#someone from a fashion club or whatever at my school asked if I’d sell my patch pants

[queenqunari]

Punk/goth fashion really went down hill when people decided it needs to look “good” and be ready-made so they *have* to buy it from fast-fashion companies because they “can never find alt stuff at thrift stores!”

That’s because you need to MAKE it alt. Cut up a t shirt and safety pin it back together. Get some chains from the hardware store and make them into a belt. Dye everything black. Sew patches onto jackets and vests and pants using dental floss.

DIY or die

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin. 

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. 

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard. 

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian. 

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain. 

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting. 

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know. 

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying. 

“Konechno.” Of course. 

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again. 

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death. 

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman. 

My father is an arms-dealer. 

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy. 

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t. 

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty. 

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people. 

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly. 

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer. 

“Starik,” I tease. Old man. 

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York. 

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise. 

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase. 

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital. 

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait. 

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details. 

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé. 

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored. 

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him. 

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option. 

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room. 

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature. 

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more. 

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest. 

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name. 

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now. 

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected. 

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello. 

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield. 

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello. 

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction. 

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave. 

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck. 

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys. 

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official. 

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual. 

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it. 

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[i-simp-for-gintoki]

Visiting Yuji in Tokyo

“yuji x reader where she was childhood friends with yuji and its basically the friends to lover sort of thing? and basically reader is visiting tokyo and meets up with yuji for the first time in months?? bonus if gojo and megumi are there :)”-anon

Damn its either super short or long no inbetween huh? Sorry if this isn’t exactly what you wanted! Some of the characters are little ooc (when are they not when i write them-).This turned out much much longer than it needed to be

You and Yuji have known each other since kindergarten

He’s such a sweet kid its always really fun to hang out with him

You guys play lots of video games together and are basically inseparable

Constantly reading manga or watching anime its great

Your parents disapproved of you hanging out with a dude all the time but you could care less

Why should you only be friends with your own gender? Thats so stupid

You always wondered about why yuji had such great strength and speed but he says he was just born that way

Hes just built different

Around middle school his grandpa’s health had dropped and was moved to the hospital

You did your best to make sure yuji stayed in good spirits and often visited the older itadori with him

He’s not the best at wording things but hes always there for emotional support

Maybe it was around 7th grade you noticed something was different around yuji

Like he himself hasn’t changed but whenever you look at him your heart just melts

Your thoughts or compliments seem more filled with love for him and thats when you realized you started to fall for him

Thinking the crush would go away you didn’t act much on it

Oh what a fool you were

Around 8th grade yuji had started acting kinda weird around you

He’d be much more easy to fluster and tenses up for a second if you ever make contact

You confronted him about it and cue the very awkward and middle school like confession

“I really like you!

You were so happy you confessed back and said that the only reason you didn’t before was because you feared to ruin your friendship

He says even if he somehow didn’t like you back that something like that wouldn’t effect anything

From then on you guys are such a wholesome couple

All the cuddles

No fancy dates just casual arcade or movie sort of things

His grandpa gave him a hard time but approved of your relationship

Throughout 8th grade summer and the beginning of highschool everything was going great

But a few months into highschool lots of things happened

Yuji’s grandpa had passed away, he and his friends in the exorcist(?) club had gotten hurt and after that night he had weird markings on his cheeks right below his eyes

And to top it all off now he was supposedly moving to tokyo??

“Yuji why are you moving away? My parents would gladly take you in you know”

He tells you he can’t explain why which breaks your heart

“Who are you staying with then??” he stops for a second and it pains him to lie to you. “A distant relative of mine, he works at a private school and thats where i will be going from now on.”

“But what about us?”

And so you guys decided to do a long distance relationship

Every night when you can you call and chat for hours

But thats not enough

You want to be held or hold him, you want to just cuddle or atleast be in the same room

It pains you to have a relationship through a screen and you grow respect for those who do

Trust isn’t an issue since you know yuji wouldnt even think to cheat at all

Probably doesnt even know what the word means

But after a few months you decide to go to tokyo for a few days

With the help of your parents you rent a room in a hotel and head there

Were just gonna pretend your parents are super super chill(and slightly uncaring like my parents would never let me) and lets you go to a whole city by yourself for several nights

You were super nervous and excited

Its your first time visiting a huge city like tokyo and its gonna be the first time you see yuji in months

Itadori was super excited that you were in tokyo

So excited that he got lost trying to head to the hotel you were staying at

After an extra hour you guys finally meet

He walks through the hotel lobby doors and gives a smile and a wave

In an instant you tackle him in a hug which he GLADLY hugs back in

After just holding each other for a while he decides to show you around

Hes still clearly learning the area himself but he’s very excited to show what he does know

“The place over here makes amazing sushi! Oh! And over here they sell little action figures! Oh oh and over here the steak is kinda bad but its cheap so its worth it! And-” you could only smile as he pointed in random directions with one hand, the other was busy holding yours

Buying food from a bunch of random vendors and wearing silly getups you guys take loads of pictures

Tons of hugs and cheek kisses

Yes its frowned upon to be touchy and stuff in public in japan but honestly you guys could care less

The sun was setting and you guys were currently sitting at a park munchkin on some crepes when you turn to him

“Yuji, do you think i could visit who your staying with? I’d hate to impose but i just wanna know if your in good hands”

His chewing pauses

Its not like he didn’t want you tell about jujutsu

But he doesn’t want you to be apart of that world, he wants you to stay as safe as possible with no harm ever headed your ways

With him being a vessel for sukuna gojo had told him that he and his friends could potentially be targeted

Theres a reason sorceres put up cloaks when engaging in battles and its so normal civilians can continue living in peace without the knowledge these monstrosities actually exist

“Mm its a bit sudden and he’s out on a mis-er meeting right now so maybe tomorrow?” he says

You frown, you can tell he’s lying but he wouldn’t do it without a reason

“Fine. But Yuji. Just know that if you ever feel unsafe or want to come back your more than welcome too. There will always be a spot for you at my home” you say hugging him

You both kinda forgot you were holding crepes and when you pulled away from each other laughed as the ice cream and sauce was smeared all over your shirts/jackets

He walks you back to the hotel and says goodnight with a kiss

The next two days went by in a flash

Just spending time with itadori, even if it was just sitting in silence has been the most fun youve had in months

He had showed you many places and has boughten many small trinkets for you to remember

Your phone has grown about 300 photos just from the past couple days with him

It was about midday of your final day in tokyo and so you both wanted to make the best of it

You both where sitting inside a cafe exchanging stories and just chatting when suddenly two people walked in the cafe

One was very tall and had spiked up white hair and was wearing a blindfold, and the other had spiky/messy black hair

You didn’t think much of it at first but did question the blindfold

‘A fashion choice?’

Turning your attention back to yuji you gave him a soft smile as you listened to his ramblings about a manga

“I love you” you said cutting him off

Immediately his face turned red and whatever he was just saying turned into stuttering nonsense

Before he could respond he let out a short yell when someone placed a hand on his shoulder

It was the two dudes who walked in from earlier

“So this is what you’ve been doing.” “Fushiguro! Gojo sensei!”

The shorter one who looks yuji’s age started talking about how it wasn’t good to turn his phone on mute and go out the whole day

The tall one gives you a wave

“Sorry to interrupt your date but we gotta take yuji away for a bit” he says grabbing yuji’s collar

“Wait who are you guys?” you ask and they pause to give short introductions

“Fushiguro Megumi.” “Gojo Satoru, nice to meet ya miss girlfriend” “How did you know??” Yuji says making gojo laugh

“Its pretty obvious, you didn’t do much of a job hiding it” he says pulling yuji a little bit more.

“O-Oh im L/n Y/n, nice to meet you” you say realizing you forgot to introduce yourself

As the three chatted along with each other, you sat in silence as you tried to remember where you heard gojo’s name from

‘Oh yeah, he’s the one who yuji described as his relative. Even if it was really fast since he tends to change subjects whenever i ask’

“Wait Gojo? White hair...blind fold..are you Yuji’s relative?” you ask making both of them pause

They both turn towards yuji who gave a sheepish smile

“Thats me, im his mothers little cousin” Gojo said, a very quick and random asspull

“So why does he call you Gojo-sensei instead of uncle…Satoru?” “Well if im his moms cousin that would make me his cousin once removed wouldn’t it? And he calls me sensei since im a teacher at a school he goes to”

“And what about you?” you ask the other boy

“A classmate.” he says in a very short and uninterested tone

“Welp lets go” Gojo says dragging yuji but he quickly resists

“Wait wait! Sensei can i please stay? Today is her last day here and i don’t know when i will be able to see her again”

The teacher and student stares at each other for a long time

You have literally no clue what the blindfolded man could but thinking its so hard to read him

Then again you just met him so

Gojo sighs and lets go of yuji

“Just this once, and only because im the greatest sensei you’ve ever had. Lets go megumi. See ya miss girlfriend” gojo says walking away with a wave

Megumi looks surprised but follows him “really?” “Yeah yeah its fine, its only a couple of grade 3’s anywa…” as their voices faded when they left the building you gave yuji a look

“Are you going to get in trouble?” “im probably going to die in training…” “huh?” “nothin”

The rest of the day you guys hang out and its mmm

Yuji would be such a good boyfriend hes so wholesome

When its time for you to part he give you a big hug, kiss and ‘i love you’

You do the same and tear up a bit

With one final photo you head back to your home town

You make it a mission to visit tokyo more often and yuji tries to visit you whenever he can from then on

[orangenfrottee]

Hey ho there, feel free to ignore this and I hope I'm not bugging you as I awkwardly slide in here, but I must ask: if you had full creative control of the show, how would you run season 5? You can pick and choose whatever leaks you want to include.

Ah!!! Thank you for your ask <3 I might have spent a couple nights typing out my answer, but in short: I'd cherry pick old story arcs, bring back everyone I like and who doesn't run when they hear Riverdale's calling.

I'd definitely get some decent writers (I'm partial to Jane Espenson, but no idea if she'd be a good fit) and definitely some diversity. I might accidentally fire all men and then play up all their shitty recurring themes for fun as a weird inside joke between me and the show.

I think if they ever gave me creative control of the show it would swerf hard to the crazy and not leave that lane because honestly, i think that's what Riverdale does best.

So, where would I start...

Instead of giving season four a decent ending, I would start with an extra long pilot with the title 'previously on' where the best and most important bits of the teens' school lives is shown with a heavy focus on Jason and the Farm. Parallely, we get to see the lovestory of Chic and Charles. The episode ends with a few very short scenes of the prom where everyone's happy and pretty.

Then we'd start on the real season five. It's been seven years and our characters are older and more grown up.

The show would at first only present the present lifesbof our characters and the barest bones structure to keep as much a little mysterious as possible (but here I tell you what happened during timeskip, too).

Archie is often considered the main character, so let's start with him:

Archie went to the Army after school (though he didn't actually pass his exams and thus didn't graduate, Mr Honey was quite amused). On his most recent tour he met someone special: Eric, his new friend.

Archie was wounded in battle with a... giant mutated elephant with sharp teeth and hallucinogenic venom. Or something. He isn't really sure what happened, but he's got a huge new scar all over his torso. The abs stayed in tact, but oh his pride. During recovery he met new wheelchair user (and on occasion crutches) Eric who has trouble walking since his legs are misshapen/he only has one. Archie thinks Eric got maimed by the same elephant he was, but thinks it rude to ask.

For Eric I'm picturing Sabrina's Ambrose.

With his hurt pride, Archie can't stay with the military and decides to go back to Riverdale.

Eric doesn't have a place to go, so Archie invites him along.

They need a job and since Eric has a calendar full of sexy half naked firefighters AND since they both have abs, Archie decides that type of uniform is the perfect fit for them and trades his newly renovated and well running boxing gym against the old fire station Penelope Blossom owns. (Literally, they even meet at Pop's to exchange keys and sign papers Penelope brought that Archie doesn't even skim.)

The fire station is quite out of everything, but it has a huge pool Eric likes to swim in and a fire truck. To make ends meet Archie sells his sperm to the Greendale sperm bank.

Archie is of course in love with Eric but unfamiliar with the concept of bisexuality and struggles to identify his attraction for what it is. Eric is a foreigner to Riverdale (or is he?) and unfamiliar with the town's culture and quirks. Still, something going on in Sweetwater River seems to be related to him.

Archie and Eric share the Andrews' House - and in the house next door... live Gladys Jones and Polly Cooper!

After Jughead and Betty left for College Alice' horrid mom impulses settled on Jellybean who didn't stand back, grind her teeth and took it but instead broke Alice' teeth. Her and FP were not amused (though FP was also angry at Alice for being too strict). Alice moves out but stays as a journalist in town.

FP gets in trouble for being a brutal gang leader without a gang beating up criminals behind the boxing gym on tape. Not wanting to go to an illegal fighting club prison, he hides with Canadian Serpents behind the border. (Joaquin's identical twin brother and Ricky live there, too. They're happy there.)

Maybe he'd call once or twice with misleading wrong snake facts that have nothing to do with the current mystery of the episode but fit into perfectly by chance.

Jellybean was invited along, but she chose to stay because she thinks Riverdale is rad and the old Cooper House is luxurious as hell. Also, her mom came back to become the new Sheriff!

Nearly seven years in, Gladys still holds the position because no one legally qualified wants it and she manages to keep gang violence at an all time low for Riverdale. Plus, she and Mary Andrews are not exactly friends but able to work well together. When there's another serial killer running wild in town she has no problem with having another girlfriend of Mary who happens to be a skilled professional in the most relevant field take over for a bit. If needed, the Riverdale gangs are usually willing to add muscle to good causes, too.

Jellybean has left Riverdale for university and will only be present for holidays and breaks. She'd still be played by Trinity because I love her and honestly, real nineteen year olds look like fourteen year olds everywhere in the world. Also this gives the viewers 'Archie vision': he will always see his best friend's toddling baby sister in the young woman which makes her the only undatable (legal) female on this planet for him.

While attending Riverdale High she lead the Andrews Boxing Gym and made it the most successful gym in the area. It won't be a plot point in the show (apart from her being angry at Archie for just trading it against trash) but there will be framed newspaper articlesband the like in Gladys' house.

Around the time everyone graduated, Polly was released from Shady Grooves and is back to her old smart self - and really missing her babies! As Choni leave for whatever private college Blossom women have always gone to, Polly takes them and goes home - just to learn on the porch that not only did her mother sell her childhood home more than a year ago without anyone ever telling her, the college fund she never had gotten legal access to and planned to use for the twins is gone too and her sister left town without saying goodbye.

Gladys has always taken care of all the stray kids she found no matter how tight the budget was and now there's this young desolate mother with twin toddlers in front of her posh murder house she'd gotten for cheap and she has this new gig as sheriff. Of course, she takes them in.

They stay in Betty's old room at first, but they soon get to remodel the attic to give Polly her own room. At present, Dagwood has Polly/Chic/JB's old room and Juniper the one facing Archie's. (When Archie sees her in the room, he actually has a flashback once to when he and Betty used to be so young, but then Juniper turns her gead, stares at him really creepily and smiles weirdly. Archie will be somewhat scared from then onwards and be reminded of when everyone thought Polly might gave killed Jason. Juniper would murder.)

At first, Polly's a full time, stay at home mom, but once the kids are older, she starts working part-time: for Gladys.

It turns out they work amazing together. Gladys tends to jump to convenient conclusions and threatens violence way to freely. Also, she is intimidating as fuck.

Polly is everything she isn't: level headed (to a point, in comparison at least), brilliant at combining clues and steering people (remember how she infiltrated Thornhill and made Cheryl unknowingly assist in her snooping plans?). On top of that, she has these stepford smiles and all the ways to appear unthreatening drillend into her head. Honestly, she and Betty are quite alike. While Betty has the lockpicking skills and knows her way around cars, Polly used to be really into fashion (or something) and, with all her experiences at the Sisters, the Farm and Shady Groves, Polly knows psychology.

She started solving some of Gladys' cases at the breakfast table, but now she's officially a deputy or an advisor or something. They're essentially like FP and Jughead, just that Polly is an adult (and that she wouldn't be in a gang beating suspects up regularly).

(These characters would all be mostly in the background though.)

Veronica finally gained perspective on her relationship to her father and grew up. Hiram's cut out of her life for good. They won't ever interact. (In fact, Hiram either moved to New York or he had a minor traffic accident where he lost all of his memory for good and now lives as Ram Rod and works as a trainer at Penelope's newly acquired boxing gym. Everyone is confused about it but doesn't care to ask.)

Veronica is successful at whatever she's doing and doesn't plan on ever moving back to Riverdale, but maybe something is up at Pop's that requires her checking up on in person and she just happens to cross paths with Betty who is also just there for the weekend. And they haven't had quality time together for years, because it's so hard to stay in contact sometimes even with people you love so much you'd die to keep them safe.

If I could come up with something meaningful for them to catch up on emotionally, I'd have them sitting together in a booth at Pop's for a whole episode just talking (but I'm not that deep).

Veronica might be engaged, but we see it fall through without really getting to meet the guy. She mostly just talks to Betty about him on occasion but in a somewhat messed up way. Ultimately, she realises how she treats him in some regards like Hiram treated her and her mother. She wants to grow up further and not be like her father anymore. Since the fiance was only a trophy pawn, she breaks it off and concentrates on introspection/ maybe therapy for a bit.

Later that season her sister comes back and surprise: Hermosa embraced becoming Daddy.

(These would have to be restricted to two half episodes only, she definitely deserves story arcs that aren't about her dad.)

Careerwise: she has a couple businesses, maybe a restaurant chain or a franchise and she seems to collect startups. She reinvests a lot and has to travel quite a bit but can work remotely too.

Everyone seems to want FBI agent Betty and if I'd go that route I'd have her demask Charles as the fraude fake FBI who hires guns for hire and fake emergency teams while making up fantasy horror stories about serial killer genes to scare his biological family into killing each other that I wholeheartedly believe he is. But I also like Betty's interest in mechanics and would love for her to have a career in mechanical engineering. Maybe she switched majors at uni and now works for a company developing prosthetics. Maybe she tries to get Eric into joining a study. (I mean, prosthetic legs would help his work as a fire fighter...).

She's in town to visit Polly and the twins but after talking to Veronica she spontaneously stays in town. She can do her work remotely, really. The two of them move into a two bedroom 'shared bnb' (or whatever it was called in season two) and we finally get to see their friendship on screen.

Betty isn't in a relationship at the moment abd she's so into her work, she isn't looking for one either.

Jughead had broken up with Betty seven years ago and never really had a well working relationship after. He's grown obsessed with finding a way to recreate what he had with Betty.

Not in a totally creepy psycho way, he's simply not understanding that he might be sex positive and he had been in love with Betty, but he is ace and quite aro, too. It doesn't help, that he finds people sexually attractive on their online profiles just to be repulsed by the tought of even kissing them goodbye in person.

(I don't think tv is generally a fitting medium for this, but I guess he can narrate for himself and make it work.)

I guess he has to be an author. Obsessed as he is about finding love again (he wouldn't call it like that) he figures it had either been the location or the constant fear for his life. He chooses to return to Riverdale. He probably instantly moves with everything he owns to Riverdale (not that it's much beside a modern laptop, the typewriter and his camera).

Archie gives the great advice how Jughead is obviously still innlove with Betty, duh.

He of course runs into Betty some day, they end up investigating some random murder together and find themselves in familiar positions and kiss - but it just isn't there anymore. Jughead feels nothing and Betty isn't really into it either.

Veronica later points him in the direction of maybe not being allo (because she used to question herself as aro).

Funfact: Jughead would have failed graduation with Archie if Mr Honey didn't forge some records that weren't actually submitted from Stonewall (they claim all records were deleted during a power outage). Jughead knows and is deeply shamed.

Thornhill has been renovated! Toni is pregnant! Choni will be raising their kids (surprise, it's going to be twins!) in Cheryl's ancestral home. Choni are married and happy.

Toni has reopened the White Worm with Fangs somewhere at the Southside and yes, let's make her the official Serpent Queen. Let her work lots of social causes (remember toys for tots?), grey area rule bending for good and of course she works well with Gladys. I've seen talk about her being a social worker floating around and honestly, I think that works amazing. She's working the local cases (and a few unofficial ones) and I think she and Cheryl are registered foster parents. On occasion (like once) they'd be shown taking care of a random kid.

Cheryl used her College time to study two things: business and Riverdale town history. Remember how in season two she took so much pride in her ancestors because she believed them to be good people? She might be disillusioned but she is the Blossom heiress and her and Toni's as well as Jason's kids will one day inherit a better family legacy. She'll invest in Southside rebuilding projects, advocate for new town memorials, maybe rebrand some of the Blossom product lines. Something like that

She won't run for mayor yet, but she's definitely invested in (local) politics.

Of course the pregnancy was with artificial insemination, the donor was either an unsuspecting red head from the Greendale Sperm Bank or they use some of Jason's that has surly been saved to guarantee the Blossom line when everywhere was scary talk about sperm counts going down due to mobile phones.

In addition: the maple factories need worker bees! Cheryl has a few programs with Toni to get Serpents/random Riverdalians newly released from prison or just with bad luck into a steady job and a cushy appartement overlooking the ex prison on the Southside. Pop's is also participating. Ethel works as a landlady for said appartement complex.

Also, why not add a second Blossom-Topaz lovestory to underline this incest-adjacent show and bring back Toni's grandpa and set him up with Nana Blossom. XD

Then during this season's arc, the Blossom uncle's corpse will be found in the river and the mistery is whether the FBI will figure out who the corpse us and what happened or not.

I love Reggie. Since Varchie is unlikely thanks to Eric, him and Veronica rekindling their relationship would definitely be a possibility I'm into, but he also seems to have an interesting connection with Kevin and Fangs that could be built on.

He would definitely have a car he'd love very much and I think it would still be Bella.

I'm not sure about his career, but it wouldn't include his father's car dealership. Maybe he'd be a successful movie star just in town between movie shootings.

Kevin was doing something with musicals on Katy Keene, I think? Writing or directing? He was trying to nake it big, but some plans fell through. Now he's back in Riverdale. Luckily, they are just about to open Riverdale's first theater in the relatively newly built but forever closed prison. Next to the Southside Theater the complex holds a mall and the White Worm.

Fangs works full time as the manager of the WW that he co-owns with Toni. He meets Kevin again once he's back in town.

Sweet-Pea somehow ended up as a junior doctor at the Riverdale hospital. He spends all of his scarce free time at the WW.

Some of the background Pretty Poisons officially work for the police now. Different than Gladys, they are actually ccccc for the positions they hold.

Peaches works as a manager for one of Cheryl's companies. She's happily married and has a kid (or something).

How long in prison do you get in the US for standing in as the head figure of a crazy pen and paper cult that has literal murders committed in his name? As a blond white dude probably just parole? So honestly, once they actually bring his case to court (and they have nothing against him because anyone could have been under the mask at any one time and people know of different gargoyle kings) he's released of all charges. No one in Riverdale actually knows though since his case took forever, Bughead had already left Riverdale and Alice didn't step up to follow the case. No one wrote about it, so no one knows. They just assume that of course the guy will be locked away forever, he's guilty.

In reality, he and Charles have bought a house somewhere in a different street of Riverdale where they aren't quite known and have adopted a couple kids.

Charles meets Alice regularly for lunch and she thinks he's this workaholic FBI agent only living for solving crime. They play a long con game I don't know the goal of.

(They have been behind the tapes even if that storyline gets totally ignored. They pretend FP being in exile is their doing, but the tape responsible was just a random security camera in the area.)

Josie's plans in New York sadly fell through (I haven't seen any Katy Keene but I want her back)

Lot's of bonding scenes with her brother Kevin who's also back in town. The two share a flat and on occasion burst into song together. Since I've already invented the Southside Theater, maybe she'd find a job there, too.

Val and Melody stayed in Riverdale aftee highschool and made careers in town for themselves. Maybe Melody at city hall and Val as a marketing specialist at the farm, Riverdale's most outstanding new grocery mart. Half of all Riverdalians don't get the controversy of the name, the others either think it's brilliant or tasteless. (Kevin for example has repressed the nemories so gard, he doesn't get it. Josie is very protective and angry at Val for working there.) The store belongs to the eccentric redhaired Eva Everafter or whatever pseudonym Evelyn can come up with to thinly hide her identity behind.

Somewhere in it I'd throw in a few lines vaguely referencing older happenings like "I still can't drink tap water" and the very first time Veronica sees Archie again after seven years she identifies him through his ab muscles.

So in short: Archie would be very dumb, everyone else is just there.

Also: Pop's would serve 50% vegan burgers and milkshakes so I could dig in with gusto.

[tsipasce]

Same Difference, Ch.09

A/N: FYI, this part gets a bit violent. No domestic abuse or anything like that, just a good ol’ fashioned fight scene. Anybutts, hope y'all enjoy~

Chapters: 01  |  02 |  03 |  04 | 05  | 06 | 07 | 08

AO3 | Fanfic

Nanami began walking down the now-familiar, winding hallways from her tea break to return to the lab. She wasn’t ready to examine the feelings she’d had after her spat with Overhaul, especially the ones that caused her such sadness at the thought of not seeing him again. In the back of her mind, she knew whatever she was feeling could simply be the result of successful manipulation on his part, but it didn’t change the relief she felt knowing they’d continue working together. Hoping to push away the thoughts before facing him again, she decided to focus on her efforts to find a suitable class for self-defense. Sure, Hitomi had a point in that it would at the very least be a confidence booster, but Nanami felt like she needed more.

I know Kurono said it was a cheap shot in a 1 vs. 30 battle royale, but still. * BANG* If Overhaul, ~*killer extraordinaire*~ can get injured like that, * BANG* I might as well be a sitting duck. Nanami concluded, remembering that she had involved herself in a world much more dangerous than she wanted to acknowledge. But where in the world am I gonna find * BANG* a class that’ll * BANG, BANG* teach me how to survive a fight to * BANG* the * BANG, BANG* death? * BANG, BANG, BANG* Ok, what the hell is making all that noise? Nanami thought now annoyed at whatever had been interrupting her train of thought.

Following the sound, she found the source of the noise: a very large man beating a block of concrete in the training room as though his life depended on it. She watched for a moment in amazement as his fists covered in heavy, metal gauntlets wore down one block of concrete after the next, ignoring the traditional workout equipment. He stopped for a beat, sensing her watching him from the doorway.

“Hey, doc. What brings you here?”

“Hi Rappa, it’s nothing, just heard a lot of commotion and wanted to make sure everything was alright. Don’t mind me!”

Shrugging, he continued training, now moving to weightlifting. Man, this is nothing like the classes I sat in on. I wonder what kind of training you’d have to get to be this proficient… I wish I could… Oh, duh. Nanami thought at the epiphany.

“Hey, Rappa, can I ask you a question?” Nanami asked, with a plan already in mind.

“Who’s gonna stop you?”

“True. Have you ever tried teaching anyone?”

“A couple times, but most don’t last too long. They lack the warrior spirit.”

“So… if someone did have this ‘warrior spirit’, you’d consider taking them on, right?”

“It would be a dream come true, to trade blows with another man, hellbent on victory! They’d have to prove their mettle, but nothing would bring me more joy!” He exclaimed and she could tell he was already daydreaming about the next fight.

“Well, what if there was a person that was hellbent on victory and had a true warrior spirit... but they were a woman. Would you train them?”

“Impossible.” He responded immediately.

“What makes you say that?” Nanami queried, a bit miffed at how sure of his answer he was.

“They don’t have it in their nature. Besides, we yakuza have a code of chivalry. I could never fight a broad.”

“Even if said broad could kick your ass?” Now she was pissed.

He laughed heartily, “The day I meet a woman like that, will be the same day Mimic can keep his mouth shut for more than 5 seconds. Or when hell freezes over, whichever comes first.”

“Well get ready for 5 seconds of bliss and Satan in some long johns because that woman is here.” Nanami said with a renewed sense of resolve.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’ll talk to you later, Rappa.”

“Uh… Ok, see ya later, doc.”

On the remainder of the walk back, Nanami practiced her proposal in her head. She knew it might be a hard sell, but she was determined. Bursting through the door, she saw Overhaul focused on his laptop, going through some data sheets. Aw, he looks so peaceful—no, snap out of it. Back on task. Nanami chastised herself, though she was happy knowing she’d be able to see him like this regularly since they’d done their version of making up earlier. Focusing on the task at hand, she spoke confidently,” Overhaul, I need to borrow one of your bullets.”

“Who do you need taken care of?” he turned to her, a serious look in his eyes.

“Wait what?”

“What?”

They exchanged looks of equal confusion, before realizing what the other meant. “Oh no, no, no—I don’t need anyone ‘taken care of’, I want to take care of them myself—but not like that…”

“It would be clearer if you referred to them as the Eight Bullets or Eight Precepts of Death in the future.”

“Oh, yeah that sounds way cooler.” She stated matter-of-factly.

“Tch. Of course, it does.”  He said turning and she could tell he was grateful in his own way of the compliment. “What do you need them for?”

“I don’t need all of them, just Rappa. And I want... no, I need him to train me.”

“Why do you need him to train you? It’s you and I who share the same quirk…” He trailed off at the last part.

“Oh, don’t be jealous, it’s just that I... I want to learn hand-to hand combat. I want to protect myself. I need to. You were right earlier when you said I’ve entered a world that prioritizes violence. It’s not that I want to prioritize it myself, but I know it would be naïve of me to be unprepared.” She replied resolutely.

“Of course, I was right.”

“That’s what you got from that?”

“However, I fail to see how this benefits me. Technically speaking, you have yet to rectify the power imbalance between us; you being able to completely negate my attacks is… problematic. Making you stronger would border on foolishness on my part.”

“So, you plan on attacking me in the future?”

“No, but the point still stands and the question remains: what do I have to gain from this?”

Nanami’s resolve did not waiver. She had the answer to this one, “An ally.”

His eyes narrowed at her, almost cautioning her to use her words wisely, but he continued to listen, pushing his laptop to the side. “Go on.”

“I wouldn’t serve you or be an accomplice, nor conspirator to any crimes. However, I will not plot against you, attack you without proper provocation, and if you’re in a bind like tonight, I will be there. In addition to this… I’ll tell you how I was able to negate your attack. It’s still a working theory, but I’d be willing to share and practice it with you until it’s fully proven. I can teach you, but only after Rappa has trained me and you teach me a defensive move using Overhaul. This way, we will be equal, for the most part.”

He stared at her searchingly, considering her proposal. After letting her squirm for a bit in suspense, he responded,” It cannot interfere with our organization’s daily dealings or our work in the lab.”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Also, could you talk to Rappa for me? You know the whole chivalry thing…” She trailed off hoping he would catch her drift.

“You’re just full of requests today.” He said, slightly annoyed as she raised her brows waiting for an answer, “He will comply. You may have to prove yourself, but he will comply.”

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was decided that Nanami would be tested by Rappa a week from the day. If she wasn’t sure about the nature of the test, it was certainly made clear when Rappa explained in a way only he could:

“I’ll take it easy since you’re a woman. If you can make me surrender, I’ll teach you.”

Such a generous soul~ Nanami mused to herself after pushing through the fourth lap. She didn’t expect to become a prize fighter in a week, but not getting winded just by going up the stairs at work was a good start. She’d kept somewhat in shape and had grown up doing club sports in school, but nothing she could think of that would constitute a “warrior spirit”. Looks like we’re gonna have to get creative with this…

Checking her watch, she realized she had just enough time to make an important call before her next appointment. “Hey Miki, how’ve you been?... That’s awesome, I’m doing alright myself… Hm? No, no we’re still on for dinner Thursday, I just had a favor to ask… Could I join you for some freerunning this week?... Nevermind why I’m breathing so heavy! Can I come? ...Thank you, Thank you, Thank you—I’ll see you at the station by your place. Bye!” The phone clicked.

She wouldn’t become a master in a week—maybe not even an intermediate level fighter—but at least she could have a sliver of a chance at winning Rappa over. With her plan coming together, she pushed for another lap, a little more confidence in her step than before.

 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A week came and went, now Nanami stood in front of her closet, unsure of what to wear.

“What do you usually wear to a fight anyway…” She pondered, remembering what every fighting person she knew wore on a regular basis. Rappa wore jeans and a t-shirt, “If I can’t sleep in jeans, how the hell am I supposed to fight in them? Next.” Overhaul wore business attire, “The man’s an enigma, not even realistic to compare wardrobe choices there…Wait.” Nanami had an epiphany. Her fighting style, if she could call it that yet, wasn’t much like either of theirs from what she knew. Deciding it would be smartest to wear what she’d been training in that week of preparation, she got changed and hurried over.

Rushing her park job, she sat in her car for a beat, trying to catch her breath. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been a nervous wreck anticipating her “trial by fire” today. Even with a plan, it would be hard to predict how she’d react in the moment when her safety was on the line. After rejecting her quirk and consequently, her body, for such a long time, it seemed like an impossible task to lean on it completely, to trust it, but what choice do I have? Nanami asked herself with equal measures of resignation and resolve. Deciding it was do or di—nope, gotta use a better phrase. We are not speaking the possibility of death into existence. Not today. Deciding it was now or never, Nanami took a deep breath, centering herself as she worked up the nerve to exit her car and march to the base and down to the training room.

Stopping in front of the entrance, she exhaled deeply once again, pushing the large door open. Upon opening it, she saw Rappa rotating his shoulders and stretching his arms. She gulped heavily, remembering his quirk, Strongarm, would soon be used on her. Focusing on her opponent, she hadn’t noticed someone else standing in the corner by the door.

“If you focus any harder, you’ll pop a blood vessel.” Said a familiar voice, startling her from her thoughts.

She put a hand to her chest, trying to calm down, “Oh my gosh you scared the shit out of me… and leave me alone. Everyone has their own way of preparing, I’m just… figuring mine out.”

“That and your sparring attire.” Overhaul responded too quickly for her liking, giving her a once over.

Defensively pulling her tracksuit closed, she gave him a look,” Did you come to roast me or root for me?”

“Neither. I am merely here to supervise. Whether you win or not is none of my concern.”

“Aaaand this is why I didn’t ask you to train me. If you need me, I’ll be stretching over there, ref.”

Nanami rolled her eyes, making her way to what she figured would be her side of the arena. The training room was large with two sections; one part took up a third of the room, hosting a myriad of traditional gym equipment and weights. The other part which was the arena, took up the remaining two thirds and was outlined on the floor in white with room on the sidelines for observers …and sassy referees. Nanami thought, remembering his dig from earlier.

Removing her tracksuit, she donned black leggings and a matching, sleeveless workout top. It was sleek and formfitting, maximizing her range of mobility. After she completed a couple toe touches, lunges and back stretches, Rappa took a step forward into the ring, “Alright, you know the rules! I’m making it easy on you by only asking for a surrender, but I won’t hold back.”

“I wouldn’t want you too. Let’s do this.” Nanami said, her game face on and her voice confident in an effort to override the doubts she had in her head.

“Now that’s the spirit! Come at me, doc!”

Getting into a stance, Nanami made a B-line towards Rappa, sprinting at full speed. He braced himself in a defensive stance, ready to attack when she came within striking distance. He was wearing his mask, but she could feel how serious the mood of the room had gotten. Just stick to the plan, it’ll all be ok, she said, steeling herself from further doubt. Focusing, she saw the second he was readying himself to take his first swing. Just then, she slid and dodged, slapping her hand firmly on the ground as she slid, sending a ripple in the direction she was headed, a pillar forming. She then slid past the new structure, extended her arms, and grabbed onto the pillar to swing herself back in his direction at full force. Keeping both her feet together she surprised him, landing a solid kick to the face. She followed through as he staggered, and she landed, rolling to minimize the impact. Before she could appreciate the look of surprise on Overhaul’s face, Rappa had recovered. Her refresher course on parkour with Miki had paid off and she had a few tricks up her sleeve.

“Now that was good. Give me more!” He exclaimed, punching the ground, barely missing her head as she dodged. Nanami had been fast, but Rappa was much more agile than he looked. She’d done some research on his quirk, but no amount of reading could have prepared her for the reality of it. Though it probably wouldn’t have seemed threatening if it had belonged to someone else, it suited him perfectly. He didn’t just have a quirk, he had a set of skills and used it to amplify them. Even without the added power, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Before she had the chance to think too much, he struck again and again, dodging becoming more difficult with each blow. Deciding to act, she erected more pillars.

“Putting up a wall for protection won’t gain you a surrender—come and fight me!” He warned, charging towards her.

“Who said these were for my protection?”  Nanami responded as she ran. She launched herself to gain enough momentum, bouncing between the pillars, she managed to land a punch to his side, just beneath his ribs, earning her a grunt. Now more confident, she went in for a second attack, this time she was going to aim for his chin, hoping to knock him out. In this movement, her lack of combat training caused her to make a grave error: she was wide open. By the time she saw Rappa winding up for an uppercut, it was too late to react. He landed a solid blow to her abdomen before grabbing her like a ragdoll, tossing her clear across the room and into the wall on the opposite side of the arena. Her back hit the wall with a thud, and she gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of her. She was certain she’d broken a rib or two. She fell on all fours, heaving as she grasped at the broken parts of her rib cage. She coughed up blood, accepting the consequences of being hit in real combat. When she expelled more of the red liquid from her mouth, she could’ve sworn she saw Overhaul reflexively lunge towards her. Without thinking she raised a hand motioning him to stop whatever he planned on doing, the other still clutching her side. Looking over to him, her expression must have relayed her determination. He took a step back, his face expressionless once again.

Reaching under her shirt to the affected area, she felt for a moment and healed herself, the sound of bones cracking back into place echoing throughout the room. She rose again, steadying herself as she took up her stance once again, “I’m not done yet.” Nanami gritted.

His mask was now ripped from her previous blows she could see a large smile forming. “Now that’s the look I want to see. IF YOU WANT VICTORY, COME AND TAKE IT WITH YOUR FISTS!”

Nanami charged forward, landing some solid blows as using her ability to manipulate the arena to her advantage. Though she’d used her quirk on their surroundings, she’d yet to use it on her opponent directly. Deep down, she was still too afraid to use it in that way. The only “fight” she’d ever used it against someone was when Overhaul and her first met, but really it was just a means to escape. Even in the face of danger, she found herself more afraid of losing control like she had all those years ago. As she hesitated, Rappa landed another solid blow, this time to her shoulder, dislocating it. She managed to stifle a scream of pain, but she knew this was bad. Before she had time to heal, he was charging towards her once again. She had enough mobility to dodge some of his blows, but not all of them. She couldn’t heal herself quickly enough to keep up with his attacks. He landed another to her ribs, a fist to her back and a knee to her abdomen. Rappa was enjoying himself and she was becoming less and less sure that he remembered this was a duel to a surrender and not to the death.

Completely forgetting where she was in her panic, an immense sense of danger crashed over her, the adrenaline taking over giving her tunnel vision. Judging by how he wound up, the next blow could have certainly killed her. She braced for impact, no longer thinking strategy and then… nothing. All she felt was the gust of wind that came from his fist stopping near her face and his breath on the back of her hand. Focusing her vision, she realized she had her finger pointed, mere inches from his neck and Rappa was frozen in his place, careful not to even clear his throat. Nanami hadn’t realized it, but her eyes were almost black and her face that of a cornered animal. She would have obliterated him had he not stopped short, an experience he wasn’t quick to relive a sixth time.

A smile slowly crept back across his face and Nanami was snapped out of her trance by the sound of jovial laughter. “I surrender, doc. THAT WAS GREAT! The look on your face right now, it’s perfect! I’ll see ya Thursday for training.” He boomed before shaking her hand that was aimed to kill him mere seconds ago. “I gotta make my rounds, but I’m looking forward to working with ya, doc. You’re one tough broad!” He said as he continued laughing to himself, exiting the room.

This whole place is just a dozen different flavors of crazy… I almost killed him, Nanami thought to herself, happy to have passed his trial, but terrified at the possibility of repeating “the incident”. Losing control scared her more than anything, but deep down she knew in order to master her quirk, she would have to take the risk and use it first. One step at a time, Nanami reassured herself, quelling the effects of the traumatic memories.  In reality, she knew whatever training he could give her would far surpass any of the self-defense classes she was going to settle for before. She wasn’t just going to be confident; she was going to be prepared. Just as she was riding the waves of her victory, the adrenaline began to wear off and the pain came washed over her like a tsunami. It left her breathless for a moment and all she wanted was to cry out but couldn’t as she felt one of her ribs pushing into her lung. Now laying on her back, she focused on moving the arm that wasn’t dislocated to her side, repairing her ribs and internal organs.

As she sat up to kneel on the floor and heal her shoulder, she heard footsteps coming towards her. “You’re going to have to get quicker at recovering if you plan on standing a chance the next time.” He said, looking down at her exhausted form still seated on the floor.

“I know.” Nanami sighed, reflecting on her sluggish reflexes with a bit of disappointment.

He stood in place, examining her for a beat. Suddenly something white entered her line of sight. Lifting her gaze, she saw his gloved hand extended to help her up, though his face was turned away. Quickly brushing off her surprise at his gesture, she patted her palms on her sides, before clasping his hand. He lifted her up with ease, and had she not already tempted death once today, she would have jokingly asked for a piggyback ride. Now standing close, their hands remained clasped between them longer than she expected. Craning her neck to make eye contact, she could tell he was thinking, his gaze unwavering with an emotion she couldn’t name. Just as she was about to get lost in those golden eyes, he spoke “You smell terrible.”

Ah. The ~emotion~ was in fact just stank face. Should’ve known he’d say something like that... She thought as her face dropped into one of exasperation.

“That, my very rude friend, is the smell of victory, so take a big whiff.” She retorted, moving past him, flipping her hair as she sashayed over to her bag to collect her things.

“Still wreaks… however, your performance was impressive, for an amateur.” The last part added as though it would break the very laws of nature itself to award a compliment without a catch. “See you tomorrow.” He remarked, leaving the room.

Her back was still turned as she zipped her bag, trying her best to hide the small smile that rested on her now proud face. “See you tomorrow.”

[prorevenge]

Boy meets girl

I often pressed V for information on how she earned income but she would give conflicting answers about grants and scholarships until one day.... About 6 months after our first meeting, she finally tells me and IT. IS. NOT. GOOD. I was interviewing at a professional school when I receive the call, she's in trouble, BIG TROUBLE, and needs my help. She tells me she earns money by doing others' assignments for them. $200 to write a paper and $800 to complete an online class, usually a 100 level introductory course. She describes the method she uses to circumvent the ITs detection of others completing others assignment and how her client wasn't doing his part to copy/paste and submit from his own computer. He is failing the course and blames her. He threatens to turn her in. Her plan is to refund his money and wants me to 'follow him to see if he goes somewhere alone and take his phone' because that has all the evidence of their communications. HOLY SHIT! SHE WANTS ME TO COMMIT STRONG ARMED ROBBERY, a FELONY for her! I'm not going down for this or with her and I know nobody would believe me. ENTER: military experience - if there's no record, it didn't happen. So, I agree to help her, somehow, as soon as I return to town. I go to V's dorm the next night and she shows me EVERYTHING. Her list of clients, their blackboard passwords, how she meets them, how she defends them during honor code violations, etc. So I tell her not to worry, I'll handle everything on the day she refunds his money. Relieved, she goes to bed but before she lays down I ask to use her computer for on assignment and she says "sure do whatever you want". In my state, if you let someone use your electronics, its called "having privilege" and anything you do with their computer which may harm them is legal as if it your own computer. So, I took screenshots of her conversations with her clients, I open google settings and screenshot all the blackboard users and passwords stored on her computer. I go to her messenger and screenshot their conversations. Back home, I compiled our recordings and saved our facebook conversations. A week later, I made up an argument about an upcoming New Years Party and broke up with her. Then sat on the information I had on hand for 2 more weeks thinking about what I should do.

I remembered how she has a history of arrests from high school to freshman year for stealing from outlet malls and selling their loot online. Never formally charged. She, of course, omitted this from her application into professional school. How she admitted "finding a mark" and using them to pass her courses. How she denigrated others who were completing courses through hard work. How she used her position as honor council to get her friends out of trouble while helping to expel others for doing exactly what she was doing. How she cheated on me multiple times, used me, manipulated me, tried to make me commit a felony and ruin my life. SHE HAD TO BE STOPPED.

Knowing she was friends with the faculty on the honor council, they often bought each other gifts, I had to go above their heads. I gave names and descriptions of the events to my program director. He then goes to the honor council, anyway. I was called into the honor council's head office of "Corrupt Administrator" CA. CA tells me I should delete the information I have because it could become a civil matter and I should consider my "self preservation." She schedules another meeting with me a week later. I return and she asks if I want to make a statement about V. Guess what I said, I tell her "no, I deleted everything and I don't remember" because I was in the military and I know how to 'play ball' when superiors tell you to shut your mouth. But the most important reason I decided to not file against V directly was due to the fact I was applying for a military scholarship to pay for professional school. Since I did not follow through, the program director filed an honor code violation complaint against V on a date [suggested by CA]. A month later they tell me their investigation was inconclusive and they will close the case due to the director waiting 1 day too long to file according to the school's academic policy. CA set us up! However, since the director used my name as a source, they must notify V because students have rights to know their accusers. FUCK.MY.LIFE. CA fucked me and ruined any chance for a case against V based on a technicality. Now I fear for my safety because V tried to get me to strong arm rob someone now I just implicated a dozen cheaters who have as much as her to lose. CA schedules a meeting with V and tell her about an ongoing investigation and tells her she will be kept up-to-date. I know the investigation is over and now they are just doing formalities. V requests the information of the investigation and they promise to email it to her. V calls me for support even though we aren't together. She is crying and talking about killing herself. She tells me her dad had been paying for her college this whole time and starts coming clean with other lies. I feel bad and almost regret everything. Maybe she is not a sociopath, maybe she is really sorry. She stays at my house the next few days, I'm watching her trying to keep it together. THEN HER FUCKING CLIENTS START COMING TO MY HOUSE. She is still doing their assignments! She NEVER LEARNS!

Finally she gets the investigation info and there's my name. She calls me 130 times in 3 days, sends her friends to my classes to tell me to come to her house, finally I do. But I don't go into her room because she will trap me. She takes my phone so I can't record. She tries to get me to sign a paper saying I fabricated everything and its all false. I tell V, "They already closed the investigation, you wont get in any trouble why should I implicate myself and get in trouble? It wont solve anything!" And she pleads, "Do you still love me?" I shake my head and walk out. Two days later, police are waiting at my house to serve a 72 hour emergency protective order (EPO) commanding me to stay away from V. I know what she is up to. She is trying to get me to violate the protective order, discredit me, and send me to jail. Its very easy to lie to create one and lie to say it was violated.

NOW ITS NOT JUST REVENGE TIME, ITS WAR

Here's the plot twist: I never really deleted the files as I told CA. TYVM, Google drive.

After the 72 hours EPO expired, another EPO arrives which lasts two years but requires a court appearance. This is a huge problem because I am in the US Army reserves and it requires the handling of firearms which is illegal under an EPO. Her lawyer calls me and threatens me not to "participate in anymore investigations against her" and sends a paper tiger. I get a lawyer, lets name him "Folds like a lawn chair". He tells me "who will they believe: a pretty girl or you?" I fire him. Get a better lawyer, a trial lawyer, called "Miss Badass Esq." and prepare for war. Miss Badass requests a copy of V's EPO from the court. It essentially says I was blackmailing her, threatening to beat her up, and I broke into her room to steal incriminating information against her. All lies. I provide my lawyer the entire history of our relationship: 600 pages of facebook and text messages showing she is the aggressor, the abuser, in the relationship, phone call history, all the recordings and screenshots of her cheating ring. I make a poster sized chart of her room and the events that transpire there the day in question when she tried to trap me into signing a statement taking responsibility for her actions.

Courtdate: We made V and her lawyer look REALLY stupid. They were going with the 'pretty girl' strategy. But the dorm gave us records showing she was signing me in and out of her room, so it discredits the need to break in. The call logs: 130 times in 3 days and aggressive texts showed she wasn't actually afraid of me adn it was her, not me, being aggressive. And when he asked what I had to use to blackmail her, her lawyer said "just some tutoring papers" for which the judge said, "that doesn't sound like anything wrong. What power did that give him over you?" They had no response. My turn to speak, I explain how she tried to get me to rob a guy, how she wanted me to write a letter to take the blame, how she used her position as honor council chair to break state law and violate academic policy. And summarized we were only there because she wanted revenge on me. I watched V and her lawyer stutter and squirm uncomfortably under the judges questioning, case dismissed.

All that information I gathered to defend myself was not going to go to waste. I took it to a newly hired honor council investigator called "Meg" who had no affiliation with V. I told her what CA had done to defend V. A week later, I was told the by Meg there had been a meeting with the school police, the provost, their legal team, then the provost himself decided filed a complaint against V. I had to meet with the police to file a statement about V trying to recruit me to rob someone but other than that I was out of the loop. I later learned the results: V lost her her slot at that school's professional program, her program director yelled at her at the top of his lungs, "YOU WILL NEVER GO TO ********* SCHOOL, I KNOW ADMISSIONS AND I WILL SEE TO IT", she got expelled, her TWO degrees (biomedical engineering and biology with a minor in chemistry) were withheld for 6 years and her transcripts would carry a permanent mention of an honor code violation, her clients who graduated had their degrees retracted with similar mentions on their transcripts, and current clients were also expelled. The school changed its policy on reporting date requirements to like 60 or 90 days. Me? I am in professional school. V had her chance to get away with all of this until she tried to get revenge on me. I reduced this super villain from owning a fleet of beta male minions, being the most connected person in the university, and having a lucrative future in ripping people off in the medical industry to the last time I saw her: riding a fucking scooter.

(source) story by (/u/Apophis1942)

[jaredthetoastyghosty-blog]

Radio Host Shyan PT 2

Finally, have the last part of radio host down. Here ya go, this has a bit of a plottwist to it , sorry.

"Shaniac-- Darekshaniac? What type of last name is that?" Ryan rose a brow in curiosity, watching the amusement in Shane's eyes increase.

"Hm, so you ARE smart."

Ryan coughs, "excuse you buster?" he points a 'threatening' index finger at Shane with the most murderous look he could muster while trying not to find the current situation funny. Yet, Shane saw this '5'10' elfin boy to be just a feisty little kitten but he guessed he shouldn't underestimate Ryan. Who knew what this paranormal enthusiast could come up with? He could be a cultist for all Shane knew.

Ryan must've noticed Shane wasn't taking him seriously, so he grabbed Shane by the tie and pulled him down so they were inches away from each other. Of course, the sudden rough action caught Shane's attention and made the taller lose his breath slightly.

"watch what you say around me, long legs. I won't hesitate to drop kick your ass."

a pause, we fade to white (sue me, ya'll know what I'm doing. written by Shane Madej)

The year is 1998, two kids in high school spot each other from the ends of the gym room despite the intense crowd of drunk partying teenagers. Slowly, the two push their way through the crowd to each other. A boy, caramel brown hair and very tall. The other is short with glistening black hair and glasses, The taller one knew him from 'ghost club', a club that was used for meet-ups between believers and skeptics alike. The school had frequent debatable contests and the ghost club went against each other, skeptics versus believers. the two were lonely- and without hesitation, the fellow skeptic grabs the believers hand and drags him to the dance floor. a flow of giggles and wheezes escape their mouths and the two are lost in the moment. an hour later- everything is calmer,

"Ryan?"

The boy with the huge glasses turns around, smiling with his cute little braces, "Shane, wassup?"

there's silence, Shane leans down softly, their lips touch and Ryan's eyes widen in surprise.

"I love you so damn much Bergara..but I'm leaving tomorrow."

We fade back to the present,

Ryan smiles as innocently as he can as he lets go, brushing his hands on his pants mockingly. "so, Shane, It's nice to meet you. I'm Ryan..er..Ryan Goldsworth." he said, hesitating at the last bit which made Shane snicker, "good try buckaroo, whats your ACTUAL last name?"

Ryan huffed playfully, shoving Shane's arm with a laugh as he neared the mini fridge in the corner, pulling out two pepsis. "It's Bergara. Ryan Steven Bergara."

Shane laughs, "see? there--" he trails off, he feels as if a shit ton of weight dropped on his bony shoulders and a sudden wave of nausea hit him. "Bergara?"

"yeah, Bergara. heard of me?" Ryan joked, batting his eyelashes playfully but his playful demeanor faded when he saw how pale Shane currently was. "holy shit, Shane. Are you okay?" he rushed over, sitting down the Pepsi on the counter and holding Shane's face in his hands. Shane mentally relished in the cold feeling of Ryan's hands that had recently touched the freezing cans of soda.

"I may have heard of you..unless your someone else. i-i mean its n-not really important-" Shane's brows furrowed, eyes on the ground. He was acting like a total pussy- and that wasn't what he was. "t-t-today junior!" Joked Ryan with a smile, "but seriously, question me and, I guess, we'll find out."

Shane stared in disbelief, his old Ryan was so bashful and shy- but he guessed people changed. They always did no matter what promises of quote 'staying the same', no one stays the same.

discarding whatever had previously thrown itself into Shane's prison aka, his mind, he grabbed the Pepsi and took a seat on the nearby green bean bag while Ryan followed close behind, lying on the couch beside the bean bag.

"Okay, so there was this kid," Shane started, gliding his thumb slowly on the wet can as if trying to suppress whatever anxiousness was in his gut. "He had these big glasses right? They weren't nearly as big as his forehead but they were still big." Shane smiled at the memory- that and he had managed to get Ryan to laugh and it was a pure bliss to listen to. "His name was uh, Ryan, No joke. His name was Ryan Bergara and he was this short kid who was captain of the 'ghost club', he always had trouble reaching the bookshelves despite being like, sixteen."

Shane saw Ryan perk up, a sort of dazed look in the other males eyes. "con..continue.."

"are you sure, Ry? I don't mind stopping." Shane once again noted that Ryan tensed at the nickname.

We fade to white again..

"SHHAAANEEE, I can't reach the book that I need."

Young seventeen-year-old Shane Madej approaches with a teasing grin, "daw, the little guy can't reach the shelf!" "stop calling me that!"

"how about Ry then?" Shane asks, reaching his arm up and grabbing the book intitled 'Crime Thrillers' by Holly Horsely.

"I guess so, I'll only let you call me that though." Ryan pouted, taking the book out of Shane's hands, their hands touching and it's like those cliche moments in romance movies as cheesy as it sounds.

Back to the present...

"no! P-please...I just tho-"

"there's not much to really tell," cut in Shane, waving his hand dismissively. "I fell in love with him basically, everything he did, everything he was, was just so magnetic. It was the first day since the summer break, the beginning of our senior year, and like hell were we ready to kick ass that year."

Ryan chuckles a little, "and let me guess..Your dick of a dad broke it off between your mother annd, forced you to leave LA."

-FlashBack-

"your..your leaving?" Tears welled in the youngers eyes, his first romance since second grade and its ending before it even started.

Shane ran his thumb over Ryan's knuckles as they held hands, frowning. This was hard to do, to let someone you love go and watching them fall apart just as much as you did.

"I-I know we haven't even hung out much since summer break and all but, my dad broke it off with my mom. I don't..I didn't have a choice of who I stayed with."

"Your dads a dick"

Shane shared a sad laugh with Ryan as the cold air breezed by, Ryan leaning his head on Shane's shoulder. "I'm keeping your hoodie though." "fine by me, baby." Ryan felt heat flow to his checks at the nickname, pressing his lips to Shane. He wished this moment could've lasted forever but the next day came faster than Ryan wanted it to.

-End of flashback-

Shane and Ryan stare at each other, a silence between them, "So you're my Ryan?" Shane asks quietly, but the way he asked obviously sounded like he was trying to be playful. instead of getting a response, he got an armful of Ryan Bergara, Who had flown off the couch in a hurry and into Shane's arms.

The damp feeling on his shoulder indicated that Ryan was now quietly sobbing into Shane and Shane also became a little teary-eyed. "God, who knew you'd become such an asshole." the shorter joked, voice cracking. The taller companion laughed, "A lot can happen in thirteen years Ry."

Ryan pressed a desperate kiss to Shane's lips, Shane kissing back before pulling away to speak. "I should've known that was my hoodie." He motioned to the white black striped hoodie with a playful grin, "I just thought you finally had a good choice in fashion! Who knew I'd be so utterly wrong."

"I have good fashion!"

"You're still wearing denim jackets, aren'tchya?"

"Just kiss me you, idiot," Ryan whined, pouting. he grinned when Shane grabbed ahold of his waist, pulling him close. "There's no way I'll refuse that once in a lifetime offer."

Let's hope the microphones were turned off, that'd be one unusual channel to be listening to on a trip with your innocent family members.

_The End_

Holy. fucking. sHHHIT-

I gave up on this for a grand total of uh,, two seconds before throwing myself onto a pentagram and selling my soul for no more writers block- but here's a well awaited crappy finish to the Radio Host AU.

Hope ya'll enjoyed it - Jared K.

[teshknowledgenotes]

JAYZ DECODED NOTES

WHY?

Jay-Z is someone I look up to as a rapper and businessman, I wanted to read this book to gain some insight on his thought process. I found it really cool how he made a deal with LVMH, Louis Vuitton Moet Hennesey.

There were some real talents in Marcy. DJs started setting up sound systems in the project courtyards and me and Jaz and other MCs from around the way would battle one another for hours. It wasn't like that first cipher I saw: the crowds were more serious now and the beat was kept by eight-foot-tall speakers with subwoofers that would rattle the windows of the apartments around us. I was good at battling and I practiced it like a sport. I'd spend free time reading the dictionary, building my vocabulary for battles. I could be ruthless, calm as fuck on the outside, but flooded with adrenaline, because the other rapper was coming for me, too. It wasn't a Marquess of Queensberry situation. I saw people get swung on when the rhymes cut too deep. But mostly, as dangerous as it felt it stayed lyrical. I look back now and it still amazes me how intense those moments were, back when there was nothing at stake but your rep, your desire to be the best poet on the block. I wasn't even in high school yet and I'd discovered by voice. But I still needed a story to tell.

Just like beats and flows work together, rapping and hustling for me at least live through each other. Those early raps were beautiful in their way and a whole generation of us felt represented for the first time when we heard them. But there's a reason the culture evolved beyond that playful, partying lyrical style, and even personally knew the cats who were on the records, the content didn't always reflect the lives we were leading. There was a distance between what was becoming rap's signature style the relentlessness the swagger the complex wordplay and the substance of the songs. The culture had to go somewhere else to grow. It had to come home

. No one hired a skywriter and announced crack's arrival. But when it landed in your hood, it was a total takeover. Sudden and complete. Like losing your man to gunshots. Or your father walking out the door for good. It was an irreversible new reality. What had been was gone, and in its place was a new way of life that was suddenly everywhere and seemed like it had been there forever. Cocaine wasn't new and neither was selling it. There had always been older dudes who grew their pinkie fingernails out to sniff coke. There were always down-low dealers who partied with their customers as they supplied them. Melle Mel had a song called "White Lines (Don't Do It)" and of course Kurtis Blow called himself "Blow". but for the most part doing coke was something that happened at private parties, something you might've of heard about but had never really seen. Crackheads were different. They'd smoke in hallways, on playgrounds, on subway station staircases. They got no respect. They were former neighbors, "aunts" and "uncles" but once they start smoking, they were simply crackheads, the lowest on the food chain in the jungle, worse than prostitutes and almost as bad as snitches.

Most of these fiends were my parents' age or a little younger. They had no secrets. Skeletal and ashy, they were as jittery as rookie beat cops and their eyes were always spinning with schemes to get money for the next hit. Kids my age were serving them. And these new little kamikazes, who simply called themselves hustlers (like generations before us did), were everywhere stacking their ones. Fuck waiting for the city to pass out summer jobs. I wasn't even a teenager yet and suddenly everyone I knew had pocket money. And better. When Biggie rhymed about how things done changed he could've meant from one summer to the next. It wasn't a generational shift but a generational split. Look at our parents, they even fukn scared of us. With that line, Big captured the whole transformation in a few words, Authority was turned upside down. Guys my age fed up with watching their moms struggle on a single income, were paying utility bills with money from hustling. So how could those same mothers sit them down about a truant report? Outside in Marcy's courtyard and across the country, teenagers wore automatic weapons like they were sneakers. Broad-daylight shootouts had our grandmothers afraid to leave the house, and had neighbors who'd known us since we were toddlers forming Nieghborhood Watches against us. There was a seperation of style, too. Hip-hop was already moving fashion out of the disco clubs and popularizing rugged streetwear, but we'd take it even futher: baggy jeans and puffy coats to stash work and weapons, construction boots to survive cold winter nights working on the streets. As an MC I still loved rhyming for the sake of rhyming purely for the aesthetics of the rhyme itself -- the challenge of moving around couplets and triplets, stacking double entendres, speed rapping. If it hadn't been for hustling I could've been working on being the best MC, technically to ever touch a mic. Btu when I git the streets for real, it altered my ambition. I finally had a story to tell. And I felt obligated, above all, to be honest about that experience. That ambition defined my work from my first album on. Hip-hop had described poverty in the ghetto and painted pictures of violence and thug life, but I was interested in something a little different: the interior space of a young kid's head, his psychology. Thirteen year old kids don't wake up one day and say "Okay I just wanna sell drugs on my mother's stoop, hustle on my block till I'm so hot people want to come look for me and start shooing out my mom's living room windows" Trust me no one wants to wake up in the morning and wants to do that. To tell the story of the kid with the gun without telling the story of why he has it is to tell a kind of lie. To tell the story of the pain without telling the story of the rewards the money, the girls, the excitement is a different kind of evasion. To talk about killing people dead without talking about waking up in the middle of the night from a dream about the friend you watched die, or not getting to sleep in the first place because you're so paranoid from the work you're doing, is a lie so deep it's criminal. I wanted to tell stories and boast, to entertain and to dazzle with creative rhymes, but everything I said had to be rotted in the truth of that experience. I owed it to all the hustlers I met or grew up with who didn't have a voice to tell their own stories and to myself.

This is why the hustler's story through hip-hop has connected with a global audience. The deeper we get into those sidewalk cracks and into the mind of the young hustler trying to find his foturne there, the closer we get to the ultimate human story the story of struggle with is what defines us all. One of Big's genius lines wasn't even a rhyme it was in the ad lib to "Juicy" his first big hit:

  Yeah, this album is dedicated to all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin, to all the people that lived above the buildings that I was hustlin in front of that called the police on me when I was just tryin to make some money to feed my daughters and all the niggas in the struggle

I loved that he describe what a lot of hustlers were going through in the streets dissed and feared by teachers and parents and neighbors and cops, broke, working a corner to try to get some bread for basic shit as more than some glamorous alternative to having a real job. Our struggle wasn't organized or even coherent. There were no leaders of this "movement". There wasn't even a list of demands. Our struggle was truly a something out of nothing do or die situation. The fucked up thing was that it led some of us to sell drugs on our own blocks and get caught up in the material spoils of that life. It was definitely different, less easily defined, less pure and harer to celebrate that a simple call for revolution. But in their way, Biggie's words made an even more desperate case for some kind of change. Che was coming from the perspective "We deserve these rights, we are ready to lead" We were coming from the perspective, "We need some kind of opportunity, we are ready to die" The connections between the two kinds of struggles weren't necessarily clear to me yet, but they were on my mind. Being misunderstood is almost a badge of honor in rap. Growing up as a black kid from the projects, you can spend your whole life being misunderstood, followed around department stores, looked at funny, accused of crimes you didn't commit, accused of motivations you don't have, dehumanized until you realized one day it's not aobut you. It's about perceptions people had long before you even walked onto the scene. The joke's on them because th're really just fighting phantoms of their own creation.

  From the first time I rapped the line you like Dom, maybe this Cristal will change your life on my first album, hip hop has raised the profile of Cristal. No one denies that. But we were unpaid endorsers of the brand which we thought was okay, because it was a two-way street. We used their brand as a signifier of luxury and they got free advertising and credibility every time we mentioned it. But they didn't see it that way.

A journalist at The Economict asked Frederic Rouzaud the managing director of the company that makes Cristal: "Do you think your brand i hurt by its association with the "bling lifestyle?" This was Rouzaud's reply: "That's a good question but what can we do? We can't forbid people from buying it" He also said that he looked on the association between Cristal and hip-hop with "curiosity and serenity" The economist printed the quote under the heading Unwelcome Attention.

That was like a slap in the face. You can argue all you want about Rouzaud's statements and trry to justify them or whatever, but the tone is clear. When asked about an influential segment of his market, his response was essentially well we can't stop them from drinking it. That was it for me. I released a statement saying that I would never drink Cristal or promote it in any way or serve it at my clubs ever again. I felt like this was the bullshit I'd been dealing with forever, this kind of offhanded, patronizing disrespect for the culture of hip-hop.

When people all over started drinking Cristal at clubs when Cristal became a household name among young consumers it wasn't because of anything Cristal had done. It was because of what we'd done. If Cristal had understood this dynamic they never would've been so dismissive. The truth is we didn't need them to tolerate us with "curiosity and serenity". In fact we didn't need them at all.

There's a knee-jerk fear in America that someone especially someone young and black is coming to take your shit fuck up your brand destroy the quality of your life, tarnish the things you love. But in hip hop despite all the brand shout-outs the truth is, we don't want your shit. We came out of the generation of black people who fainlly got the point: No one's going to help us. So we went for self, for family, for block, for crew which sounds selfish, it's one of the criticisms hustlers and rappers both get, that we're hypercapitalists, concerned only with the bottom line and enriching ourselves. But it's just a rational response to the reality we faced. No one was going to help us. Not even our fathers stuck around. People who looked just like us were gunning for us. Weakness and dependence made you a mark, like a dope fiend. Success would only mean self-sufficiency, being a boss not a dependent. The competition wasn't about greed or not just about greed. It was about survival.

Back in the eighties and early nineties cities in this country were literally backgrounds. Kids were as well armed as paramilitary outfit in a small country. Teenagers had Uzis, German Glocks, and assault rifles and we had the accessories too like scopes and silencers. Guns were easier to get in the hood than public assistance. There were times when the voilence just seemed like background music like we'd all gone numb.

The deeper causes of the crack explision were in policies concoted by a government that was hostile to us, almost genocidally hostile when you think about how they aided or tolerated the unleashing of guns and drugs on poor communities, while at the same time cutting back on schools, housing, and assistance programs. And to top it all off they threw in the so called war on drugs, which was really a war on us. There were racist new laws put on the books, like the drug laws that penalized the possesion of crack cocaine with more severe sentences than the possession of powder. Three strike laws could put young guys in jail for twenty five years for non-violent crimes. The diseas of addiction was treated as a crime. The rate of incarceration went through the roof. Police abuses and corruption were rampant. Across the country, cops were invovled in the drug trade playing both sides. Young black men in New York in the eighties and nineties were gunned down by cops for the lightest suspected offenses, or died in custody under suspicious circumstances. And meanwhile we were killing ourselves by the thousands.

Almost twenty years after the fact, there are studies that say between 1989 and 1994 more black men were murdered in the streets of America than died in the entire Vietnam War. America did not want to talk about the human damage or the deeper causes of the carnage. But then here came rap, like the American nightmare come to life. The disturbing shit you thought you locked away for good, buried at the bottom of the ocean, suddenly materialized in your kid's bedroom, laughing it off, cursing loud, and grabbing its nuts, refusing to be ignored anymore. I'm America's worst nightmare, I'm young black and holding my nuts like shh-yeah. Hardcore rap wasn't political in an explicit way, bt its volume and urgency kept a story alive that a lot of people would have preferred to disappear. Our story. It scared a lot of people.

When the politicians can't censor you and the industry can't marginalize you call the cops. The statistics on the incarceration of black men, particulary of men of my generation are probably the most objective indication that young black men are seen in this country as a "problem" that can be made to literally disappear. No one in the entire world not in Russia or China or Iran is locked up like black men are locked up in this country.

  I had to deal with the cops when I was hustling and that made sense. I had to ddeal with the cops before that too, because even before I started running the streets, I was on their radar just because of who I was. But when I was done with the streets and done with my one major brush with law enforcement after I left the streets, I still wasn't done with five-oh.

I got followed by hip hop cops for seven years but I sill have to ask myself why. Rappers as a class are not engaged in anything criminal. They're musicians. Some rappers and friends of rappers commit crimes. Some bus drivers commit crimes. Some accountants commit crimes. But there aren't task forces devoted to bus drivers or accountants. Bus drivers don't have to work under the preemptive suspicion of law enforcement. The difference is obvious, of course: Rappers are young black men telling stories that the police, among others don't want to hear. Rappers tend to come from places where police are accustomed to treating everybody like a suspect. The general style of rappers is offensive to a lot of people. But being offensive is not a crime, at least not one that's on the books. The fact that law enforcement treats rap like organized crime tells you a lot about just how deeply rap offends some people they'd love for rap itself to be a crime, but until they get that law passed, they come after us however they can. I was never on that nationalistist tip as an MC, but MCs I looked up to, like Rakim, Kane, and Cube, whatever their politics were unambiguously black, with no concession to any other standard of appearance. They didn't hate themselves. They knew how to be strong and stylish but stay black in a way that wasn't self-conscious or contrived. Just by being true to who they were, they obliterated the ideal of the light skinned singer with the S-curl which for a lot of kids of my generation took the edge off the kind of color consciousness that's always lurking for black people in America. Even when hip-hop aired some of the ongoing colorism among black people like Biggie rapping that he was black and ugly as ever the point is that we were airing it out, not weeping it under the rug and letting it drive us crazy trying to pretend it idn't exist. Just one more way that hip-hop kept us sane.

For my pops it was just as important to take in places as people. He wanted me to know my own neighborhood inside out. When we'd go to visit my aunt and uncle and counsins my father would give me the responsibility of leading, even though I was the youngest. When I was walking with him, he always walked real fast (he said that way if someone's following you, they'll lose you) and he expected me to not only keep up with him but to remember the details of the things I was passing. I had to know which bodega sold luandry detergent and who only stocked candy and chips, which bodega was owned by Puerto Ricans and which one was run by Arabs, who taped pictuers of themselves holding Aks to the Plexiglas where they kept the loose candy.

He was teaching me to be confident and aware of my surroundings. There's no better survival skill you could teach a boy in the ghetto and he did it demonstratively, not by sitting me down and saying "Yo always look around at where you are", but by showing me. Without necessarily meaning to, he taught me how to be an artist.

You could name practically any problem in the hood and there'd be a rap song for you. The hip hop generation never gets credit for it, but those songs changed things in the hood. They were political comentary but they weren't based on theory or books. They were based on reality on close observation of the world we grew up in. The songs weren't moralistic but they created a stigma around certain kinds of behaviours just by describing them truthfully and with clarity. One of the thing we corrected was the absent-father karma our fathers' generation's created. We made it some real bitch shit to bounce on your kids. Big mixing rage with double entendre (pop duke left ma uke, the faggot took the back way), we as a generation made it shameful to not be there for your kids. The burden of poverty isn't just that you don't always have the things you need, it's the feeling of being embarrassed every day of your life, and you'd do anything to lift that burden. As kids we didn't complain about being poor, we talked about how rich we were going to be and made moves to get the lifestyle we aspired to by any means we could. And as soon as we had a little money we were eager to show it.

I watched the coverage of Hurricane Katrina but it was painful. Helicopters swooping over rooftops with people begging to be rescued the helicopters would leave with a dramatic photo, but didn't bother to pick up the person on the roof. George Bush doing his flyby and declaring that the head of FEMA was doing a heckuva job. The news media would show a man running down the street, arms piled high with diapers or bottles of water, and call him a looter with no context for why he was doing what he was doing. I'm sure there were a few idiots stealing plasma Tvs, but even that has a context anger, trauma. It wasn't like they were stealing TVs so they could go home and watch the game. I mean, where were they going to plug them shits in? As the days dragged on and images got worse and worse old ladies in wheelchairs dying in fron of the Superdome I kept thinking to myself. This can't be happening in a wealthy country. Why isn't anyone doing anything?

To some degree charity is a racket in a capitalist system, a way of making our obligations to one another optional, and of keeping poor people feeling a sense of indebtedness to the rich, even if the rich spend every other day exploiting those same people. The highest level of giving is giving in a way that makes the receive self-sufficient.

Of course I do sometimes like to see where the money I give goes. When I went to Angola for the water project I was working on and got to see the new water pump and how it changed the lives of the people in that village, I wasn't happy because I felt like I'd done something so great. I was happy ot know that whatever money I'd given was actually being put to work and not just paying a seven figure salary for the head of the Red Cross.

[cyberphuck]

"Sorry about the way it smells in here."

"I dunno, I think it smells kind of good."

"Like a potpourri grenade to the face?"

"Like that shop at the mall that sells all the candles and shit."

Adrian snorted, ducking under a net bag full of garlic hanging from the ceiling. "Yeah, the one that makes your eyes water from fifteen feet away. I know she keeps it in here. All the other smells make it harder for the cops to find."

"Or you, probably." I lean over to tap the side of a glass jar filled with... something. Cloudy yellow liquid and some kind of dark coily thing. "I know you're always shitting all over it, but your mom's stuff is pretty cool. Bet you never got sick as a kid. Soon as you started sneezing, she could, like, poof! Magic the snot out of you."

"I didn't get sick often as a kid." He's face and elbows deep inside a large wooden chest, digging through paper packets of herbs. "But it was because I was homeschooled until seventh grade. Locked up in this place for years until someone finally convinced my mom that kids need to be able to play with other kids who don't stink of camphor."

"And?" I ask. "C'mon, Adrian, I know you want to keep bitching. It's your favorite hobby."

"S'not a hobby. It's an art form. I was about to tell you about how many times I heard the phrase 'son of a witch' that first year of regular-people school." He shuts the trunk and turns to an ornate looking box, covered in dusty swirls of silver. "And my mom refused to let me even leave the house without a protection charm, so I got to explain my pretty necklace to prospective friends. The only person who recognized it as Labradorite was the science teacher, and when I told him what it was for, he made this awful face at me."

"Angry?"

"No."

"Confused?"

"Not really."

"Show me. I wanna see the face."

Adrian looks up at me, annoyed, a cobweb dangling from one of his dark curls of hair. "Is that the face?" I ask, grinning. "Don't let all those years in drama club go to waste, Ade."

"All right, all right. Hold on."

Adrian turns away, taking a breath, then turns back to me wearing the most perfect look of pity. I can't stop my snort of laughter, and Adrian's expression shifting to unamused irritation only makes it worse. "Go ahead, laugh at my pain," he sneers. "When I find my mom's weed stash I'm not sharing it with you."

"Cookiesh."

I startle, looking around. Adrian flinches, muttering a curse. "Hi, Monty," he mutters.

"Hiiiii, Monty!" The gravely, slurred words are coming from somewhere above us, among the larger jars of whatever that are stacked on the shelves against the walls. It takes me a moment to find the source: a scruffy black bird, turning its head to check me out with one shiny black eye. "Hiiii, Monty."

I stare at it. "What is that? A raven?"

"Monty's a crow," Adrian says wearily, holding out an arm. The bird flaps dustily down from its perch, landing ungracefully on Adrian's elbow before shuffling down to his wrist, head bobbing. "Technically he belongs to my mom, but he's sort of like a family member."

"You're shitting me. Your mom has a crow familiar? That's awesome!" I step closer. "Can I pet him?"

"Cookiesh," Monty tells me.

"Okay, first of all, you don't ask if you can 'pet' somebody's familiar," Adrian says. "And second, Monty's not a familiar. They're not really a thing anymore. It's just old witches who have them."

"But I thought--"

"It's complicated. Monty's a crow. He lives in the shop and eats weevils and he will definitely tell on us if we don't get him what he wants." Adrian scritches the bird's head. "He can be kind of an asshole that way."

I reach out to stroke Monty's ragged blue-black feathers. "What does he want?"

Monty puffs up contentedly under the attention. "Cookiesh."

"Three guesses," Adrian sighs. "There's a jar over there on the counter, will you get it open for him? Mom made it crow-proof a couple of years ago because someone was gorging himself sick on them, weren't they, you stupid fat bird?"

"Hiiiii!"

There's an old-fashioned cookie jar on the end of the cluttered counter. When I touch the rounded lid, I feel the weird hairy prickle of magic walking across my skin. I hesitate, but the lid comes off easily-- must only work on crows. Inside are a dozen or so mealy-looking cookies, not anything I'd want to eat but probably delicious looking to a crow who hung out in an apothecary shop all day. I fish one out, sliding the lid back into place.

Monty is watching me. "Two," he croaks.

"Greedy shit." Adrian jerks his chin at me. "Get two. And you can have 'em as soon as you tell me where mom keeps her weed."

"Cookiesh!"

"Weed," Adrian counters. "I know you know where it is."

Monty bobs twice, clicking his beak, then flaps across the room, coming to a clattering stop on top of a metal box marked 'TAX RECEIPTS.' Adrian throws his hands up. "Of course. Where wouldn't I bother looking? Good bird." He levers the lid open, emerging triumphant with a ziplock baggie.

"Cookiesh," Monty reminds him.

Adrian grins. "Of course. Pay the man. And a pleasure doing business with you, Monty."

-

Ko-fi

(it’s okay tumblr, people probably love that you’re making it harder for creators to show their work to people) Twitter @su1cidesauce

[treblestudies]

Back to School Advice

Since we are in full swing of the back-to-school season, I thought I would write out some advice for going back to school. This is mostly aimed at upperclassmen in high school because those are the years I remember most clearly, but it will probably help for other grades as well! 

Before I get started, I'd like to point out that I'm an incoming college freshman, so I can't really give university advice (yet). However, I was extremely successful in high school and finished with a 4.0 GPA on a 4.0 scale (AP/IB/Honors Classes were not offered at my school) so I think I’m slightly qualified to help high school students. 

ORGANIZATION

Get yourself a planner. I personally think that this is the most important part of going back to school (and for everyday life in general). It can be anything, really, as long as it’s a system that works for you. I really like the Recollections planner from Michael’s. It’s basically a knockoff Erin Condren, and it’s a lot less expensive. I also really enjoy bullet journaling, but I plan on making a more specific post about this later. There are spiral bound planners, such as the Lilly Pulitzer agendas; ring bound planners, such as Kikki.K or Filofax; hardbound planners like Moleskine; and the options are endless. I recommend trying out a few different styles of planners throughout your high school career in order to know what works best for you by the time you head off for college.

Deep clean your bedroom. This might sound a bit odd, but I find that it is a lot easier to be successful during the school year when I have a clean and organized living space. When I say deep clean, I truly mean deep clean. Take everything out of your closet, dresser, bookshelf, everywhere. Place it all on your floor and pick up every single item in your hands. Ask yourself, “Does this item spark joy?” (This is commonly known as the KonMari method). If the answer isn’t yes, get rid of it. You can sell, donate, or just throw it away (or recycle, if possible). Once you’ve gone through all of your belongings, give everything a home. This way you will know exactly where it should return to the next time you use it.

While you’re at it, deep clean your desk. Do this the same way as your bedroom. Keep only what you need.

Develop a cleaning/organizing routine. This can involve anything you’d like. I like to go through all of my school work and notes at the end of each week, and all of my sheet music at the end of each semester. I have a very short, five-minute cleaning routine for my bedroom that I do each day before bed, as well as a slightly longer twenty minute routine once a week.

SCHOOL SUPPLIES 

(Most of these links lead to Target. I personally shop at Staples a lot more than I do Target, but I feel like everyone else prefers Target, so that’s why I linked to there.)

A notebook and folder or a binder for each class. Decide which system works best for you. I prefer notebooks and folders because they work better for the types of classes I take. Make sure they are sturdy enough to last for the entire semester (if not longer). I’ve also seen people use expanding file folders instead of folders, notebooks, and binders, but I’ve personally never tried that for schoolwork. However, I do use an expanding file folder to organize all of my sheet music.

Loose-leaf/filler paper. I feel like this one goes without explanation. I really like the reinforced filler paper from Mead Five Star, but it’s pretty expensive. Target’s brand Up & Up has a very similar version that is just as good for a lot less money. I prefer college ruled paper, but they also have wide and graph ruled.

Pencils, both mechanical and old fashioned. I much prefer the way mechanical pencils write, but I’ve been told that some scantron machines don’t detect their lead, so I like to stay on the safe side by having a couple old fashioned No. 2 pencils. My favorites are the Paper Mate Clearpoint 0.7mm Mechanical Pencils and the Ticonderoga No. 2 Pre-Sharpened Pencils (I prefer the black ones because I think they have better erasers, but I couldn’t find them on the Target website).

Pens, pens, pens! I absolutely LOVE pens! I almost always write with a pen (except on sheet music, for obvious reasons), and I would consider myself a pen enthusiast. I usually write with my Lamy Safari (I actually have the limited edition Neon Coral pen, so I linked another color) or my Kaweco Sport fountain pens, but I realize that those aren’t quite as accessible for everyone as a gel or ballpoint pen. As far as “normal” pens go, I really enjoy the Pilot G2, Pilot Juice, Pilot Frixon, Papermate Inkjoy, and Papermate Flare pens. I could go on and on about pens, so if you have any questions just send me a message!

Erasers. My favorites are the Pentel Hi-Polymer erasers, both in cap and brick form. I find that these erasers don’t smudge or rip the paper like others do.

Pencil sharpener. I don’t have a favorite kind; I just buy whatever one is on sale. 

Stapler and staples. I like the Swingline Tot Mini Stapler. It comes in a lot of different colors, and there are 1,000 staples included in the box. I also like that it is miniature, so it fits nicely in my pencil case.

Pencil case. I use the LIHIT LAB Pen Case. You don’t necessarily need one as big as this, but I carry a lot of things to class with me. I know that another popular choice is to use a makeup bag. I did that my sophomore year of high school and found that it worked decently well, but sometimes it was difficult to quickly find what I was looking for. 

Scissors. Really any kind will do, but I like the children’s sized scissors because they will fit in my pencil case.

Highlighters. I was never big into highlighters. I use them a lot, but I don’t have a favorite brand. I usually buy the Sharpie Accent Highlighters, but I just ordered the Zebra Mildliner 5 Color Set from Amazon. These are a fan favorite within the studyblr community, and I’ve been interested in them for quite awhile.

There are other school supplies that you may need depending on what classes you take, but I think I covered the basics. As a music major, I also need manuscript notebooks so you can tailor this list to your liking.

SELF-CARE

Get some sleep. This one is extremely important. As someone who suffers from insomnia, I know how hard this can be, but try to form a regular sleep schedule. Please realize that it is more important to get some sleep than it is to stay up studying into the wee hours of the night (or more correctly: morning). It is very difficult to stay focused on your schoolwork when you are sleep deprived.

Eat breakfast. Yes, I know, I’m going to be cheesy and say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I always feel so much better when I have something to eat in the morning. It helps me focus throughout the day, and it gives me plenty of energy. I like to have toast with peanut butter, as well as an egg or two, but I understand that it can be difficult to prefer yourself a meal in the morning. It is better to eat just a little (such as a granola bar or an apple) rather than nothing at all.

Surround yourself with positive people. I recently did a cleanse of my Facebook Friends. If there’s anybody that is constantly posting negative content, I would recommend deleting them on any and all social media. I know it’s hard to do if they are a close friend or family member, but it will be better for your own well-being in the long run. 

Set aside time for yourself. It can be as little as fifteen minutes or as long as five hours. It doesn’t really matter, as long as you have a specific amount of time set aside for “me time” every single day. You can do whatever you want. Read a book, listen to music, watch a movie. Just do something that you enjoy.

Drink plenty of water. I don’t think I need to write about why this is important. It helps to keep you healthy, your skin clear, your body awake, etc. 

Another aspect of self-care is taking care of your mental illnesses - if you have any. I personally struggle with severe generalized anxiety disorder, so if you’d like a post about how to cope just hit me up.

AFTER-SCHOOL ACTIVITIES

Join a club, organization, or sport! I know that academics may be your main focus right now, but I find that it’s a lot easier to find a good group of friends when you all share a common interest. For example, if you really like music you could join marching band, an a cappella group, or a music appreciation club. (My high school actually didn’t have a large array of clubs and organizations, but I know that most large schools do). If there isn’t a group for what you are interested in, you can often mention it to your school board and start one yourself!

Join a study group. I like study groups because you (usually) aren’t required to attend every single session. That way if you’re too busy you don’t have to feel bad. They are very helpful when it comes to specific subjects/topics, and it’s useful to have a group of people you can turn to whenever you have any questions.

Don’t overload your schedule. While it is important to get involved, I also think it is important to not overwhelm yourself. If you are in eight classes, two sports, three clubs, and two student organizations (okay I know that’s overkill and an exaggeration, but you get what I mean) your schedule will be way too crowded and it will lead to stress. Please don’t do that to yourself. Only participate in the extra groups that you enjoy.

Try something new. If you have time, it can be really fun to try something new that you think you might enjoy. This doesn’t necessarily have to be school related (I wasn’t quite sure what category to put this in). It can be something as simple as learning how to knit, taking a Zumba class at your local gym, or setting a goal to try as many new foods as you can. Try whatever you’d like! I’m currently learning how to speak German, so maybe you can try something like that. (If you are thinking about learning a language, I highly recommend using the website version of Duolingo. The app is good as well, but the website has a lot of helpful information that isn’t included on the app.)

Alright, I think this is all that I have for you today! If you have any questions about this post, or if I didn’t cover something you’d like help with, just send me an ask or a private message and I will be glad to assist you!

- Erin

[berezina]

Skip is thirty-one and he's so smart and so educated—just ask him, he'll tell you. A legend in his own mind. Did I forget to mention he's so mature? Unlike me. He was always telling me I don't know anything. I'll tell you one thing I don't know— I don't know what I saw in him. He seemed older and sophisticated and we had great sex, so why not? I met him in a club, naturally. I never thought he was very good-looking, but you could tell he thought he was. He believed it so much he could actually sell other people on the idea. He has that confidence everybody wants a piece of. This blond hair that looks like he has it trimmed about three times a day. Nice clothes, shirts custom-made on Jermyn Street, which he might just casually tell you some night in case you didn't know is in London, England. (That's in Europe, which is across the Atlantic Ocean—oh, really Skip, is that where it is? Wow!) Went to the right schools. And he's rich, of course, owns his own company. Commodities trader. Story of Skip's life, trading commodities.

So basically, he has it all. Should be a Dewar's Profile, I'm like amazed they haven't asked him yet. But when the sun hit him in the morning he was a shivering wreck.

From the first night, bending over the silver picture frame in his apartment with a rolled fifty up his nose, all he can talk about is his ex, and how if he could only get her back he'd give up all of this forever—coke, staying out partying all night, young bimbos like me. And I'm thinking, poor guy just lost his main squeeze, feeling real sympathetic and so like I go, when did this happen, Skip? and it turns out it was ten years ago! He lived with this chick for four years at Harvard and then after they come to New York together she dumps him. And I'm like, give me a break, Skip. Give yourself a break. This is ten years after. This is nineteen eighty-whatever.

Skip's so smart, right? My parents never gave a shit whether I went to school or not, they were off chasing lovers and bottles, leaving us kids with the cars and the credit cards, and I never did get much of an education. Is that my fault? I mean, if someone told you back then that you could either go to school or not, what do you think you would have done? Pass the trigonometry, please. Right. So I'm not as educated as the great Skip Pendleton, but let me tell you—I know what when you're hitting on someone you don't spend the whole night whining about your ex, especially after like a decade. And you don't need a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out why Skip can't go out with anybody his own age. He keeps trying to find Diana, the beautiful, perfect Diana who was twenty-one when she said sayonara. And he wants us, the young stuff, because we're like Diana was in the good old days. And he hates us because we're not Diana. And he thinks it will make him feel better if he fucks us over and makes us hurt the way he was hurt, because that's what it's all about if you ask me—we're all sitting around here on earth working through our hurts, trying to pass them along to other people and make things even. Chain of pain.

Old Skip kept telling me how dumb I was. You wish, Jack. Funny thing is, dumb is his type. He doesn't want to go out with anybody who might see through him, so he picks up girls like me. Girls he thinks will believe everything he says and fuck him the first night and not be real surprised when he never calls again.

If you're so smart, Skip, how come you don't know these things? If you're so mature, what were you doing with me?

Men. I've never met any. They're all boys. I wish I didn't want them so much. I've had a few dreams about making it with girls, but it's kind of like—sure, I'd love to visit Norway sometime. My roommate Jeannie and I sleep in the same bed and it's great. We've got a one-bedroom and this way the living room is free for partying and whatever. I hate being alone, but when I wake up in some guy's bed with dry come on the sheets and he's snoring like a garbage truck, I go—let me out of here. I slip out and crawl around the floor groping for my clothes, trying to untangle his blue jeans from mine, my bra from his Jockeys—Skip wears boxers, of course—without making any noise, out the door and home to where Jeannie has been warming the bed all night. Jumping in between the sheets and she wakes up and goes, I want details, Alison—length and width.

I love Jeannie. She cracks me up. She's an assistant editor at a fashion magazine, but what she really wants to do is get married. It might work for her but I don't believe in it. My parents have seven marriages between them and any time I've been with a guy for more than a few weeks I find myself looking out the window during sex.

~Jay McInerney [buy]

[shakesonaplane]

Throwback Blog Post: “Top 5 Airplane Personalities”

Season’s greetings my intrepid band of misfits. I hope the coming weeks bring some sort of wonderful holiday cheer and joyous good times. If you’re like me, you’re huddled around something warm right now as the Northern Hemisphere plunges into the cold abyss that is the winter (#brr). In my meandering on the internet and my old archives, I somehow stumbled upon a blog I wrote from back in College / University. In reading through my realized how frightfully embarrassing that whole thing is (not that this is any less embarrassing mind you), but I did find a gem that really brought a smile to my day.

So instead of some trip recap (and because I’m lazy), I’d like to offer you a throwback post from 2008 where I decided to tell the world that I’m a pathological liar when I travel. Given the upcoming increase in your travel plans, I figure what better time to remind everyone that airplanes are sincerely a fun place to make some new friends. So, without much further ado, I present an “anshubhaiyya” special from 9 years ago on how much I enjoyed messing with people on airplanes as a young adult.

In case you’re wondering what I looked like in 2008 when I wrote all of this insanity (only things that haven’t changed are the hairy arms)

Hi I’m Ken Adams - Top 5 Airplane Personalities

I love airports…well, I take that back, I don’t like being in them when I’m in a rush or when I’ve just had my fourth cavity search, but I love to people watch. When you go to an airport, everyone is so busy and so hustled that people’s real, unfriendly selves come out. Whether its the angry mother with her four kids being rowdy, who she normally handles well but given the lack of Sesame Street or toys, she’s stuck keeping them occupied…or the busy business person who doesn’t seem to notice there are other people in lines or on escalators and always has a damn bluetooth headset attached (btw its funny to talk as the other part of their conversations and watch their reactions)…or the harassed traveler who is stuck in a place they don’t want to be because of weather and they’re either yelling or sleeping due to exhaustion from too much yelling…

But, when you get on that plane, you’re forced to sit and be nice to a person who is far too close for comfort…and if you’re like me you’re usually alone in traveling so you don’t know this woman/man and have to be cordial and polite for any amount of flight time while all you wish was that you could land and do something mildly interesting…..the best, though, is how people tend to strike up conversations with each other in order to make the time fly….maybe even asking thought provoking questions but usually just trying to keep the conversation going because, let’s face it…if you start and stop abruptly it’s just awkward

So, this guy sitting next to you on the flight, they don’t know you and chances are you’ll never meet them again….so what do I do? I lie….I make up who I am and where I’ve come from and what I’m doing because, to me, that’s more interesting…the more exciting you are the more fun you can have with people and in turn, the more fun they have….it’s fun to meet someone interesting, so much so that you feel better about your trip given a fun tidbit of information or a cool personality (see Fight Club)…

1) The Child Prodigy

A lot of us like to travel as comfortable as possible, and in doing so we tend to wear shirts, hoodies or hats that have our school’s name on them….so usually a good way to start a conversation with this person is to see their age and ask, “oh do you go to school there?”…to which one can simply reply…”oh no, I actually teach”…the cover story I used was that I was a child prodigy and graduated high school at age 14, college at age 17 and got my Ph. D. last year (usually I’m about 21 or 22)…people are usually astounded and I say “no, it’s not that great, I don’t have tenure yet, just an assistant professor” and when asked about what you teach, make up some information about the last final or test you took and run with it….whether you’re an economics guru or a biological whiz or whatever…this one is always fun because the first look you get is the “what the hell?” look to which you can laugh and say “I know, sounds crazy…”

2) The identical twin

This particular way doesn’t usually work, unless you sit next to someone who barely recognizes you (someone from school or an extracurricular or someone that hardly knows who you are)….this is actually what started, for me, the lying on airplanes…One day when I met a girl I recognized from high school debate (nerdy, yes), she ended up sitting next to me in the small hometown airport….she was a HUGE ass kisser/gunner/bitch/etc. but wanted to befriend me on the plane….she led with a “have we met”…so I countered with the “no, I’m sorry” and when she said I looked familiar and had I done debate I said, “oh, no that was my twin brother Abhishek….yeah my name is Neil, I didn’t do all that…he did”….after which I spoke about myself in the third person to her and just basically made up whatever I liked…where I went to school, how I was doing, what I had said about debate/her/Harvard (where she went)….sometimes talking about yourself as someone else to someone else who actually thinks they know your original self can be fun…write that down

3) The Arranged Marriage-er

This one always kills because of the ethnic card I have…see being a young Indian man flying to and from random cities can get really annoying…people tend to glare at you, almost afraid you’re a ticking bomb…so when you sit down next to your John/Jane Doe…you start to fidget, act uncomfortable, and ultimately ask them if they’re married (it usually helps if they are)…when they reply, you start asking interesting, thought provoking questions about married life in America (accented is a plus), and ultimately end the line of questioning with…”well that was probably easier bc you met your spouse well before”…after they try to figure it out….you start with the ethnic barbaric nature so many people think exists….I’m only 22 but it’s a good marriage age…my parents found a wonderful person from India who is our caste and all the stars and signs agree we’re a great match…I’ve met her a few times but I’m on this plane to go to my wedding…they live in ______ (insert town) and basically I’m going to be married in a few days….then just sit back and watch as they ponder the crazy arrangements, they congratulate you, or they are shocked….my ultimate goal is to have a champagne toast or something with the cabin after several people hear about it…but yes, this is one of my favorite airplane personalities bc marriage makes people happy

4) The Professional Dancer

This tends to work best if you’re flying to and from a major city….I first used this on a trip from LAX to Chicago…sometimes when people ask you what you’re doing in a certain city, this is a good way to go….it’s hard to be a professional singer or actor or athlete because more people will attempt to look for you or even know if you’ve been in certain things (unless you want to be totally aspiring but that’s no fun)…so I went the dancer route…you’re traveling from your home in City A to a concert in City B for _______ (insert obscure musician) in which you’re a backup dancer….you can start talking about influences, styles and even tell the person of where they might’ve seen you (“If you ever see a video with a group called N’Sync…called Pop, I was in the background of the ____ scene)…then you can start talking about the business, people you know, potential sexualities….it’s always quite fun

5) The Young Entreprenuer

Sometimes you find yourself sitting on flights and you’re dressed better than you should….you might be wearing a suit or just a nicer outfit than most and we all tend to own nice electronics like iPods and things…so this one I’ve devised on a trip back from NYC when I changed into my only clean (but very dressy) clothing…go with what you like but I tend to start my young millionaire personality as an online store that sells something really random…chairs are a good one, also random software, designer kitchenware, video gamer sites…basically anything that most people wouldn’t look at as millionaire making….when people ask what you do you say, oh well I’m just outta college but I’m working on my company, which I started in HS…right now we’re private but we’re getting enough buzz to warrant publicly selling to google/ebay/apple, whatever…basically running with the idea that you’re set for life and all you want to do is make more money…it’s always a good idea to have a company name in mind in case, but usually you can be small enough to be under the radar of most people….being a young millionaire can be fun too, because you can talk about the dream cars you own, the trips you’ve taken and, if you have an elderly person, it’ll melt their heart if you say you’ve made it so you’re parents don’t have to work anymore…

…Just to let you know, I don’t think lying is a great thing to do…the idea is that having fun is important and this person who you’ll never see again will only understand you as that interesting person they met on a plane….in a way you’ll brighten their day…people usually live their lives in such an ordinary, routine and mundane fashion that a little spark is always fun….so if you get away with your personality, you’ve made someone’s day more interesting and made yours more fun…it’s a win-win….

Well, that was generally an odd experience to re-read :) Hope you enjoyed that little trip down memory lane and have some fun ideas for what you’d like to do on your next holiday travel flight. Next year I’ll be back with loads more travel and hopefully some great stories to go along with them. Till then, Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever it is you celebrate!

Cheers (and, for the throwback, jsk)! Abhishek

[tongueincheekywrites-blog]

everything’s perfect

Louis Tomlinson thinks his boyfriend Harry Styles is simply one word... perfect. After a day of shopping with his sister Lottie, he decides he wants to change Harry to be more than just his boyfriend.

“This is really nice Lou, thanks for coming shopping with me,” Lottie says sweetly, clenching the one of a few bags she was holding from some of her favorite makeup and clothing stores.

Louis came to the mall with Lottie. She really hasn’t spent time with Louis, her big brother, alone without a bunch of family members of just five other siblings for that matter. It was nice. They were really close and always looking out for each other.

Of course Louis is here to spend time with Lottie, however, he also has another intention. A secret intention Lottie was just about to find out about.

“Hey Lots... before we head out, I just realized there was one other store I wanted to stop at. You mind?”

She giggles lightly, “Sure thing, where we headed?”

“Jared.”

“Got it,” she says, turning her heels to head to the direction of the store. He can’t help but laugh a bit at her oblivious nature.

Jared is a jewelry store. Not just any jewelry store however...

Primarily, it is a jewelry store that sells engagement rings.

It’s no question to Louis. He loves Harry. More than he loves himself, if he’s being entirely honest. This boy has had his heart in the palm of his hand since they met in a bathroom--among all places--seven years ago. Then, they were put in a band with three other boys, and throughout the mess of all that, he knew in his heart with all the times he’s had with Harry, from the 3am crying from nightmares to those quick kisses Harry would give him before going on stage, he knew in his heart... there was no one else.

Harry was his soulmate.

He was the one.

As the brother-sister duo enter the Jared store, Lottie being the feminine little beauty she is can’t help but glance around at all the sparkles and shimmers of jewels. However, Louis has a completely different feeling stepping inside.

This is it.

This will forever change his life forever.

And in the best way possible.

“Soooo, whatcha looking for Lou?” She asks, sweet and oblivious once again.

“Lottie, come on, you’re a smart little lady. What’s this store known for?”

She thinks on it for a moment, her face scrunched up and her eyelashes fluttering as she blinks in thought. Lottie’s a little slow with things, but once she does figure something out, boy is she smart with it.

Like just now.

The realization must have entered her mind, because her eyes instantly widen. Her mouth agape and she practically drops everything in her hands.

“Louis... Tomlinson... are you?”

“Yep! Now come on, look around with me,” he cuts her off quickly, beginning to circle the store.

“Wait, hold on! I’m your sister! I need an explanation mister!” She says, catching up to him.

“It’s simple Lots, I love Harry, and come on, have you ever seen me love someone so much like that? Do you really think there’s going to be another person? Cause I sure don’t. There’s no one but Harry... it’s always been him,” as he speaks, he can’t help but start to smile like an idiot at his words. He was in love. Crazy, mad, deep, stupid, and hopelessly in love.

She smiles too, poking his now tinted red cheek. “No, you’re right, it’s always been Harry. He’s always been the one to make you soft.”

“Alright, alright, now help me look!”

As they circle for awhile, not really finding anything that screams Harry, a lady who he assumes works here by the fact she has a nametag on, walks over to the two of them. A big adorable grin on her face as she speaks.

“Hi! Thanks for stopping in to Jared. I’m Dodie! Is there anything specific I can help you look for?” She asks, her brown eyes shimmering as she speaks.

“Yeah actually,” Louis chuckles, suddenly nervous now. “I’m looking for an engagement ring so I can propose to my boyfriend, but I can’t really find anything that would fit him, personality wise.”

“Oh well don’t worry! Here at Jared we have everything! I’m sure I’m bound to find you something perfect for him!” She extends out a hand. “Can I have your names?”

“I’m Louis,” he says, shaking her hand.

“Nice to meet you Louis, and you?” Dodie asks, turning to the platinum blonde.

“Lottie, the soon-to-be fiance’s little sis,” she jokes, shaking Dodie’s hand, the both laughing.

“And nice to meet you, Lottie! Nice to meet each of you!” She turns to Louis, clapping her hands together in excitement. “So! Tell me, who’s this fiance? What’s he like? What’s he into? Let me get a feel for him to find the perfect ring.”

“Well...” Louis trails on. “He’s very humble, and a real sweetheart. Doesn’t have a bad bone in his body I don’t think. Always spreading love and kindness and all that. Oh, and he’s a very bold one fashion wise, he is. Always wearing these suits that have the patterns of ugly Grandma couches, but he makes them work. Oh, and loves pink! And anything shiny!”

“Sounds like you really love him,” Dodie says, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah... I definitely do,” he blushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand nervously.

“Trust me, I think it was love since day one,” Lottie jokes. They all giggle.

“Well, I think I have the perfect ring in mind for him. Come with me!”

Dodie guides them to a corner of the store with some rose gold jewelry, going under the display counter and pulling out a simple rose gold colored band with a few tiny diamonds scattered all around it.

“I have a feeling, from what you’ve said, this would be perfect for him,” she says, twirling the ring in her fingers to let Louis and Lottie have a good look. Lottie grins, looking over at Louis who for some reason couldn’t help but get a bit teary eyed.

“Yeah... uh... yeah.” He sniffles, laughing as his embarrassed emotions from imagining Harry with the ring. “It’s perfect.”

“You know what...” Dodie trails on. “I can tell you and your hopefully fiance are different, and that this is a really special kind of love. So I’m going to give you this ring for free.”

Louis and Lottie both gape at her. For free?! Surely, they can’t let her do that. He has to pay, it’s not like he can’t afford it.

“No, no, please. I can’t let you do that,” Louis says, reaching back to pull out his wallet. However, Dodie shakes her head, smiling cutely.

“Nope! I’m afraid this ring for you is free of charge! I can’t accept any money for it,” she winks.

Louis sighs in defeat, a smile enveloping him. “Thank you, Dodie. Seriously.”

She gets a little black box for the ring and slides it in, putting the ring box in a small and discrete dark red bag.

“Here you are!” she cheers, handing the bag to Louis. “Best of luck, Louis! Nice meeting you both again, I wish you well!”

They both smile, giving Dodie small hugs before grinning and walking off to Louis’s car.

“So, how are ya gonna pop the question, Lou?” Lottie grins cheekily, nudging him as she enters the passenger seat and him the driver seat.

“What’s today’s date?” he asks, starting up the car.

“September 28th.”

“Well, then I guess today.”

---

It’s a casual evening, like most. Harry’s just come back from his New York City show from his solo tour, dressed in pajamas, and cuddling into Louis chest on the couch as they were watching a rerun of some sitcom on TV.

Little did the tired little rockstar know, Louis is screaming in fear on the inside.

There’s no reason Harry would say no. They’ve been together for seven years, it’s like they’re married already. All Louis wants to do is make it official with rings, a big wedding celebration, and a paper from city hall... not that it was needed.

“Hey Harry?” Louis asks, trying to hold back the nervous tone in his voice.

“Hmm?” Harry asks, glancing up at the boy. Seeing his odd expression, he sits up from Louis’s chest. Taking his hand, he strokes Louis’s jawline comfortingly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Louis melts into the touch, leaning into it. “Nothing. Everything’s perfect.”

Harry giggles. “Then what’s with the face?”

“I-I need to talk to you about... something.”

“O-Okay,” Harry says, starting to get nervous too. What could he need to talk to him about? Is it about the tour? Is it getting hard for him? Is he not getting enough attention? Now Harry was internally beginning to panic.

Louis stands up from the couch, turning off the TV before directly facing Harry who was sitting straight up on the couch, waiting for whatever was about to happen.

“So...” Louis began, laughing because boy he didn’t plan this at all beyond buying the ring. He just wants it to be casual and feel normal, so that’s why he choose tonight in their NYC home, a place of peace and comfort to do it. Just say how you feel, he thought to himself.

“So...” Louis starts again.

“So...” Harry says, smirking.

“No, Haz, focus! This is very serious!” Louis can’t help but laugh and Harry laughs too.

“I mean, it’s kinda hard to take you seriously when we're both in pajamas,” Harry jokes. “But okay, go ahead baby. What’s up?”

He takes a nervous breath. “Okay, well... you know, we’ve been together for seven years...”

“Yes, and seven isn’t a divisible number by anything but itself!”

“Harry, please! I’m trying here!” Louis urges, laughing as his ridiculous boyfriend.

“Okay, okay, now I’m done. Continue,” he says, putting on an ‘in focus’ face.

“Well, like I said, we’ve been together for seven years. And honestly Harry, those seven years...” he takes a breath, trying to fight off happy tears of love. Despite not showing it a lot, he’s a pretty emotional guy. And well, love makes you feel crazy things.

He continues, “Those seven years have been the fucking best of my life. You see, I never understood love and what it meant. When I was in drama club as a kid in school, I’d play leading lads who fell hopelessly in love with beautiful girls. But truthfully, I never understood it. Never got how someone could feel that for another person. But then, I met you. In a bathroom, on The X Factor. I think in that moment, seeing your big head of curls and dimpled smile, I knew what love was. And since that day, you’ve changed me for the best, and I’m sure you’ll continue to do so forever, cause, well...” he hesitated for a brief moment, before taking the chance, getting down on one knee.

“Oh my god,” Harry spewed out, standing up and looking down at him, eyes wide with shock.

“Awhile ago, when we were kids, in an interview I said I’d marry you, Harry. Cause it rhymes. But really, I was being serious. I wanted to marry you then and I want to marry you now.” He takes a deep breath, taking out the box from his pocket, opening it to reveal the sparkly rose gold ring. Harry couldn’t help but just light up at the ring. Louis was so right, the ring was so Harry.

“Harry Edward Styles... babycakes... I’ve loved you since I was 18, so seven years later, will you please do me the greatest honor of my life, marry me, and become my husband forever?”

“Oh sweetcheeks...” Harry says, voice full of love as tears brim his eyes. “Yes, I will absolutely marry you.”

And with that, Louis face just glows as he puts the ring onto Harry’s finger, to then quickly stand up and grab Harry’s face in his hands, kissing him deeply.

After awhile, the two pull away, breathless and with the biggest grins of their faces, staring into each other’s eyes with pure joy and love.

Harry brings his hand up to his face, glancing at the ring and admiring it with all the others on his hand. Louis really knew him, this ring was perfect. Everything Harry could have ever imagined his ring to be.

“So I guess I should change my tour name to the Harry Tomlinson tour, huh?” Harry jokes, causing Louis to grin at the name.

“Obviously, Mr. Tomlinson.”

---

“Hey honey! I’m on the way to the airport now. Your show was absolutely smashing, darling. I couldn’t be prouder of you, all that you’ve done, and all you represent,” his mum Anne says to him on the phone. He couldn’t wait any longer, he just had to call her and share the news.

“Thank you mum, it means so much... but that’s not what I’m calling about,” he says, fidgeting with the new ring on his finger.

“Oh? What’s up, love?” she asks.

He can’t help but grin like an idiot. “Well... the Tomlinson’s are getting a new family member.”

“Oh wow, is someone pregnant?”

“No mum, it's because someone is engaged,” He laughs, but smiles even wider if that’s even possible. Engaged. Harry Styles is engaged. Engaged to the love of his life, Louis Tomlinson.

“No way! Who?!”

“Me.”

There’s a pause, before Anne speaks. “Harry... are you telling me that Louis-”

“Yes,” he says, cutting her off for he is unable to contain himself. “Louis proposed. We’re engaged. You’re looking at the future Harry Tomlinson.”

“Honey...” it’s as if she’s as choked up as he is, for he can practically hear her smile and tears of joy over the phone. “I’m so happy for the both of you. Oh my goodness, this is perfect. Simply perfect. I knew when you came out of that bathroom during The X Factor, something happened. You had a look that screamed ‘hopelessly in love’ on your face, and never once did I ever see that look leave your face since that day with you and Louis. It’s fate, Harry. Perfect fate. And I, as your mother, couldn’t be happier. I love you both so much.”

“I know... thank you mum... it really is perfect.”

And for the rest of their phone call, the mother and son discussed all the cheesy wedding things. Venues, themes, outfits, food, Gemma being the maid of honor, all of Louis’s little sisters being bridesmaids, and Lottie being the flower girl.

All of those things will be figured out.

But one things for certain.

Everything really was perfect.

[sending-the-message]

Reel to Real by Cymoril_Melnibone

Anyone who was a teenager in the 80s seems to have strong memories about it. It was a youthful age, a time full of flavor and color, when plastic pop fakery distracted us from the darker undercurrents of the adult world’s climate. Teased hair, big earrings, neon clothes and jelly shoes endure in the lighter recesses of my own memories. A ton of other stuff is more background focus for me; Transformers, side ponytails, and orange bubblegum that smelled like soda in the sun, but I guess certain imagery defines an age differently for different people. We’re transported back to slightly different worlds, whenever we remember. For someone else around my age, it might be a packed gaming arcade. Your lips are sticky with Fanta and the menthol burn of the stolen cigarette you just traded with someone, your mental soundtrack an out-of-synch chorus of PacMans burbling wakawaka in the background. Or maybe your memory-self is edgier; making out in your parent’s Pontiac Fiero, his denim jacket tucked into the window for a makeshift privacy curtain, and the heavy, sickly scent of strawberry lipgloss filling the tiny space. Whatever you remember, there’s often a curious innocence when people recall that era, right down to the music and the TV shows. Young people seemed less afraid to do new things, to express themselves in ways they couldn’t in the 60s and 70s, and less jaded than they seem now. But when I scrape away the brightly-lit, plastic surface of my own childish perceptions, there’s something much darker spliced into my memory reel. Whatever else it was, and whatever it was to you, it was a time of wonder and tragedy for me. I suppose that’s why I still linger there in my mind, wishing I could go back and set things right – to change history, and to bring back my friends.

    We weren’t exactly losers, but we sure weren’t part of the cool clique either. My mom was a teacher and my dad ran a furniture store with my uncle, selling ‘space-age’ mattresses and couches that tried to eat you if you sat in them too long. Chris and Toni’s dad worked at the local brewery as a foreman, and their mom sold makeup around the neighborhood. Jason was the odd one out, because he only had a mom. His dad died, working as a diver on an oil platform; but the insurance money meant that they’d be comfortable for the rest of their lives, if they were careful. Despite coming from what looked on the surface like pretty normal families, we never quite jelled with the popular kids. I was skinny and geeky, obsessed with Tolkien and everything fantasy. Jason’s love of video games also bordered on the obsessive, and Chris talked motorbikes 24/7, his room wallpapered with magazine pictures of red-and-white Japanese bikes that looked more spaceship than wheeled vehicle. He’d been saving every cent from his allowance since he was in kindergarten, in anticipation of the day he could buy his own. And Toni, who would punch anyone who called her by her full name, was far too much of a tomboy to ever fit in with all the fashion-obsessed girls at school. So we kept to ourselves, our own private little gang, and we were mostly ignored by everyone else. I suppose it was that isolation, but still being part of a group, that allowed us to just do our own thing, free from the worst social consequences of being considered weirdos. That was how we managed to start up our little film club.

  When sales of VCRs really started to boom, it had a big effect on one of the mainstay leisure activities in our small town: going to the movies. After the video store opened up, and you could rent out tapes for a fraction of the cost of a movie ticket, there was a sharp downturn in the number of folks who wanted to go out to the picture theater. At first not everyone owned a VCR. But people would crowd around a neighbor’s TV to maximize the number of viewers, stuffing their faces with home-made popcorn and drinking cheap beer. There were two cinemas in our town, and the larger one managed to keep going. But the smaller one slowly fell into disuse, eventually opening only on Friday and Saturday nights – when people were too drunk to care about the price. That meant that during the rest of the week, the theater was empty, and because his mom’s newest boyfriend owned the place, Jason was allowed the keys. The huge metal lockers in the projection room were filled with carefully labelled reels of film, which smelled of something faintly insectoid, like crushed ants. Jason had been taught the basics of how to use the projector, but as the resident smart kid in our group I quickly gained a knack for knowing how everything worked, so it mostly fell on me to sit in the booth and change the reels mid-film. We took turns picking the films. Jason nearly always wanted to watch The Last Starfighter; Chris was all about Knightriders and Savage Dawn. Toni usually went along with whatever her older brother picked, but once in a while she’d ask for Splash or Freaky Friday. As for me? You can probably guess; a steady diet of Labyrinth, The Neverending Story and The Dark Crystal. There was a sort of unspoken pact in our group that we didn’t mock anyone else’s choice of film. But probably because he was a year older than the rest of us, Chris often felt he could break our unwritten rule. Most times he only did it to me, to make fun of me for my ‘girly’ choices. “Matt,” he would growl at me, crumbs of popcorn stuck to his nascent mustache, “Sometimes I swear your dick fell off when the doctor spanked you at birth.” Jason would laugh too loud, and Toni would just stare at me with those huge brown eyes of hers. But as time went on, and his hormones really ramped up, I wasn’t the only one that Chris clashed with. It was because of one of his testosterone-fueled teenage rages that we made the greatest – and worst – discovery of our lives.

  How the fight originally started, I don’t remember exactly. I think Chris complained that he didn’t want to sit through the 20th re-run of Return of the Jedi, then Jason got shitty because it was his turn, and the Rules were the Rules. I do remember that as the film started, Chris climbed up on the low stage under the big screen, and started reading out the opening scroll in a pompous, mocking voice, peppering it with foul language. Jason went red, and started pelting him with stolen popcorn, but Chris wouldn’t stop, he just got louder and more obnoxious. When Jason launched himself out of his front-row seat and shoved Chris against the screen, the rage at someone daring to retaliate was writ so large on the older boy’s face it was visible even from my spot in the projection booth. Chris vanished through the screen. I sat for a moment in shock as I realized he must have torn right through the shiny fabric. Jason’s “uncle” was going to kill us. But when Chris didn’t re-appear, and Jason’s yelling didn’t cause him to emerge, I got worried enough to leave the booth and run down the stairs to where the others were. “There’s no hole,” Jason babbled, pointing at the screen. “He just disappeared.” “Stay calm,” I told him, like my dad would say to my mom when she started freaking out about things, “there will be a good explanation for this.” We checked in the small room behind the stage, filled with coils of old rope and broken wooden pallets, but he wasn’t there either. “Ugh, he’s just messing with us,” Toni decided, “he wants us to freak out. Let’s just watch the film and forget about him.” That seemed logical, so we did. I enjoyed not having our pubescent friend ruining things for once. But as the film eventually ended, something strange and wonderful happened. Striped with the text of the end credits, Chris stumbled through the screen, and fell onto the sticky carpet at our feet, laughing hysterically. “Holy shit guys,” he yelled, ecstatic and wild, “I met Luke Skywalker!”

  It took Chris a while to tell us the story in its entirety, but the general gist of it was this: when he had been pushed through the screen, he had somehow gone inside the film. “I had different clothes and everything, like I was part of it,” he explained, pacing back and forth in front of the blank screen, more animated than I’d ever seen him, “and the whole gang was there, Chewie and Han and Leia and Luke.” “This isn’t funny,” Toni said, her mouth downturned, bordering on petulant. “I’m telling the truth, man! I was there,” he jabbed a finger at the screen, “In Jabba’s palace, even on the Death Star. Wait, look at this!” He rolled up his sleeve of his jacket, showing a fresh burn, the welt running from his wrist to his elbow, “Vader’s saber grazed me while me and Luke were fighting him.” His grin was enormous as he ran his hand through his thick curly hair, “Holy moly, this was the best night of my entire life.” “Prove it,” Jason said, arms folded, “do it again. Matt, set the film up.” “I have to rewind the reels. That’s gonna take a while,” I told him. “We need to get home,” Toni reminded us, “it’s getting late.” “Tomorrow, then,” said Jason, shouldering his schoolbag. He shook his head at Chris, eyeing the burn on his arm, skeptical and jealous all at once, “but if you’re lying, I swear I’m gonna tell your dad you’re making shit up. He’ll knock the snot outta ya again.” After locking up the projection room, I handed the keys back to Jason. “Do you think he’s for real?” “I dunno man. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

    Everyone was early, already eagerly waiting by the side door to the old theater when Jason finally sauntered up with the keys. “This time I’m gonna go for the Emperor,” Chris was telling us, his eyes bright with barely contained excitement, “I reckon I can take him out while Luke and Vader are fighting.” “I reckon you’re so full of shit I can smell it on your breath,” Toni muttered. Once everything was set up and the film had started, I ran down to meet the others. We all stood in front of the screen, bathed in the yellow light of the text crawl, barely able to look at each other. “Do we go in now?” asked Jason. “Wait a sec.” As the words faded into infinity, Chris shoved Jason at the screen, then jumped into it himself. They both vanished instantly. Toni and I exchanged a long, terrified look, then she grabbed my hand and we both leaped after them, eyes shut tight and braced for the inevitable impact with the taut fabric. Instead, we found ourselves in another world. It’s hard to describe that first experience, on the other side. It was everything Chris had said – and more. Whatever we did, the story took our actions and wove them into the plot, inexorably guiding us towards some heroic conclusion. We felt different too. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of everything, and I felt bigger, stronger than I did in the real world. Ironically, I felt more real. Chris was like a young Han Solo, so full of confidence and bravado it was infectious, and we followed his lead. I never wanted it to end, and I knew the others felt the same way. But it did, and far too abruptly we found ourselves ejected from that world, just four ordinary kids again, lying face-down on the stained carpet of the theater. “What happened?” Toni asked, rubbing her hands, filthy with droid grease, on her dungarees. I blinked, staring up at the booth, “I wasn’t there to switch over the reels. We got kicked out early.” Chris swore as he stood and dusted himself off, his hands still shaking from adrenaline, “One of us has to stay in the booth.” “Only me and Matt know how to do it,” Jason groused. “Well, you two clowns will need to take turns then, wontcha?”

  I missed the next adventure on the other side of the silver screen, and the one after that, since Jason hurt his hand riding dirt bikes in Timerider, which was Chris’s next pick. By the time it was finally my turn to pick a film, I was fit to burst with excitement, and spent the whole day at school doing nothing but staring at the clock. Today I was going to ride Falcor and save the Childlike Empress. Once inside the theater, Chris rolled his eyes at my choice and asked me if I was in love with Bastian, because I was such a girl. But I knew that once he was riding Artax across the Grassy Plains and hunting purple buffalo, he’d shut the hell up. How could a motorbike compare with that? That night was so magical and wonderful, it left me gasping for air when we re-emerged. I’d been the hero, slaying Gmork and ending the Nothing before it could rip Fantasia apart. “Okay. I guess that was pretty fun,” Chris grudgingly admitted. We fell into a decent rhythm after that, even if Jason shirked his reel-wrangling duties more and more often, leaving me in the projection booth while my supposed friends experienced things most of us can only dream of. Still, I made the very most of my time in those places, exploring the Labyrinth with Sarah, Ludo, and Sir Didymus, or slaying winged terrors with Galen in Dragonslayer. The best night of all was one when Chris and Jason were both grounded. Toni and I went back to Fantasia, just the two of us, and it was so different without the others. Of course, it was cut rudely short, because there was no-one to change the reel. But for half an hour we had our heart’s desire; she was the Chosen One, and I was the Moon Child, and everything felt right as the Nothing was banished, along with all the Somethings we couldn’t express. We never talked about that night again. Because like all good things, our adventures had to come to an end.

  Chris turned up that Sunday in a foul mood, one eye suspiciously puffy, and both of them red. Toni wouldn’t say a word, even more mute than usual. “Just play the damn film,” Chris told Jason as we filed into the theater. It was my turn again – I wasn’t accepting any excuses from Jason this time, it had been too long since I’d been in. I’d picked Labyrinth again. There were still plenty of places I hadn’t yet gotten around to exploring in detail. I should have known from the beginning that Chris was going to be an asshole. I should have told him to wait outside, but I guess I thought that fighting Jareth might improve his mood. It didn’t, and the further inside we went, the worse things got. One moment we were walking through the maze, the castle shimmering in the heat-haze of the distance, then the next, Chris and the protagonist, Sarah, were gone. Toni and I searched to no avail, calling out their names, which echoed strangely off the stone walls. “What do you think happened?” she asked. “I’m not sure. But don’t worry, it’ll work out. Everything always works out in the films where the good guys win.” It was at that moment that I heard a muffled scream, not far away. I ran, faster than I could in the real world. Some instinct guided me round several corners, until I all but tripped over Chris, who was lying on top of Sarah. His hands were grinding hers into the flagstones and he forced his mouth over hers while she struggled and kicked underneath him. “GET OFF HER!” I howled, kicking him in the ribs as hard as I could. He rolled to one side, winded, letting go of Sarah’s hands. I turned my back on him, and helped Toni get the shaking Sarah onto her feet. Tears and dirt streaked her pale cheeks, and I reeled with emotions I couldn’t even name. “None of this is real,” Chris coughed, holding his bruised ribs, “none of this matters – she doesn’t matter. She’s not a real person!” “Why? Why do you have to ruin everything?!” I yelled, shoving him into the stone walls, “Why do you shit on everything I like? Why do you have to be such a fucking dickhead?” His sneer was ugly and adult as he spat on the cobbles at my feet. “You’re just jealous. You just wish you were her, dontcha Matt?* He pursed his lips at me obscenely, then turned and ran awkwardly into the depths of the maze, still half-winded and holding his side. There were no more adventures for the rest of that movie. We sat with Sarah, making soothing plans to get her baby brother back, until the film ejected us. Toni and I didn’t look at each other as we each wiped our own eyes, but we briefly touched hands in the dark of the theater before we both headed home. All we saw of Chris was his back, as he pushed through the fire exit and let the door bang closed.

  The next day, as we assembled outside the doors, Chris ambushed me from behind. He grabbed me by the collar and threw me into the brick wall of the theater, jerking me once to make my head smack painfully into the pocked surface. “You might be the hero in your faggot fantasy films,” he hissed, “but out here in the real world? I’m bigger and stronger than you, and I can kick your sorry ass any time I want.” He threw a significant look at Toni, and his breath was hot as he whispered two words in my ear before he let me go, shoving me toward the doors, “Now get up to that booth and put on Easy Rider, before I break your fucking nose.” The pain in my head was a sharp, fiery knot. It throbbed as I climbed the stairs up to the projection room, each pulse in time with those words I couldn’t unhear, those two beautiful, secret words made into something so ugly. Jason wasn’t a bad guy, but he would never do anything to gainsay Chris’s authority, so I knew I wouldn’t get any help there. He wanted me stuck on projector duty, so he never had to miss out on anything himself. I had thought that Toni wanted to help, but she had to live with Chris. And clearly he had so much power over her that she had told him the very thing I never dreamed she would share. As I got the canisters down from the shelves, an ugly, terrible idea flared in my head, replacing all the pain and betrayal. The moment the red, white and blue engine tank flashed up on the screen, the others jumped into the film, vanishing into a world of hippies and Harleys. But that world wouldn’t last, because the second reel, all set to go on the second projector, did not contain the second half of Easy Rider. By the time I started the motor on the second projector, my hands were sweating and shaking. In a few seconds, the gang would be hurled out of their drug-filled motorcycle adventure across America, and into far more a terrifying world, one of flayed faces and severed limbs, inspired by the real life serial killer, Ed Gein. I’ve often wondered exactly what happened during that transition. Sometimes, when Jason got his timing wrong on the reel switch, the movie world would flicker and ripple around us, like fluorescent lights dying, then righting themselves. I imagined this abrupt switch would be much more profound, and I half expected the poorly understood magic of this place to kick them out prematurely, with the thread of continuity lost. But nobody emerged as the second reel kicked in, and I sat back, smugly imagining the terrors that awaited them.

  When the film ended, only one figure emerged. Toni’s face was streaked with blood, and her clothes were torn, but she was otherwise unharmed. I ran down from the booth as she stumbled off the stage, her legs trembling so much she couldn’t hold herself up properly. As I reached out to steady her, she pushed me away, into the front row of seats. “You killed them!” she sobbed, her tears tracking furrows through the half-dried blood. “You changed the reels, didn’t you? And Leatherface murdered them.” “No,” I said, shaking my head, “they can’t be dead. They can’t be! I just wanted to scare them.” “You fucking idiot! Have you actually watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre before?” “No! This was my first time. You know I don’t like horror.” Toni’s next words were heavy with meaning, layers of counter-betrayal and insult beyond anything I had even thought about. “The stupid girl is the only one who survives.” Slumping heavily into one of the seats, my mind raced as I tried to think of a solution. “We can go back in. Maybe they’re still in there. Maybe we can stop Leatherface.” “Matt. He will kill you if you go in there. Don’t you get it? He wins. The boys all die, and you can’t change who wins, you know that.” Her dark eyes were so bitter, so full of pain, fixed on me. “You can’t change who wins, and you can’t change who you really are.” “Then you need to go back in.” “There is no way I’m going back in there, do you hear me?” her lip was shaking as she spoke, and fresh tears dripped from her trembling chin, “you have no idea what they did to me in there.” I wanted to comfort her, but I couldn’t fix any of this. “What are we going to do?” “I don’t know,” she told me, picking up her backpack, “but I don’t want anything to do with you ever again, Matthew Lawson.”

    The boys were declared missing persons, and the whole town was turned upside-down to search for them. I told the cops the whole story, but they wouldn’t believe me. The police psychologist told my parents I’d suffered an acute nervous breakdown, and I was put on strong sedatives for the better part of a year. Chris and Toni’s Dad went on a huge bender, and crashed his car into the river. The rumor was that he used money he’d pilfered from Chris’s bike fund a few weeks before. Maybe that was Chris’s own final act of inadvertent revenge, his deadbeat dad freezing to death in the dark, icy water, too drunk to fight anything anymore. Neither Toni nor I ever went back to the theater, as far as I know, and six years later, two days after my twentieth birthday, it was torn down and turned into a parking lot. We met then, one last time, as we watched the last trailer of brick and rubble being hauled away. She didn’t even turn the engine of her bike off, and she didn’t say anything to me – she didn’t need to. Those huge, expressive brown eyes wordlessly informed me that she still didn’t forgive me, and that as far as she was concerned, I was still a murderer. As she rode away, her dark hair streamed behind her, and all I could think about was how it had whipped my face as I clung to her waist, her cries urging Artax into a full gallop across the Grassy Plains. I never watched The Neverending Story again. Or Labyrinth. These days, I can’t really watch any film for very long, because eventually I’ll glimpse their faces, and I’ll know they’re inside somewhere, reliving their horrible deaths over and over again. Even now, thirty years on from those events, I can still hear Chris’s words echoing in my head, a mantra that will haunt me for the rest of my life: None of this is real, none of this matters But it was real, and it did matter. In one petty act of revenge, I killed my best friends. And they were my friends, despite all their complexities and all their flaws, and all their unique pain concealed beneath the bright veneer of those times. I killed them as surely as if I’d done it with my own hand.

And I’m still trying to find a way to live with that, but I can’t seem to change the reel.

[occupyscifi]

Chaff

"hey, I don't mind adverts" said Shellay Smithson as she casually vaped from the e-meth pipe. It was Friday night at the Junior Hedonists Ball and all the perma-terns were there drinking their weekly salary "I just don't like adverts that try to sell me things I actually want" "yeah, too right" said Sampson, ur bald androgynous  head bobbing in time to the music ee was streaming direct to ur ears. For her part Shellay preferred to hear the house tunes, old fashioned style. Though the Junior Hedonists Ball tended to have a very specific aesthetic it took place in the nearest pub to the office. The pub itself was an ancient looking glazed brick building, its interior ripped out to satisfy certain steampunk machine gothic tastes. That the entire building had been standing for less time than Shellay had been working in social media relations didn't matter. The city around her changed so much and so quickly Shellay barely noticed even when whole streets and neighbourhoods vanished. Once upon a time fashion had merely been about clothes and hairstyles. Now with largescale 3d printing meaning that the average time to build an entire street could be measured in days whole neighbourhoods came and went according to the whims of fashion. Shellay could still remember last season’s look- Bauhaus glam with a hint of gay seventies New York. Not her favourite style, but she was clearly in a minority. Even so she knew she only needed to go across the river to the parklands to drink up the whole Victorian glasshouse vibe. She could never get enough of Crystal Palaces with their ornate manmade flower displays. She wondered idly if it was still there, but then a glance in her smartglasses told her the truth. Day pass to the new arboretum extension for half price. Just the thing to take her latest fella on the weekend. That grated, made her feel cheap. What was the point in doing anything if it was given straight to you? Everyone knew the best things in life were what you earned for yourself. "I'm getting sick of getting what I want" continued Sampson, ur delicate eyes narrowing "maybe it’s time to start getting what I don't want" "no, but seriously. It’s really pissing me off” said Shellay, knowing that Sampson was just quoting the lines from a song. Probably one ee'd written as well. All artists were self referential but Sampson found it hard to be anything else "it just, well, it just sucks the fun out of life. I'd like things to be a little random, know what I mean?" she took a hit on the pipe and looked around the lounge of the junior hedonists ball. Several dozen long thin creatives lounged at different fey angles. On the walls adverts that were linked to her smartglasses told her of her favourite bands and when they'd be in town "I used to like being surprised by getting ads for shit I'd never ever want" "life insurance" said Sampson with a grin "or incontinence pants. Seeing hundreds of ads on the tube trying to sell me bank products I could never afford. I used to like that" ee looked nostalgically into the middle distance "knowing that it didn't matter how little money I had, because I certainly wasn't going to spend it on any of that crap" ee sighed "now I find myself reaching into my pocket all the time because as soon as there's a new line of grungesynths in at Hypersound or if they start reissuing genuine vintage Konverse I know about it, like, point 9 seconds later. I'm just one click away from bankruptcy" "yeah, it’s killing me too" agreed Shellay, leaning back against the black crushed velvet furnishings. She noticed that there was a link on the wall for a new hypermodernist night club on the New Kent Road. One she had been wanting to go to for weeks but her bank balance hadn't been healthy enough "I mean, for fucks sake, how do they always know?" "S'your line of work love" said Sampson, taking a deep draught of ur snakebite and black "all algorithms isn't it? Way we learned it at school every time you do a search, every time you buy something or even look too long at an ad it gets recorded. Ol' google and FB and the rest keep a big bloody list so advertisers can build a virtual model of what you like and what you hate so they can make sure your eyeballs only ever see good old high value content" "huh. Well I guess you paid attention at school more than me" said Shellay, sipping her red wine "besides, I do apps. I design little programs that make life easier for people. Algorithms and all that are big level stuff. Not my cup of tea at all" "well maybe you should design an app" said Sampson, eyeing an ad for the sort of casual cuddle encounter that ee craved on those long lonely weekends "you know, like an adblocker, but instead of showing nothing it lets in ads people don't want to buy. Same difference I guess, but at least someone sees the ads" "yeah, I like that” said shellay idly "but don't they still have the death penalty for ad blocking software?" "nah" said Samspon "just life with no WIFI" “you’re right. That’s probably worse”

The idea should have joined the other half drunk, half stoned conversations between Sampson and Shellay- posted to social media and then forgotten about. But for some reason it didn't, not least because several days later Shellay saw some market research that confirmed that it wasn't just her and Sampson that were getting pissed off at getting all they wanted. Shellay read through it thoughtfully and got designing. "I mean, it wouldn't be too hard to do, would it?" she asked Jackie Oh, her legal advisor and chief coder. They were sitting in Regents park, in a popup coffee place resembling a Mongol Yurt – one seemingly designed by Alexander Hemingway "we don't even have to use adblocker, we can rip off some of that old TOR code, right?" "no one's used TOR in years" said Jackie "it’s like a red rag to the software gods" she nodded up at the holy trinity up on the wall- Google, Apple and Facebook "because for them if they don't know who you are then they don't have a business model. If you aren't a trackable node then they can't sell your data. And without that they've got nothing" "well, that isn't really what I want to do" said Shellay "it’s really the opposite. I want to send out false data, you know get the app to do random searches for things so you get ads for tampons if you're a bloke or whatever. The advertisers shouldn't notice because it’s not like you're blocking the ads, if anything technically you should be seeing even more of them" "I guess it can be done” said Jackie, scratching her head. The open plan coffee yurt in the park was a focal point for the sort of popup office in which Shellay like to do business "but why? I mean, who the fuck wants to see ads for things they don't want to buy?" "you'd be surprised" said Shellay "there's always a niche in the market, and besides as soon as people get what they want then they usually want the opposite straight away. That's a law of human nature. I mean that's why Hindr was so successful. Who'd have thought a dating app that matched you with the most unsuitable person ever would be so popular? It's like half of my married friends met on there" “Huh, I suppose" said Jackie, stretching her fingers in the imitation gauze contact gloves that allowed her to manipulate the code she spent her life immersed in "but, you know, just in case it's not. I'm still getting paid. Right?" "this will work" said Shellay, sketching out the design of the app already. She'd make sure that the interface showed a melange of ads that people didn't usually see anymore. She paused for a moment to think about the name. Something short and punchy. Well, that would come last. You always knew a good name when you heard it, and sometimes a rubbish name was even better. So long as it stuck in your head it didn’t matter. "chaff" said Jackie after a few minutes, a statement so out of the blue that Shellay almost spilled hr cup of magic mushroom tea. It didn't help of course that the shrooms were coming along a little stronger than planned. Her own fault for ordering the grande instead of the regular. "the fuck?" "its what the code was for. Back in the day. The TOR code" sighed Jackie, wondering why people didn't just have the auto explain on their smartglasses enabled at all times. It had certainly helped her navigate the minefields of social interaction. Now she was so socially adept she could detect irony so long as it was made fairly obvious "it’s a military thing. Best way apparently if you're in a jet plane and someone locks a missile onto you. Well, you can't outrun it and you probably can't shoot it down because it’s too small. Instead what the jet would do was let out a bunch of little silver bits of paper that would confuse the targeting system of the missile. Meant that instead of detonating against the jet they'd just blow up in the air" "what's this got to do with my software?" asked Shellay, wondering whether the shrooms were making this impossible to understand or whether Jackie was just babbling shit. "it’s what the TOR code did. False positives. Means that the missile- you know, Google or whoever – can't get a lock on you because the software performs random searches in your name. Added into that the software can access your cam and fuck with the eye recognition. Meaning you can pretend that you've spent ages looking at this or that ad. It'll totally fuck the tracking software. They won't know who you are or what you want" "cool" said Shellay "people get tired of their own personality anyway. They like to have someone else for a while. There's a reason people used to check into hotels using a false name" as she spoke she selfied, a quick kooky shot of her on the beanbag, evidence of her creativity around her. A few drawing pencils to make it look like she designed her apps the old fashioned way. This she then uploaded to the dozen or so social media sites on which she carefully curated her public persona "its nice to be anonymous for a change" "right" said Jackie, eyeing her own feed as it suddenly became dominated by chatter about the new app that Shellay was working on. As she watched Shellay carefully massaged into life several twitterbots and zombie accounts who would speculate wildly on the new idea she had "I'm sure you do. Anyway, at least you can use that for the name" "eh?" asked Shellay, slightly distracted "chaff" said Jackie, idly surfing in her e-glasses through great DNA ribbons of code, cutting and repasting them together into a new pattern as demanded by Shellay "S' what you can call the app" "genius" said Shellay, her eyes half closing as she looked at the light filtering into the yurt from outside. It made such pretty patterns on the inside of her eyelids.

Shellay didn't have many dealings with the police, what with her being a moderately wealthy middle class white woman coupled with the almost complete eradication of poor people from entering the city. So when the not very plainclothes man and woman grabbed her on the way back to her apartment some days later Shellay immediately texted her lawyer. "what’s the trouble officer?" she asked, then instantly regretted it. Using the word trouble suggested that she had a guilty conscience "how can I help you?" "oh, we're not with the police" said the male “you could have fooled me” said Shellay “what with the whole earpiece things you’ve got going on and the fact you’re both obviously wearing bulletproof vests. You couldn’t be more obviously in security if you were wearing a uniform” "we’re from an independent agency" said the female, her smile all sharp teeth and no humour. "one that dabbles in your chosen economic sphere" echoed the man "I'm not sure what that means" said Shellay baffled "are you the app police?" "no" said the female "but we represent some large advertising concerns. They aren't happy with your app" "why not?" asked Shellay “people still look at the adverts. So they get paid either way. What difference does it make to them?" "oh, it makes none. In fact they don't really give a shit. If they did, well, we'd probably be beating the crap out of you. They just wanted you to know that it’ll probably cause something of a shit storm" "why?" asked shellay "look at it this way" said the female "everything we do in society is based on market research. The sort of market research that comes from using ad revenues and pageviews. If enough people buy your app then it’s going to get seriously skewed because we won't know what people actually want" "you exaggerate" said shellay "all that's going to happen is a few people are gonna download my app, go 'huh, fun' for about ten seconds. Then they'll go onto something else. That’s what apps are about. It’s not something life changing, is it?" "lets hope not" said the female humourlessly "otherwise we'll be back, and we won't be so friendly"

"…and raise our glasses to Shellay, who made this event possible by making a fuck load of cash this week" Sampson raised ur glass and saluted the group of friends and hangers on who had filled the Junior Delinquents ball. The app had been out two weeks and so far had beaten even the most optimistic estimates, even those made by the most obvious of Shellay's sock puppets. "hey, it was nothing" said Shellay modestly, placing her lace gloved hand against her chest "and by that I mean I actually worked really fucking hard. And usually that means nothing. So its ace that people actually bothered to download this app" she saluted with her glass "Cheers guys" she added, and drained the glass in one. The evening would on as expected, Shellay prowled the room, making sure to flirt with anything and everything with two functioning legs. Eventually she found herself pressed against an earnest young researcher from a local bespoke search company. Rather like the bespoke tailors of years gone by his company specialised in finding all the things that google couldn't. The name that were too common to give a unique google search, the information redacted for copyright or decency reasons. If it existed and was worth looking for, it was reasoned, then someone was probably trying to hide it from you. Bespoke search meant you always found what you were looking for. "sounds fascinating" Shellay had yawned. She had a low threshold for earnest people. They always made the world sound so difficult. Full of hard moral choices when in reality everything was equally compromised, so you may as well have a good time. "well, we can't all do what you do" said the boy, and Shellay glared at him, one eye pressed closed so she could see whether he was being sarcastic or not through all the booze she'd drunk. "I'm serious" the boy added, his face blushing slightly "I think its genius. And so subtle. The big software boys don't seem to have twigged yet. By the time they do they'll be up shit creek and no mistake" "what d'you mean?” said Shellay, unsure whether the boy knew he was talking to. "chaff" said the boy, helpfully reminding her "its genius, pitched perfectly to take in both the retro market of people who remember when adverts weren't all micro targeted to our specific desires and to people like me who get the real deal" "real deal?" said Shellay weakly, the room was starting to spin and she was feeling suddenly rather sloshed. "that it's going to fuck capitalism up royally" beamed the boy "you got their weak spot. Without accurate information they can't know what we want. If they don't know what we want then they can't give us what we want. If they can't give us what we want then we'll rebel and take it ourselves. Its genius. Absolute bloody genius" "yeah. Yeah I meant that" said Shellay, leaning into the boy and putting an arm around his tweed encased shoulder "we should discuss this further. Perhaps somewhere quieter" But if they did discuss it Shellay didn't remember. When she woke up in the boy’s bed all she could recall was how he had pleasured her in the back of a self driving pedicab. They'd been riding through the new Manga district that had just been built and she'd orgasmed to the sight of a giant mecha Pikachu shooting past. Its jetsteam had been like rainbows, and if the boy had still been discussing the overthrow of the capitalist system she certainly wasn't listening.

The first time that Shellay noticed something was wrong was when she wanted to visit Regents Park. She was hankering for a grande Shroom latte and Jackie had wanted to go over some updates. The Chaff app was still selling well, and selling well enough to make sure that there were now about twenty knockoffs floating around. Shellay had cheerfully launched legal challenges in the hope of being bought off in order to add to her revenue stream. All in all life was going rather well, or it was until she noticed what had happened to the park. "what the fuck" said Shellay "oh yeah" said Jackie who had shared the uber with her "yeah, they changed it. I guess it just wasn't popular anymore" "what?" said Shellay, pointing at the vast block of buildings that had replaced one of her favourite haunts "and this is?" "well, I guess people like modernism again" Jackie replied, looking at the cold brutalist features of the blocks of buildings. They were the colour of London sky, and the windows were small and mean looking "I suppose we could hope that its going to get resprayed by graffiti artists or something. You know this grey block look really offsets electric pink…." "no such luck" said Shellay with a sigh, she had brought up the plans on the googlemaps app which tracked the ever changing city as it emerged from the great collective unconscious of the millions that lived there "its just going to stay like this. Why the fuck? I can't think anyone would like this" Jackie folded her arms "really, you don't know?" "trust me, apart from a few architecture perverts I can't think of anyone" "Maybe your app is having an effect already" "no way" said Shellay "come on, its random. It shouldn't have any effect on the data that goes into the great google-lord. There are filters and stuff" "clearly they aren't working" said Jackie, peeking at the planned developments on the drawing board for the next six months "and I can't see a single new district I'd actually like to live in. World of leather sounds so much more exciting than it really is" "seriously?" said Shellay, scrolling in horror through what the city would look like in a few mere weeks time. All the fashion chains she had loved to hate, the trashbarn where you could get an entire new wardrobe for a quid, all of them were being demolished in favour of entertainments that barely deserved the name. Museums of stamp collecting. Monuments to great engineers past and present. Massage parlours for the elderly. Who the fuck would want to visit that? "you think our app is doing this?" "I can't think of anything else that would" said Jackie "not unless the people of this city have a sudden stiffy for a district made of glass dogs, or one built to resemble the bombed out London streets of the blitz" "that last one sounds fun" said Shellay hopefully "no, its very realistic" said Jackie "right down to the dead bodies and the potholes in the road. And the rationing. I saw it this morning. It was trending on WTFF news" "shit. Maybe it is us" said Shellay, blinking in surprise "fuck, maybe we did do this. We broke the world with our app. And if we broke the world with randomness…." she turned to Jackie with shining eyes "just imagine what we could do if we planned it" "way ahead of you boss" said Jackie, tapping away in the empty air "I can change the code so we can get anything we want. You fancy having a district based on that crappy kids show you loved?" "hey, Round the Twist was ace" said Shellay irately "and yes, yes I do" "then its just a matter of…." Began Jackie and then trailed off, the smile draining from her face "what is it?" asked Shellay "can't we alter the code? We put it there, so we should be able to" "you didn't tell me you did this" said Jackie, looking at Shellay accusingly. "do what?" asked Shellay, suddenly confused "I've been locked out" said Jackie "specifically you’ve  locked me out. Is it because you've found another coder? Because if it is can I just tell you that…." "what other coder? What are you talking about?" asked shellay "I haven't done anything with the code. I'm a designer. I do concepts and colours. Numbers is your domain" "well somehow you locked me out” said Jackie irately "and so I can't do anything till you let me back in" "oh for fucks sake" said Shellay "clearly there's been some kind of mistake" she pulled on her smartglasses and brought up the interface for her app "I'll reset the admin privileges so you can get back in there. And hurry, I want to start fucking with the city. I’ve always wanted to shape something using just the power of my psyche" But it would be easier said than done. Passwords were entered only to be rejected. Appeals to the higher name of security scans, iris and thumb print were likewise rejected. "someone's hacked you" said Jackie plainly "they've changed your access codes. You better just hope they're doing it to extort money, because if they've twigged how powerful Chaff can be then we are in deep shit" Jackie looked closely at Shellay "so is there anyone you suspect could have done this? Have you shared any intimate moments recently?" "just one" said Shellay "but he was such a sweet guy. All he went on about was…." She trailed off, recalling the boy who'd gone on about the end of capitalism. The swirl of pink mist where her memories should be "that bloody bastard" she cursed "he's hacked me. He's going to bring about the end of capitalism, using my fucking app" she stared about her at the city, recoiling with horror as she imagined the blasphemies that the errant code would create. She imagined whole districts devoted to living examples of Marxist theory, roads that were named after obscure soviet thinkers “oh christ” she said, looking at Jackie in terror “I think we broke the world”

[existentialstatesofmind]

Opening Up

Clare: had suspected she should avoid reading adult manga so she was glad she asked and Kota confirmed her suspicions. It would save her a lot of embarrassment. “Not for me.” She agreed. “I don’t know what all they show in porn either. I have seen True Blood...they show butts and breasts. Alli and I get the giggles even though we fast forward.” She said honestly. Clare worried about getting caught watching the vampire show too but she never watched it at home. “I have a lot to learn about cooking. Sushi sounds harder to make...and I don’t like fish. I’ll make it, just don’t expect me to eat it.” Clare looked at him. “I know there’s not actually an auction. That was the only similar thing we do here that I could think of.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “You better not fall for that trick. If whatever girl you get paired up with wants a real kiss make it as gross as possible. The boys need to skirt around the rules too. Unless they get a pairing they like. Seriously though if she’s nice and you don’t want to hurt her feelings, I’m fine with a quick peck.” She reassured him again. Clare wasn’t going to get bent out of shape over a game unless it got taken too far. The image of K.C and Jenna flirting with each other right in front of her was burned into her memory forever. “I need to participate too to capture the true spirit of the Host club for the Daily.” Clare teased, grinning at Kota. “You enjoy me putting my foot in my mouth.” She mock gasped. “That’s okay if they aren’t going for realism. Besides there are some things you can’t do anything about. I mean have you seen Alli’s long thick eyelashes?” Clare laughed. She was a little jealous of them. “Yeah, good point. The kids who actually attend the school will have to do the ‘heavy lifting’. My dad explained the currency to me. A dollar equals over 111 Japanese yen. Thank god for computers to tell me what change to give.” She smiled at Kota when he said he’d follow her. “If I got pregnant, I guess we’d find a way to make it work with college. Emi will be in elementary school so only the baby would need daycare. I’d get to have a journalism career. Hopefully there won’t be a baby until we decide we want one though.” She nodded. “You have a lot of options and so do I. I know I want to go to Columbia but there’s exchange student programs there too.” Clare could go back to Japan or spend a year in another country. “Of course I expect us to visit each other if we go to different colleges. Jimmy Fallon? Really? He wants you to come on the show?” Clare asked a small note of skepticism in her voice. “I took Emi being part of the package into consideration before I said yes to dating you. The only hesitation I’ve ever had was my parents. Nothing on my end. You’re both worth it.” Clare chuckled about Canada paying the bill. “Our baby would have dual citizenship. That’s pretty cool.” She kissed Kota, only stopping to say. “Yes, if we can talk about it we might be ready for more. If we can’t, we’re definitely not ready yet.” Clare kissed him again. “Noo. No I’m going! Alli will have to settle for a t-shirt. I wouldn’t miss the mystery concert for the world. Too many what ifs for the rest of my life especially if I like them. I’d die. Also no else at Degrassi has ever had backstage passes to anything, probably.” Clare shook her head. “Obviously I think he’s charming so I can understand people, even famous ones, liking him and inviting him to things. What is bizarre to me is how does Kota meet them in the first place? You know yourself, it’s hard to get those kind of opportunities.” Melanie was a famous singer now. However, it took time for her to be recognized. Before she went on The Voice she was just a normal teenager like them. “How are you able to talk to them in the first place? Long enough for them to realize you’re a designer?” Celebrities usually had body guards to keep fans away. “Sure, I’m ready for lunch. Um how does this work? Does Melanie usually put on a disguise and go wherever she wants or are there certain restaurants you can ask for a private room at? Or do you order take out?” She asked curiously looking back forth between Kota and Melanie.

Kota: listened to Clare and chuckled a bit when she mentioned True Bloods. "I've seen American Pie with Dom and my mom. She sat us both down while our brothers were at a sleep over and pressed play. Honestly, I still don't know how I felt watching that with my mom and twin. The whole movie was about sex, when someone says 'One time at band camp...' or anything referring to a time at band camp and you know they've never been they're referring to American Pie. In the movie the Naked Mile you seen the girls fully naked. I've also seen Skins UK which shows a few guys naked and just breasts and both guys and girl's buts. They also showed them having sex, not full blown, but the movements and sounds." he shrugged. "I've also seen some porn, seems overrated to me." he looked over at her when she mentioned her distaste for fish. "Not all sushi has fish, some have imitation crab. And I'm taking someone who doesn't like fish to Japan." he laughed a bit. "That limits the food you can eat. Japanese eat a lot of fish, I'm guessing you won't eat seaweed either?" He asked curiously. "You'll probably learn how to cook fish if you go to someone's house. It's a staple in Japan along with stuff I won't eat. We'll also probably have weekends without Emi, she's already making plans." he added and listened as she mentioned the event he may be partaking in. "I wouldn't kiss them. Some girls see kissing on the same level as sex. I don't want to give anyone that idea, besides I see kissing other girls that aren't you as cheating. I wouldn't do it unless I absolutely had to such as a play." he stated and laced their fingers together. "If you really want to be part of it, I can see if you can be a waitress. I mean it's for Kendo so the guys know English." he shrugged and laugh a bit. "I think it's cute." he smiled and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "I have seen her long eyelashes. If your dad explained the currency to you, you're not allowed to try to do the math when we go clothes shopping. Also you may not want to go grocery shopping with us. They sell turtles dead wrapped up and ready to be eaten also alive and they sell mystery meat, if you ask what it is they just tell you the animal, they get it cut it up, and mix it together organs and all." he added. "I hope we don't have one until we agree either." he nodded. "That's true and we have summer off regardless. Japan is only 14 hours ahead of us and yea he's asked a few times." he smiled. He was happy that Clare took her into the package before they started dating although he wasn't aware of how long she'd be in his life. "I'm happy your only hesitation was your parents, but I mean if they forbid us to date we can hide it from them." he shrugged. "I agree about our future baby having duel citizenship, it is pretty cool." he said against her lips and looked at her when she stopped. "I agree." he whispered against her lips. A soft chuckle fell from his lips when Clare mentioned a T-shirt for Alli. "I don't really know if that's possible. Normally we go get a bite to eat after or go have fun. I mean we can try to sneak while she's getting her disguise on..." he shrugged. Kota looked at Mel when Clare mentioned the people Kota met and the opportunities he's had. "It's different for designers especially for famous ones like Kota. Murder Bunny is bigger in America than it is here. America is more about Fashion, TV, and finally music. I'm slowly getting into fashion, my perfume came out as did my lipstick line. Kota came up with Murder Bunny and when it released in America with it's own cell phone cases and shirts, it took off. I met him when I went to a fashion show I knew he was going to be at, other's met him at a different fashion show. Jimmy Fallon wears Murder Bunny, a lot of famous people like the line as well. The media in America is wondering if Kota being a sixteen year-old can keep up with the fashion demand in all three countries and he seems to be doing a great job. He's pretty high up there in the fashion world." she explained to Clare. "He gets to meet the actors, singers, and models I don't. In order for me to meet some of the people Kota has I have to be as big as Fallout Boy and Taylor Swift." Mel explained and looked at Kota. "Also Adam is mad at you for rejecting his call. Apparently Behati wants to talk to you about swim suits and Behati said 'tell Kota to teach me how to put on the clothes properly.' It would be nice if you explained." she said. "I'll answer both of your questions and Clare, there's a reason I didn't tell you this yet. I met most of the celebrities at the Victoria's Secret Fashion show when I got a call saying that the Murder Bunny lingerie line was working. It's exclusive to Victoria's Secret shops so I agreed. I got a call from Jimmy Fallon asking to do an interview, but I had school. After that I got a few more calls to do interviews, but school had to come first then the show. The girls didn't really put their bras on right, the people Victoria hired to dress the models told me to just stick my hand in their bras to help. I told Cara how to fix it, in turn she took her bra off in front of me, handed it to me, then told me to put it on her. It was extremely awkward to say the least. I told her to put it on herself, put her hand in her bra, and that's when she put my hand in her bra and said to fix them. That's what Behati wants me to teach her. I will not be touching her breasts." he explained. "What's the proper way to put on a bra?" Melanie asked him. "Put your arms in the straps, bend forwards allowing them to fall perfectly in the cups as you fasten the back, stand up straight and that's it. Don't push up the bottom or pull it down, it won't give much comfort, also a wire bra isn't healthy for your circulation and doesn't support tissue growth, wireless is better for your health." he informed Mel. "I normally clip my bra around my stomach, turn the front towards me and then put the straps on." she said looking at him. "Your bra is on wrong. If you fix it like I told you, it'll feel better." he said and motioned to a room she can change in if she wanted to. "Talking to them long enough is easy. After the online store opened in America I opened an actual store with my grandpa's help. He cut the ribbon since I couldn't be there due to school, then I got a call to do a fashion show. Celebrities attended such as Rihanna and she approached me after the show asking me to make her a custom outfit. We sat down for a few hours and designed it together, then she told her friends and word got out to them. I even designed a giant MB bow with Sia which she wore and sent me a thank you picture." he said reaching for the picture of her smiling as her hair hid her eyes as usual, her hand pointing to the giant bow head band. "She sent a thank you letter with it." he said handing it to Clare. The letter reading 'Thank you so much for bow, it was worth the cost and chatting with you. Best wishes and stay in touch xox Sia.' "I have a few things like that from various people." he added and knocked on the door to the room Melanie was in. "Clare's ready to eat." he said loudly. "In America, I put on a disguise. Normally a big billed hat, dark glasses, and just dress like myself. I still get recognized once in a while, but normally they only want a picture or an autograph. Mel is putting on her disguise now." he said honestly as the door opened and Mel walked out wearing a wig with long black hair, a plain blue skirt with a Nirvana band tee on and black Chuck Taylors with her normal ruffle socks. "Don't you need your disguise?" she asked. "No, I'm not that famous here. We hold hockey higher than fashion, music is above fashion here." he said honestly as he held Clare's hand and lead them out. When they got to the car Kota opened the passenger door to his car for Clare and the back door for Mel, then shut them and got in on his side and started to drive. "Where are we eating?" he asked looking at the girls. "Clare?" Mel asked and Kota looked at her. "The mall or ---" he trailed off.