entirely rely on convoluted off screen backstories. I mean there was some with Lawrence not being Chrissie’s dad but that linked back to Edna and Harold and there was just more there for me that made sense rather than just having Graham be a cryptic robotic exposition machine all the time. First with Joe, Kim owns everything. Then Kim and Graham had some on and off relationship for years despite the fact that they never really seem like they’re together. Then Andrea was suddenly working for Graham. Then Graham is possibly Millie’s father. Then Jamie was the one who got Kim sent to prison. Like...enough. Do something in the present. At least when Kim was taking control of the factory it was in the present. The rest of it is just not good. Not to mention they tried to give Jamie and Kim a little drama today and then she immediately went back on her threats and went to read Millie a story. At least do something with these revelations if you’re going to keep bringing them up. I don’t know. I just don’t get what they think they’re doing with that character group. They all work better outside of Home Farm and with other characters. Stop trying to force it or at least stick to something. Sigh...

- I mean I guess Kim is going to go after Graham now but since it’s all based on practically nothing, I don’t expect it will be very interesting. 

- And Al is such a waste without the Ellis stuff. I don’t know what they’re going to do with him because him just hanging around Kim and becoming sort of the new Graham doesn’t work. I’d much rather they actually had a Kim/Al romance or something but like make it legitimate with real feelings. Something...

- Anyway....I’ll just reiterate that this episode needed way more Aaron.

[only-kiwi]

Demons IV

i know this took ages and i don’t even like this chapter that much but i’ve had a few days off work and tried finishing this for you. i love you guys thank you for being patient with me 💘

TW: mentions of self harm, depression, eating disorder, use of drugs, swearing, age gap (19/24)

Billie really didn’t want to go to this party. Not even a little bit. She had bad experiences with them, but she tried not to think about it. The only people that know what really went down were herself, Willow, and her parents. Not even Jacob knew. Not even 18 months ago, Billie was at every party she should find. Even though she didn’t have many friends, Willow did, and they loved to party. However, it all got out of hand when someone started bringing drugs. It started with cigarettes (she’s being forced to quit). Then weed, which wasn’t that big of a deal to anymore. But Billie had enough of just being high, and she decided that she needed more. That’s where the cocaine and heroine came in.

It was fine at first, she could control it. It was all a bit of fun. But back then, Billie’s depression was the worst it had ever been and she couldn’t seem to forget about it. That’s how she ended in the hospital with a heroine overdose.

It wasn’t like she tried to overdose or anything - at that point it had been about six months since her last attempt and everyone thought she was doing fine.

Usually, when parents find out their kids are doing drugs, they get angry. But with Billie in the hospital, so close to death, her parents felt hopeless and all they wanted to do was help.

Today was the first time Billie was going to another party since. She was nervous as fuck but she figured that Harry’s friends were responsible and there would probably only be alcohol and a bit of weed. Also, Harry would be with her the whole time. If anything got bad, Billie would just ask to leave or tell him what’s going on. It didn’t help that Billie wasn’t having the best couple of days. Ever since she left Harry’s that morning she’d been filled with anxiety and it just hadn’t gone away. All she could think about was the kiss and what it meant or if it even meant anything at all. Her mind was fucked. It wasn’t the type of anxiety where she got shaky and couldn’t breathe. It was the type where he was so zoned out and felt like she wasn’t really there. Like she was dreaming or something. She was good at hiding it, she didn’t tell her parents or Jacob or Harry. It was stupid anyway.

“Billie?” Jacob knocked on his sister’s door. “Are you busy?”

“Trying to pick an outfit, what’s up?”

“Can you paint my right hand?” The young boy muttered and Billie look at his hands. The nails on his left hand were painted black and he had the bottle with him. “I’m shit with my left.”

“Yeah, come sit. When did you start painting them?”

“Tried it the other day and I liked it so I think I’m gonna keep doing it.” He shrugged.

“What about mum and dad? And the kids at school, I know how they can be and-“

“I don’t really care. Painting my nails doesn’t really mean anything, I just like the way it looks. Don’t care about anyone else.”

In that moment, Billie admired her little bother more than she ever admired anyone. She wished she had that mentality, she wished she didn’t care about what anyone thought about her. She wished she was like Jacob. Suddenly, Billie’s door opened and more half a second both their hearts stopped thinking it was their parents. But it was just Harry.

“Hi, your mum let me in.” He smiled. “Hey, Jacob. Nice nails. We match.”

Looking up, Billie saw that Harry’s nails were painted black and they only made him more attractive. Billie almost couldn’t breathe. Why the fuck was he so hot?!

“Thanks, are you two going somewhere?”

“It’s his friend, Niall’s, birthday. We’re going to his party.”

“You? A party?”

“That’s what I said!” Billie laughed as she finished up her brother’s nails. “Alright, get out, I have to get ready.”

With that, Jacob left, and Billie was left alone with Harry. She couldn’t help but feel awkward. Does she mention the kiss? Ignore it? She just didn’t know. She decided to not say anything until Harry did so she could save herself the embarrassment.

“Help me pick an outfit?” She asked Harry, pointing to her wardrobe. He smiled slightly and nodded.

****

Harry and Billie pulled up outside the massive house and she already felt intimidated. This house was bigger than Harry’s and she didn’t know what to do with herself. Breath, Billie.

“You okay?” Harry asked as he took off his seatbelt.

“Mhm,” she nodded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, “you don’t mind, do you?”

“Nope.”

Billie let the smoke fill her lungs and she felt less anxious in seconds, but that didn’t mean she was ready to go inside. She was scared of what people would think of her, if Harry had told them about her. Or maybe she was scared they would have drugs there. She didn’t know if she would be able to handle it.

Once she’d finished her cigarette she took in a deep breath and tried to relax. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Walking into the house, Billie felt like walking right back out. There were literally hundreds of people there. Hundreds. Harry noticed how nervous Billie was and grabbed her hand, squeezing it slightly and giving her a smile.

“Harry! Good to see you, man!” Harry’s very drunk friend greeted him. The Irish accent was enough for Billie to know that it was Niall. “You brought a friend?!”

“Niall, this is Billie. Billie, Niall.” He introduced them, and Billie have the drunk man a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Billie shouted over the music. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks, love! There’s drinks and shit in the kitchen, help yourselves.” Niall said before spotting another friend and walking off.

They walked to the kitchen and Billie needed a drink. She wasn’t planning on getting drunk but she needed something to loosen her up a bit. Billie couldn’t remember the last time she got drunk, and she didn’t want to. Harry handed her a vodka lemonade, and she took a sip from the red solo cup.

“You know, all this plastic isn’t good for the planet.” Billie pointed to all the cups in the kitchen and Harry playfully rolled his eyes.

“Are you one of them planet-saving-cruelty-free-vegans?”

“So what if I was?”

“I think that’s pretty cool.”

“Well I’m not vegan, I’m vegetarian but all the other stuff applies. It’s something that everyone should care about, it’s just common sense.” Billie explained. It was a random conversation but she wondered why they’d never spoke about it before because she’s sure she must have mentioned it.

Before Harry could get a word out, someone called his name. “Oh, my God. What’s it been, H? Like, two years?”

Harry’s discomfort was clear, but Billie sipped her drink and stayed quiet. “Hi, Kendall.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Billie.”

Billie tried her best to remain calm but Kendall was absolutely beautiful - she was a model after all. Billie had seen her on magazines, in ads and on billboards. Everywhere. She didn’t know Harry knew her, but she wasn’t really surprised.

“So, how long have you been together for?”

“We’re just friends,” Billie and Harry both said at the same time, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

“Weren’t we ‘just friends’ for a whole year.” The model taunted, raising her eyebrow.

“That was your choice, not mine.” Harry picked at his black nails, he was starting to get anxious. So, Billie decided to step in.

“It was lovely meeting you, Kendall. Hopefully we run into each other again tonight. But H wanted to introduce me to a couple of people, didn’t you?” She out of her best fake nice voice, knowing she sounded bitchy. Billie wasn’t a bad person, but that sure as hell made her feel good. She took Harry’s hand, making sure Kendall saw, before walking to what she assumed to be the living room.

She regretted it immediately. The place was filled with drugs. Not just weed - she didn’t mind that. But there was cocaine all over the tables and people injecting themselves with heroine. Billie felt sick and it was just because she’d barely eaten.

“What the fuck?” She mumbled, mostly to herself.

“I know.” Harry sighed. “Don’t worry, I don’t do any of this shit.”

“That’s not the point, H. You said this was a party not a fucking crack house. And what was with that Kendall?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here alone. And she’s apparently still mad that I broke up with her.” Harry huffed. “She can fuck off though, she’s such a bitch.”

“Yeah, it shows.” Billie muttered, but Harry heard anyway and laughed. “Can we go outside?”

Harry nodded and lead Billie to the garden, which was luckily empty. They sat on the chair and Billie pulled out yet another cigarette. “It’s not even been twenty minutes.” Harry pointed out. “Thought you were gonna quit?”

“Yeah, well I’m stressed.”

“Because I brought you here?”

“I wouldn’t have come if I knew there was gonna be drugs.” Billie sipped her drink. “I can’t be around that shit.”

“Did something happen?” Billie debated telling him. She didn’t want him to think of her as some messed up drug addict. She wanted a fresh start, not to keep bringing up the past, but she figured that Harry wouldn’t judge her.

“A lot happened.” She shook her head, trying not to go into a negative mindset. “It was around a year and a half ago, after my eighteenth. Long story short, my depression was the worst it had ever been and I went to loads of parties and shit. I fell in with the wrong people and started taking drugs to make myself feel better.”

“Oh, my God.” Harry whispered. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you. We can leave right now. I’ll tell Niall-“

Billie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the back door opened. Kendall and a few others came stumbling out of the house. Harry saw Billie roll her eyes, and had to hold back his laugh. He didn’t care much for Kendall anymore, they hadn’t spoken in years and their relationship was nothing special. They fucked on and off for a year before Harry caught feelings and Kendall decided to end it.

“Harry! Billie!” She practically screamed before sitting with them. “Come join the fun!”

“We’ve got the good stuff!” Another really pretty, model looking girl said, before pulling out a bag of white powder. Billie instantly tensed up. Harry’s eyes darted to her straight away, he could feel the anxiety coming off of her.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Billie whispered to Harry, starting to get up from her seat.

“On the left as soon as you walk upstairs.” He told her. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be ok,” the younger girl promised, “I won’t be long.

Harry was concerned but nodded anyway. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to be around all these drugs after overdosing from them. He wondered if she was tempted to take any, or if she just didn’t feel comfortable. Hopefully, it was the latter. But he simply didn’t know.

Billie was panicking in the bathroom. She wanted to go home. She wanted to ask Harry if they could leave but she didn’t want to take him away from his other friends. It was just so hard being around all those drugs. She remembered how they made her feel - she wanted to feel like that again. She wanted to feel free and calm.

All she could hear was a muffled Travis Scott and the voices in her head. Why is this happening right now? They hadn’t come in days - the voices. Yeah, she was anxious but now it’s all hitting her. It was like in the movies where there’s an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Only there were devils on both Billie’s shoulders and they were dragging her down.

Billie looked up in the mirror and ran her hands through her hair. “No,” she tried shaking the voices out of her head, “no, no, no.”

The poor girl felt like she was drowning, like she couldn’t breathe anymore. Fuck. She tried digging into her pockets for her phone so she could call Harry, only to realise she left it with him “Fuck!”

The room was spinning. Billie tried gripping onto the counter but she accidentally knocked something off. Her eyes followed it to the ground. A bag of white powder. It was like it was put there for her - like it was waiting. She picked it up and looked at it. Her brain telling her so many different things.

Without thinking, she opened the bad. She didn’t know why she did it, she just... did. Her mind was all over the place. What’s one little sniff, right? Maybe she’ll feel better. All the had to do was control herself so it won’t end up like last time. Yeah. One sniff. Just to take edge off.

She dipped her finger into the bag and brought it up to her nose. She didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly the entire bag was gone. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t the plan! If only it kicked in quicker, she wouldn’t have taken so much.

“Come on, Billie, get your shit together.” She told herself, using her shaky hands to pick up the bag and throw it away. “He can’t find out.”

Billie knew it would take at least ten minutes to kick in, and she didn’t know how she would act after. Usually, she’s be dancing on tables and screaming lyrics at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t even feel good this time. Just anxious. She can’t remember why she ever enjoyed this.

“Billie? Are you ok?” She heard Harry’s voice and panicked again. He would definitely be able to tell. “You’ve been in there for a while.”

“Yeah, I’m okay!” The younger girl called back before checking if her nose was clean. “Give me a sec.”

Her vision was already getting blurry, she could barely walked straight. But she had to fake it. Opening the bathroom door, she saw Harry standing there. He looked a lot better than she remembered and she’d only been gone half an hour. Her sex drive was insane when she was high.

“Everything good?” Harry asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Yeah, perfect. Why wouldn’t it be?” She tried standing still, but she must have looked crazy.

“You were gone for ages, I just-“

“Oh, no need to worry.” She patted his chest and he stood there dumbfounded. “I could really use another drink! Let’s take shots!”

“Shots? I can’t, I’m driving. And there’s no way I’m taking you home drunk.”

“God, you’re such a dad.” Billie rolled her eyes, and stumbled passed him. “Let’s have some fun, H!”

“Billie,” Harry pursed his lips, slightly tugging at her wrist. “Did you take something?”

“What,” she hiccuped, “makes you think I took something?”

“I’m not stupid, what did you take?”

Silence.

“Well?”

“There was a bag in the bathroom.” Billie muttered, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“For fuck’s sake!” Harry raised his voice. “You had a go at me for bringing you here when all you were gonna do is take whatever the fuck was lying around?! God, Billie. You’re so stupid!”

She knows he’d been drinking a bit, she wanted to blame his reaction on that. But he can’t have been that drunk because like he said, he was driving. She felt herself begin to panic, he’d never spoken to her like that before.

“I-I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “It was right there and they wouldn’t leave me alone I-“

“They?”

“The fucking voices, Harry! They never go away and they kept telling me to do it, I just wanted them to stop.” Her voice started strong but cracked towards the end. Billie had been doing fairly well, but of course, these things sneak up on her at the worst times.

That’s when Harry knew it was more than an act of rebellion or an adrenaline chase. Billie was really sick. She had no control, and it killed him. He felt bad for yelling, it wasn’t her fault.

“I’m sorry for yelling, I’m just worried about you.” Billie nodded, she didn’t really know what to say. “I’m gonna take you home. You need to sleep this off.”

“No, I’m not going home.” She folded her arms and stomped her foot, stumbling slightly as she did so.

“God, you’re such a child.” Harry groaned.

“You weren’t saying that when your tongue was down my throat but ok.” Bullied huffed, and Harry raised his brow.

“Right, that’s enough. We’re leaving.” Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

“Fuck’s sake, Harold!” She practically screamed in frustration. “I don’t want to-“

“Am I interrupting something?” Kendall. Again. God, Billie wanted to punch her. She always showed up whenever she and Harry were alone and she hated it.

“No-“

“Yes-“

“Billie,”

“No! She’s annoying.” Billie shrugged before turning to Kendall. “Harry doesn’t want anything to do with you. Just... go away.”

Harry stayed silent. Billie wasn’t wrong, he just wasn’t happy with her approach. He knew it was the drugs, but for some reason he was growing annoyed. “Come on, B. Let’s go.” He whispered, not daring to look up at Kendall as they walked away. “I’m taking you home.” He told her once they got into the car.

“Take me back to yours.”

“Why?”

“Can’t really walk into my house high of my tits, can I?” Billie huffed. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”

****

Harry silently opened the door for Billie and they entered his home. They hadn’t spoken a word since they left Niall’s because Harry didn’t really know what to say and Billie had a splitting headache. All she wanted to do was sleep and forget she ever relapsed. She knew she would wake up feeling worse, hating herself and wanting to die. She really fucked up.

The drugs had worn off now. Billie remembered that being her least favourite part of taking them. They wore off way too quickly. She just felt really shitty now. Maybe it would have been fine if Harry wasn’t so annoyed with her. She knows she shouldn’t have taken them but why was he so upset with her?

The first thing Harry did when he was in the bedroom was take his shirt off and throw it to the side. The first thing Billie did was pick it up so she could wear it to bed. She usually wore his shirts when she stayed round, and she wasn’t up for asking for a fresh one. She didn’t say another word as she began to turned to walk about of his room.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, sounding embarrassingly desperate.

“Going to the spare room?”

He hesitated for half a second before his head got the best of him.

“Stay,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

[lovemesomesurveys]

What’s the name of the last person you kissed? Joseph.

Is your heart broken at the moment? Not in the romantic sense. It’s probably more that I’m broken.

When was the last time you sneaked out of the house? Never.

Do you have that one friend that everyone thinks is a slut? No.

Who’s the last guy you argued with? My brother and I bicker sometimes.

What about the last girl? My mom and I bicker sometimes, too.

Would you marry the last person you kissed? Uh, no. It didn’t even work out for us relationship wise. He didn’t want to take that step, so he certainly wouldn’t want to marry me. That’s definitely a lot more commitment. He also didn’t feel the same way I did about him. It wasn’t that deep for him, I was just convenient. It just wasn’t in the cards for us. It’s also been like 4 years now since we last talked or saw each other. But it’s fine cause I don’t want to marry him, either. I don’t want to get married at all.

Is there someone you wish you were friends with again? Yes, there’s a few people.

Do you know anyone who is pregnant right now? No.

Does the last person you kissed have any tattoos/piercings? No.

Who’s the last person you kissed on the cheek? It was probably my mom.

Do you know anyone who got an abortion? Yes.

Who’s the last person that asked you out? Ty. That was like 3 years ago now.

Do you speak your mind all the time or hold things in? I keep to myself mostly in “real life”, but ya’ll know I’m pretty open in these surveys.

Are you stressed out about anything right now? Yes.

Whens the last time you told someone you loved them? Yesterday.

Would you ever get plastic surgery and if so what would you have done? Not unless I needed like reconstructive surgery.

Is there something you want that you can’t have? I can think of a lot of things.

Why did you and your last ex break up? Just wasn’t meant to be.

Do you still remember your first kiss? Yes.

Are you happy with where you are relationship wise now? I’m single and that’s how it should be right now.

Are you a heart breaker? I’m the one who has gotten their heart broken several times, not just in the romantic sense.

Have you ever let someone be your everything? Yes.

How many kids do you want to have? Zero.

Have you ever purposely given someone the wrong number? No.

Who’s the last person you slapped? Probably my brother in a playful way.

Do you belie​ve that you can chang​e for someo​ne?​ I believe you have to want to change, too. Not just for others, but for yourself.

Is it hard for you leavi​ng peopl​e behin​d?​ Yes. It probably doesn’t look like it since I’ve pushed everyone away these past few years. :/

Who was your last missed call from? I got a few spam calls the other day.

Who’s the last person you smoked weed with? It was with a group of friends.

Are you mad at the last person who called you? No.

Do you think your recent ex cares about you? Why or why not? I feel like he probably forgets I exist to be honest, but yeah he probably does in the general sense. I’m sure he wouldn’t wish anything bad. I just feel like I’m not even on his radar.

Who was the last male you talked to, other than family? I haven’t talked to any males outside of my family in awhile.

When was the last time you flew in a plane? Over 10 years ago.

Is there a girl you absolutely can not stand? Myself.

Have you ever set anything on fire? I’ve had that happen when cooking something in the microwave and in the oven. Oh, and the tips of my hair caught fire once when trying to blow out birthday candles. :X

Have you kissed the last person you texted? When he was a baby.

Are you currently wanting any piercings or tattoos? Ehhh.

Do you find tattoos attractive in the opposite sex? Not really. I don’t have an issue with them, though. Well, I do admit that I’m not a fan of face tats of like if your body is covered in them.

Do you have more guy or girl friends? I don’t have any friends.

Are you growing away from someone? That happened a few years ago with everyone outside of my immediate family.

Do you honestly have any feelings for anyone? Not romantic feelings, no.

Out of all of your exes, who treated you the best? Derek. I know he really did care.

Who is the person you have hurt the most? Myself, friends, and I feel like I’ve hurt my family, too.

Who is the person that has hurt you the most? Myself.

Have you smoked a cigarette today? I don’t smoke.

Is there someone you wish you could have back in your life? If so, who? Ty is definitely one of them.

Describe in your own words how it feels to be heart broken: It’s horrible to say the very, very least.

Are you listening to any music? What song? Nope.

Ever had a person who was obsessed with you so much that it scared you? Kind of.

Is there anything silver near you? Yes.

Has anyone ever mistaken you for someone else? Yeah.

Who are you talking to right now? No one.

Have you cried this past week? Yes.

Say your last ex walks up to you and hugs you, what do you say? It would be awkward. I’d hug them back, do like an awkward laugh, and then do that awkward small talk thing.

Would you date someone right now if they asked? No. Definitely not right now because I’m not even talking to anyone in that way. There’s no one I’m interested in in that way either. That means it would be someone completely random that I don’t even know and I’m certainly not going to date someone I don’t know. However, it wouldn’t make a difference right now if there was someone I was talking to or interested in and they asked me out because I’m not in the right place right now to be in a relationship.  

Has someone recently told you something you didn’t want to hear? Yes.

Anyone you’re giving up on? I feel like I’ve given up on myself in a lot of ways.

Do you hate the person you fell hardest for? No.

Who was the last baby you held? It’s been quite awhile since I’ve held a baby, but the last time was one of my cousins.

Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you? Yeah.

Would you ever get a tattoo? If so, of what? There’s one I’ve wanted for years, but I doubt I’ll ever get it done.

Ever kiss someone who was dating or married to someone else? No.

Have you been fired from a job? I’ve never even had a job.

Have you purposely flirted with a friends crush? Yes, but not to be a bitch or cause drama. We unknowingly liked the same guy and then when we found out it was very awkward. I didn’t purposely flirt with him in front of her, but it did happen sometimes. Thankfully, that whole situation was very short lived.

Do you have any siblings that moved away to college? No. My brother attends college and still lives with us.

Have you had any beer this week? Ew, no. I don’t drink anymore for one, but also I’ve never been fond of beer.

Is there anything you need to talk about with someone? Yes.

What is something that you consider rude for someone to do in conversation? I don’t like if they’re really into their phone while we’re talking and clearly not paying attention.

What is something that really bothers you? A lot of things.

Are you wearing a necklace? Nope.

Are you starting to realize anything? I don’t think anything new recently. It’s more like further confirmation if anything.

Did you kiss or make out with anyone today? No.

What does text #10 in your cell say? It doesn’t work that way.

When was the last time you felt like your heart was actually breaking? When my dog, Brandie, passed away.

Are diamonds a girls best friend? They’re pretty and all, and I wouldn’t be opposed if someone wanted to give me one haha, but I’m not obsessed with them. I’m not really big on jewelry anymore. I used to be.

Who was the last person who cried around you? My mom.

Your last ex is on the side of the road, on fire. What do you do? Uh, I would call 911 and do whatever else I could. I’d also be freaking out.

What was the last thing you cried about? Blah.

Do you have a good relationship with your mother? Yes. We’re very close.

Who’s the last guy to give you roses? A guy has never given me roses.

Do you think relationships are hard? They can be. There’s going to be rough times.

Did your parents do drugs when they were younger? My dad just did weed as far as I know. My mom tried weed and a hard drug of some kind, but neither were her thing.

What color are your eyes? Brown.

Do you listen to music while you fill out surveys? No, I usually listen to ASMR videos or just have the TV on.

How long did your last feelings of heartbreak last? My last heartbreak in the romantic sense lasted over a year.

Would you rather have nice eyes or nice lips/smile? Smile.

Do you have any secrets? Maybe.

What’s your current problem?​​ Oh where to start.

Whos the last person that betrayed your trust? Hm. I haven’t felt that way in a long time.

Do you know anyone who has been arrested? Yeah.

Last person you had a deep conversation with? My mom.

Do you still talk to the person you lost your virginity to? I’m a virgin.

Is it harder to be rejected or to reject someone else? Both suck for different reasons.

Have you ever gotten so wasted you didn’t know what was going on? A lot of one night in particular where I drank too much is spotty.

Did you cry at your high school graduation? I think I teared up. I did feel kind of sad, though. It was a very bittersweet moment.

Why did you fall in love with your ex? Because I did.

Are you satisfied with what you currently have in life? Not completely. There are a few things I wish were different and a few things I wish I had.

Has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes Yeah.

Do you want something to change in the next month? I really want it to start feeling like fall, damnit.

How many days until your next birthday? My birthday is in July, we gotta long way to go. I’m in no rush at all.

Do you wear a lot of make-up? I haven’t worn any makeup in quite a long time. I don’t think I’ve worn any this year, actually.

Would you ever marry someone because they were rich? No.

When is the last time you had sex? Never. 

[nevertrustamanwho]

Vent

this is not a ntam, more of a vent.. i don’t really have anyone to talk to :( sorry, it got very long, i hope that’s okay. some backstory: i’m on vacation in senegal, where my dad is from, visiting my (half)sister, living with her and her husband, it’s a big house, divided in flats basically, his mom lives here and family stays here when they’re i town.. also i don’t really identify as a woman/girl

since four days his nephew’s staying here for work. he’s abt 10 years older than me. most ppl here a very religious but he drinks and stuff, so we went out to have some beer, also he speaks english and i don’t speak french or wolof (native language here)

he was like “you can tell me anything, i’m cool” regarding drinking & smoking. he asked if i smoke weed, i said yes. we go out i have a beer, don’t even finish it. he asks a friend if he can get some weed (i didn’t ask him to). while we’re at the pub he asks me shit like if i have a bf i say no, he’s like “i can’t believe that” i’m like “i don’t want one, most guys are annoying af, can’t just chill always have to try some shit”(also i’m not interested in any guy atm).

also he tells me i could be a model, but i don’t think much about it bc a lot of people tell me that and i actually want to get into it. he also tells me he thinks we’ll get along, i’m like “sure i get along with most weed smokers.”

he keeps asking me questions like “what’s the craziest thing you’ve done. me: “idk” he: ”sleep w/ a girl?” i say “no, i like girls but haven’t done anything w/one”. we go back, bc his family is asking where we are, they can’t know he drinks. before we leave he pay but i offer to pay for my own stuff and he says “women here don’t have to pay for anything”

later his friend brings him weed and when his family sleeps we smoke in his room. he tells me he likes me, my innocent thinking, stupid ass: “your cool too”. we get high. he asks „you want to sleep in my room tonight?“ i’m like „no, lmao“. that’s when i start to feel weird abt the evening.

my left arm is full of scars from when i used to cut myself, he points that out and asks where it’s from, i say i used to cut myself, he’s like “why?“ i just say “i had and have depression” he says he gets it bc he lived in the u.s. but can’t understand “how you could do that to yourself” and basically wants me to tell him everything abt it. i say:”you won’t understand it bc you don’t have it and i don’t do it anymore” he keeps pushing and asks me why i won’t share it with him, like i didn’t just meet him that day.. also i don’t talk abt anything with anyone. he also asked if i’m depressed at that moment. i say “no” and am annoyed and he says “i’m just fucking with you haha” to which i just respond that he’s not funny and doesn’t get it.

we chill and he keeps asking weird question. if i dated a black/senegalese guy before, kissed or slept w/ one i say no, he asks if i want to, me: i don’t care where someones from or what his skin colour is but i don’t want to w/ you. (he has the ashiest elbows i’ve ever seen) he wants to kiss me i say no, and he’s like: “i just think it’s sad you’ve never kissed your people before, like your senegalese side” ?!?!???(i think to myself, like my disgusting dad didn’t kiss me against my will enough) and tells me he likes me. i keep saying i don’t want to and have to point to my cold sore (i was starting to get ill) to get him to stop. he asks if i’m a virgin, (no) since when i’m not if it was with my first and only boyfriend (no) and what i like in bed and what i know abt sex, where i know it from. (i don’t want to tell him “oh, y’kno my brother sexually abused me when we were kids and made me addicted to porn and then i let older guys use me when i was 15 and wasted” and lots of other reasons, also bc it’s none of his fucking business especially since we talked abt how people here care to much abt what you’re doing not abt what they’re doing..) i don’t really say anything he asks if it’s from movies and vids, i say “yes” so he’ll leave me alone. he says “oh, you’re a bad girl” and smiles.. fucking dickhead.

at some point he asks if i could see me with a hijab (?!???) i just say “i’m not muslim, or religious in any way.” i kinda jokingly ask him if he could see himself in one. he doesn’t get it and says that it’s not for men.. also he asked me if he could see me without glasses like it’s something special..

he tries to tell me all this shit i already know like black people in the u.s. are at the bottom bc the system oppresses them (which i’m using pretty easy language for right now but his was even easier probably bc he thought “that woman couldn’t know anything, abt anything”), media paints a picture to support a narrative blablabla like i know all of this and also i’m high and just wanna chill.

then he starts this conversation abt how there is no explanation on how humans and exist and what was before. i’m like “dude have you never heard of dinosaurs?” and he actually asks me “is there any proof that they existed?”….. me: “fossils!?!????” and he asks if i’ve seen them… i think, is this idiot fucking serious??? but since i’ve actually been to the natural history museum where i live and they have, among other things, a huge tyrannosaurus skeleton, i can say “yes, and also what would anyone get out of making that up?”. and he’s basically just like “oh”. he is now talking abt how we don’t know what we’re made of.. i’m like “atoms, everything’s made of atoms” then he asks what they’re made of (which i actually kinda know but not their name and also 1. i’m not a scientist and 2. google is still free) and also i know we don’t know everything but like don’t try to tell me we don’t know shit that we actually know. and then he tells me this story about how he knows what happens bc “HE” (god) told him. and it’s like there was only one star that was feeling lonely and then he made himself into another star, trying to tell me it’s a scientific and spiritual fact whatever the fuck that means (i’ll give him that new stars form when old ones collapse but it’s really not that easy). and with everything i was just like “yeah you can believe whatever you believe, but i’ll believe what i believe and don’t try to push your beliefs on me” and thinking “dude when the fuck did i ever ask for you opinion on anything??”

i had all these other points to make (why would you think god’s a man, why do you think you’re right when you’ve been raised to be religious and i formed my opinions for myself? also i don’t say im right) but i let him believe what he believes and also don’t give enough of a shit abt him to care

anyway the next morning he comes to my sisters flat and calls me “miss atom” i call him “mister religious” he corrects me with “spiritual”.. whatever.. later my sister says we should do a siesta and he says only if I invite him, i say i don’t care, do what you want. i purposefully stay on the couch while he and my sister are on a mattress and he “jokingly” says that my sister should go over and i should come to him. me:”she can come over here but i won’t come over there”

then somehow we/he get into a convo abt marriage, i say idc abt that, if i love someone i don’t need to prove that by marrying. he tries to talk me into it, if it‘s his culture or religion, and his parents i say i don’t care, what do they have to do with our relationship (also thinking that if i’d ever marry it would be a woman, only if she wanted tho) and it just gives me the whole „asking for a friend“ vibe.

this day i actually get ill so i just stay in my room, mostly to avoid him. i’ve been ill since then and he asks me 10times a day if i feel better yet, like it would change in the 30min you left my alone. one time he even called me “baby-*my*name*” which might have been nice if he wouldn’t have done all that out her shit.. but still condescending.

this morning he came up and i was changing in my room, my door wasn’t closed all the way but when i heard he was up i closed it properly and while i was completely naked he comes in without knocking, it really wasn’t on purpose but still made me fucking pissed. so today when he asks me if i can give him some water (i was pouring something to drink for myself, but it also pisses me of that the men here always ask women to get them shit) i just wanted to throw the glas into his face and tell him to get his own shit.

basically he is just really annoying and invasive, but i can’t really say anything bc i’m a guest and don’t want to be rude, i might anyway at some point and if he has a problem with it i’ll just snitch to his family 🤷🏽‍♀️

also this fucking stupid pissward works for the government.. the world is doomed people!

---

There are quite a few red flags in this story, as well as a strong superiority complex coming from him. I’d definitely be wary of the guy and never be alone in a room with him. Personal space and boundaries are something he doesn’t seem to care about.

[lesbianbruabba]

all of them!

Anon you are trying to kill me but also like..thank you

1: Full name

I’m not stupid, I’m not putting my full real name out. lol

2: Age

Eighteen

3: 3 Fears

Being rejected, depression consuming my life, going deaf or blind

4: 3 things I love

My brother, my friends, music

5: 4 turns on

Gentle caresses, dirty talk, teasing, kink stuff

6: 4 turns off

Uhhh. Pedophilia, scat, incest, racial degradation? I’m going for the most hardcore bad stuff lol

7: My best friend

I have a lot but for simplicity’s sake my bestest is @lettiehigh

8: Sexual orientation

Bisexual

9: My best first date

Lol

10: How tall am I

5′2. correct question is how short am I

11: What do I miss

Special ham sandwiches

12: What time were I born

I don’t fucking know

13: Favourite color

Pink

14: Do I have a crush

I have multiple. 

15: Favourite quote

“They don’t sell cheese at the jewelry store” - my husband Felony Steve

16: Favourite place

My bedroom

17: Favourite food

Chicken nuggets from a hong kong mcdonald’s. They taste like shit in scotland

18: Do I use sarcasm

Sometimes but I’m not that good at it

19: What am I listening to right now

No More Time - Flor

20: First thing I notice in new person

Eyes

21: Shoe size

6.5

22: Eye color

Dark brown/black

23: Hair color

Dark brown/black. it’s gotten darker over the last few years

24: Favourite style of clothing

Frilly or bondage-y. Sometimes both at once

25: Ever done a prank call?

Nope

27: Meaning behind my URL

RPDR fic pen name

28: Favourite movie

RENT

29: Favourite song

Right now it’s Felony Reunion by Felony Steve

30: Favourite band

Waterparks, flor, All Time Low, Fall Out Boy, you can’t make me pick

31: How I feel right now

Lorny

32: Someone I love

My baby brother

33: My current relationship status

Single

34: My relationship with my parents

Rocky but overall it’s fine. It’s like an ongoing negotiation but I know they love me really.

35: Favourite holiday

I went to England when I was 14 with my school. 

36: Tattoos and piercing i have

None

37: Tattoos and piercing i want

Nipple piercings, I want a hip tattoo on my right hip because I haven’t self-harmed there and it’s a bit of a ‘sacred space’ now. someday I want a lyric tattoo, a flower tattoo (roses pls) and a watercolor one. I follow so many tattoo instagrams and they all look so pretty

38: The reason I joined Tumblr

At the very very beginning to make an aesthetic pastel blog. Got into roleplaying for a couple of years, made some good friends, some sad things happened, moved onto rpdr fic, evolved into the mess it is now

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?

what ex

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts?

Good morning snaps from my brother and copyright from @samrull

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?

Nope

42: When did I last hold hands?

Not a thing I’ve done in a long time? 

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?

Depends on whether I do makeup or not. 10 minutes if I don’t have to, 20-30 if I do.

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days?

Nope. I don’t shave unless there’s a special event.

45: Where am I right now?

My bedroom in Edi

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me?

I don’t drink :)

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

reasonable level most of the time. Unless I am feeling particularly apathetic/anhedonic/depressed

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?

Back in Hong kong yes

49: Am I excited for anything?

Dan and Phil show, possible trip to Copenhagen, possibly seeing flor, doing fashion design or Danish at uni next year, improving my fluency in languages, my brother visiting Edi, going home and seeing all my friends, going home and seeing my teachers I miss them so much oh my god, possibly seeing one of my crushes again!!

Oh and I’m going to a convention on sunday so that’s pretty great too!

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?

Yeah my brother we’re a bit too open

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?

depends on how often I leave my room/spend time in others’ company that I’m not comfortable with. 

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?

Tuesday at 7:30 pm

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?

Cool, thumbs up dude. he kisses well

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?

Yeah probably. lbr I trust people too easily

55: What is something I disliked about today?

I didn’t move from my bed much. but! I got a lot of drawing done and I studied some Polish so that’s a win. fuck you for making me think negatively :)

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

there’s this girl in denmark i owe a very long apology to. her. and maybe her cat.

57: What do I think about most?

My crushes, analyzing whether I have a pattern/type of crush, random etymologies, whether Russian is harder than Polish or I have a warped bias, whether my friends care about me or am I overestimating my place in their hearts

58: What’s my strangest talent?

I can say thank you in like 15 languages that counts right?

59: Do I have any strange phobias?

The wolf from little red riding hood

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

In front bc I am shite at taking photos

61: What was the last lie I told?

my meds are making me better

62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

Video chatting oh my god

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

I sometimes hope ghosts exist. idk about aliens

64: Do I believe in magic?

No 

65: Do I believe in luck?

yes

66: What’s the weather like right now?

Not that bad for scotland tbh but chilly for late April

67: What was the last book I’ve read?

Essentials of Polish verbs and grammar or something. google it

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?

no???? who tf likes that what the fuck

69: Do I have any nicknames?

This one friend I used to have called me Christababe. Also people at school called me Lily

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had?

Self harm cut from a few weeks ago. Got infected (it’s fine now)

71: Do I spend money or save it?

Depends

72: Can I touch my nose with a tounge?

With a tongue sure but not my own lmao

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me?

Yes a lot of it because my closet is next to my bed :)

74: Favourite animal?

Unicorn

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?

Eating ice cream and surfing the drag race reddit

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is?

I don’t know???? Johnson?

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?

The Middle - Jimmy Eat World

78: How can you win my heart?

Don’t manipulate me.

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?

Married to Felony Steve

80: What is my favorite word?

Felony

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr

Like my faves? @rippling-waves @samrull @lettiehigh @veronicasanders @lecafenoirx

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?

Listen to Waterparks they have the best music. -dabs-

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?

Nope

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?

Fluency in all languages

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

“are you in love with me”. if asked by certain people. alternatively “do you like girls” asked by other certain people. 

86: What is my current desktop picture?

DDLC fanart

87: Had sex?

No but close

88: Bought condoms?

No but I have one from the Hive from a fresher’s package

89: Gotten pregnant?

no dear lord 

90: Failed a class?

Nope and I hope not

91: Kissed a boy?

Yes

92: Kissed a girl?

No, I wish

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?

No

94: Had job?

Yes, barista and factory worker

95: Left the house without my wallet?

Yes

96: Bullied someone on the internet?

Kind of? Not really? It was more of an argument but we’re friends now. I was a stupid thirteen year old 

97: Had sex in public?

No

98: Played on a sports team?

Lol, tell another one

99: Smoked weed?

No

100: Did drugs?

No, will not

101: Smoked cigarettes?

No, I hate smoking

102: Drank alcohol?

I had a few sips of white wine that were absolutely DISGUSTING

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?

No

104: Been overweight?

Currently am

105: Been underweight?

I wish

106: Been to a wedding?

Yeah of distant relatives and teachers

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?

Try 14

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?

I don’t watch TV, There’s no tv in my student hall and back home the TV is only for news

109: Been outside my home country?

Yep too many times tbh

110: Gotten my heart broken?

Unrequited love-wise yes

111: Been to a professional sports game?

Yes and spent the whole time reading (I was a kid and my mum couldn’t/didn’t find someone to babysit)

112: Broken a bone?

No, thank god

113: Cut myself?

Yes, trying to quit it

114: Been to prom?

Yep and I sang on stage too! 

115: Been in airplane?

Yep

116: Fly by helicopter?

No and not interested tbh

117: What concerts have I been to?

Waterparks, Avril Lavigne, All Time Low

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?

Yes, quite a few times now

119: Learned another language?

Try multiple

120: Wore make up?

Yeah! Trying to do it more

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?

No, too late for that now

122: Had oral sex?

No but I want to

123: Dyed my hair?

No but I want to

124: Voted in a presidential election?

No, HK doesn’t have presidential elections

125: Rode in an ambulance?

No

126: Had a surgery?

No

127: Met someone famous?

Famous in Hong Kong yes. Worldwide no. I’ve met the UoE principal though

edit: Iza reminded me that I’ve met both Courtney Act and Sasha Velour! 

128: Stalked someone on a social network?

Yes but not like…creepy. for drawing reference I’ve gone through a lot of people’s social media this morning lol

129: Peed outside?

When I was like 4

130: Been fishing?

Not that I can recall

131: Helped with charity?

Yeah

132: Been rejected by a crush?

No because I’m too much of a wimp to confess. Maybe a few years later

133: Broken a mirror?

Yep, the one I use to wear my contacts (when I used to wear contacts)

134: What do I want for birthday?

Sex and liposuction and a corset and maybe someone to love me and a full happy day with no depression or anxiety

135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names?

I don’t want kids. But if I did have kids, here is a list of nice names: Gracie, Ljudmila, Nico, Agneta (this one sounds really fucking familiar but I don’t know why), Anthony, Selene, Kristoff, James

136: Was I named after anyone?

No. My Chinese name means to have manners and to be gentle lmao. My English name is literally just the first thing I blurted out when the teacher asked me for my name. Wednesday was a name I look after Wednesday Addams though.

137: Do I like my handwriting?

I hate my Chinese and English penmanship it looks like shit but my Cyrillic looks GREAT

138: What was my favourite toy as a child?

Barbie, I had Genevieve from the 12 dancing princesses

139: Favourite Tv Show?

Drag race, b99, ASOUE, the good place

140: Where do I want to live when older?

In Edinburgh

141: Play any musical instrument?

The ukulele and I think I still remember a bit of guitar

142: One of my scars, how did I get it?

Cutting. Most of my scars are from cutting. A few from childhood bruises

143: Favourite pizza toping?

Cheese

144: Am I afraid of the dark?

Sometimes

145: Am I afraid of heights?

all the time

146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?

A lot worse than sneaking out buddy

147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

Yeah 

148: What I’m really bad at

controlling my fucking feelings and not falling for peple

149: What my greatest achievments are

Sewing my prom dress, making an animation, juggling learning 3 languages (slowly) at once, surviving high school because honestly I didn’t think I’d make it to graduation

150: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me

That bisexuality doesn’t exist

151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery

Depends on how much i win but assuming it’s a big amount of money, split it and donate a third to charity, give a third to my parents, split the rest of it in quarters and give three quarter to my dad for investments and spend the last quarter

152: What do I like about myself

I have pretty hair and nice tits and I can draw (not well but I can draw), and I have a bit of talent in learning languages and fashion design

153: My closest Tumblr friend

@samrull without a doubt

154: Something I fantasise about

My brain giving me a good yummy serotonin

155: Any question you’d like?

….anon you didn’t put a question (this happens every goddamn time i s2g)

Thanks for the ask though this kept me occupied for the good part of an hour :)

[gudlyf]

Confirmation [Short Story]

[Edited original photo by Elviss Bitans]

I will never forget the sound Evil made when it died in the Baxter’s house one night in the fall of 1982.

—

The basement of the rectory of St. Ambrose had that smell. The one that appears to be common amongst cellars of houses of the Lord. Of decades-old candle wax and spent wicks, mold-imbued books. Of rotted flowers and palm reeds. That smell. I’d once thought it unique to our chosen parish at the time. It’s not. And any time I happened upon it in some other basement, sometimes in another church, I’d be reminded of CCD.

Some people call it Catechism. I suppose it could have been called Sunday School, except in our town it was held on Tuesday nights. Tuesday School? Not the same ring to it, I’d say. So, CCD. Sounds like some kind of mental condition, now that I think of it. Apropos, if you don’t mind me saying so.

Needless to say, I did not look forward to Tuesday nights.

The last year of CCD for me was centered around preparing for Confirmation. I won’t get into the details of that for you non-Catholics, and to be quite honest I can’t remember what to tell you about it anyway. I suppose it was to “confirm” one’s faith in God and the church. Confirm beliefs. Confirm that you bought the whole damn thing. One of “them.” One of the flock. For me it served only as confirmation that, following that fall, my Tuesday nights henceforth would carry with it only the aroma of glorious, sweet freedom. Thank you God, Hallelujah, Rama-Lama-Ding-Dong, Amen.

Father Jacobs, the presiding priest at the time, did not conduct CCD at St. Ambrose. The old guy would show up from time to time, sure, when he wasn’t busy doing God-knows-what on a Tuesday evening. Probably better off pulling numbered letters out of a bingo cage, really. But for the most part it was just us ten kids and Mr. Baxter.

Of all the teachers I had for CCD throughout the years, Mr. Baxter won the prize for being, shall we say, the most devout. This includes the likes of Sister Estelle, a decrepit, miserable thing harkening from the days of when my own mother attended Catholic school in a neighboring town. No lie, Sister Estelle — or Sister Est-Hell, as we called her — carried a yard stick along her back like a rifle on a cattle rancher. I’ve learned since then that it served more as a bullshit deterrent than anything else. God save the poor soul warranting its unsheathing. Thankfully, I never bore witness to it.

Warren Baxter’s boys, Mark and Jason, attended this particular CCD class along with me and seven others our age. They were homeschooled, so I can’t say any of us knew much about them beyond the walls of that basement, and that the poor bastards had their dad as a teacher. Not just Tuesday nights, but every fucking day. Mr. Baxter sorta reminded me of Christopher Cross. Y’know, “Sailing” and “Ride Like the Wind”? Not to mention he carried a beaten acoustic guitar with him anytime I saw him. He certainly wasn’t an old guy, but he sure had what I guess you could say was an old way of thinking when it came to the education of religion. He had a habit of taking it upon himself to detour from the illustrated Jesus textbooks and remind us of all the things that could make up a mortal sin. You might think that means killing, stealing, raping — that sort of thing. No. He’d remind us weekly that masturbating was a mortal sin that was a sure ticket to Hell. Even thinking about jerking off. It was like you might as well give Satan himself a handy, because, son, it’s just like knocking on his door with that hand.

I guess Mrs. Baxter was a sure help of keeping her husband Heaven-worthy, at least before their divorce.

Mr. Baxter was a parishioner at the church, but he also sang and played guitar at Sunday mass. Considering the limited source material, he wasn't half bad. I’d been taking guitar lessons at the time and knew he wasn’t just some two-bit hack. He played for us a couple of nights at class, which was a welcome reprieve from mundane bible verse analysis, even if it wasn’t exactly Clapton we were listening to. The man dug music; no question of that. And on the second-to-last class of the year, he took it to a new level.

The record player sat in the center of the largest table. Not an odd sight, really. We’d listened to hymns and such before, and even been forced to — dear God — sing along to them. But there was something very different about it this time. Something special. When my eyes caught it, I couldn’t restrain myself.

“Zeppelin!”

Paul Morley, my best friend at the time, saw it too. Led Zeppelin IV, its unmistakable album cover featuring that painting of an old man lugging a bundle of sticks, sat among a few recognizable others. AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. Queen’s The Game. Classics today — purely defining, then. A few kids started in with “Stairway to Heaven” before Mr. Baxter shut them down.

“And she’s buy-uy-ing a-”

“Sit down, everyone. Yes, I’m going to play some of these — just a little. But then I have an important story for you.”

He slipped Led Zeppelin IV out of its sleeve and placed it onto the turntable. Man, I thought, this is gonna be great. I prepared myself for the sweet sounds of Robert Plant, belting out his “Hey hey, mama,” rolling into Jimmy Page on the ax and Bonham on skins. It was already playing in my head.

Instead, we got something else entirely.

Mr. Baxter turned on the player and moved the needle up a bit onto the platter. He put it down a few times, giving us a little tease here and there of what we could have — should have — been listening to in entirety. He finally got to ‘Stairway to Heaven’ and let it play. Sweet release.

About midway through the song, he turned the player off. What is this, another lesson about not beating off? I thought. To 14-year-old me, it may as well have been.

“Now, listen to this.”

We all knew what was going to happen. Playing “Stairway” backwards wasn’t new. And then it all became painfully clear. Zeppelin. AC/DC. Queen? I hadn’t heard about that one yet. But most of us knew of the supposed hidden messages within the latter two, and now Mr. Baxter was going to play them. Here. In the basement of a church.

He spun the record counter-clockwise, slowly, by hand. Eventually he got to the money shot, where Plant’s voice seems to sing out the words “my sweet Satan,” along with some other things that don’t sound so Heavenly when you over-analyze the shit out of them.

But for the playing record, the room was silent. I don’t think we quite knew what to make of it. Mr. Baxter — a guy who’d preached that the simple pleasures of alone time in a long, hot shower was sinful — was playing verses about the Devil. In the Lord’s house! What was next, a Ouija board?

Once he was through with Zeppelin, he went onto Highway to Hell. The album cover alone should have burst into flames the moment it entered the parking lot, but he played it just the same. For a few minutes, singer Bon Scott became Scott Bon. Or maybe it’s Ttocs Nob. You’re supposed to hear something like “my name is Lucifer” somewhere in that backmasked garbage, but all I heard was blasphemy to some wholesome, British-borne rock and roll.

Queen was an interesting one. Played backwards, the lyrics “another one bites the dust” becomes “it’s fun to smoke marijuana.” Oh great, so now that’s evil too? My older brother’s days were numbered.

Mr. Baxter let the chuckles and high-fives among us slide and stopped the turntable.

“Alright. Why did I play these for you tonight?”

I dunno, to thank Jesus these classes are almost over, I thought.

Paula Spencer spoke up. “Because they talk about the Devil…?”

“Not exactly.”

We all looked at each other, clueless. That wasn’t it? Besides Freddie Mercury soloing in reverse about weed, what else was there? And I was sure as shit stinks that Baxter had his fair share of ganja in his days. Hell, at that moment, I was thinking he’d smoked a bowl before class.

“A couple of reasons. First, it’s to make you aware. The things your generation is listening to — on the radio, on records, and tapes — are deceiving you into falling out of love with God.”

“But on the radio, it’s not backwards,” Paul said.

“I don’t even have a record player,” said someone else.

Mr. Baxter shook his head, in that these-clueless-kids sort of way.

“It’s doesn’t matter. You heard it for yourself. It’s still there. And the Devil — he hid it there.”

We learned years ago: you don’t groan at a teacher in CCD. But the restraint in the room was palpable.

“So … Robert Plant … is Satan?” I asked.

“No. He’s just one of many instruments.”

“Like a guitar?” Randal asked. Now that let loose a volley.

“Alright, quiet down. Not like that, no, Randal. I mean they serve the anti-Christ. Though they may not know it. But, because we can play this … music this way, the Devil’s tricks are revealed. And they are in all of the music you’re listening to. All the rock and roll, all the heavy metal. It’s there, and he is trying to use it to deceive you into falling out of grace with God.”

“So … what are we supposed to do?” I asked.

“Stop listening to it. Forwards. Backwards. On the radio, or at home. These are all the new instruments of Evil. And you should shun them just as you would any other mortal sin you’ve learned about in this class. You’ll think you have control over what you believe until it’s too late, and you stop coming to mass. You stop loving Jesus and God and everything else that will bring you to everlasting life in Heaven.”

Well, I was going to Hell. Before he’d finished his bummer of a diatribe, I’d started to think that if everlasting life in Satan’s parlor meant a lot more Zeppelin, Rush, and everything that was candy to my ears, I might just be okay with that.

“The second reason I played these for you — and this is very, very important. You listening?”

Most of us nodded.

“Never — and I mean never — do this on your own. I know it’s tempting — a fun trick to show your friends. But do not do it. I played this here, because we’re safe in God’s house. But at home, or anywhere else, you are not. And the Devil does not like when his tricks are revealed. And he will let you know.”

“How?” Paul asked.

Mr. Baxter pulled out a chair, sat down and leaned in. “I’ll tell you how. Because it happened to me. Mark and Jason can tell you — they were there.”

All eyes were on the two Baxter kids. Their eyes told us that either they were mortified or terrified. After what their father had to say, I’d go with the latter.

“A night a few months ago, Mark was playing one of these records in the cellar at home. I told him what I told you, many times before — none of that music. The work of the Devil. Sins against God. But he couldn't help himself. That’s how it works: You let him in, and he won’t let go.

“So I decided to show him what was hidden in those songs. I did the same thing I did here tonight. I stopped the record, and slowly I began to play it in reverse. And those same, hidden messages were revealed.

“And then … he walked right through the room.”

“Who?” someone asked.

“The Devil,” Jason whispered. In the ensuing silence, you could hear a guitar pick drop.

Mr. Baxter nodded. “He did. A dark figure. Dressed in the darkest cloak I'd ever seen, he passed into the room. No face, just nothingness. Tears were streaming down our faces. We couldn’t move. He glided closer to us, and we still could not move. He stopped just ten feet away from us, and he pointed, right at me. And in a voice I’ll never, ever forget he said …”

He let the sentence hang in the air. This was some real campfire-story shit, and I’m betting I wasn’t alone in hankering for some roast marshmallows right about then. What a showman.

“… ‘No’.”

No? That was it? Not “come with me, you’re going to hell” or “turn it up, man?” I say that now, but to be quite honest with you, I was shitting bricks.

I’d been taught for years every manner of how the grip of evil might drag me down into a fiery pit of doom. You bet your ass I was saying the rosary every night and had a small shrine to Virgin Mary in the corner of my bedroom. Now I was learning that this Satan fella came in a physical form like the Grim-fucking-Reaper if you pissed him off.

I glanced over at the Baxter kids. My look said “this shit real?” Their look was “this shit real.” That did it. After an extra lap around the beads before bed that night, sleeplessness would be unavoidable.

—

The following Sunday morning, I was once again packed hip-to-hip between my mother and brother within our usual pew at St. Ambrose. The usual congregation was there, including Mr. Baxter on guitar, and front-man Father Jacobs. Paul, a four-years-running altar boy, was on the bells with Mark Baxter.

I hadn’t forgotten the story Mr. Baxter told earlier that week. How could he just continue on like that, seeing what he saw? Or worse, what load of horse shit he fed to a mess of God-fearing — and now, for certain, Devil-fearing — kids? I wasn’t sure what was worse: That he went so far as to convince his own boys to play along so convincingly, or that they actually did see something that night.

Paul caught up with me in the parking lot, as the adults meandered around shaking hands with one another and secretly hoping they’d get home in time for football.

“What’s up?”

I shrugged. I had nothing.

“Hey, I talked to Mark earlier. About what his dad said.”

“What, about masturbating?”

He pushed me. Hard. I guess I deserved it.

“That Devil shit.”

“Paul! We’re still at church!” Paul’s mother hissed from somewhere in the crowd. That woman could hear a hummingbird fart in a bison stampede.

“It’s the parking lot, Mom! God, relax.”

If I’d talked to either of my parents the way Paul did, all the prayers in the world wouldn’t protect be from the sure evil that would ensue. The Devil would walk right in and applaud. But Paul’s exposure to the dictionary from Hell came from none other than his own mother’s mouth, and with certain regularity. I became fluent in the language by the time I was eight, from weekly summer sleepovers at the Morley house.

“He still swears it’s true.”

“You make him swear to God?”

Paul laughed. “No. But he’s not changing his story. Said a big person in a cloak sorta floated into the room, and then back out again.”

“What did he sound like?”

“I dunno. I didn’t ask him. Probably like ‘STOP THAT SHIT NOW!’”

His impression sounded more like Froggy from The Little Rascals than some dark being from the netherworld. Come to think of it, that would be pretty terrifying. Would someone please get that poor boy a cough drop, for God’s sake?

“Paul!”

“Sorry, Ma. I tried it, y’know. The record thing. Nothing happened. It’s a bunch of buuuuull shit.”

“Well, duh, yeah. You thought it was real? Creepy story, but no way is that gonna really happen. He was just trying to scare us. Don’t you think we’d hear of it happening to someone else already? I did it at my cousin’s house a few months ago.”

“What happened?”

I gave him a look that told him that his stupid question was going forever unanswered.

Paul pointed to the parking lot behind me. “Look, there he is.”

Mark Baxter was still clothed in his altar-boy whites, carrying his father’s guitar case to their station wagon. Paul gave me a nudge and started in his direction.

“Hey. Mark.”

Mark was a quiet kid, but not shy. More of a rebellious sort, I guess you could say. If he’d been in traditional school like the rest of us, no doubt he’d be one of the “cool kids” who took no shit from anyone and gave a pile of it to the teachers. There were few occasions you’d see him without bruises or a black eye, a sure sign he hadn’t backed down from trouble. It was that attitude that made the story he was holding onto so compelling.

“What’s up? Hey Keith.”

I held up a hand in greeting.

“Swear to God that story is true,” Paul said. The equivalent of a religious double-dog dare.

Mark shut the rear door and leaned against it.

“I’m not doing that. You know I won’t do that.”

“So it’s a bunch of buuuuull-”

“I don’t care if you won’t take my word for it. It’s what I saw.”

“How come it never happened to Keith? He said he did it at his cousin’s house, and nobody creepy came drifting through the room. Except maybe his Aunt Helen. Sorry Keith, she’s, like, a witch or something.”

Mark shrugged. “I guess you’re lucky. Maybe it’s the house.”

Paul seemed to back down at that. Then the wheels started to turn.

“Let’s do a sleep-over, then,” he said.

“A … sleep-over? What are we, ten?”

“Well then just have us over at night. Your dad’s got the records already. We just play them in the same room, on the same record player. If the Devil doesn’t show up, then it’s a bunch of crap.”

Mark’s cool demeanor warmed at that. “My father really doesn’t like people over. And it’s not a bunch of crap.”

“I wanna see for myself. So do you, right, Keith?”

I did my best to hide my real answer to that one. Instead, Mark did the honors.

“No. You don’t. And I don’t either.”

“Psssh. B.S. Whatever.”

Paul turned and walked away. I gave another silent wave to Mark before taking off as well.

—

I was only just getting ready for bed when something rapped against my bedroom window. It was early, but it was a school night, and I knew just who it was.

I opened the window to Paul’s shit-eating grin.

“Let’s go.”

“Now? Where? It’s a school night, man.”

“Baxter’s.”

“What, Mark wants us over? I thought his dad wouldn’t let us.”

“We’re just gonna go visit. Come on.”

I shut the window in his face. Paul kept right on talking.

“If you don’t come out now, I’ll go knock on your parents’ window and tell them you called me over.”

I flung the window back open.

“No you wouldn’t. And they’re not even in bed anyway.”

“Fine, then I’ll go knock on the door.”

He wasn’t bluffing. He’d done this to me before, and my folks fell for his Eddie Haskell routine every single time, hook line and sinker. As usual, Paul was going to get his way. I, as usual, was not.

—

The Baxter house was walking-distance away, but since Paul had his bike with him, I took mine as well. There’s something about walking while someone rides circles around you that feels a bit degrading.

We threw our bikes onto the Baxter’s lawn. I headed for the front door, but Paul started around the back.

“Where are you going?” I said.

“Mark’s window.”

“Jesus Christ! He doesn’t know we’re coming?”

“Nah. You heard him. He wasn’t gonna have us over. So we’ll just come over.”

I really should have made for my bike and headed back home. I started to weigh the punishment I’d get from my parents due to Paul’s threats against Mr. Baxter’s wrath, should we knock on the wrong window. Once I got home, Paul would make good on what he said, I’d be grounded for a week — and more — and the process would repeat until he got his way. I thought it better to see it through and put an end to Paul’s obsession right then.

None of the shades were drawn in the Baxter’s single-story ranch, and we found Mark hanging out in one of the rooms alone with its door shut. The lights were on and he was laying in bed, sort of huddled in a ball, back to the window. He was still clothed and clearly not sleeping. I tried to convince Paul otherwise.

“He’s sleeping. Let’s go.”

Paul ignored me and gave the window a knock.

Mark sprang up from the bed and turned to the door.

“I- I’m just praying, Dad. I promise.”

Paul knocked again. Mark stiffened, snapped around, and was greeted by Paul’s smart-assed wave. My look said, “I know. I’m sorry. What can ya do, it’s Paul.”

The window unlocked and opened.

“What are you doing here?”

Mark licked at a cut below his lip, and his face was sunburn-red. Always meeting trouble.

“Man. Who’d you fight this time? Did you finally fight Felix?”

“Maybe I’ll fight you for coming here knocking on my window. What do you want?”

“Play us the records.”

“Go play them yourself.”

“We wanna see what you saw. Come on.”

“You really don’t.”

“Just let us in. If you don’t, I’ll just go knock on the door and tell your dad you called us over.”

Right from the Morley playbook.

“No! Just … Fine. Meet me at the back by the bulkhead.”

Mark lowered the window. Paul was already on his way to the back of the house, but I watched Mark push his bedroom door open carefully, looking around before edging himself into the hallway, and pushed the door shut without a sound.

The bulkhead was a rusty, two-door entryway set into the house’s foundation. A few minutes passed before the inside latch was screeched open like a prison lock, and one of its doors creaked open. I could barely make out a person standing in the dark. I sure as Hell hoped it was Mark. Paul nudged me ahead of him. Either his night sight was better than mine and he was sure of who it was, or he just as blind and I was his shield.

“Get in,” Mark whispered.

The bulkhead led into concrete-floored basement, pitch black but for a crack of faint light from beneath a closed door. The smell of mildew and machine oil was unmistakably workshop-ian. I confirmed this when I bumped into what I figured was a long workbench. A few tools clattered onto wood and clanged against the floor.

“Shhh! My dad’s room is right above here.”

“Where’s Jason?” I asked.

“He’s staying with my mom.”

Mark opened the door into a finished part of the basement. All was dark but for a single lamp on an end table against a torn couch. Grey berber carpeting covered the floor from wall-to-wall, stained in the corners with water damage. French drains were always an afterthought back then, and not one easily or cheaply rectified. An old pool table took up the place of honor, consuming most of the room. Against one wall a Radio-Shack-brand Realistic stereo. Of course, it had a turntable.

Mark shut the door behind us as quietly as he had his bedroom door.

“We’re under the living room here. We should be okay.”

Paul already had the turntable cover off and was flipping through the sleeved albums stacked vertically beneath it.

“Which one did you play when you saw that thing?”

Mark hurried over and pushed Paul aside.

“Get out of there! My dad has them all organized. He’ll kill me if we mess it up.”

Marked pulled an album from the shelf and looked at its cover. Admiring it? Fearing it? One couldn’t tell.

“This one.”

“In this room, right?” Paul asked.

Mark nodded.

“Where did he come from?”

Mark pointed to an opening without a door. “The laundry room.”

“At my house, that’s where my dad keeps his booze,” I said.

“Are you sure it wasn’t just your mom?” Paul said.

“What? No! My parents are divorced, stupid.”

“So maybe it was your mom.”

Mark said nothing, but the seething in his posture was palpable. At that moment, I felt sorry for both of them.

Mark eased the platter out from the sleeve and placed it on the turntable, then turned the receiver on. He grabbed the needle and halted before placing it down.

“I don’t think you want me to play this backwards. It ruins the record, anyway.”

“No, we want you to play disco so we can dance,” Paul said. “Just play it. I want to see the Devil you said you saw.”

I finally spoke up. “But what if-”

“But what if what?” Paul snapped. “We see him and he tells us ‘no’ again? So what. Then we know and we won’t do it again.”

Mark looked back at us both, then placed the needle down. He seemed to know just where it had to go.

“This can play the record backwards on its own. I don’t need to do it by hand.”

He flipped a lever on the turntable and stepped far away, eyes not leaving that laundry room door. At first, seconds of silence, but for the popping and crackle of worn vinyl, then the speakers came to life. Sure enough, the words of Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” began to blast in reverse. I was caught off-guard at how loud it was, on account of Mark’s fear of alerting his father to the goings on. It caught Mark by surprise as well.

“Shit!”

Mark stumbled to the stereo. Someone stood in the doorway to the dark laundry room.

Mark froze. We all did. Satan had come. And then he spoke.

“What did I tell you.”

We said nothing. I felt the urge to run, but my legs were no better than bowling balls on Twizzler sticks. Paul backed up and was stopped short by the pool table. The record kept on playing.

“What. Did. I. Tell. You!”

Mark spoke. “N- No?”

“No! Nobody over! Nobody!”

Mr. Baxter stepped into the room. He was seething. He was nothing like I’d seen him before. And he was clearly loaded.

“And are you … are you playing that again?! After what happened last time?!”

“Dad? I … I’m sorry. They just showed up. I didn’t know-”

“Shut up! You two, get out of here the way you came!”

Through this all, the record continued to play, but all I could hear was Mr. Baxter’s rage.

“And you! Get over here!”

Paul and I turned tail and blasted through the door into the workshop. Paul shut the door behind him.

“Holy shit! His dad is … he’s crazy! Let’s get the hell outta here!”

For once I was willing to following Paul’s lead. As the bulkhead lock slid open, I heard Mr. Baxter’s anger turn up to eleven, while Robert Plant carried on.

“How many lessons do I need to teach you, Mark?! Another one?! And another?! I guess it’s time for one more! Come here!”

Mark started to cry. “No, Dad. Please.”

I couldn’t move. I knew that plea all too well. To leave, or stand idly by, knowing what was sure to come next, would be as damaging as what that bastard was about to do.

“What are you doing? Let’s go!” Paul said, and then flew out into the yard.

I turned and opened the basement door. Mr. Baxter had Mark pinned against the wall by the stereo, his arm cocked back with a fist. The record skipped. I’d say it was comically timed to my entrance, but the situation was anything but.

I’ve carried on a lot about how strange Mr. Baxter was. How he seemed to thrive on using the fear of damnation as a demented teaching tool, to kids who had been taught throughout their lives that Hell was no place to wind up. Throughout lessons failing in everything but illustrating the absurdity of it all, he had been kind. He had been patient and good. A seemingly willing volunteer to God. In that moment, the fog had lifted. Like with the ridiculous things he preached, he had fully veiled the truth of himself.

Mr. Baxter’s head snapped in my direction.

“I thought I told you to-”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My breath caught in my chest. My eyes were no longer looking at Mr. Baxter or Mark. The anger that had blazing within them turned to absolute terror, trained on the open laundry room door.

The being floated into the room.

Mr. Baxter dropped his arm and flattened himself against the wall next to his son. The record played on.

Tattered dark brown robes draped over what was mostly human-shaped, drifting about it within a nonexistent wind. Swirls of debris and filth floated within the gaps of the cloth. Though they could have been flies, as the sounds of Led Zeppelin seemed drowned out by a skittering, hissing sound that bordered on radio static. There was no face, no real body parts at all. Just a thing. I would say it stood about seven feet tall, but that wouldn’t be quite accurate. Because the best I could tell, it was floating. The thing drifted closer to the Baxters. Mark continued to cry. Mr. Baxter looked as though he might start. Neither one said a word.

A long piece of the thing’s robe lifted, as though carried by an arm that wasn’t there, pointing, at the abusive wretch against the wall. It spoke.

“NO.”

Mr. Baxter broke down and slid to the floor. His mouth moved the words of “Our Father,” though I couldn’t hear him over the hissing, the music, and the throbbing in my head.

Mark didn’t follow suit. Instead, he ran over and stood beside me.

“NO,” it hissed again.

“Please.”

“NO.”

“No. I know. I know,” Mr. Baxter whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know you said no. I won’t do it again. I won’t do it again. I won’t!”

“COME.”

The specs floating within the swirl of robes darted to where Mr. Baxter lay huddled on the floor. There was no music, only the sound of what had begun to consume Mark’s father within a cloud of black, black which became solid, almost gelatinous and liquid. He screamed as the mass took over the man’s shape, writhing on the floor in what appeared to be pure agony.

The screams became grotesque, muffled gurgles before ceasing as abruptly as the thing had appeared in the laundry room doorway. Mark turned his face away. I still couldn’t move at all.

I have no idea how much time had passed before what had overcome Mr. Baxter once again became a cloud of airborne debris. On the floor, only another stain to match those in the corners of the room, filling the room with the odor of stale urine. As though called back to their master, they drifted to where the robed thing hovered, wafting about it as they’d done before.

It didn’t go back into the laundry room. Instead, it was just gone. Just as was the music. Just as was Warren Baxter.

��

Outside, I wasn’t at all surprised to see Paul and his bike long gone. I’d been inside with Mark for a long while after what had happened. He was a raw mess, as anyone would be. I helped him give a call to his mother, who lived about an hour away. I stayed for about that long before walking my bike home — I was in no condition to ride.

“I’ll say he just left me here,” Mark said. “Nobody would believe me if I told them what really happened.”

“What about his car?”

“He walks a lot. Usually to the bar down the street. They’ll believe that. I know Mom will.”

I could tell you I was terrified, walking that stretch of road alone late at night, after what I’d seen. In truth, I was relieved. For so long I was told of mortal sins I thought frivolous as being the true path to Hell. That simple “impure thoughts” would destine me to a horrible eternity only a young, teenage boy could imagine. How could such things measure in defiance of all that is good to the monstrous acts of murder, or of rape, or of beating one’s own child? There was a comfort in knowing that once the Devil truly is in someone, he comes looking for that piece of him to take home.

—

My house was in complete darkness. I threw my bicycle into the garage and entered through the back door, into the kitchen. At that hour, I was sure everyone was asleep.

“Where’ve you been?” It was my father. The son of a bitch was standing in the doorway from the basement, in the dark. Ice cubes tinkled from his highball glass.

“I … was just putting my bike away.”

“No. You were out. All night.”

“Dad, I-”

“Get in your room.”

There was no point in carrying on. I did as he said and shut the door behind me.

It was a school night, but I wasn’t about ready to sleep. Sleep, I knew, wouldn’t come at all. Not after the Baxter’s. Not after Dad. It would be another day of looking tired, looking terrible. All under the guise of looking tough.

“What are you doing?” I heard my mother ask from down the hall. “What time is it?”

“Your son. I’m getting my belt.”

“Steven, no…”

I turned on the small stereo in my room. Led Zeppelin IV was already mounted on the turntable, affectionately played countless times in the past as I fought to sleep through a shroud of tears and pain.

I placed the needle down, and as the door to my room opened, I began to turn it counter-clockwise by hand.

[thehalfworld]

Fanfic MST: Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen, a Twilight fanfic [part 8]

And here we are at the end. I hope you’ve all been enjoying the ride, because it’s about to get a whole lot weirder in this, the final chapter.

Warnings this time around: a whole lot of drug use, some underage drinking, DUI but it’s okay because Tiaa is a vampire, bestiality, and an attempted sexual assault. Also did I mention drug use? There’s a lot of drug use.

Recap: Tiaa met a panda bear named Snoofles on her way to school (please don’t think too hard about this) and learned that she can now talk to animals, among other abilities. Thanks to a vague new ability of hers, she accidentally made her mean classmate Lauren get struck by lightning while they were in a verbal spat. Edward finally decided to leave Bella for Tiaa and the two celebrated by having sex in the middle of the school. Bella walked in on them and got upset.

Chapter 1

Previous chapter

hey guys sory its been so long since an update, i hav been so busy latley. sooooo..i had a fight with my old beta but i have a new 1 now an she is helpin me byut she is on vacaton this wk and next so i promise i will sort the spellin mistaks out wen i can!

Did she refuse to beta your fic after you stole her poster of Gerard Way?

Chapter 8 - the Kidnap

I sat alone in the changes rooms, i was all most naked and looked awsome with my exotic lithely hair falling down over my face like a curtan of soft yellow cream with bits of purple in it but I didnt care how beautifull or eqxisite I was any more. 

Tiaa doesn’t care how beautiful she is, but she had to start the sentence off by reminding us all how beautiful she is. And that she looks awesome. And her hair is exotic.

Whatever that means.

Edward was gone. he had left to follow Bella to stop her from killin herself and i was SO mad. 

Wait, are you mad Edward is attempting to prevent Bella from committing suicide?

how coud he leave me like that after sayin bella was a cow and he didnt like her no more? 

That doesn’t mean he’s fine with letting her make attempts on her own life, Tiaa.

I was pissed! and the tears were falling down my face like a tepid summer rain of misery and woe. 

I love this goddamn sentence.

So i went home and skipped school and sat in my room in my black corset and leather panties and i smoked some drugs and started to weep. 

To be fair, this is a really solid stoner-goth aesthetic she has going.

…wait, hold up, leather panties? 

Leather panties?

dave came in and made a big smiley face.

He’s in a really good mood for someone whose brother was murdered hours ago.

"hi tiaa! I didnt no you were home! how was school today?" (he didnt notice i was smokin drugs he thougt my cigarete of pot was a chapstick)

Okay, for the sake of argument, I’ll buy that Dave visually mistook a spliff for chapstick… but can he not smell that she’s smoking weed?

"it sucks!my life sucks and i want to DIE!" i scremed and my eyes glitered with beauty.

Love how Tiaa is suicidal but still needs to make sure we know how pretty she is at all times. Reminds me of the bit in “My Immortal” where Enoby was flirting while sobbing.

"u teenagers and ur problems, LOL!" he said laughing a lot, and i knew he thougt i was just some silly kid wineing about homework and dumb boys and stuff. 

Well, replace “homework” with “getting raped by the relative of a caregiver, turning into a vampire, and accidentally seriously injuring a classmate” and Dave’s on the money.

he didnt no i had killed a man and lost the love off my life and had made lauren get hit by lighting and that all the kids at school thougt i was a freak becase my face and bodys were so diffrent from everyone elses.

Do I really need to tell this girl to stop humanizing her rapist? She killed him in self-defense! It was one hundred percent justified! C’mon, Tiaa, don’t be so hard on yourself.

Also, nobody cares about Lauren.

"dave your a good person but ur SO FUCKIN DUMB! YOU ASSHOLE!" i shouted at him and i threw my ashtray at his head WITHOUT TOUCHING IT (i could make stuff move when i was angry now...it was so weird! why did this have too happen to me!)

Well, yeah, that is weird, but I don’t get the woe-is-me attitude about it. Telekinesis is a really cool ability. Also, turns out Dave is literally so dumb that you can be an obvious nonhuman smoking weed in bed while screaming about wanting to die and he’ll take you for an ordinary teenage girl holding a tube of chapstick.

"haha, i guess your right" he laughed (he thougt i was joking, i wasnt spoiled or anythin) 

…so did the ashtray miss?

"its so nice havin you hear tiana, your so pretty. i swear your even prettier than before! 

I can’t help but feel that the amount Dave and Marie compliment Tiaa on her looks borders on inappropriate, considering she is sixteen and they are her foster parents. 

and i think your boobs hav grown!" 

Case in point.

"yeh i no they are like an E cup now" i said.

I guess it’s a good thing she’s a vampire, then, since I’m pretty sure vampires can’t get back problems.

Wait. Can vampires get high? Does being high feel different if you’re a vampire?

Dave smiled and patted me on the head and left.

That Dave!

I was so sick of bein treated like a kid and no one listenin to me that i got up and got dresed in a long black dress and took some pills (of drugs) and went out to the local nightclub which was called Pablo NIghtmare - it was a goth club were all the cool people went in forks. 

Listen, I don’t know Washington State, but in my neck of the woods small towns don’t have goth nightclubs. 

I love that she specified the pills were drugs, in case we thought they were sugar pills or something. 

bella probably had never even heard of it, LOL! 

If there is a goth nightclub in your small town, I guarantee you everyone has heard of it.

i met snoofles on the way and he came with me. 

You’re taking the panda out clubbing?

we went to the club and got drinks and started dancing to the heavy metal music. 

…I’m starting to get very confused about Snoofles. My initial impression was that he’s a regular panda bear, but Tiaa is able to communicate with him because she’s a vampire and can talk to all animals now. But I don’t think ordinary pandas go to clubs, get drinks, and dance to heavy metal music.

Although I’ve never met one, so I could be wrong.

ppl there stared at us cos i was so diffrerent looking and Snoofles was a panda, but we didnt care we were havin so much fun we were SO drunk and had taken a lot of drugs so my head was fuzzy like there was snow everywhere.

I adore the similes in this fic. No idea what Tiaa is on but I definitely know what the author means by feeling like there’s snow everywhere in your head.

"hi your called Tiana arent you? I am Jasper and I go to your school" said Jasper Cullen who was tall with blond curly hair like straw only soft and nice and not dry. 

So… not like straw, then.

he was tall. 

Yeah, you mentioned.

he was wearin a black pulover and red metal pointy shoes. (AN - haha, that descripton sounded beter in my head, OH WELL!)

No, it’s good, I dig it. Simple goth on top, bling on the bottom, may or may not be wearing pants? It’s a look.

"hey whatever" i said. "why arent you with that girl i all ways see you with?

"you mean my GF alice," he said and locked soddenly very sad and started to cry and bite down hard on his lips.

"what is wrong Jasper?" i said

"the problem is i dont love her like she loves me. i am gay, and thats wrong, and i feel so horible about it!" 

Of course he’s gay. Look at his outfit! Look at those shoes! I can’t even see him for real and my gaydar is going wild.

"theres nothing bad about bein gay u no" i said. 

"REALLY?" he sed, and looked chocked with his mouth open.

Good on Tiaa for being an ally. I love how Jasper reacts as though he’s never considered the possibility that his gayness might be alright. He’s a vampire too and has been alive for well over a century, so that’s a lot of internalized homophobia… but he’s also been around to witness the entire modern LGBT rights movement, so you’d think he might have gotten the “it’s okay to be gay” message before.

"yeah, its proper normal and Snoofles is gay and everything" i said and Snoofles waved and Jasper waves back. 

If you just got a bad feeling about what might happen next, trust your fucking instincts.

he smiled and we all stared dancing together and Jasper gave us some of his drugs.

I really wanna know what they’ve been taking, because even though Tiaa isn’t human I feel like anyone who can get high should have to worry about drug interactions. Weed and alcohol is fine, but aside from that I have no idea what the hell Tiaa is on except that she described it as “pills” and a lot of drugs that come in pill form do not play nice with alcohol. She probably isn’t going to fry her liver or anything like that given that she’s essentially undead, but I doubt she’s immune to having a bad trip.

we had a relay good time and jasper met another gay guy called Vince and we all got in Snoofleses car at the end of the night and i drove around while the others all had sex in the back of the car. 

A note: At this point in the story I quite literally had to stop the MST for a bit so I could pour myself a very stiff drink. 

The panda has a car. The panda is having a threesome with a vampire and a human in the back of his car while another vampire drives it. This is treated as normal because the panda and his two human(oid) sexual partners happen to all be gay.

Like, I’d normally feel pretty weird about the “promiscuous gay” stereotype being invoked, but I’m way too busy feeling weird that the author thinks it’s normal for gay guys to want to screw a panda because the panda happens to be gay too. Also, keep in mind Snoofles can only talk to Tiaa — the dudes he’s having sex with can’t understand him. I’m gonna say a panda who behaves like a human and owns a car is probably capable of consenting, but I still feel mighty weird about the idea that two dudes who perceive Snoofles as an ordinary, non-talking panda would want to have a threesome with him.

I guess the promiscuity aspect isn’t even bad considering how Tiaa and Edward have been acting with each other throughout the fic. The bestiality, though, I have trouble overlooking.

(i was drunk but cos i was a vampire it was ok to drive i had beter reflex than humans!)

Sure, but do you even know how to drive? In most states, it’s not legal to get a learner’s permit until you’re Tiaa’s age, so we’re not talking “experienced driver with superhuman reflexes,” we’re talking “superhuman reflexes, but on somebody who quite possibly has never sat in the driver’s seat of a car before.”

but soddenly somethin jumped into the road infront of us and i had to stop the car and get out. there was a man standin in the middle of the road he was tall and mussely and had black hair like the black feathers of a raven in the black darkness. 

But was his black hair like the black feathers of a black raven in the black darkness? I just want to be clear on the color.

he was good looking but he looked so angry i got out my samurai sword (i often have it with me!) but somone jammed up behind me and tore it from me, there were like ten people all grabbing my body in the darkness and they put a thing over my face so i coudnt see and they tied me up! 

Oh, of course, her samurai sword. Yep. Been with her the whole time.

Jasper Snoofles and Vince were too busy doing gay sex on each other to notice, i cud hear them grunting and humping and having orgasms on each other - it was so cute but now was SO not the time! 

She’s being attacked by a group of ten or more people, who have overpowered her, restrained her, and blindfolded her, in the middle of the road. Three people (well, a person, a vampire, and a panda) are present and they don’t notice this happening at all.

Like… I know they’re all intoxicated and, uh, otherwise occupied at the moment, but did they not at least pause to notice Tiaa slamming on the brakes to avoid colliding with a stranger in the road?

The men who had caught me took me away and somethin hit me over the head and i was unconshous.

when i awoken i found myself in a small dark room and the tall mussel man was in front of me. i was strip down to my underwear and i was chained to a chair with some metal chains and i coudnt move.

Tiaa has superhuman strength and reflexes. She has telekinetic abilities. She can affect objects and people by touching them. 

Yet she can’t get out of being chained to a chair?

I call BS.

"WHO ARE YOU YOU WANKY PERV!" i shoyted.

She sounds like Wheatley from “ITS MY LIFE!” now.

"I AM JACOB...THE WEREWOLF KING!" he yelled with his eyes rolling around in his face - he looked so mad and CRAZY!

Jacob’s a big dude who can turn into a wolf, but he’s also about fifteen and just learning about the whole werewolf thing, so I doubt he’d be “king” of anything. Also Tiaa could take him easy.

"NOOOOOOO!" I scremed and i try to broke myself free but i was under so many heavy chains so i looked into his wagging face insted.

I don’t know why she reacted so negatively to Jacob’s response. There is a longstanding vampire/werewolf feud in the Twilight universe, but Tiaa is very newly turned and shouldn’t know about any of that yet. Learning your kidnapper is a werewolf sucks, but if you’re already a vampire you’ve got an edge too.

"Watt do u want from me? why am i here?" i say and i started to cry.

"YOU MUST BE PUNISHED FOR WHAT YOU DID TO BELLA SWAN!" he shreeked and the drool was sloapping down his face just like rain only thick and foam-like. 

So… not like rain, then.

"YOU ARE A HALF-BREAD! 

I’ve got to change this blog’s name right away. I don’t know what I was thinking naming it “The Half-World” when I could have named it “The Half-Bread.”

Also, hold up — what did Tiaa do to Bella? Is this just about “stealing” Edward? Jacob and Edward aren’t exactly buddy-buddy, and if Bella’s single Jacob has a chance with her, so if anything I think he owes Tiaa a thank-you.

YOU SHOUD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORNE! YOUR FATHER WAS A VAMPIRE AND YOUR MOM WAS A WHITCH! ITS WEIRD AND WRONG AND NOW YOUVE BROKEN BELLAS HEART! HALF-BREAD! HALF-BREAD! HALF-BREAD!" 

Well, this really does speak for itself.

This dude was insane, he was so angery he was jumpin up and down. 

Sounds like my second-grade teacher. She was the daughter of a well-known Republican senator and she had to resign after she tied a kid to a chair with a jump rope. True story.

But something he said had caugt my attention .

Good job on the punctuation.

"What do u mean my mom was a whitch?" I said.

What do you think he meant, genius?

"MY FATHER USED TO NO HER! SHE LIVED HERE IN LA PUSH AND SHE WAS A WHITCH! SHE COUD MAKE FIRE COME FROM NOWERE AND CONTROLL THE WETHER AND TALK TO ANIMALS AND LOADS OF OTHER STUFF! SHE WAS A FREAK LIKE U!" 

I guess this does explain Tiaa’s extra powers, but, I have to say, I don’t think Jacob gets to criticize anyone else for being freaky when he can turn into a wolf.

Of corse! It all made sense now! 

It didn’t all make sense. There’s still an interspecies gay threesome that needs explaining.

I was so shocked I fainted,

and also got my periods and commas mixed up,

When i woke up Jacob was in front of me and he was NAKED! He was smilling in a proper creepy way and looked totaly weird like a greasy frog thing and his male genital item was not nice like edwards it was like a horible wet mushroom.

Honest to god I love these similes. 

he stroked my knee with it and i gapsed. whatt was he going to do to me! 

I think I have an idea, actually.

but sudenly before he coud come any closer the door of the room we were in burst open!

IT WAS EWDARD!

Here to save the day! And to end the fic, because this is it for “Forbiden Fruit”: BeckyMac666 left us all on a cliffhanger, so we’ll never know what happens.

I do genuinely love this fanfic. I love how it’s written, I love the similes, I love the purple prose and the melodramatic tone, and I love my girl Tiaa. It’s a truly fantastic badfic, and I’m happy I got to introduce others to it, too.

[talesofzero]

La Douleur Exquise - Ch. 2

AU; Chapter 2 - The Case of Black

Half this fic is just everyone giving Harlock a bad time.

~3200 words 

Clients who requested full lineups were always trouble. I gave a list of each boy’s specialty, and most clients were happy to pick based on that. Some requested to see one or two in person before deciding, but then there were these bastards.

All the boys picked spots around the couches, some more relaxed than others, as the client eyed them like a row of produce at the grocery store. I stood by behind him, enough to the side that I could watch his face with my good eye.

Clients who requested full lineups were trouble because they thought they could have whatever they wanted. The list of each boy’s specialty also came with each boy’s boundaries. Almost every time Daiba had been called to throw a client out, he’d been one to ask for a lineup.

I had no evidence against this one. His record was fairly clean, and he could certainly afford any of the boys with the bank account I’d seen, though the way his brows pinched when he glanced at Manabu made it apparent he had some limits.

Manabu must have noticed the look, must have learned to recognize it, because his shoulders slumped. I’d also learned to hide my relief as he was passed over yet again.

Susumu sat leaned against his brother’s side. The two were whispering about something that had Mamoru smiling. They didn’t seem too interested in the client, but at least they didn’t look as bored and unimpressed as Zero. He stared the client down as though daring him to have the gall to pick anyone. Not good for business, but I wasn’t going to get onto him.

With Shep looking sleepy from his early-morning clients, Richard was the only one bothering to smile at the client. But, well, that was Richard.

Naturally, the client picked him, and his expression lit up with the gleam in his eyes. It was for the best, as the boundaries listed for Richard were…near-nonexistent.

My brother would do anything for money.

The rest of the boys dispersed with sighs and yawns, most meandering to the dining room to harass Tadas- Monono for lunch. I did, however, find myself with a tail as I headed upstairs. “Hey, Uncle Phantom?” Manabu called as he rushed to keep up with me. I had a feeling I knew what this was about.

“Yes, Manabu?”

“Do you know if Dad’s coming today? I think he has the day off.”

I sucked in air to keep from sighing. “I believe he is.”

A sideways glance showed Manabu’s expression weighted by weariness, so I reached up and ruffled his already-messy hair. “You won’t have to talk to him,” I said. “I can sick Daiba on him if need-be.”

“I don’t want him dead,” Manabu said, fighting back a smile. “But if you can get him to leave me alone, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you today.” Even that much was easier said than done. I could see Manabu breathe easier at the prospect, though. He murmured a quiet thanks before darting back down the stairs toward lunch.

Leaving one trouble behind, I found a new one as I entered my office. Tadashi, who’d stolen the name from Monono and left me eternally mixed up, was climbing my shelves in an effort to dust everything. Thankfully the shelves were nailed to the wall, or everything would have come tumbling down on top of him.

For whatever reason, he was still wearing that maid uniform. I wasn’t sure why I’d bothered to get him new clothes. He’d seemed confused when I’d handed them to him. “Are these my uniform?” he’d asked.

“You don’t have a uniform,” I’d said. “You can wear whatever you like.”

Later I’d seen Daiba wearing the clothes, Tadashi still in his uniform. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected.

“I can get you a step-stool if you need one,” I called as Tadashi managed to reach the top shelf where I kept my old saber.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“Very well. Do you need any other cleaning supplies ordered?”

“Oh yeah.” He batted at the saber with the feather duster. “Like everything.”

Honestly, that may have been a fair assessment. I could only recall buying a few cleaning tools in all the years, after Zero complained over the state of things. As I sat down to order “everything,” said-complainer popped through the door. Whatever scolding I was about to receive halted as he noticed Tadashi clinging to the shelf.

“Goodness, we’ll get you a step-stool,” Zero said as he rushed over and grabbed the boy under the arms to pry him away from the shelf.

“I’ve got it!” Tadashi insisted with a huff.

“Sure you do,” Zero said. “Now go get lunch. You’re on break.”

Tadashi looked to me for confirmation, and I nodded; then he was off like a flash. “I’ve never seen anyone quite so oblivious to a tactic to get him to leave,” I said.

Zero went over to close the door behind him. “I’ve never met anyone so eager to eat,” he said. “But I guess he is a teenage boy.”

“I know you’re still upset about it, but you’re not-”

“I know he needed the help. I know.” Heaving a sigh, he walked over and took a seat on my desk. He never would have admitted it, but he sat on my bad side or turned his back when he was upset. He never liked to give too much away. “What happens if Wataru finds out?” he asked.

“He may have the kid’s wanted poster already, but I think I can talk him down. That crime has too many inconsistencies.”

“Maybe, but he’s still going to be furious you hired another underaged boy. Might actually kill you this time.”

I smiled, resting my chin in my palm. “You didn’t, and you said you would.”

He turned enough for me to see his glare. “I considered it.”

“Come on, you’ve been begging for a maid for ages.”

“I have not! I’ve been trying to get all of you to clean for ages!”

He was a saint for attempting such a feat, but I’d ruined things with how much I spoiled the boys. “Well, now you don’t have to worry about it,” I said, hoping he’d be willing to drop the subject. “Anyway, I need you to help me make sure Wataru doesn’t bother Manabu when he comes.”

He saw through my ploy. “Don’t change the subject! And good God, Harlock, you’re asking a lot.”

“Just seduce him or something. You can do it.”

The unamused glare he sent piercing through me suggested otherwise. “That man is so oblivious he wouldn’t realize someone was hitting on him if they started stripping in front of him.”

“Do you know that from experience or-”

It wasn’t that I didn’t know what was coming. I just wasn’t fast enough to avoid it. His hand caught be around the back of the head, dragging down to slam my forehead into my keyboard. I couldn’t say it wasn’t fair, really.

“Get back to work,” he snapped. “And no more full lineups. I don’t trust those assholes.”

He left me to my throbbing head, as per usual. Monono came in later with a tray of smoked fish and rice. Since I was already buying a truckload of cleaning supplies, I asked him if he needed anything while I was at it.

“You could get some more plates and glasses. The new guy broke a lot when I let him help me do dishes. I don’t know how he did it. He just kept breaking them.” Bewildered, he shook his head. “I told him I would handle the dishes from now on.”

Tadashi worked hard, so hard that he was covered in dust and dryer lint by the end of each day. When he mopped, he somehow soaked his socks up to the knee. He was certainly one of my more reliable workers.

But he seemed to break everything. He’d shattered the vacuum on his first day, though Richard had managed to fix it into an odd Frankenstein’s monster of plastic, glue, and tape. Tadashi had gone on to knock a hole in a wall, snap off part of the stair banister, and break one of his own fingers. Daiba patched it up for him so quickly he didn’t have time to cry.

I wasn’t sure how he managed any of that, but at least the place got clean. He also had helped me weed out a few bad clients who had asked after him upon seeing him in the foyer. Daiba was quick to dispose of them.

Daiba was also quick to follow Wataru into my office after my brother slammed my door open. “What is that small girl in a dress doing downstairs?” Wataru demanded.

Before I could answer, Daiba jumped between us. “That’s my brother,” he hissed. He’d certainly invested himself in the role. “I’m looking after him.”

Realizing his mistake took some of the fire out of Wataru. “Sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly. “But that boy is clearly underage. You can’t have him-”

“He’s safer here,” Daiba said, his voice laced with venom. “I won’t let you take him.”

Wataru knew better than to fight Daiba on anything. We all knew better. Wataru put his hands up in surrender, though as he looked down at the boy, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a brother,” he said.

“I do now,” Daiba returned without hesitation. “Let this go.”

Wataru’s shoulders were tense with the urge to argue, but he relaxed with a slow exhale. Stepping past Daiba, he strode up to me. “The SDF sent me an update on criminals that may be in the area. There were more than usual this round, so keep your head up.”

He pulled a drive from his coat pocket and set it in front of me. This was our usual routine. He gave me confidential information, and I gave him anyone I came across on those wanted posters. “Not all my clients are criminals,” I said as I snapped the drive into my computer.

Wataru crossed his arms. “Oh, I know. You have a few rich bastards sprinkled in the mix.”

“A few bored SDF passersby too,” I murmured.

He stared down his nose at me as I flipped through the latest batch. I could usually tell based on looks alone if someone had a chance of stopping by - the ones with cockiness in their eyes. Standard petty-crime types tried to keep their heads low. Arcadia was flashy for a reason. The cocky ones always seemed lured-in by the shine.

As I neared the end of the list, my gaze caught the wanted poster I’d already seen. I kept myself from lingering on it - the photo of a smiling young boy, clearly pulled from some family album and slapped on the poster.

The name was different and his hair was longer, but it was clearly my new maid. Wataru didn’t seem to have noticed yet. I flicked my eye back up toward him. “Anything else?” I asked.

“I want you to release Manabu from his contract,” he said like a man who’d repeated the same thing dozens of times.

“No,” I returned the same way. “It’s a contract. That’s not how they work.”

Naturally, he switched to his scolding dad voice like that had ever worked with me. “Phantom.”

“Wataru,” I mocked. “If you’re done, go enjoy your day off. You know you’re not supposed to work during those.”

He crossed his arms. “I came to visit my son. Giving you the drive just happened to coincide.”

“Manabu’s busy,” I said, as though my nephew ever had a moment’s work since signing his contract. “You should come on his off-day.”

For a split second, Wataru believed my lie. Horror and rage flashed through his eyes. My death would have been quick had he not come to his senses. “I’m going to see him,” he huffed.

“No you’re not. No one sees my boys without permission.”

“He’s my boy.”

“No one owns him!” Daiba roared, startling both of us.

Daiba would fight us both if I didn’t find a way to ease the situation, not that I would mind fighting my brother myself.

“Not today, Wataru,” I said. “Leave him be for now.”

I waited for his rebuttal, but his shoulders dropped the same way his son’s had. “So he said he didn’t want to see me. Very well.”

“Any of the other boys would be happy for your company.”

He didn’t have the energy to be mad at my usual joke. “Don’t do anything stupid, Phantom,” he said with a sigh as he left. Ever untrusting, Daiba followed him out.

The silence of the room held me for a minute before I stood and left as well. Manabu’s room was empty. Instead, I found him in Zero’s violently yellow one. Sitting on Zero’s bed, Manabu sipped tea out of his usual blue mug.

“Your father left, so you can come out of hiding,” I said.

Rather than looking relieved, his brows pinched, and he stared into his mug. “Was he mad?”

“A bit. He’s always a bit mad.” Usually at me. 

Manabu’s hands tightened around the ceramic. “We always argue when he comes over. I just didn’t want to argue again.”

At his desk chair, Zero sipped something probably-alcoholic from his own mug. “He’s just worried about you.”

“I know but-!” He huffed, his shoulders scrunched up by his ears. “It’s really annoying! I can’t get laid!”

Zero and I both tried to block him out as he continued, glancing around the room as though it could protect us.

“Clients are like ‘oh, aren’t you that one guy’s son? I heard he’d kill anyone who went near you.’ Like, how does he make something like that known? Why does everyone know we’re related? We don’t look that much alike.”

They did.

“I started this job to get fucked by guys! And I haven’t been fucked by one guy! This sucks! I’m horny!”

At some point, Zero had put his face in his hands. He clearly hadn’t had enough to drink, and neither had I. The other boys talked about far more explicit things. I could deal with that, but I’d known Manabu since he was a baby.

“Uncle,” he whined. “You can get me a client, right?”

We’d already had this conversation too many times, and I rubbed my fingers across my forehead as I repeated my usual line. “We’ll get you one.” 

“Would I be more appealing if I weren’t a virgin?”

Zero whispered a scream as I threw up my hands. “I’m throwing in the towel on this conversation. Your contract says you stay a virgin ‘til- so just- I’m going to go drink.”

“Boo,” Manabu called as I skittered toward the door. “Uncle Phantom, get me a guy to sleep with, or I’ll keep telling you these things!”

“I’ll sleep with him!” I heard Mamoru yell from his room next-door to Zero’s.

“No!” I snapped at both of them, caught between the rooms. “Both of you be quiet! There are minors present!”

“Captain, it’s a brothel,” Mamoru yelled back.

“But it’s my brothel! I make the rules!”

Manabu appeared in the door-frame, leaning against it with the same unamused look in his eyes that his father got. “Do I still count as a virgin if it’s just like handjobs?”

Unable to look at him, I pointed down the hall. “No. Now go to your room. You’re in timeout.”

“Time out? You’re not my dad.”

“I’m your boss!”

“Timeout,” Zero said. Glancing up, I saw him pushing Manabu toward his room. “Off you go.”

“So is it a brothel or a daycare?” Mamoru asked as he peered out of his room. “We’ve got all the usual daycare trappings: brightly colored rooms, timeout, actual children.”

“You’re in timeout too,” I said, pushing against his head to shove him back inside.

I was far, far too sober to deal with them.

Monono found me sitting on the kitchen countertop holding a bottle of wine. He had me move my legs so he could get into the cabinets. “I need some of that for cooking, so don’t drink it all,” he said.

“Why did I hire my nephew?” I whispered.

“I dunno. It was pretty weird,” he said, examining a wok.

“His father is going to kill me.”

“Probably- Dick, put a shirt on!”

I looked up to find my other brother poking around in the fridge. He didn’t have pants on either, just his boxers, though he’d clearly showered judging by the wet hair sticking to his cheeks. “Dick, put a shirt on,” I said.

“Yeah-yeah. I’m hungry.” He pulled out an apple and took a bite. “I don’t know why you’re all stressed about hiring family,” he said between chews. “Hired me.”

“Don’t remind me.” I had actually been drunk at the time, but he’d begged me for the job just like Manabu had.

“That guy was alright,” he said. “Hope he comes back. Easy money. Did you get the new wanted list today?”

“Mm-hm,” I said through another swig of wine.

“Anyone interesting?”

“No.”

“Anyone hot?”

“Absolutely not.”

Why was all of my family like this?

Daiba walked in, looking annoyed as usual. “Hey, Captain- Dick, where the fuck are your clothes?”

“On the floor,” Dick said.

For once, Daiba reined in his urge to scream at Dick, turning back toward me. “A client showed up without warning. Should I kick his ass?”

“Not yet. If he’s new I’ll have to talk to him and do a background check.” Not that I was in the best state to do that, but I’d been worse. “Put some clothes on, Dick,” I said as I hopped down from the counter. “You can’t go around looking like that when we have clients.”

He cocked a brow and gestured at his bare torso. “But isn’t this what they’re here for?”

Clients were usually only interested in what was below the belt, but this was the last conversation I wanted to have with my brother, so I muttered another “Put some clothes on,” and headed for the foyer.

Clients came in a set few breeds I’d come to know over time. This guy was one of the rare exceptions. He sat on the longer lounge couch, wearing an easygoing smile that reached eyes the color of a fresh bruise. Susumu sat nearby, clearly charmed by whatever he was saying, or at least acting the part to earn his favor. He may have been from the same race as Shep or a related one, as his skin was about the same shade of blue, his hair blond like a wheat field. He may have been military judging from the gray uniform.

But even the occasional SDF member or soldier we got never saw fit to sit and talk with the boys. Tolerable clients saw the boys as workers, though viewing them like tools was more common. Only a handful ever treated them like people.

Manabu and Mamoru must have still been in timeout, but Zero and Shep were seated nearby as well. Shep wore his usual smile, while Zero couldn’t hide his curiosity.

“I admit, I didn’t know what to expect coming in,” the man was saying. “I heard good things, and the decor is certainly nice. The company is not bad either,  though it’s quieter than I was expecting.”

“We don’t have many clients scheduled on Mondays,” I said.

His piercing eyes shot toward me, bright with interest. “I suppose I came at the right time then. Are you the man in charge?”

“I am. You may call me Harlock.”

“Desslar,” he said with that winning smile.

Shep’s eyes widened. Zero’s jaw dropped. I shook my head. Surely not… “Abelt Desslar?”

“The Galman king?” Susumu asked.

With a soft laugh, he scratched at his cheek with a gloved hand. “Ah, it seems I’ve been found out, though ‘king’ is such a human term. I’d prefer to avoid any formalities while I’m here if that’s alright.”

“Well aren’t we moving up in the world?” Zero muttered. “Entertaining royalty along with our criminals.”

This may have been one of the “stupid” things my older brother warned me not to do, but then again, who paid better than royalty?