#debating whether to keep this guy or finally sell one of my designs

[chalkrub]

new guy, he's an artist. and a merderer

[sidespart]

For the fic title thing: Make Up Your Mind/Catch Me I’m Falling

Make Up Your Mind (this seriously got away from me and became basically a whole string of conscious fic whoops)

Logince, Bakery/coffeeshop AU Mutual Pining/ Not-Actually-Unrequited love, + loceit friendship

So Janus owns a Bakery (struggling to think of a snake/lie based bread pun for the name but ehh). He is the head only baker and sends most of his time in the basement kitchen blasting the phantom of the opera soundtrack and kneading dough. 

Logan is his childhood friend. Janus hired him as cashier after Logan dropped out of collage but then he never left and is now basically manager/ accountant/ hbic of this whole operation.

So one night as Janus is leaving he’s casually like: ‘oh by the way, a couple are coming by tomorrow for a wedding cake consultation’

And Logan blocks the door and is like: ‘Janus. We don’t do wedding cakes. We don’t even do cake. You only make weird artisanal bread. it took me 6 months and 8 powerpoint presentations to convince you to sell banana loaf’

Jan, his eye enormous: ‘but Logan, you should have heard this guy on the phone. They only want to use LGBTQ businesses for their wedding, they want to support the community that’s supported them for so long. He spoke so passionately and eloquently about why it just had to be us I couldn't say no’

Logan, his eyes not enormous: did you tell this man we make wedding cakes just to make the phone conversation end?

Janus: I was going to miss the murder, she wrote marathon, Logan 

So Jan manages to escape, and Logan rolls his eyes but like. This is nowhere near the worst ‘cleaning up after Janus lied to get out of a situation and made everything more complicated for no goddamm reason’ incident that he has had to deal with during the course of their friendship so, whatever: he can tell the couple there was a miscommunication when they show up in the morning. 

Next day, the guys arrive. Virgil, who barley introduces himself and then stays hunched in his hoodie not speaking for the whole meeting, and Roman. 

Roman does not have a problem speaking. Roman has lots of ideas.

Roman has a binder. 

Somehow in the course of this conversation Logan goes from ‘we don’t make wedding cakes’ to ‘I’LL SHOW YOU, WE’LL MAKE THE BEST GODDAMM WEDDING CAKE THIS TOWN HAS EVER SEEN’

Maybe it was the passion of Romans argument. Maybe it was the slightly disdainful look on his face when he looked round the shop. Maybe it was the ridiculous amount of money he was prepared to pay (see: Janus insists on only making specific, weird bread as to why the shop’s always on the brink of collapse). Maybe it was the power of the binder (Logan is like 80% sure Roman hit him with the binder at one point). Maybe its just Logan hasn't had a full blown passionate argument like that since high school debate club and the rush of adrenaline made him dumb.

Whatever the reason - they’re now fully committed to making this 6 tier, purple and blue, Disney inspired, multiflavoured wedding cake

(Janus, who skipped out on the meeting because he is Like That: But Logan....we don’t make wedding cakes...this was really irresponsible of you...

 Logan: I know where you sleep. I could kill you at any time) 

Which would be doable (the weddings a while off, and Logan is ready to RESEARCH) except Roman keeps. Coming. Back. 

With new ideas. And tweaks. And suggestions. All of them seemingly designed to make the cake less structurally sound. 

Basically every time he comes in they end up having a blazing row, first about Romans inability to make up his mind about the cake and then about...literally everything. One time they spent 25 minuets arguing about whether or not Shakespeare wrote all of his plays, which somehow turns into ‘who was the best host of blues clues?’ which then turned  into ‘how would nationalised healthcare best be implemented?’ (the loudest arguments were during the blues clues section).Logan had even fewer customers then normal that day.

(Logan: I hate that guy so much! He shows up at 2pm every day and now my blood pressure has started going up at 1.55pm in anticipation of the fight! He’s causing me actual medical distress because he’s so stupid!

Janus:...you’ve memorised some guys schedule and your heart starts racing whenever you see him?

Logan: yes! because he is my enemy!

Janus:...

Janus: mmKay.)

ANYway, one day Roman turns up and is like: Can’t fight today. Need caffeine. Must Study. and sequesters himself on one of their two rinky dink tables and starts pulling enormous textbooks out of his bag. Turns out Roman is in law school, he’s back home for the whole summer to help with wedding prep and has been neglecting his summer reading. He wants to be an environmental lawyer and, ideally, singly handily prosecute every oil company and give a speech at the UN whilst wearing an immaculately fitted Italian suit. 

Logan has a panicked moment of OH NO HE’S SMART (he doesn't need an oh no he’s hot moment because Roman’s been hot the whole time). Very carefully he does not think about how upset hearing Roman mention the wedding again made him feel, and then shares a bit about his own anxiety during college which led to him dropping out.

Roman says degree or no degree its obvious Logan is one of the smartest, most capable people Romans ever met.

Cue: blushing, stammering, Logan standing up to quickly and knocking half a pot of coffee over etc etc all that good fluff. 

And after that their conversations are less confrontational (although they still debate like. everything.) and more friendly.

They have one (1) more conversation about the wedding wherein Roman apologises for being so stressed and snappy over all the preparation stuff but he just wants everything to be perfect for Virgil. (Logan, awkwardly: you must love him a lot. Roman, himbo-ly: Yeah!) aaand then Logan changes the subject to the best rhyming structure because Romans big sappy grin is making his heart do awful twisty things-

And eventually, Roman asks Logan to go out with him outside the bakery.

Logan: hahaha this is friendship, we are great friends, we are going out as friends. I am not going on a date with a man with a fiancé because that would be the actions of a crazy person.

 So they go on their date. It’s amazing. Roman leans in for a kiss at the end and Logan is delighted!

And then devastated.

He pushes Roman away, yells some creative insult (malodorous centurion?) and flees. Spends the next week basically hiding in the kitchen area, refusing to see any customers and working on the wedding cake.

(which is looking perfect by the way)

So after a week of Logan moping round the kitchen Janus finally blocks the door to stop him leaving and demand he tells him what the hell is wrong. And after a few minuets of filibustering Logan ends up telling him everything.

“In any case, the very fact that he is the kind of man who would cheat on his fiancé means he’s not the kind of man I thought he was. Therefore any alleged feelings I may have developed towards him would now be null and void” says Logan, looking like the worlds sadist accountant

Janus: So...wait. You’re saying wedding cake guy and hot lawyer guy are the same person?

(Logan: you need to come out of the basement more often Janus: YOU need to tell me what’s going on in your life more often. (they have had this conversation many times in the past))

So Janus sincerely tells Logan he’s sorry...and that he’s even more sorry that he needs him to help him deliver the cake to the venue tomorrow.

(this thing is way to big for one person to carry and there’s no way Jan would trust any of their occasional teenage cover staff to do this and ‘we’ll go round the back and you wont have to see anyone anyway comon Lo’ you basically built this monstrosity you should see it home)

So, reluctantly, Logan goes. And they go round the back as promised, and get this enormous cake settled, and then get told to wait there one sec cus one of the grooms is going to come sign for it and before Logan can throw himself out of the widow (get OFF me Janus we’re on the ground floor it’s FINE)  from behind them they hear squeeing.

There’s a curly haired dude in a pastel blue linen suit who Logan has never seen before in his life looking at the cake and cooing over ‘all the little details! its perfect! oh Virgil is going to love this! You know he was so embarrassed about asking for a Disney themed cake he had to ask Roman to go with him to -”

“Who ARE you?”

The man blinked at Logan, who realised dimly that he still had one foot up on the windowsill and slowly returned it to the floor. 

“I’m Patton” said Patton.

“And I’m Janus” said Janus, removing his arms from where they’d still been clamped around Logan’s waist and stepping smoothly towards Patton, clipboard held aloft “A pleasure to meet you, if you could just sign here...”

“BUT-” Patton paused, hand still raised to accept the clipboard, and looked over again at Logan who found himself mumbling:  “but - but the groom is supposed to sign for it?”

And Patton just smiled at him looking a bit bemused and goes ‘I am the groom? And who are you kiddo?”

Logan says he’s Logan. Patton suddenly looks a whole lot less friendly. 

“Oh.” says Patton. “You.”

And since Logan’s mind is currently refusing to take in the information in front of him Janus is the one who ends up stepping in between them and going “so just for 100% transparency - you are Patton. 

“yes?”

“and today you are marrying the love of your life: Virgil?”

“Yes!”

“And are either of you, at any point today, also planning on marrying one Roman Sanders, caffeine addict and terrible communicator?”

And Paton burst out laughing and says “ROMAN? Virgil’s big brother Roman? He’s my best man but I don’t think we’re planning to take it any further...”. And because Patton is apparently much quicker on the emotional uptake than Logan he gives him a vey soft, if slightly exasperated, look and says:

“Roman - who again, is my future brother-in-law- is helping set up in the main hall.”

And Logan likes to think he said thank you before he took off fucking RUNNING through the building but he can’t be sure.

So he gets to the hall, where a load of people are setting out chairs, putting up flowers etc,  and skids to a stop at one end of the aisle. Shouts: “ROMAN.” (Roman and Virgil, who were standing at the other end arguing over a flower arrangements, both look up) “YOU’RE NOT MARRYING YOUR BROTHER.”

“um.” Says Roman “No?”

Explanations are given. Virgil, who is a lot more talkative now that he’s not on 7th wedding appointment of the day burn out, is ready to physically fight Logan for breaking his brothers heart. And then once he understands the full story is ready to kill both of them for being such dumbasses.

Roman: But I s2g I told the guy on the phone that it was the groom and best man coming??? Logan: Yeah he might have lied and said you were a couple for a joke, or he may have just straight up not listened to you. Either way, he is just Like That.

Logan: WHY DID YOU NEVER MENTION VIRGIL WAS YOUR BORTHER?? Roman: I WAS TRYING TO GET TO KNOW YOU AND ALSO SEDUCE YOU WHY WOULD I WASTE TIME TALKING ABOUT MY LITTLE BROTHER??? Virgil: Yeah...he does like talking about himself, sorry he’s just  Like That.

Anyway it all ends fluffily, Patton and Virgil get married. Roman cries. Logan and Jan hang around for the wedding. Roman and Logan hold hands throughout the speeches and dance during the reception. Roman has to go back to law school soon but they agree to call each other every day at 2pm to catch up and argue. 

Janus gets off with the moustachioed DJ. 

And Roman and Logan get another chance at their first kiss.

[seymour-butz-stuff]

Last May, Minneapolis City Council members found their leather seats on the raised dais and looked out at the chamber. Instead of an expanse of empty chairs, they saw a sea of faces: about 80 of them in all, young and old, Black, Latino, Asian, white. Council meetings are public, but the public didn’t usually show up, so council members debated among themselves about whether they should suspend the rules and allow time for the group — it was evident that the chamber was filled with a single, unified group — to have their say. The members deliberated for 20 minutes before deciding that the people could have 10.

Vanessa del Campo Chacón rose to speak. An immigrant from Veracruz, Mexico, who ran an in-home day care from her small apartment, Chacón spoke in Spanish, and a bearded young man knelt by her side and translated. This was Roberto de la Riva, co-director of Inquilinxs Unidxs por Justicia (United Renters for Justice), a tenants’ rights organization that also goes by the abbreviation IX. “I’m hours or days from being evicted, and I don’t think the city has deemed this pertinent enough to be involved and to take responsibility,” Chacón said. “We want dignified homes,” she continued. “I’m asking for my daughter and for all the families that are here.” As she spoke, two other tenants approached the dais and, standing behind the council members, unfurled a huge yellow banner that read, “Don’t Evict Vanessa.”

“I’m sorry,” the council president, Lisa Bender, interjected. “We can’t allow people to come back behind the dais.” A white woman with brown curls, Bender had garnered national attention for her ideas about how to promote affordable housing in Minneapolis. She was sympathetic to the tenants, but she also had a meeting to run. Before Bender could finish, the room erupted in chants. A Black man in a beret stood up and boomed: “If we don’t get it?”

“Shut it down!” the people in the room answered, again and again.

After a bailiff escorted the tenants off the dais, Vanessa’s neighbor, Chloé Jackson, approached the lectern, pressing her hands together as if in prayer. A Black woman with plastic-rimmed glasses, Jackson was raising her teenage son, Trayvon, on the $15.69-an-hour wage she earned at the airport iStore. “We don’t know exactly how long any of us have,” Jackson said. “So, what are you guys going to do to step up to help us?” She looked at the council, waiting. “You guys get to go home tonight, sleep in the comfort of your beds,” she said. “We have to wonder about this every single night.”

Vanessa del Campo Chacón, a resident of the Corcoran Five, in her apartment. Credit Alec Soth/Magnum

This was not the first time Jackson and IX organizers had confronted the City Council. For years, Jackson, Chacón and other residents of five buildings in the city’s Corcoran neighborhood had been involved in a prolonged battle against their landlord, Stephen Frenz, and his business partner, Spiros Zorbalas. The tenants had mobilized for better conditions, resisted evictions and participated in a rent strike. They had banded together and pushed the City Council to revoke Frenz’s rental license. It eventually did, stripping his ability to collect rent. But Frenz still owned the apartments where Jackson and Chacón lived. He wanted everybody out so he could renovate and sell to the highest bidder. The tenants had another idea: They wanted Frenz to sell to them.

Today, in the pandemic economy, millions of renters are at risk of eviction. Even the expanded provisions supplied by the CARES Act — the $600-a-week supplements to states’ stingy unemployment insurance — weren’t doing enough to shield many renting families from homelessness. In May, Houston approved $15 million in rental assistance; it ran out in less than two hours. In June, cities like Cleveland and Milwaukee saw evictions spike well above average levels when local eviction moratoriums and other protections expired. The next month, the United States experienced the largest economic downturn on record and unemployment levels unseen since the Great Depression. Congress allowed federal moratoriums on eviction and unemployment benefits to lapse anyway. In August, the mayor of New Orleans asked for donations to hold back the swell of evictions in her city. During the first week of September, right before the federal moratorium issued by the Centers for Disease Control kicked in, eviction filings exceeded the norm by 13 percent in Pittsburgh; by 119 percent in Fort Worth; and by 310 percent in Richmond, Va. According to the latest data from the Household Pulse Survey, more than one in six unemployed tenants has fallen behind in rent payments, and 45 percent of all renters think they will probably be evicted from their homes in the coming months.

Watching this looming eviction crisis take shape, I’ve often thought of those Minneapolis tenants, whom I followed over the last year and a half. I went to report on them — the security guards, store clerks and night-shift custodians — because I wanted to see what happened when a group of tenants organized against a pair of landlords who owned hundreds of apartments generating, as of 2016, a net operating income of approximately $300,000 a month (or $3.6 million annually). Over the course of my reporting, I saw the tenants reimagine — and then reinvent — what stable, affordable housing could look like in their community. I saw them fight, and I saw them win.

As the pandemic spreads throughout the country, further exposing our vulnerabilities and inequalities, many of us are grasping for something new. Calmer heads of different stripes present solutions they believe to be realistic, asking only for what seems possible. But it’s not their lives on the line. For well-to-do moderates, antipoverty solutions are ideas, conversation topics. For the poor, they are oxygen. Besides, who gets to decide what is workable and what is not? Don’t we have to admit that in America the dreams of the rich often become realities (carried interest, unlimited incomes), while the dreams of the poor are dismissed as outlandish?

In the collective pain of this moment, when our days are filled with death and fear, a new America is being conceived of and demanded. But moments are made by movements. If we want to change the world, it could be instructive to pay attention to a group of people who have radically changed their own.

Chloé Jackson, a resident and organizer of the Corcoran Five. Credit... Alec Soth/Magnum

Near the end of 2017, Roberto de la Riva knocked on Chloé Jackson’s door on 22nd Avenue South. Jackson opened the door, sighed and asked, “Why do you people keep knocking?”

Born and raised on the South Side of Chicago, Jackson moved to Minneapolis in 2013, after the Mall of America hired her in its housekeeping department. She was 28 and had an 8-year-old son. Three years earlier, she became the legal guardian of three teenagers, after their mother, Jackson’s aunt, died. She and her boyfriend kept food on the table — she worked at McDonald’s; he was a mechanic — until all three of her cousins were out of the house. By that time, she needed a break and figured a new city might do the trick.

In Minneapolis, she found a $625-a-month, one-bedroom apartment in the Corcoran neighborhood, within walking distance of the Lake Street light-rail stop. Giving her son the bedroom, Jackson slept in the living room by a pinkish-orange salt lamp and an 8-by-10-inch photograph of her mother. Jackson took a series of jobs, finally landing at the airport iStore, where she was working full time when de la Riva knocked on her door. As its assistant manager, Jackson woke up at 2:30 each morning; got breakfast ready for her son; fed her cat, Kitty; and hopped on the light rail to the airport, arriving at 3:40 a.m. to open the store.

When Jackson first moved in, she found her landlord, Stephen Frenz, to be fairly responsive. But seeing the condition of the units inhabited by her neighbors, many of them undocumented immigrants, changed her perspective. Jackson often pulled out a bucket or two to catch the leaks. But to sit at a neighbor’s table for coffee, she often had to step over some half-dozen buckets. Many units had roaches and mice, filthy carpets. (Frenz told me that Jackson’s leak and those of other tenants were mended and that tenants’ lack of cleanliness caused the pest infestations.) “I felt so bad,” Jackson remembered. “These are people who didn’t know English, and I felt like this man was taking advantage of them.”

Still, Jackson didn’t see herself as the protesting type. She had never signed a petition or taken part in any kind of political organization. But de la Riva was telling her to stop paying rent. She leaned against her door frame and listened.

IX had brought a lawsuit against Frenz called an Emergency Tenant Remedies Action, or E.T.R.A., suing him for repairs and damages. It was one of the first major actions the tenants’ organization had taken since de la Riva founded the group in 2015 with Jennifer Arnold. De la Riva explained that after they filed suit, Frenz challenged whether IX had secured the cooperation of a majority of the building’s residents, as required by state law. To prove it, Frenz submitted leases and a record of a noise complaint for units unaccounted for in IX’s lawsuit. Members of IX’s legal team toured the building and were shown one unit with children’s shoes outside the door. But they noticed discrepancies in Frenz’s account. Inside that unit, there were no trappings of a lived-in home, like toys and books. Some pest-control records listed certain apartments as vacant, but reissued invoices removed that designation. IX’s lawyers subpoenaed the utility company and discovered that the apartment units they suspected were vacant had no electricity accounts. It appeared to be fraud designed to kneecap the tenants’ E.T.R.A. case. (Frenz declined to comment on these events, which eventually led to a perjury conviction that Frenz is currently appealing.)

IX’s lawyers also noticed that the building listed Spiros Zorbalas as the party responsible for the mortgage. That gave them pause. Zorbalas had acquired a reputation as one of the city’s most infamous landlords, racking up a large number of housing-code violations. A local paper had called him “the Slumlord of South Minneapolis,” and in 2011 the city of Minneapolis revoked his rental license. When Frenz appeared to purchase around 35 apartment buildings from Zorbalas in 2013, he assured city leaders that Zorbalas had no financial stake in his former properties. But now here was Zorbalas’s name on the mortgage records. The tenants’ lawyers dug into stacks of public records and discovered that corporate entities owned by Zorbalas owned a majority stake in Equity Residential Holdings, which Frenz managed. In other words, to get around the city’s sanctions, Zorbalas had effectively, as IX’s lead lawyer put it, “sold buildings to himself.”

It’s not hard to understand why. Zorbalas had bought a considerable amount of troubled debt from Frenz, and without Frenz, Zorbalas might have had to liquidate his entire Minneapolis portfolio, comprising hundreds of units. “The money I was making, I was rolling,” Zorbalas told me. “I was taking rent from $500 to $695 a month as soon as I could without doing any renovations.” The men were in too deep to walk away when it became apparent that the city no longer approved of their partnership. Ultimately, too, they thought the city was overstepping. “I had no reason to declare to the world that I was in business with Spiros,” Frenz told me. When I asked him if he had concealed his business partnership with Zorbalas in court, he said: “Of course I did. But it wasn’t relevant at that time.”

The revelation that Frenz was in business with Zorbalas set off a chain of events. Tenants brought a class-action lawsuit against the two landlords, seeking the return of their rent. Then, in December 2017, the city revoked Frenz’s rental license, and with it, his legal ability to collect rent — which was why, de la Riva was explaining, Jackson and her neighbors should not pay Frenz anything.

Jackson thanked de la Riva and closed the door. She thought about what she had seen and experienced since moving into the apartment. She thought about Trayvon. Later that day, Jackson spoke with one neighbor, then another, about what de la Riva had said. To get across language barriers with her neighbors, she used Google Translate or enlisted a bilingual teenager.

The court soon installed an administrator to oversee Frenz’s five buildings in Corcoran, which came to be known as the Corcoran Five, and tenants paid the administrator their normal rents. The Five were not much to look at. Built in 1962, Jackson’s building was a nondescript, three-story brick rectangle with air-conditioning units tilting out the windows. Chacón’s building, two doors down, was wrapped in dark gray vertical siding and had small concrete balconies. Windows were broken, and appliances had been removed from some vacant units. Tenants couldn’t miss the large, homely signs Frenz had affixed to the front of each property advertising his business, the Apartment Shop. Still, all the buildings were on the same block, and the tenants had made a home in them. As families discussed ways to stay put, some entertained the ludicrous possibility of collectively owning the Five. No one knew how they’d do it, but then again, the tenants had become familiar with that feeling. They had begun to act upon their dreams, not their reality — to hold an end in view and figure out the means along the way.

Jackson began warming to the idea of buying the properties. She had long tried to avoid this path, hoping to live a quiet life. But haltingly at first, then all at once, Jackson was becoming, as they say in the movement, “politicized.”

Jennifer Arnold and Roberto de la Riva, the founders of Inquilinxs Unidxs por Justicia. Credit... Alec Soth/Magnum 

A new kind of housing movement has been growing across America. In city after city, renters have begun to see themselves as a class, with shared interests and problems, and to organize together against evictions, profit-centered development and landlord disinvestment. When Covid-19 hit the United States, the country was already reeling from a severe housing crisis. Tenant organizers doubled their efforts. “People are more desperate because of the Covid outbreak,” says Lisa Owens, executive director of Boston’s City Life/Vida Urbana, a community organization that was founded in 1973. “But they are also way more organized.” The reason they are more organized has to do with the Great Recession.

The foreclosure crisis of the late aughts displaced millions of families, renters included. In California, for example, an estimated 38 percent of all foreclosures in 2010 were rental properties. In the lead-up to the housing crash, predatory lenders targeted Black and Latino communities, pressuring residents to refinance under riskier conditions. By 2006, more than half (53 percent) of all home mortgages purchased by Black borrowers were subprime, compared with 26 percent of mortgages purchased by white borrowers. “It was like a tsunami,” says Andres Del Castillo, who was an organizer for City Life in East Boston when I spoke to him. “The recession was the wealth in our communities being pulled out and put into this tidal wave that crashed down and rearranged the landscape. All that wealth was poured back to investors to buy up our neighborhoods.”

Rents continued to rise after 2010, pushed upward in part by foreclosed-homeowners-turned-tenants entering the market. Nationwide, median asking rent has more than doubled over the last two decades — rising to $1,002 in 2019 from $483 in 2000, unadjusted for inflation — significantly outpacing renters’ incomes. In 2016 alone, 3.7 million eviction cases were filed, representing just over eight eviction cases per 100 renter households. This number far exceeds the 2.9 million foreclosure starts issued at the height of the 2010 crisis. Tenant groups tried to sound the alarm, but the national media had moved on from stories about housing. So, the organizers got to work, forming alliances and establishing infrastructure.

“We’re in a 1920s moment where we might see massive tenant actions around the country that could unfold over the next several years,” says Tony Samara, program director for land use and housing at Urban Habitat. With millions of Americans unable to make rent because of job losses or reduced work hours, national and local tenant organizers called for rents to be canceled, harking back to rent strikes that swept across cities during the Great Depression. “I see people beginning to enunciate what a different world can be in this crisis,” says Davin Cárdenas, a field organizer for the Right to the City Alliance, a national organization focused on tenant rights. “Many people are rejecting the idea of normalcy. Normal was the problem in the first place.”

When Covid struck, many groups, including the National Apartment Association and the National Low Income Housing Coalition, called for a significant government expansion of rental assistance. But some tenant organizers began discussing the possibility of something else: a nationwide rent strike. “You’re going to apply for a huge bunch of money, just so you can pay it back to your landlord?” de la Riva asked, speaking about a stimulus package for renters. “There is a different power relationship that we’re asking of society right now.”

Many people, liberals and conservatives alike, saw a rent strike as unreasonable, even dangerous. Political allies warned de la Riva and his co-director, Jennifer Arnold, not to support the Cancel the Rent campaign while Covid was a concern. The same happened to Susanna Blankley, an organizer for the Right to Counsel NYC Coalition. “I can’t even tell you, not only did people on the left tell us it’s unrealistic,” she says, “they told us it’s reckless. Reckless! But I think the point is that anything is possible, actually. Now we have an eviction moratorium. Everything is impossible until it’s not. I want to be in a world where we’re thinking about what we need, not just what we think we can get.”

In May, tenant groups around the country coordinated a gigantic rent strike. Twenty thousand renters in New York City and Los Angeles alone pledged to withhold their rent. In July, tenants in New Orleans blocked entrances to a courthouse after the state’s eviction moratorium expired, protesting displacement. Rent strikes and eviction blockades have continued throughout the pandemic — just as they did almost 100 years ago, during the worst economic collapse in the history of the modern world.

Throughout the 20th century, America’s urban renters organized against rent gouging and unsafe conditions, winning significant victories. Rent strikes organized during the early 1900s in response to sudden rent hikes and, later, the lack of heat and hot water, grabbed the attention of the Socialist Party, which had overlooked tenants as a potential revolutionary force. Socialist-led tenant leagues began demanding permanently affordable housing supported by the state. In 1923, America’s first public housing project was completed in Milwaukee under the direction of its Socialist mayor, Daniel Hoan, but by 1930 the United States remained the only developed democracy without a federal commitment to housing.

As the housing and labor markets simultaneously cratered during the Great Depression, the campaign for public housing accelerated. In the early years of the Depression, thousands of tenants participated in rent strikes and eviction blockades. The urban tenant movement grew more militant, and the violence of displacement was met with violent resistance.

When marshals arrived with eviction orders, tenants hurled rocks and bottles from behind makeshift barricades. Some charged directly at the officers, attacking them with sticks. An account from a Bronx newspaper in 1932 recalls a scene where “policemen were scratched, bitten, kicked, and their uniforms torn” by tenants refusing to be evicted. In cities like New York, these efforts forced legislators to pass rent-regulation measures and to begin building social housing. Congress responded as well, passing the National Housing Act of 1934, in large part to stem a wave of Depression-era foreclosures, and the Housing Act of 1937, which seeded the nation’s public-housing infrastructure. Today, more than two million Americans live in public housing.

As the 20th century rolled on, tenant movements won more concessions. By the early 1980s, roughly 200 cities, including Boston, Los Angeles and Washington, had passed some form of rent control, but those advances were already being eroded. In the late ’60s, New York City experienced an alarming surge in housing abandonment, attributed to landlords’ inability to maintain their buildings under rent control. In 1971, Governor Rockefeller revised the state’s policy to limit the city’s ability to regulate its rents. New York City’s strict system of rent control was replaced with a new system of rent stabilization, which allowed landlords to increase the rent each year by a set percentage. Across the country, one state legislature after another passed laws forbidding cities to enact rent control. The affected cities — like Boston and Cambridge, Mass., stripped of rent control in 1994 by state mandate; and Berkeley and East Palo Alto, Calif., denied the following year in the same manner — were starkly more progressive than the state legislatures directing their fates. In 1961, nearly 1.8 million units in New York City — more than eight of every 10 apartments — were under rent control. By 2017, only 21,751 were. Today, approximately half the city’s apartments are rent-stabilized.

As states rolled back rent control, the federal government under the direction of President Reagan slashed funding for public housing, causing many buildings to fall into disrepair. By the end of the 20th century, the two major victories of the American tenants’ movement — rent control and public housing — were in serious jeopardy, and the movement itself was browbeaten and stalled.

But since the Great Recession, America has witnessed a resurgence of tenant power. When the Right to the City Alliance launched its Homes for All campaign in 2013, it had 18 member organizations from 15 states. Today, it has 91 member organizations in 48 cities from 26 states. The newest member organizations have come from Nebraska, Colorado and Tennessee, reflecting the nationwide spread of the housing crisis and renters organizing in response to it.

What do tenant organizations want? Sometimes, groups like IX simply want a landlord to pick up the phone, to rid a building of cockroaches or to settle for a smaller rent increase. The movement is rooted in specific buildings, which is why tenant organizers have the habit of cataloging wins and losses by addresses. (“At 3130 Pillsbury,” de la Riva once told me, “we won so many improvements that the buildings are now attracting gueros con perros,” white people with dogs.)

But as with all social movements, the smaller battles are never divorced from a grander vision. The sociologist Todd Gitlin once said that racially integrated lunch-counter sit-ins didn’t just protest segregation but abolished it, inaugurating “a new way of life,” a “little utopia.” In the same way, when tenants gain a bit more control over their homes, they move one step closer to securing full control over them. This is the world that many tenant movements are working to bring about.

Stephen Frenz, the landlord from whom Corcoran residents hoped to buy their apartment buildings. Credit... Alec Soth/Magnum

Landlords have taken notice of the rise of tenant mobilization. “It’s a bigger part of the conversation today,” said Robert Pinnegar, president and chief executive of the National Apartment Association, a trade organization for the rental housing industry. “The adversarial environment really is taking a toll on the people who run the rental housing.” Although corporate landlords have increased their market share, landlording in America remains an intimate business. An analysis based on nationally representative data from 2015 estimated that of the 48.5 million rental units in the country, a little less than half (47 percent) were owned by individuals, and the rest were owned by businesses, from small-scale ventures that managed a handful of units to major players that managed hundreds. As such, many landlords are actively involved in the everyday business of property management, from the price of drywall and lumber to local politics, which can get ugly.

In August of last year, IX staged a protest at the headquarters of the Minnesota Multi Housing Association, an organization representing rental property owners and developers. Tenants hung a giant banner that read “People Not Profits” and chanted, “Down with the landlords!” Later that month, tenants and landlords packed City Hall during deliberations about a proposed local ordinance that would cap security deposits and restrict tenant-screening criteria. Some landlords who testified were booed. “Imagine you invest your time and energy and your heart into this, and then that’s the response,” says Joe Abraham, one of the landlords who testified. Abraham is the principal of Pergola Management, which owns 750 units in the Twin Cities. “It’s like a punch in the face.”

To property owners like Abraham, Stephen Frenz no more represented the typical property owner than IX represented the typical renter. “There is a very small number of people who are engaged,” Bernadette Hornig says about tenant organizers. Hornig’s company, started by her husband’s grandparents in 1958, owned approximately 4,500 apartments in Minnesota and Wisconsin. “It’s rage politics. It’s the idea that you have to tear everything down in order to build it back up,” she says. “I don’t believe that.” These property owners saw increasing supply as the solution to the housing crunch. “We agree on the problem,” Abraham says. But he thought the solutions proposed by tenant organizers aren’t “workable in the world that we live in.”

One of those solutions is the creation of democratically controlled affordable housing. “We want to transition from this extractive model that takes away people’s wages and forces them to live paycheck to paycheck to a model that’s regenerative,” says Davin Cárdenas, of the Right to the City Alliance. “People would have control over the communities that they live in.” Tara Raghuveer, the director for People’s Action’s Homes Guarantee campaign, a grass-roots movement striving to establish the right to housing, puts it this way: “In our vision of the world, there isn’t a profit motive connected to housing, period. Housing is truly a public good.” (Disclosure: I worked with Raghuveer on her undergraduate thesis.) In this world, there is no whatever-the-market-will-bear rent setting. Indeed, there are no landlords. But the end goal isn’t simply to transform all renters into homeowners, each family on its own mortgage, but to reform the fundamental way we live by decommodifying housing.

“Commoning” is the term, and its little utopia is the creation of homes that are collectively owned and controlled by the residents. Within this framework, housing is neither for speculating nor profiteering, nor even wealth building; it is only for living. In Minneapolis, IX is pursuing tenant-owned cooperatives. A popular version of this model, known as “limited-equity cooperatives,” involves residents’ purchasing co-op shares and paying low monthly fees to cover the building’s upkeep. If a family moves out, it can sell its share for slightly above the original purchase price, but only slightly. Bidding up the sale, even if there are plenty of takers, is seen as anathema to the social mission of the cooperative, which is to establish permanently affordable housing.

Decommodifying housing would “destabilize an entire industry, not to mention affecting pension funds invested in rental housing,” says Pinnegar of the National Apartment Association. An estimated 87 million Americans own real estate investment trusts through their savings portfolios.

But there is a long tradition of commoning in urban America. Starting in the late ’60s, poor New Yorkers began rehabilitating apartment buildings abandoned by their landlords, many damaged by fire and years of neglect. You could earn a spot in the buildings through “sweat equity,” pitching in with time and labor. The city got behind these efforts, transferring the title of dozens of buildings to tenant organizations that created co-ops. A decade later, in Washington, low-income tenants, led primarily by Black women, began “carving out the commons,” echoing the title of Amanda Huron’s instructive book. Between late 1979 and late 1980, tenants created 17 limited-equity cooperatives in the nation’s capital, comprising 1,000 units, often buying run-down properties and sprucing them up themselves.

The push for cooperative ownership is just one of many areas in which tenant organizations have won significant victories throughout the country. Rent control has made a comeback in California, Oregon and New York, and tenant movements have gained considerable ground in cities across nation. In Boston, City Life/Vida Urbana has successfully prevented thousands of families from losing their homes to foreclosure or eviction through a “sword and shield” strategy that combines community organizing and public demonstrations (the sword) with coordinated legal support (the shield). “We’re committed to showing our community that they can fight,” says Andres Del Castillo. “It’s not just bottled up in lawyers and professionals.”

In New York, low-income tenants formed the Community Action for Safe Apartments (CASA) in the South Bronx and in 2013 began a grass-roots campaign for the right to legal counsel in eviction court. (Because the right to a lawyer extends only to criminal court, nationwide a vast majority of tenants facing eviction lack legal counsel.) Tenants in neon orange shirts began showing up everywhere, from university functions to City Council meetings, and expressed zero interest in compromising. Mayor Bill de Blasio introduced a plan that would significantly increase funding for eviction defense. But the tenants didn’t want more money; they wanted the right to a lawyer. They won that right, which at the time did not exist anywhere else in America, in August 2017. As of February of this year, evictions are down 40 percent in New York City since 2013.

Another thing that organizers have won is elections. The progressive agendas of several newly elected members of Congress were forged by community organizations. The Massachusetts congresswoman Ayanna Pressley’s mother, Sandra Pressley, was a tenant advocate for the Chicago Urban League. Before running for office, the Michigan congresswoman Rashida Tlaib worked for Detroit’s Arab Community Center for Economic and Social Services, planting lawn signs and protesting against racial injustice. In January of this year, Representatives Pressley and Tlaib joined five other members of the Congressional Progressive Caucus to start the People’s Housing Platform. The legislation established housing as a human right and introduced aggressive measures to deepen national investment in public housing and expand tenant rights.

It becomes increasingly difficult to convince people of the infeasibility of their goals when they witness one outlandish idea after another become reality.

In 2018 the Minneapolis tenants began working on an offer to buy the Corcoran Five. IX approached Land Bank Twin Cities, a collection of real estate speculators whose goal is not to maximize profit but to preserve affordable housing. The land bank raises capital through a variety of means — grants, lines of credit, leveraging real-estate assets — and uses that money to acquire properties to benefit people with low to moderate incomes.

IX was making a “big ask,” says Eddie Landenberger, vice president and senior program manager of Land Bank Twin Cities. The Corcoran Five were, well, five whole buildings and in “bad shape.” On the other hand, Land Bank recognized that the Five were “naturally occurring affordable housing,” or NOAH, an in-demand and fairly safe investment. Landenberger estimated that a new apartment development in Minneapolis costs between $245,000 and $265,000 per unit to build, while NOAH units were traded at between $100,000 and $125,000 per unit. Preserving affordable housing built in the 1960s or 1970s was much more cost-effective than trying to build new housing for low-income renters. Landenberger and his colleagues began putting together an offer.

The tenants waited and hoped. But on July 31, the court-appointed administrator was dismissed and control of the buildings reverted back to the company Frenz managed. On that exact day, Frenz notified a number of tenants that their leases would be terminated, delivering the notices himself. In the heady days that followed, the Corcoran tenants came to a decision. If Frenz could not legally collect their rent because his license had been revoked, they would not pay him. The Corcoran Five entered a rent strike. Forty-nine families in all five buildings participated, each unit giving Frenz nothing but dedicating $300 a month toward repairs and, possibly, for purchasing the buildings.

Several tense months passed. Then in October it was announced that Frenz and Zorbalas had settled the class-action lawsuit for $18.5 million, a historic sum. The tenants were shocked. A lawsuit that began with a humble Emergency Tenant Remedies Action for basic repairs, filed by a pair of fledgling organizers, had ended in a huge payout. More than $13 million would be distributed to more than 4,400 tenants who had lived in the affected buildings since 2012. The rest would cover legal and administrative fees.

A few months later, the tenants received word that the Land Bank was willing to purchase the Five for $4.85 million and had agreed to sell the buildings back to the tenants at no interest. The city of Minneapolis estimated the market value of the five apartment buildings to be $4.57 million that year.

Three days before Christmas, Jackson and a few other tenants drove to Frenz’s home to deliver their offer to purchase. It was bitterly cold, but the tenants were giddy with the possibility of purchasing the Five and finally becoming their own landlords. Jennifer Frenz answered the door and announced to her husband, “Some of your tenants are here.” Frenz invited them in. The tenants handed Frenz an unofficial offer, which they had drafted themselves. “I’ll take a look at it,” Frenz said, adding, “But there has been too much hurt and damage done.” (Frenz doesn’t remember saying this line but believes it was possible he did.) As the tenants turned to go, the Frenzes gave everyone a hug and wished them a happy holiday.

Frenz turned down the offer, finding it too low. So, IX set out to raise more money. They fund-raised $600,000, mostly in grants from foundations and individual donors, and had stocked away an additional $18,675 from the rent strike, which ended in July 2019 after a court administrator was reinstalled.

But eviction notices kept coming. The tenants interpreted them as retaliation. Frenz claimed he simply needed everyone out so the buildings could be renovated and sold. Jackson kept her notice to vacate taped to her door but worried that if she did lose the apartment, no other landlord in the city would rent to her, what with her growing profile as Troublemaking Tenant No. 1.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it, fighting this fight,” she told me. “I haven’t been able to really live my life. I can’t go out of town and see my mom and sisters, because I’m not sure when the trial will start. This eviction just seems like it has more control over my life than I do.”

Jackson and her neighbors marked the start of summer by planting a garden in a narrow patch of grass that separated two of the Corcoran apartment buildings. They didn’t ask anyone’s permission. It was a quieter kind of protest: making a home of their own, a little utopia.

With negotiations at a standstill, the tenants decided to stage a vigil at Stephen Frenz’s church on a Sunday. On a hot day in July 2019, some 200 people gathered five blocks from Our Lady of Peace Catholic Church and School, wearing shorts and summer hats and carrying signs and baskets of paper flowers. Some donned dance regalia and headdresses made of long, sharp feathers dyed hot pink and turquoise. In a white-striped summer dress, Jackson, who had volunteered to be the event’s M.C., turned on a microphone connected to a portable speaker and addressed the crowd. She thanked everyone for their support, then said: “My neighbors and I are going to start a cooperative run by the tenants. We’re going to ask the church members to stand in solidarity with all of us.”

The crowd began marching down the street. There were parents with children on their shoulders, young people wearing skullcaps, middle-age pastors in clerical collars and older people holding sun umbrellas. A group of marchers pounded drums and cymbals as the crowd sang. Our Lady of Peace was holding its outdoor annual feast after Mass, and the crowd met parishioners there. Tenants dispersed among the confused, overwhelmingly white churchgoers, passing out paper flowers, photos of tenants and notes that read: “Steve and Jennifer Frenz, who go to church here with you, are trying to evict 40 families of color. Please join us today to pray for a solution that doesn’t break up our community and our families.” Some parishioners welcomed the tenants. Others handed the flowers back and called them names. The Frenz family was at a family reunion and not in attendance that day.

“The weapons of the weak are always weak weapons,” the French historian Lucien Bianco once wrote. It’s true. Paper flowers, homemade noisemakers: it’s not much. As de la Riva told me, “All we have is willpower.” But you cannot deny that that was, and has always been, a true power in American life. The tenants and organizers felt this themselves, when they had broken past the fear. “If you’re a big landlord doing a lot of evictions,” de la Riva added, “we are coming for your portfolios.”

After the church vigil, I asked Andrew Fahlstrom, a community organizer with IX, why the group always raised such a fuss. Fahlstrom, flashing a smile, replied, “To remind them that City Hall isn’t a place of sun power but moon power.” He had first learned of this distinction from Ricardo Levins Morales, a local artist and movement elder. “Sometimes those people forget,” Fahlstrom went on. “They think the power comes from them, like they are the sun, sending out the power. But they are like the moon, shining back our power. Our actions remind them that the power comes from the people.”

In collaboration with Land Bank Twin Cities, the tenants made a second offer of $7.085 million in August 2019, which was north of the buildings’ estimated market value of $6.36 million for that year. Purchasing the Corcoran Five would have nullified the eviction process. When the deal didn’t materialize, Jackson volunteered to be the first tenant to have her case heard by a jury.

On March 5, 2020, when new Covid cases numbered only in the 60s, a jury heard closing arguments. Jackson sat beside her lawyers from Mid-Minnesota Legal Aid, wearing a white-and-black polka-dot bow in her hair. Tenants filled the pews in the windowless courtroom. Roberto de la Riva sat scratching his beard. Chacón followed the proceedings through a translator. TeCara Ayler, one of Jackson’s closest friends in the movement, was there, her thick black hair dyed pink and yellow. She called the look the Phoenix and would bring it out whenever she felt self-doubt creeping in. “Phoenix coming back,” she’d say, working the chemicals in. “Monster is coming back.”

The lawyer for Stephen Frenz, Christopher Kalla, went first. He argued that his client simply wanted to clear out his buildings, renovate and sell them on the free market. “That’s not retaliation — that’s a sound business decision,” he said, adding, “Make a little bit of money. Nothing wrong with that.” Jackson’s lawyer, Luke Grundman, argued that the evictions were in fact retaliatory and illegal. “This case is about a tenant facing eviction because she stood up for herself,” he said.

At 11:30, the jury walked out to deliberate, and the tenants found an open space in the courtroom complex to await the verdict. They talked about what they would do if they lost. Jackson smiled. “If we lose, I would like everyone not to think of it as a loss. It happened. OK?” They talked about the vision of the co-op. “In the ideal situation, we have the building for 50 years, and rents go down to $400,” Jennifer Arnold, IX’s co-director, said.

“Maybe we could install solar panels. Maybe we could build a school,” de la Riva added.

Hours passed, and it began to snow. Around 4:00, the tenants learned that the jury had gone home for the day and let out a collective sigh. As Arnold jogged to the exit to pick up her son, she turned around. “When we fight?” she hollered to her friends, trying to sound optimistic. “We win,” the tenants groaned in reply.

They did win. Jackson could stay, for now. The tenants celebrated in the hallway, hugging Jackson and each other. “You know what took them so long?” Ayler said of the jury. “I bet the question they were held up on was: ‘Why do the tenants want a raggedly building?’ People don’t know how to dream.”

Two months later, on May 18, Jackson was sitting in her apartment, on a Zoom call with other IX organizers. In the middle of their meeting, several organizers received a simple text from Eddie Landenberger of Land Bank Twin Cities. It read: “We closed.” Landenberger’s text let everyone know that they had finally done it. They had bought the Corcoran Five.

The tenants yelled and whooped, Ayler the loudest among them.

“Why’s everyone screaming?” Jackson’s son, Trayvon, asked, coming out of his bedroom. He was 16 now, handsome and half a foot taller than Jackson.

“Son, come here,” she said. “We closed on the buildings.”

“Oh, Mom,” he said, reaching out in embrace. “I’m so proud of you.”

“All we needed was a chance,” de la Riva said. “We had maybe a 4 percent chance of making this work, and we did. When people really come together and put faith in a different kind of system, it’s possible.”

What are five buildings when we need five million? Can this model really spread across a nation gripped by a deeply entrenched housing crisis? I used to ask questions like this all the time, bleakly setting each small policy idea or local initiative against the towering enormity of the problem it confronted. Great idea, I’d think. Can it scale? Sometimes this line of thinking was productive, but more often it only blunted inspiration, anesthetized action. Can it scale? was just another was of asking, Is it realistic? which itself was just another way of asking, Is this social change I’m comfortable with?

Big structural change begins with small-scale models and grass-roots pressure from below. In past decades, tenant movements didn’t just stave off one eviction or lower rent in one apartment building. They won real concessions from the government, from rent control to investments in public housing, improving the lives of families far removed from the front lines of the action. After New York City tenants won the right to a lawyer in eviction court, San Francisco followed suit. Then Newark. Then Cleveland. Then Philadelphia. Home remedies don’t stay home for long. They do the double work of effectively easing suffering at the local level and providing a proof of concept for large-scale adoption.

They do something else too. By redefining what is possible, they teach us how to dream. When tenants fight so hard to defend their homes, they demonstrate that the home is something worth defending. In a country that issues seven eviction notices each minute and has normalized mass homelessness — there are more homeless children today in New York City public schools (114,000) than there are residents in Green Bay, Wis. — this is a radical departure from the norm. When tenants strain to break free of a rental housing market that has brutalized them, they raise urgent questions about the depths and nature of that market’s brutality. Is our current system working? Should housing be a commodity? Should it be a human right? Can it ever be both? And by binding their fates to their neighbors’ — seeing Jackson’s eviction notice as their problem, their responsibly, not hers alone — the tenants show us what real community can look like.

After the Zoom call ended, Jackson sat on her bed and took a deep breath. She felt a mix of relief and worry. It didn’t seem real, and when Jackson did allow herself to believe what had happened, she thought of all the work ahead: repairs to be made, a capital campaign to launch. On the Zoom call, she had actually tried to get everyone to focus on the tasks at hand, but no one could. “Wife,” Ayler had said, using their term of deep friendship. “I’m so happy for you, wife!” Jackson’s thoughts turned to Stephen Frenz. She considered calling him to say thank you. She figured he was busy with the details of the sale, but she wanted him to know that he had, in his own way, given her life deeper purpose and joy. “He taught us how to stick together and stand with each other,” she said. “There was a time when we were just neighbors, not really talking to each other. Now, we’re a family.”

The following evening, around dusk, tenants gathered outside the Corcoran Five to remove Frenz’s signs from their homes.

[dianapana]

SasuHina Month 2020 - Day 5

Prompt –Collage AU

Long Distance- Part 3

Hinata POV

Sasuke drives like a pro; whenever I’m in the car with Ino I fear for my life, Neji drives really smoothly but he always goes really really and I mean really fast so, I find myself griping the side of my seat a lot. But with Sasuke the speed is good I don’t feel like we’re about to pierce to the vail of time and his movements are confident and easy; he seems to be at ease. We’ve been on the road for about 45 minutes and we haven’t really spoken much but the silence is pleasant and it doesn’t bother me.

“So, you’re from Konoha and about my age how come we never met in school?” Sasuke is the one to break the silence.

“I was homeschooled until 10th grade. And after that I went to Suna Academy for girls. I am what you would call ‘sheltered’. My mom told my dad I should attend public school before university but he just about had a heart attack. He didn’t really want me going to University either” I didn’t mind being homeschooled I’m more of an introvert and I know that; it’s not because I didn’t go to public school it’s just how I am and I’m ok with that. But I did want to go to university so I fought for that as well and when mom came to my aid too dad didn’t stand a chance. I’m happy with my decision; I’ve made a few really good friends and enjoyed the experience so far. I also loved the freedom of doing whatever I wanted without asking for permission. I’m not a party person but I did discover I enjoy certain things that mom or dad would never allow.

“Ah makes sense. My older brother was homeschooled for about 2 years but neither mom nor dad really liked that so when I started school, they sent me to public school from the get go”

“Are you going to be a senior this year?” he looks older and more mature than I do, or at least than I feel.

“Yep, what about you?” I look from the corner of my eyes at the way his muscles move in his arm when he changes the gear. He’s not built like most guys in my classes.

“I’m also going to be a senior. What’s your major?”

“I only declared my major last semester so despite it being my last year I’ll have a lot of courses to take. I’m majoring in education. I was accepted on athletic scholarship and have been a starter on the hokey team since the second semester of my freshman year so I plan to either go pro or coach. What about you?”

“I major in creative writing and minor in photography or as my dad says, I’m paying money to become a starving artist. I’ve never seen a hockey game; my sister likes it and played a little in middle school but I was away in Suna so I never went to any of her games.”

We talk a little more about collage, I find out that he lives with one of his teammates who is also his best friend and another friend that’s a tattoo artist and is majoring in fine arts at KU. I also applied there but the creative writing program is better at the UoA. I did hear that the graphic design department from KU has some of the pest teachers in the country. I told him about Ino who I met at orientation but, we also share the same minor; her major though is flower arts, surprisingly she has a lot of business-oriented courses to pretty much teach her how to run her own shop. We’re about 15 minutes away from KU and once again I feel guilty; he’s been on the road for 4 hours even though under normal circumstances he’d just now hit the road. After passing KU we finally hit the highway and Sasuke speeds up but it’s still comfortable.  

We talk a little more for the following few hours and I’m surprised by how easy it is to talk to him. He even explains hockey to me as briefly as possible and says he’ll invite me to a game when the season starts. The implication that we will talk after the end of this pleases me. We’re about half the way to Konoha when we stop so Sasuke can fill the tank and so we can go to the bathroom, maybe drink another coffee since we drank the extra ones I packed as well already and eat something. Thankfully the gas station has a McDonalds next to it.

Sasuke POV

Once we hit the road again after eating the only noise is the radio but we don’t talk. The silence isn’t unwelcomed and awkward. After a couple more minutes I peek at Hinata and see she has fallen asleep. I dim the music a little and continue driving. We have about 5 more hours to go.

About 4 hours later I make another stop at the gas station; I need to go to the bathroom. Hinata hasn’t woken up yet. I’m debating whether to wake her up or not when her phone starts ringing loudly and waking her up anyway. She wakes up and answers in a hurry while rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“Hey mom. Yea we’re about…” she looks towards me and I mouth ‘1 hour away’ “1 hour away. We just stopped at a gas station. I’ll see you soon ok? I want to go to the bathroom. Bye” she hangs up not really waiting for a reply.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I fell asleep for like 4 hours.” Her cheeks are red and I can tell she feel guilty and embarrassed but I shrug.

“No big deal” It looks like she wants to apologize again so I get out of the car. Each of us goes to the bathroom and then Hinata buys some snacks and I get myself a Pepsi and we get back on the road.

Hinata rips open the packet of candy she bought and eats a few. “Do you want some?” she asks. Usually I’m not a huge fan of sweets but I do want some sugar to get energy so I nod. I can’t take my hand that instant off the wheel so I make a small pause with full intention to extend it in a few moments but before I can do that Hinata leans over and pops a candy in my mouth. I am shocked and I look at her from the corner of my eye and she is frozen in place, her face red as a beat.

“I…umm I am sorry” her voice is barely a whisper and she leans back in her seat. “I did that without thinking sorry. I do that whenever Ino drives. In the beginning she would take her hand pff the wheel mid turn and it would freak me out so I developed this habit of feeding her rather than her letting go of the wheel. I am so so so sorry” she talks really fast and her hands are over her cheeks.

“It’s ok. You just surprised me” I say. Hinata I realize is very socially awkward. She blushes easily and apologizes a lot about everything. Despite me trying to reassure her she doesn’t talk much for the rest of the road.

Hinata POV

The candy incident happened almost 20 minutes ago but my heart still beats way too fast. I did that on instinct and the moment my fingertips touched his lips I was gone. I am way too aware of him now to be able to talk to him normally. Even if I don’t want to I notice everything about him. From his muscles that shift whenever he moves the slightest bit, to his beautiful profile, to his dark and shiny hair.

I keep my hands joined in my lap because I’m scared, I’ll do something embarrassing again. I want to touch him. I want to take pictures of him. He would be a great subject for a photoshoot. Images of him in a studio dim lighted and a bit destroyed fill my brain. He would suite something grunge or maybe something with neon lights to give him an eerie atmosphere. That is his attitude, if we were to talk about his looks, he is handsome and beautiful; he would look good surrounded by white, that would make him look like an angel. The angel analogy starts to run while when I imagine him naked with only a silk sheet over his lap. I feel my cheeks growing redder again.

I shake my head and look out the window. The familiar scenery tells me we’re only about 15 minutes away from my house, after waking up I gave him my address to put into the GPS. I curse myself for sleeping half of the ride. There’s no use lying to myself. I like Sasuke, he’s easy to talk and cool. His good looks only aid this predicament.

“We’re almost home” I say.

“You don’t sound that happy. You did say you didn’t want to return. Why is that?” He answers, eyes still focused on the road, his voice even. He really does not think about the candy incident. The knowledge hurts a little. I kind of wanted him to be as shook as I am.

“I liked the freedom I have at University. I’ve never really been the one in charge before” Mom and Hanabi are the only ones home which means we will be doing a lot of shopping. They’ll make me try on things I don’t particularly like. Most of my closet consisted of thing mom and Hanabi think look good on me but that I don’t like to wear so when I got to University I started selling them.

“I get that, I feel the same. That was also my reason for not coming back home” He admits and it shocks me a little, Sasuke doesn’t seem like someone that would let himself be controlled by someone else. This makes me relate to him, admire him for admitting something like that, Neji is very prideful and he would never say something like this.

When the car pulls to a stop in front of my house, I have to admit I am glad. I like spending time with him but I feel myself developing a crush on him that can only lead to my own demise. I look to the front door half expecting mother to come running outside but she doesn’t. Sasuke gets out of the car as well and helps me with the suitcases. I go to open the door but it is locked. I unlock it and the house is silent. Sasuke asks me where to take the suitcases and I abuse his kindness and tell him to follow me to my room. In the mean time I call mother.

“Hey mom I got home…but where are you?”

“Hinata baby I’m over at Mikoto’s come with Sasuke. She wants to meet you and we can all have a nice late lunch or early dinner” Her voice is chipper and light, is…is mom drunk?

“O….k?”

“See you soon baby” She says and hangs up on. I look at my phone and then to Sasuke.

“Um…she’s at your house” I say and he laughs.

“Of course, she is. How did we not see this coming?” Sasuke asks rhetorically as we walk back to the car. I top to lock the door. “I mean they are best friends so of course they are together.”

The drive to his home takes about another 10 minutes and this time when the car stops mom and another woman, I assume Sasuke’s mother wait for us on the front porch and they each have a wine glass in their hands. Mom is smiling wide and chats with Mikoto lively.

“Are they drunk?” I say out loud. Sasuke narrows his eyes.

“I don’t know about your mother but my mom is a lightweight. If she drank a glass of wine, she is not only drunk but wasted.”

“Mom can’t hold her alcohol very well either” I admit, we both turn to look at them still chatting away, obvious to the fact that we have arrived. We turn to look at each other and chuckle a little.

“Come o let’s go join them, drink a glass of wine too. Why should they be the only ones to have fun?” He says and gets out of the car. My heart is beating faster once again. I can’t move for a moment. Sasuke opens my door and extends his hand to me, I look at it and take it. His skin is warm and rough but I feel sparks going up my arm. I look up at him and he’s smirking at me. The sun is just now setting behind Sasuke and it gives him a golden glow. That is the moment when I realize that I already like him, this boy I met today. He lets go of my hand to go get his own bags but I can still feel his touch. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in. When I open them he’s next to me and nods towards out mothers, I nod back and we start walking up the driveway. The two of them finally see us, put their wine glasses down and come towards us for hugs. Mom kisses my cheek and tells me how much she missed me; than she hugs Sasuke and thanks him for bringing me while Mikoto hugs me and tells me how nice it is to meet me.

Looking at this scene with them so happy makes me realize that I don’t regret coming home. I’m glad I could make mom happy. I’m glad to see her having fun with a new friend. I peer from the corner of my eye towards Sasuke. I’m glad I came because I met him. I’m still looking at him when he turns his eyes to me as well and smirks. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he feels even remotely like I do. Even if he doesn’t, I hope he will still be my friend because Sasuke Uchiha is pretty cool and I’d love to have him in my life. If his mother is anything like him, I can’t blame mom for calling Mikoto her best friend already.  

Part 1 (This happens after the 2nd and 3rd part)

Part 2

[javistg]

A Second Chance. CH2.

Finally! After months and months, here’s the second chapter of my submission to this year’s @everlarkficexchange

Based on prompt 110: A time travel AU: Katniss from Mockingjay, (any part of the book, it's up to you), winds up back the day before her sister's first reaping. What does she do now that she knows what's coming? Now that she knows how Peeta feels about her, and she knows how desperately she needs him, and what they could share? What on earth could she, or should she, even do/change? And what is she should lose it all again? [submitted by @wingletblackbird]

If you haven’t read it yet, you can find Chapter 1 HERE.

You can also find the entire fic on FF.net and AO3

Ok, here it goes. Tell me what you think.

A Second Chance. CH2.

It's still early when Katniss, Prim, Gale, and Rory reach the Meadow.

There's a handful of young merchant couples visiting the booths their neighbors have set up, and a few kids from the Seam; older teenagers like Gale and Katniss with their younger siblings in tow. But most people are still at home.

Some are waiting for their parents —who have to get off work and wash up before going out. Others are waiting for the Capitol construction crew to be done with the reaping stage; because they can't stomach the idea of celebrating anything while the clanging of hammers and the buzz of drills and chainsaws fill the air with their monotonous soundtrack —a prelude of the pain which will accompany them in the weeks to follow.

Hand in hand, Katniss and Prim explore the stalls with the two Hawthorne brothers trailing close behind.

Mr. Donner's booth is the first to catch their eye. His array of gumdrops and colorful candied fruits makes Prim and Rory smile.

"Maybe we could get something from here this time," Prim says.

Rory bites his lip. "Let's check the other booths before we decide. Yeah?"

Prim agrees, and the group keeps on walking.

Their next stop is in front of Mrs. Kipling, the greengrocer, who sells popcorn and an assortment of nuts. This time, it's Gale who pushes them to move on.

By the time they reach Mr. Porter —the barkeeper who sometimes buys Prim's cheese— a small line has begun to form. His tart lemonade and iced mint tea are crowd-pleasers on warm summer days and, once night falls and the crowds start to thin, he'll pull out the stronger stuff. The line will be even longer then.

The last stall belongs to the bakery. Katniss spots Rye selling butter cookies, small cheese buns, and pound cake by the slice. That's why Peeta's at the bakery today, she muses as her group comes to a stop.

"OK, guys, now that we've seen everything, what would you like?" Gale asks.

Just like last time, Rory and Prim begin debating over what to get. Rory prefers popcorn, but they already had some at the last market fair, and Prim argues that it's her turn to choose.

Katniss smiles fondly as they squabble. Despite everything, Prim and Rory can still behave like children sometimes.

When they finally ask for her opinion, Katniss casually mentions the candied apples she remembers everyone enjoyed.

With all parties in agreement, Gale and Katniss pool their coins together. "We could also get some pistachios," he suggests after counting them.

"I'll get them," Rory quickly offers.

With a nod, Gale puts the coins in his brother's open hand.

The simple gesture tugs at Katniss's heart. Gale is done with school already. In a few more days, he'll start working in the mines, and everyone in his family will have to take on new roles and new responsibilities.

Just like Katniss, Gale's kept his siblings from taking on too many obligations but —regardless of what happens in the morning— lighthearted, innocent Rory, will have to start acting more and more like a grownup now.

With their apple and pistachios, the group walks away from the stands. After searching for a bit, they settle to eat under one of the tall trees lining the Meadow.

It's a sunny afternoon. The sounds of construction have finally been replaced by the cheerful song of the blackbirds perched high on the branches above them, and the green expanse is quickly filling up with people who are eager to enjoy the balmy weather and take a stroll.

Katniss is still laughing at one of Rory's silly jokes when she notices Peeta walking on the opposite side of the Meadow.

Once again, she's struck by how good he looks. The white shirt and khaki trousers he's wearing are humble and worn —a far cry from the stylish clothes Portia will design for him— but they make him look young and wholesome.

Her heart speeds up as she sees him brush a blond wave from his face. This is the boy she remembers when she closes her eyes; the one who stood by her even when they were little more than acquaintances; the one who Snow took away.

The last thought makes her so sad that she has to avert her eyes.

Next to her, Prim chews the last of her apple, and smacks her lips in appreciation once the treat is gone.

Encouraged by her sister's happiness, Katniss looks back up. Peeta's not alone anymore. Delly and her brother, Sam, have joined him.

As the trio reach the stand with the sweets, Katniss sees a fourth person. A slim merchant girl with big round eyes and strawberry blond hair who immediately takes her place next to Peeta when she joins the group.

Peeta turns to greet the girl and gets a pleasant smile in return.

The candied apple turns to lead in Katniss's stomach as she watches the exchange.

Dizzy, her mind speeds through a jumble of memories from the last two years and comes back empty. She's sure. Peeta never said anything about courting anyone else.

Her disappointment teeters on the brink of rage —hot and blinding, the kind that courses through her like molten lava and makes her want to smash vases and claw at people's faces. But she knows she can't do any of that, so she clenches her fists and sets her jaw to keep it contained.

Peeta turns to Sam, who's waving his arms around as he explains something, and he and Delly laugh.

The exchange reminds Katniss of Delly's words, "I used to tell people he was my brother." They certainly look like siblings, she thinks as her fists open up and relax.

The pretty merchant girl looks at her shoes; her cheeks have turned pink. She's embarrassed. It's a small detail —the fact that this girl seems ill-at-ease with her companions— but it's enough to put Katniss's mind at rest. With astonishing speed, her anger ebbs.

Exhausted after the emotional upheaval, Katniss looks down. Staring at the thin layer of dust covering her boots, she wonders --once again-- what she's doing there. Why was she sent back to witness this? She doesn't need to see Peeta talking to some other girl!

"You OK there, Catnip?" Gale asks with a soft pat on her shoulder.

Forcing on a smile, Katniss looks up. Rory and Prim are also staring at her, waiting for an answer. "Yeah." She points to her throat and coughs. "I think I swallowed through the wrong pipe."

"Want me to get you some water?" Gale offers.

She shakes her head no and clears her throat again for effect.

Satisfied that she's all right, the group resumes their conversation.  

Looking past Prim's shoulder, Katniss follows Peeta and his friends as they move on to the next stand.

The group stops to talk to Mrs. Kipling. They all smile, and even laugh politely at something Katniss can't hear —something she can't even begin to guess— and she's struck by how little she knows about this particular period in Peeta's life.

She's always assumed the baker's son never approached her because he thought she was with Gale —and because the Seam-Merchant divide would have probably made things hard for him at home— but she never considered that there might have been someone else; some sweet merchant girl who laughed at his jokes and wore pretty dresses or endured uncomfortable situations to try to please him.

She's about to make up an excuse to flee the scene and go find a dark closet in which to hide when a piece of an old conversation comes back to her mind.

"So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" Katniss had asked back in the cave of their first Game—back when she was trying to get sponsors, and she thought Peeta was just making up stories as he went along.

"No," Peeta had answered, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, "I noticed just about every other girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you."

That's all it takes for what remains of her sorrow to go away. A memory.

Peeta's words —the old Peeta's words— are all the reassurance she needs. A reminder that through it all, she's always been on his mind. Yes, there might have been other girls —he's never denied it— but she's always been the most important one, and he has proven it over, and over, and over again.

As she sits there, nestled between her sister and Gale, she knows no one watching could say the same about her.

"Want some?" Gale offers the bag of pistachios. As she takes it into her small hands, she can't help but think about him back in Thirteen wearing a soldier's uniform and sneaking her food from his plate.

She hasn't said anything, talking to Gale about the "deep stuff" has never been easy, but she's grateful for his friendship over the last few weeks, and for the fact that he seems to have put his feelings aside. It's as if he's stepped down. As if he knows, even without her saying it, that she's made her choice.

As she sees him now --joking and laughing with their siblings, blissfully unaware of what the world is about to unleash on them-- she has to admit that she hasn't been very fair to him, either. Whether she's meant to or not, through her silence, she's also been stringing him along.

Not this time, she promises.

Peeta and his group reach the bakery's stand. A few feet away, a handful of vendors are already setting up the bonfire.

While Rye talks to his brother's companions, Peeta slips his hands into his pockets and scans the crowd. When he finds Katniss sitting under the tree, he stills. His smile falters.

All the way across the Meadow, Katniss reads the self-doubt, the all too familiar question in his eyes. "Did I misunderstand?"

"You didn't!" She wants to yell at him. But she doesn't. She can't. She knows what he sees: Gale and her, laughing and sharing a bag of nuts.

Enough!

Katniss pushes the bag of pistachios into Gale's hands. She stands up and brushes the bits of nut dust which have fallen on her lap. "Alright, I'm off!"

Gale raises a questioning eyebrow. "Where are you going?"

"To the bonfire. I'm meeting a friend there."

Her answer does nothing to satisfy Gale's curiosity. "A friend? Who?"

Katniss crosses her arms and glares at her hunting partner. "What is this, Twenty Questions? You're not the only person I know, you know?"

"I didn't say I was…" Gale shrugs. "I just—,"

The look of utter confusion on his face makes her laugh. This is what I would have done back then, she realizes. I would have just laughed. Because, while I owe him honesty, I don't owe him any explanations.

She's still smiling when she adds, "I'll see you later." Her eyes find Prim's --if her sister is surprised by this sudden change in plans, she doesn't show it. "Are you going to meet up with Penny now?"

"Yeah," Prim points to the spot where the main road from the Seam reaches the Meadow. "She's meeting me there in a few minutes."

"All right. Come find me when you're ready to go home. OK, little duck?"

With Prim's assurance, Katniss spins on her heels and begins to walk towards the line of booths and the bonfire beyond.

As soon as she makes Peeta out in the distance, her heart skips a beat. He's standing to the side of the pile of kindle which will soon become a roaring fire; chin up, back straight. His blue eyes, a reflection of the summer sky above, follow her every move.

XXXXX

"Hey!" Peeta says as soon as Katniss is close enough to hear him over the ruckus of people lugging the large pieces of wood they'll use for the bonfire.

"Been here long?" she asks.

"No," He points in the general direction of the booths. "I just took a quick look at the stalls with Delly and the others."

"The others?"

"Yeah. Sam and… Lena."

"Lena?" The warm tendrils of embarrassment creep up her neck and color her cheeks. She knows she's being nosy, but his hesitation intrigues her.

"The carpenter's daughter," Peeta explains. When Katniss doesn't say anything, he adds. "She's one year below us in school."

"Ah!" Katniss nods— as if Lena's age is enough to explain why she's never heard of her before— and then, because she simply can't stop herself, she asks, "You're friends with her?"

"Um…" Peeta glances around. His eyes dart through the people around them, but they can't seem to settle anywhere.

If Katniss didn't know any better, she'd think he was trying to come up with a lie, but she knows that's not the case. Peeta is a smooth liar, and he's only hesitating because he wants to tell her the truth. The fact that he's having such a hard time coming up with the right words makes her uneasy.  

Peeta's eyes finally find a neutral place to land --Katniss is not surprised to discover he's chosen her braid. He did that sometimes, she remembers.

"We're not friends," he says, somewhat defensively. "We're… acquaintances… I guess. I don't really know her that well… yet."

Katniss nods. She doesn't need any more explanations, she gets it. Peeta's relationship with Lena isn't really about friendship —or romance— it's about practicality; about planning ahead.

District 12 isn't big enough to have three bakers —four if you count Peeta's father. It seems that the Mellarks have started looking for an alternative trade for their third son.

It's much too early to guarantee a wedding, of course. Engagements can be broken, and Peeta and Lena still have a few more reapings ahead of them, but that hasn't stopped their families from trying to find an advantageous match for their children.

A sad smile lifts Katniss's lips as her heart slowly takes in the news. Peeta, her old Peeta, the boy who once told Panem he'd had a crush on her for as long as he could remember, is currently engaged to a girl he barely knows.

She wants to be mad at him for never telling her; for allowing his jealousy over Gale to fuel his anger when it was him who was involved with someone else all along. But she can't. Not when he's here, standing right in front of her and ignoring all others; risking his mother's wrath and his father's disappointment just to spend a few minutes with a stubborn girl from the Seam who still hasn't thanked him for saving her life.  

The flash of a memory breaks through her thoughts, and she sees Peeta walking out of the room after agreeing to marry her.

That was the second time that choice was taken away from him. Katniss thinks. No wonder he was so upset.

This new realization floors her, but the fleeting stab of pain she feels for having put Peeta through that useless charade acts like a wake up call, a reminder of the hatred she harbors for President Snow and her need to be rid of him.

Before the darkness can pull her any deeper, Katniss asks, "Want to take a walk?"

"Sure!" A hint of relief paints Peeta's smile as he signals to the field behind him. "Lead the way."

Resisting the urge to slip her hand in his, Katniss leads them behind the line of booths and towards the fence. Some people are already walking there to escape a bit from the crowd, so it's not as if they're alone, but the air is fresher, and it's far less noisy. With the woods so close by, she can even hear herself think.  

"So… last day of school, huh?" Peeta says.

"Yup. Got any plans for the summer?"

"The usual: help out at the bakery, watch the recaps… You?"

Katniss smiles, this conversation is so painfully ordinary, so utterly conventional. It's like no conversation they've ever had, and yet, it feels like the most promising one ever. Eager to keep it going, she answers, "The usual: help out at home, trade, watch the recaps…"

Peeta laughs. "Looks like there's not that much to do around here."

They're about to reach the place where the grass turns to gravel when Katniss stops and reaches for Peeta's elbow. "Listen, I need to tell you something."

Peeta stops. His eyes flit between the point where she's touching his arm and her face. "You OK?"

Katniss nods. She wants to say that, "Yes, she's fine --perfect even," but she can't. Her heart is beating a mile a minute, and she's as nauseous as if a swarm of angry tracker jackers was buzzing in her stomach, but she can't turn back now.

With trembling fingers, Katniss slips her hand into her hunting bag and pulls out a bundle —as wide and long as her extended palm— wrapped in a worn linen handkerchief. "Thank you," she says, presenting Peeta with the package.

Peeta's jaw drops. "What for?" Too stunned for words, he shakes his head. "I haven't—,"

"For the bread," she cuts in trying to keep her voice from cracking.

Peeta stands still, looking at the bundle like it's a piece of the moon that has somehow landed in her hands.

"From when we were kids," she adds, hoping the words he once told her will help him understand.

It works. Peeta's eyes open wide, and she knows: he remembers. "Katniss, that—,"

"That was ages ago," she finishes for him. "I know. I should have said something sooner." She pushes the little bundle in her hands towards him once again. "I know this isn't much. But…"

Tears pool in her eyes and she tries to blink them away, but she's too late; a couple of them run down her cheeks, past her neck, and land on the faded linen blouse she carefully chose for her first outing with the boy with the bread.

Embarrassed by her display, Katniss wipes her cheeks dry with the back of her hand. Peeta's tentative touch on her elbow stills her motions.

"Katniss, please don't cry."

She nods, smiling a little through her tears. "I just need you to know that I remember --that I could never forget-- because without that bread my sister and I wouldn't be here today."

Peeta's eyes glisten with the tears he hasn't shed, the tears he's trying so hard to keep inside because this is the second time they've ever spoken, and he doesn't want to look like the kind of person who can't control his emotions.

But she knows better —and she knows him— and she knows he's hurting because, even though he did plenty, Peeta's always wished he could have done more.

"Katniss, I—,"

Once again, she offers her gift. "Just take it, please?"

Peeta's hands wrap around the small parcel holding it as carefully as if it were a bomb. "OK. But, just so we're clear, you didn't need to do this. Seriously, you don't owe me anything."

They've had this conversation before, so she knows he means it. It was the kind of thing that drove her mad about him, the fact that he could do something without expecting anything in return. She used to think it was because he was a pampered brat, a son of privilege who could afford to hand out tokens and ponder about the injustices of the world because he had everything he needed and more, but she knows better now.

Peeta's life is far from perfect, but he's still generous, and kind… and incredibly stubborn, and she's not going to waste the precious time they have left by arguing with him.

With an exaggerated eye roll that shows him she doesn't agree, she lets the matter drop. "Yeah, yeah. Open it," she instructs.

With the same delicate movements he uses to frost the most detailed cookies, Peeta unwraps the little bundle. Six brand new pencils, a different color each, appear on his palm.

As if afraid that someone might snatch them away, Peeta closes his hand over the pencils and brings it to his chest. "How did you know?"

Katniss shrugs. "I guessed. I knew you decorated the cakes and the cookies, so I figured that maybe you like to draw, too."

"I do. I just…" Peeta looks down at the bunch of pencils. He's holding them so tightly she fears he might break them, but the look of awe in his eyes tells her he won't.

"So…," Katniss nods towards the pencils when she can't take the silence anymore, "are they OK?"

Peeta beams at her —infatuation written all over his face. He looks so radiant and handsome that she has to wrap her arms around herself to keep from reaching out and touching him.

"Of course, they are, Katniss, they're perfect!" His cheeks turn pink as he unwraps the pencils to take a better look. "I've never had anything like this before. My father used to give us bits of chalk to play around with when we were little, but I've never had a set of new pencils all of my own. I…," His eyes find hers. They're still a bit shy, but there's a glint of seriousness in them she knows all too well. "Are you sure this is OK?"

"Yes." She nods for emphasis.

The old Katniss, the one who lived this day the first time, wouldn't have agreed —buying six brand new pencils was an extravagance she couldn't afford. But this Katniss, the one who has been through two arenas and who knows her sister is about to be reaped, has decided that giving Peeta those pencils and settling that debt is far more important than keeping her coins under the mattress because, if history repeats itself, her mother and Prim won't need the money; and, if it doesn't… Well... she'll just have to work harder during the summer to make up for the loss.

"Thank you, Katniss," Peeta says, wrapping the pencils back in the handkerchief and slipping them into his pocket.

Now that the conversation is over, Katniss breathes easier. With a quick glance, she takes in their surroundings.

The summer fair is in full swing. The area with the stalls is crowded, people wait in line to buy one last glass of lemonade or a bag of popcorn while the group of men who were carrying the wood earlier lights the bonfire. To the side of the blaze, a three-man band strums their guitars with a lively tune. Couples from both parts of town have gathered around them, they smile and clap, tapping their feet in time with the music.

The smell of smoke and gardenias fills the air now that the sun is about to set. Before long, everyone will be dancing.

"Want to walk a little longer?" Peeta asks so shyly it makes her heart ache.

"We could take a turn along the fence," she suggests as she starts walking.

Peeta falls in step with her. His heavy footfalls crush every leaf and twig in their path. "So… um. What's your favorite color?"

Katniss bursts out laughing. She can't believe they're having this conversation again. They're exactly where she hoped they'd be.

Peeta tilts his head to look at her, eyebrows squished together in confusion. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know, it's just… Why do you want to know that?"

"Well… I like colors. They're everywhere." Looking back at the Meadow, he adds, "There's an entire language hidden in the shapes and shades that surround us —a language that speaks of life's moments, of the connections we make, the bonds we forge— but its words are constantly changing. I'd like to capture them, to commit them to paper so I can remember them --enjoy them-- even after they're gone."

Katniss smiles. She's never heard him say those things before, but she's seen the things he can do. The moments and ideas he can capture on paper. I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever. Her mind whispers.

Before her memories can pull her down the rabbit hole of pain and longing she knows all too well, she mumbles, "It's green."

"Green?" Peeta's smile is so infectious she finds herself mirroring it as she nods in confirmation.

With a sigh, Katniss turns to look out into the woods. The sun is setting behind the mountains. A spectacular orange and yellow blaze lights the sky behind the tall firs and maples that surround the district.

"And you?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer. "What's your favorite color?"

Peeta looks up to the sky. "See that band of golden orange lighting the clouds?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That's it."

XXXXX

They spend the next hour walking along the edge of the Meadow; never too far from the action, but not too close either.

As they walk, they talk about things that are at once familiar and somehow entirely new and, before she knows it, they're already laughing together.

As they're about to turn around, Peeta gets a bit more serious and talks about his brothers. He says he's happy for Bran —who is about to get married to someone he loves— and a little envious of Rye, who's one reaping away from aging out.

Katniss listens, savoring his words and smiling at the things he says; not because she's supposed to --like she once did-- but because she's happy to be there with him and wants to hear everything he has to say.

When he asks about Prim, Katniss's eyes light up. Pride warms her words as she tells him as much as she can about her baby sister without bursting into tears.

Peeta listens and nods at all the right moments. The warmth in his eyes makes her feel beautiful and cherished. Under his gaze, she grows stronger and more powerful than she's been in months.  

By the time they reach the bonfire again, night has fallen over District 12. The merchant booths are closing, and people have gathered to watch their friends and neighbors take a spin on a makeshift dance floor in front of the blaze. The crowd raises their voices in a happy song to keep the fear of the reaping at bay.  

"I should go find Prim," Katniss says. "It's getting late."

With a curt nod, Peeta slips his hands in his pants' pockets. She's half expecting to see him bounce in place in that self-soothing tick of his when, instead, he stills. "Will you go out with me again?" he asks.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak and then closes it back again —suddenly unsure— but, before her brain can come up with an excuse to override her instincts, she blurts, "Sure. I'd like that."

Peeta's easy smile returns. They're so close to the bonfire now that the blaze lights up his face and makes him glow.

Forget about prep teams and fancy clothes, Katniss thinks, Peeta doesn't need Cinna and his artificial embers, he can dazzle the world just like this.

She's so mesmerized by him that, for a split second, she considers throwing herself into his arms and kissing him like she did in the cave… or on the beach. This could be our first kiss. Right here, without cameras, without careers, without mutts.

Her heart is beating madly, her hands longing to reach out, but she stops herself. It's just not right. The Peeta standing before her barely knows her. He's probably not opposed to kissing her, but he wouldn't understand.

Utterly oblivious to her reckless thoughts, Peeta asks, "Maybe we could do something tomorrow, you know? Um… after?"

After. One small word is all it takes to bring Katniss back to reality and to send her heart plummeting to her feet. Trying to keep the dread in her bones from taking over, she says, "That sounds good."

"I'll go find you once it's over."

Katniss nods, desperate for the conversation to be over. She doesn't want to ruin the beautiful afternoon they just spent with her tears, but the reminder of the upcoming reaping has sucked all the air out of her. "I'll be at the back… with Prim and my mother."

Peeta dips his head in a small kind of bow and takes a step back, putting some distance between them as if releasing her. "Go find Prim," he says --looking at her with that mix of admiration and tenderness which made her so uncomfortable in the past, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Overcome with a surge of affection, Katniss brings her hand to her chest. Her traitorous heart beats madly under her palm —asking Peeta to come back. "See you tomorrow," she repeats, ignoring the blood pounding in her veins as she turns on her heel to go find her sister.

XXXXX

It's a long night.

Katniss lays in bed, unable to sleep. Alone. Peeta is back in town, --sleeping in his old bedroom above the bakery for what will be the last time— and Prim has chosen the comfort of her mother's arms tonight. With no one to stop her, the huntress tosses and turns as she anxiously awaits the break of dawn

Trying to pass the time, Katniss reviews her plans for the following days: Go out into the woods tomorrow, and then to the town square. Volunteer for Prim. Get Haymitch to put the bottle down and help us. Follow Cinna's instructions. Train. Breeze through my interview with Caesar, and act surprised when Peeta declares his love for me. Go to the arena. Lay low until I can partner up with Peeta. Stay alive.

Her throat constricts as she tries to keep herself from crying. It's not an easy plan. There are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong —things she didn't notice the first time, but that could come back and bite her.

An then there's the people. She can't wait to see Cinna and Portia again —alive and well and thriving— but she's not looking forward to watching Rue and all the others die. And still, she knows she can't stop their deaths either. Her knowledge doesn't give her that kind of power.

What she can do, however, is make sure that her fellow tributes don't die in vain. This time around, she'll make sure that their deaths mean something; that their names aren't forgotten; that their blood isn't washed away.

This time, she'll make sure that President Snow is the one who pays.

[antiquatedfuture]

Zine Care Packages (Antiquated Future Spring Newsletter)

What a challenging time. Things have felt pretty bleak and I debated about whether to send this spring newsletter a lot, but friends convinced me we're all in need of good news. If nothing else, I want to say two things: 1) We'll still be shipping orders (with plenty of hand-washing and sanitizing) several times a week. 2) While we always appreciate and need your financial support, we'd also like to offer the resources we have to any of you who are having a hard time. 

In short: We're offering free zines (and tapes and books) to anyone who's currently struggling financially, mentally, or physically right now. No need to tell us details, just email and say "I'd like a package," and we'll send one your way. Let it be a surprise or make a list of what you'd like and we'll send you what we can. Feel free to spread the word to your friends and community through our Facebook or Twitter posts. It's not much, admittedly, but hopefully it's something.

In more general distro news: we have a few more calendars & planners in stock (and very very on sale), we’ve been restocking things as much as we can, and we accidentally left up our temporary store-wide cassette sale (that also includes a decent handful of LPs and CDs) as well as our zine sale on select titles. We also just posted a newsletter from the record label side of Antiquated Future. We're currently lending some small financial assistance to Portland writer Martha Grover as she recovers from a brain surgery by selling a fundraiser pack of her Somnambulist zine. And if you're in the Portland area, we're helping do porch deliveries of food, baby supplies, and various resources. Please reach out if you'd like one or you know someone in need.

NEW ZINES Antonia- A rare, almost-sublime zine about place, memory, and lost history. About the ways things change and stay the same. About how the place you're from shapes who you become. About growing up in a small Midwestern town without a zip code, a place not on most maps. ($5) Behind the Zines #9: A Zine About Zines- The latest issue of newest best zine about zines around. Within: the evolution of DIY comics culture, zine-fest history, imagined zines, One Punk's Guide to collaborative zines, a history of that one Crimethinc poster, The Most Unwanted Zine, confessions of a sex-zine zinester. Contributions from our own Gina Sarti, as well as John Porcellino and so many others. ($3) Brainscan #34: A Dabbler's Week of DIY Witchery- In the wake of the controversy surrounding a recent viral article about spending a week "becoming a witch," Alex considers what her guide to a witchcraft practice would look like. The results are a day-by-day guide to trying out her particular variety of secular witchcraft (that she lovingly refers to as "DIY witchery"). ($4)

Caboose #12: Jury Duty- A personal story of serving as a juror on a medical malpractice suit. As usual, Liz Mason's playful, endlessly curious take on the world makes this a ride worth taking. A peek into the court system through the eyes of this long-running zine-star. ($4) Clock Tower Nine #15- One of our favorite Seattle zines is back with tales from the record store counter, long walks in various locales, dangerous doppelgängers, and 8-track tapes. As Clock Tower Nine ringleader Danny Noonan describes it in the introduction: "This fanzine is like a bunch of people sitting around a fire in late fall, all taking turns telling a story." ($3) Cometbus #59: Post-Mortem- How does Cometbus, after 38 years as a zine, just get better and better? It's a mystery, but it does. Issue 59 is a deep dive into both death and longevity in the underground. In short: what does sustainability look like in counterculture? This question takes Aaron on a journey from the Epitaph Records and Thrasher magazine offices to hanging out at a punk-owned vegan donut shop and a tamale stand at the farmer's market with Allison Wolfe (of Bratmobile). ($5)

Doris #23- A back-issue fave from one of the best zines ever. Long personal stories that look both outward and inward in surprising ways. ($2) Doris #26- Shy-punk-girl comics, social ecology, the cynical hour, a grandpa who built malls, hammer and nail history, and more. ($2) Eulalia #3- Two issues of the art zine Eulalia in one. Grief and romance, hand-in-hand. Gorgeously designed! Letterpress-printed covers. Each issue is bound with a special do-si-do binding, so each half can be read separately. ($10) Fluke Fanzine #17- Since 1991, Fluke has been creating great variety zines covering all realms of punk and underground culture. Graphic novelist Nate Powell, skateboard magazine historians, Maximum Rocknroll, R.E.M., '90s women-led punk, the Soophie Nun Squad family tree, more. ($3)

Forever & Everything #5- Comics on parenting, depression, coffee, therapy, alcohol, Willie Nelson, Charlie Brown, and living in New Orleans. ($5) Good Days Gone Cold Days- A photography zine/art zine made while living and working in "a house without heat, without doorknobs, and without much insulation or electricity to speak of" for a late fall in western Pennsylvania. Comes with homemade bookmark, building permit, and banjo tab. ($12) Keep Loving, Keep Fighting #8- A reprint of this 2008 issue of Keep Loving, Keep Fighting. Forty pages of feeling at home in New Orleans, communication between friends, death, visiting Montreal, and moving away. ($5)

Learning Good Consent- An essential compilation zine about consent. From personal stories to worksheets, approaches, definitions, resources, and beyond, Learning Good Consent is here to help us all feel more comfortable and be more respectful. ($4)

Little Leagues #1- The companion comics scrapbook to Simon Moreton's epic Minor Leagues series. Prose, comics and photos about being in Japan, making chutney, experiencing autumn. ($3) Little Leagues #2- Comics about being in the snow. Drawings and photos of spring. A fold-out cover with facts about lesser-spotted dogfish. ($3) Our Lady of Near Death Experiences- Jodi Darby writes about becoming a cross-country truck driver as a 23-year-old woman in the mid 1990s. A mini-memoir told in vignettes, Our Lady is a twisted love song to the road in all its complexities. A gorgeous reprint of this zine classic from 1998. (And we have the last few copies before it goes out of print!) ($10)

The Paruretic #1: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy- The first issue of one of our favorite new zine series. The Paruretic tells what the intricacies and complexities of life with parusesis, the social phobia of being pee shy. Illuminating, accessible, and worth reading every issue. ($2)

The Paruretic #2: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (College)- In this issue, Mark recalls figuring out the debilitating effects of his bladder issues when he goes to college and, for the first time, navigates living in dorms, drinking at college-town bars, and hooking-up. ($3)

The Paruretic #3: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (Vacation)- In this issue: searching out acceptable bathrooms while on the road, not urinating for ten hours while in the air, and a bathroom-by-bathroom diary of experiences. ($3) The Paruretic #4: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (The Search for Help)- In this issue, Mark reaches out, looking for help, and is met with a less-than-sympathetic medical system. Within: clueless medical professionals, almost losing a job over a urinalysis, and finally finding someone who understands. ($3) The Paruretic #5: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (Dating)- The dating issue covers how Mark handled (or avoided handling) dating in high school and college. It's a chronicle of, as Mark says, "how my shy bladder has driven every part of my love life." ($3)

Somnambulist Zine Pack Fundraiser- For the past 17 years, Portland memoirist and illustrator Martha Grover has been publishing Somnambulist zine, an expansive and playful look at the world at large (and easily one of the best zines running today). This pack includes all nine in-print issues of Somnambulist (a $40 value for $25!). All proceeds go straight to Martha's brain surgery recovery fund. Help a great writer, get nine amazing zines. ($25) Somnambulist #33: How to Survive the Portland Winter- A fun how-to guide from Portland-born writer Martha Grover. Within: dealing with all the rain, taking care of your mental health, venturing out, staying in, eating soup (with recipes!), and the truth about umbrellas. Illustrated by Liz Yerby. ($5)

Somnambulist #34: The Starfish- A single, long-form essay about Martha's journey through Cushing's disease and Addison's disease, and the lingering tumor she's chosen to not demonize or see as something separate. The Starfish is a surprising and exciting meditation on what it means to be in a body. ($3) Surely, They'll Tear it Down- A short zine letter about gender, race, identity, and not-knowing from the author of Fixer Eraser and We, the Drowned. ($2) Tattoo Punk Fanzine, Issue 3- A jam-packed new issue of Tattoo Punk, the fanzine about tattoos, punks, and tattooed punks. Edited by Ben Trogdon of everyone's favorite artsy punk paper, Nuts! ($15) Valentines Every Day- Weirdo anytime-valentines from zine-seller extraordinaire, Julie Wade. Funny, bizarre, off-kilter, occasionally unsettling. The perfect gift for that especially-odd someone. ($6) What Happened- A dreamy comic from UK artist Simon Moreton. Set in a '90s boyhood of meadows, sci-fi VHS tapes, MTV, crushes, first kisses. ($5) 

NEW BOOKS & MISCELLANY The Collected Plays by Portland Preschoolers- In short: One of our favorite little books around! A modern classic, even. Five years of collected plays written by Portland, Oregon preschoolers. Hilarious, invariably bizarre, oddly brilliant, sometimes surprisingly profound. Perfect for putting out on the coffee table, reading aloud to friends, impromptu group performances. ($10) Four-Year Depression- A book about figuring out how to love your family in the Trump era. From Billy McCall of Proof I Exist and Behind the Zines. ($10) Zine Game- A long-time favorite in the zine community, now in a fancy, professionally-made version accessible to all game lovers. Playing like a cross between canasta and Magic: The Gathering, Zine Game is all about building your own zines. A really fun time with tons of possibilities. ($16)

NEW MUSIC & SPOKEN WORD Alice Notley "Live in Seattle"- An LP of one of the most adored living poets. Alice Notley pushes boundaries, and it's an absolute joy to hear her reading her work. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Annelyse Gelman & Jason Grier "About Repulsion"- A collaboration between poet Annelyse Gelman and sound artist Jason Grier. About Repulsion mixes songs, sampled poems, textural walls, beats, noise, to create this EP of one-of-a-kind soundscapes. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Eileen Myles "Aloha / Irish Trees"- The legendary poet Eileen Myles, on vinyl for the first time. Aloha/Irish Trees features nearly an hour of Myles live in the studio, reading past and present poems. Intimate, playful, raw. (LP + digital download) ($16.95)

Harmony Holiday "The Black Saint and the Sinnerman"- Harmony Holiday's record of poems and sound collage. Adventurous and accessible, twisting cultural images into something surprising, political, socially aware. In conversation with Charles Mingus’ classic 1963 album The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Rae Armantrout "Conflation"- Fifty-four surprising and gloriously unique poems from Rae Armantrout, a Pulitzer-winning poet of great gifts. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Susan Howe & Nathaniel Mackey  "Stray: A Graphic Tone"- Made in collaboration with Shannon Ebner, Stray: A Graphic Tone juxtaposes historic and recent material from poets Susan Howe and Nathaniel Mackey. An adventurous LP of spoken word delights. (LP + digital download) ($16.95)

Stay well, take care of each other as much as possible. Xo, Antiquated Future

[safflowerseason]

(Part 3) 4) also, re: season 7 so far, and keep in mind I’m two episodes in, I don’t even recognise Dan, and to a lesser extent Amy, anymore. I don’t even feel I’m watching Veep anymore, not as it was set out for the first four seasons. Is Mandel known to be the devil or something? What in the frack was this vision of the characters meant to be - ‘evolved’? Or does he just hate them? 5) I hated what he did to the Selina and Amy relationship too. Does Mandel hate women? Is this a known thing?

These are all questions that we’ve been batting around on here since the finale aired in May (which is when I got on Tumblr, incidentally, because I had to take my Veep feelings somewhere.) To a certain degree, there’s never going to be a solid, black-and-white answer to any of them, really. You can read everything David Mandel ever said in public about his vision for Veep, you can close-read what the actors say on press tours…but it’s just not the same as being in the room. And certainly, it’s worth pointing out that all shows evolve, and they gain and lose fans through those changes. No show ends the exactly the same as when it started (although…some shows manage this evolution better than others.) 

So, now that I’ve gotten my neutral disclaimer out of the way, I can get on with the fun ranting. 

4) Dan is absolutely unrecognizable in S7 from how he appears even at the end of S6, barring little flashes here and there. While Amy’s general arc holds together slightly better than Dan’s, she still suffers from some major out of character moments in 7.02, as we all were just discussing recently. (Dan’s arc just makes no sense.) 7.02 is just rough on all counts. Unless you’re an avid Selina/Tom shipper in which case you probably got something out of it. 

Also—and this is a general pet peeve of mine, as a California native—the episode is supposd to take place in Colorado and yet was so clearly filmed in Southern California (they posted a ton of pictures from the ranch where they filmed). Like, there are parts of California that resemble Colorado, but you have to go a little further than Malibu to get there. (I have the same beef with Parks and Rec. It’s so obviously not Indiana.) 

Mostly, what it all boils down to is bad writing. I don’t care if Mandel thought Dan and Amy would never work as a couple. That’s fine. That’s a legitimate opinion. Run your show the way you want, dude. What I do care about is bad writing. It is bad writing when in 7.01, Amy seems intent on having the baby without Dan, and then in 7.02, suddenly Amy wants to pitch Dan a white-picket fences vision of domestic stability that neither of them have ever been particularly interested in. Sex-Psychopath Dan is bad writing because it completely contradicts everything we know about the character even taking S6 into consideration. The Dan we see in S7 would have slept with Leigh Patterson in S4 just because she was young and there and he is apparently a sex-addict, hahahaha, when of course S4 Dan would never be caught dead in the sexual proximity of a nineteen year old he theoretically works with. And yes, of course, characters can change. But you have to show that change, which they do not. 

As for whether Mandel is the devil, (lol)…I think he was just very intent on doing the version of the show he saw in his head, and did not feel very obligated to try and replicate the show that Armando Iannucci had built. He had a completely different sensibility as an artist. I wrote a longer post somewhere on my blog about the differences in their approaches, if you’re interested, but ultimately I think what happened is that two very different universes got mashed together. Mandel didn’t hate the characters…he just thought they were all monsters and that was the point.

Also, two things happened the show couldn’t get away from, for obvious reasons: Trump was elected and the show was on an extended hiatus for 2017 and most of 2018 due to JLD’s cancer diagnosis. In the interim, all of America watched the government begin to melt in real time on Twitter. As a result, David Mandel rebooted the original ending for the show, in order to better capture this new moment in American politics (how effectively he did so is obviously up for debate.) The creative team and the cast were all fairly open about how dramatically Trumpian politics shaped their approach to the final season. So basically Trump is the short-answer reason to why a ton of plot threads get dropped between S6 and S7. I am 99% percent sure that the original plan was for Amy to have the baby before the hiatus and the resulting reboot. (Although at the same time, I do not think Dan and Amy would have gotten a very satisfying ending under Mandel. He also posted some pre-reboot snippets of the original outline for the finale, which have hinted that quite a few things did not change…for example, it seems that BKD was always doomed to be a one-episode plot device designed to get everyone back on Selina’s team, which is stupid.)

5) As for Mandel’s writing of female characters, I feel more comfortable speaking definitively here because in this case, it doesn’t matter what they were thinking in the room, but how it came across on the page and on the screen. Mandel obviously would say he doesn’t hate women, but he’s seems like one of those “liberal” white guys who has a lot of sh*t to work through regarding his own assumptions about women and femininity. He turned Selina into this misogynistic sociopath who abuses every woman in her sight with extremely gendered language, and he consistently punished Amy the character explicitly for not being hot enough or quiet enough or acquiescent enough for a woman. Like, the show always made fun of Mike for being dumb. It did not always make fun of Amy for being ugly and old. Moreover, Mandel/the show basically implies that Amy is a failure as a woman because she’s not maternal and also old and ugly, so she never got to be a mother and she never got to be with the man she truly loved. (sorry, Bill.) (Um, also, the audience has eyes? Anna Chlumsky is neither old nor ugly.)

I find it plausible that Amy and Selina’s relationship deteriorates over time…there is a subtle professional Dan/Amy/Selina triangle at work in S1-S4, and as Amy gets older and starts to figure out what she really wants from her life (and if Dan were the one she was trying to figure it out with), I don’t think Iannucci-Selina would react very well to it. (She would never be as openly abusive as S7 Selina, but I can’t imagine she’d be thrilled if Amy got pregnant just in time for her reelection campaign.) The show also makes it clear that Selina has an extremely complicated relationship with women and feminism, not to mention the fact that Amy herself is not particularly confident in her own body. 

However…there were lots of ways to explore those complex character fault-lines without Selina abusing Amy constantly. She tries to sell her to Leon! Part of it is a complete lack of nuance and part of it is just plain old sexism. 

Veep and the sexism of its later years has also been a pretty big discussion topic within the Veep Tumblr community, and you’ll definitely find posts on it if you poke around more closely (my blog, and also @thebookofmaev has written a lot about it as well.) 

[kaunis-sielu]

Starstruck: 8

His lips are soft. They press against yours gently, he pulls away and you keep your eyes closed after he pulls away. When you slowly blink your eyes open Steve is smiling sweetly down at you. You pull his lips back down to yours, wrapping your arms around his neck. Steve’s hands go to your hips, pulling you toward him as your lips move against his. One of his hands creeps around to the small of your back, it’s under his coat and warm against your skin.

This isn’t real.

You pull away from him suddenly, your heart pounding.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, concern written on his face.

“I- nothing. Sorry, I’m just really tired and don’t want to rush things.” You lie.

“Hey, we can take this as slow as you need. It’s not like there’s a timeline that we have to follow. I know it can be crazy being attached to me.” He soothes, one hand sliding down your arm and taking your hand in his.

“Thank you Steve.” You murmur, you can’t meet his eyes, this is too embarrassing.

“It’s nothing sweetheart. Honestly.” He says running his thumb over your knuckles. “Why don’t you text me when you wanna go out again. I’ll wait. I like you so I don’t want to push you away.”

“You’re not. I’m just being kind of a freak about this whole thing. I’d still like to come with you to that awards show. It’s important to you and you came to something that was important to me.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Steve I want to.” You assure him, and he nods. “I’ll let you know how my meeting with Carol goes.”

“It’s going to go amazing.” He tells you, then pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head he steps away from you, you pass him back his coat and enter the code into your building.

“Goodnight Steve. Thank you for coming with me tonight.” You say softly, pausing with the door open.

“I’m glad I could come, sleep well.” You give him a tired smile then head inside and up the stairs to your apartment.

You don’t know if you can keep doing this. You weren’t expecting Steve to be such a convincing actor, which really was stupid. Of course he’d be a good actor, it’s his job for crying out loud, he’s got millions of fans out there who adore him.

You pull Tony’s business card out of your bedside drawer and play with the corner. Debating whether or not to call, to tell him you can’t do this anymore.

You space out for a few minutes before placing his card back on your nightstand then peeling off your shoes you head for the bathroom to get ready for bed. This isn’t a decision to be made tonight.

You last two whole days before you text him. You send him a text on Monday afternoon letting him know you were meeting with Carol the next morning and you were terrified.

He’d been as encouraging as ever.

When Manti and Mora found out that you were finally going to show Carol your sketches they’d been more than a little excited.

“Which one are you gonna show her?” Manti asks Tuesday morning as you pull your sketchbook from your desk drawer.

“I was actually gonna ask you that. How do I do this? Do I give her the whole book? Do I rip some out and put them in a folder? How many do I do? Should I show her one season? All the seasons? Just dresses? Everything? Oh my god I’m going to have a heart attack.”

“Okay, sweetie. You need to relax. Carol likes you, so the only risk you have here is that she’s not gonna want to use your designs. That’s it.” Manti soothes.

“I’m dying.” You whine dropping your forehead onto Mora’s shoulder. She laughs and rubs your back.

“You’re gonna be fine.” She tells you.

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice draws your attention. “I was told these were for you.” You look up and are surprised by the large bouquet of flowers the girl is holding.

“Oh, oh my god those are massive.” You take them from her and see the small card tucked into the middle. Your name is scrawled across the front in small, slightly messy, handwriting. “Thank you.” You tell her passing her a few ones as a tip and she heads out.

“Oh my god he sent you flowers!” Manti sighs, “That is too cute.” Mora awwww’s loudly. Your friends have no chill.

“Can you guys relax? We don’t even know who it’s from.”

“Oh please, of course they’re from Steve. Who else could they be from?” Mora asks calling you out.

“Viz. I mean, I did bring him Steve and his line is selling like crazy since the show.”

“You are so full of shit!” Mora cries and both she and Manti laugh.

“Yea, yea.” You say with an eye roll before plucking the card out of the flowers. You open the envelope and go to open the card only to have both Manti and Mora peeking behind you, trying to read over your shoulders.

“Oh my god ladies. Really?” You laugh holding the unopened card against your chest.

“Come on!” Manti whines, “We have no love lives! We’re living vicariously through you!” Mora has suddenly gone very quiet. You nudge Manti then look over at Gamora in interest.

“Unless you’re not.” You say, the two of you stare pointedly at Mora.

“What?” She asks, you and Manti share a look before bombarding her.

“Oh my god! You’re seeing someone!” You cry, tucking the small card into your back pocket. Now that you’ve got them distracted you can read the note in private.

You and Manti grill Mora about this guy she’s dating, Peter. He sounds like a good guy, a bit ridiculous, but she seems happy.

While Gamora has been talking Manti has been going through your portfolio and pulled out about a dozen sketches.

“You should go.” She says softly, “Good luck.”

“Thanks. Thanks both of you.” You tell them, your heart hammering in your chest. You hold the sketches against your torso and make your way toward Carol’s office. You pause at the corner where you ran into him the other day and pull his card out of your pocket.

Hey Sweetheart,

Just been thinking about you today. You’re going to do amazing. Just relax. Let me know how it goes.

Steve

You don’t deserve this man in your life. He’s too sweet sending you flowers and encouraging you to follow your dreams. God you wish this was real.

You wish he was actually yours. If he meets someone while you’re fake dating things are gonna get weird.

Or if you do.

Then again, with him treating you like this there’s no way you’re going to even look at another man.

Fucking hell. You’re screwed.

Tag list

@dsakita @patzammit @memyselfandmaddox @dragonborn791924 @dramadreamer14 @mychemicalimagines @albinotigerpython @thinkwritexpress-official @mia-at-work @emotionallysalty @shynara51 @alexfayer @thefanficfaerie

[bangkokjacknews]

The dog-meat trade in Vietnam, are attitudes finally changing?

The #dogmeat trade in #Vietnam is sparking an increasingly heated debate, both among Vietnamese and in a wider international community.

While the consumption of dog meat doesn’t necessarily denote cruelty to animals, high and rising demand is driving a lucrative but largely unregulated meat market across the country. Roughly 5 million dogs are slaughtered for human consumption each year in Vietnam, according to the Asia Canine Protection Alliance (ACPA). In the absence of any animal-rights laws to protect them, traders are free to prioritize profit over humanity – and many do. “The dog-meat trade is governed by demand,” said John Dalley, co-founder of the Soi Dog Foundation, one of five members of ACPA. “You know, it’s a business. It’s demand, consumption and supply.” Before selling dogs to restaurants and slaughterhouses, (a Bangkok Jack Report) traders often pump the animals’ stomachs with liquid rice while they are still alive to make them heavier so as to earn more money per kilogram. The logistics of the trade can be even crueler. “Nine or 10 dogs are stuffed into a single cage and loaded on to trucks. Legs are hanging out, heads are out, literally over a thousand dogs per truck,” Dalley said. ACPA advocates for a ban on dog meat on the grounds that legalization would fail to end the abuse or address the health risks associated with the trade, including possible bacterial infections such as anthrax, hepatitis and leptospirosis, or even contraction of rabies. Regulations Vietnam has various regulations that apply to parts of the dog-meat industry, but enforcement is weak and easily bypassed, says ACPA coordinator Lola Webber. “The existing trade in and slaughter of dogs fails to comply with many of the compulsory animal-disease prevention measures,” she said. “In addition, the law requires that animals being imported, transported domestically and exported must be quarantined.” A key part of ACPA’s work is to encourage the enforcement of these quarantine regulations, in the hope that a costlier and less convenient supply chain will stunt the trade by incentivizing traders to leave it. “ would raise the traders’ costs,” Dalley said. “Their logistics problems would become very difficult – we’re talking thousands of dogs a week, and you’re going to have to keep them somewhere before you can transport them, you’ve got to have them all vaccinated…. If it is enforced then it’s going to put the price of dog meat up.”

An estimated five million dogs and cats are slaughtered and eaten in Vietnam every year. Most of the animals are snatched street animals or pets kidnapped from owners’ yards or gardens One of the most common and perhaps most dangerous arguments against the dog-meat trade in Vietnam and in wider Asia is that eating dog meat is somehow immoral. In fact, for many Vietnamese eating dog meat is perfectly normal and often considered a delicacy. Hal Herzog, an expert in anthro-zoology and leading psychology professor, says dog-meat consumption is a matter of culture. Tasty “Humans have been eating dogs for a long time,” he told Public Radio International. “It’s quite possible dogs were originally domesticated because they were tasty, but could also do chores.” Indeed, a tradition of eating dogs has been handed down from generation to generation in Vietnam. Long, a self-professed dog thief who sells canine meat to traders and middlemen, explained the intricacies of “how to cook a dog” at a meat shop in Ho Chi Minh City’s Tan Binh district. Huge fleshy chunks of dog meat retail for around 90,000 dong (US$4) per kilo at the shop. “Buy lemon, wine, garlic, chili, galangal, lemongrass and la mo , chop finely and mix it with the blood of the dog. Put everything inside the guts, tie it into pieces and boil it for around five minutes.

A dog meat restaurant in Hà Nội. — VNS Photo Bảo Hoa “I can prepare the meat for cooking in just 15 minutes,” he said, a dog under one arm in a green sack. “First you slit the throat quickly and let it bleed out, then boil some water. If a dog weighs 10kg I will prepare 7 liters of water … add some more tepid water and put the dog into the pot.” In this way, he explained, the fur is easily removed from the animal without cooking the meat. Then the dog chef removes the head, knuckles and internal organs and cleans the meat, preparing it for a range of delicately designed dishes. While he is technically a career thief, Long doesn’t perceive his work as particularly immoral and is genuinely passionate about dog meat. “I have been doing this for over 30 years. My father did it before me, my grandfather before him.” Exotic As Vietnam becomes wealthier, dog consumption is becoming more mainstream. Dog meat was once considered quite exotic, but is now far more accessible, less expensive and increasingly popular with lower-income demographics, according to Tran Gia Bao, Vietnam representative for the Soi Dog Foundation,. “Dog meat used to be a somewhat special occasion for male workers or friends to gather at the lunar month, but now it’s moved down to a broader market,” said Bao, “like construction workers, laborers and students, and it’s getting cheaper and more street-food style.” Despite clear links to disease, dog meat has nonetheless gained a reputation among Vietnamese consumers as a widely available, protein-rich, healthy alternative to other meats. It is also believed to be medicinal, to increase a man’s virility, and to warm the blood in cold weather, and is often associated with cultural superstitions. Most commonly, however, it is viewed as a tasty accompaniment to beer and good company. Still, attitudes are changing in some quarters. According to a recent VnExpress poll, 95% of respondents agreed the trade should be banned because it is illegal and barbaric. “You cannot justify boiling, cutting limbs off skinning dogs and cats alive,” said one poll taker. Of the 5% who voted against a dog-meat ban in the poll, many argued for legalization. “Pushed deeper underground, that black market will simply keep on thriving, and the dog-meat trade will get ever more pernicious for society,” another voter commented. Technically illegal Given that parts of the trade are already technically illegal, it is unlikely that regulations would be enforceable if the trade were legalized, ACPA says. For example, although some thieves are arrestedon connected charges, theft as a criminal offense often doesn’t apply to dog thieves. “Punishment for theft … only applies to the theft of goods that have a value of over 2 million dong,” or $88, said ACPA’s Webber. Regardless of whether a ban on dog meat would end the trade or not, society’s attitude toward domestic animals could still put them in danger of being traded or abused. Leopold Vincent, founder of the Vietnam Animals Cruelty shelter, says this attitude may be more related to the notion of ownership than love. “The dog is their property,” he said. “ it doesn’t mean that the dog won’t be sold to a restaurant or killed for consumption.” Families sell their dogs In fact, it is common for Vietnamese families to sell their dogs to traders as they would livestock, particularly in rural areas. “If the dog is noisy, if the dog is sick, if the dog is old, they sell it,” he said. “You know, there is the guy on the motorbike with the basket behind and he calls to people, ‘mưa cho đay’” (buy dogs here). Vietnam’s animal-rights community sees changing social attitudes as key to one day banning the trade. Paws for Compassion (PFC), a charity based in Da Nang, fights for animal welfare by teaching children more compassion for the animals around them. The general attitude is “that there are many around, so if the one I have is sick, hurt, or just not as I want it to be, throw it out and get another one,” said one of PFC’s co-founders. “We fight for animal welfare through education because … we feel that when kids interact with animals at a young age, they learn compassion, and that will cause a ripple effect.” ACPA employs a similar approach, but with an older target market. While progress is slow and the issue complex, ACPA believes attitudes toward dogs are beginning to change. “What we’re seeing across Asia actually is a growth in the pet industry,” said ACPA’s Dalley. “You’ve also got young people now, certainly the educated young people, who are far more animal-welfare-conscious.” - AsiaTimes – You can follow BangkokJack on Instagram, Twitter & Reddit. Or join the free mailing list (top right) Please help us continue to bring the REAL NEWS - PayPal Read the full article

[pomelowatches]

The Rolex GMT Master II 16710

With our “In Focus” series we explore what to look out for when you’re on the search for some of your favourite watches. In this first instalment, we take a look at the classic Rolex watch, the GMT Master II 16710.

We’ve been there ourselves: you’re looking for a watch, but what should you look out for? Watch forums are littered with sporadic knowledge on watches. Unfortunately, though, there’s no real coherent way to take this all in (without trawling through 1000s of posts - some of which may not be entirely useful). Hopefully this In Focus series might be able to help you out here. Let’s get into it.

The Rolex GMT Master II - 16710

With Rolex’s release of the Pepsi GMT Master II 126710 BLRO (and its corresponding lack of supply), demand for its predecessor – the 16710 - has gone through the roof. Those who can’t find the latest BLRO are turning to the 16710 to quench their thirst. So, what should you look for when you’re buying this?

Understanding the reference

We’re not going to go into the history of the GMT watch, its form and function (the guys at Fratello Watches did a great job in a story which details the entire history of the Rolex GMT Master here). Let’s assume you know all that, and pick up the story during the late 80s when the 16710 came in after a number of iterations of the first GMT Master which was first produced in the 1950s.

The 16710 was produced from 1989 until 2007 but, as you can guess with a watch that was made over an 18-year period, there were quite a few changes to the watch which it’s good to be mindful of when you buy. Dates are approximate as, in reality, only Rolex knows the exact date of when things changed.

Dial – indices and lume plots

The first dials on the 16710 were produced with tritium white gold indices and were in production until 1997/1998. They featured the writing “T<25” at the 6 o’clock position. Given this is tritium, today - some twenty plus years later - in a dark room the tritium should glow for a very short while (or might not glow much at all!) before the glow fades away quickly.

From 1998/99, dials then changed to using luminova lume and were instead marked with the word “Swiss” instead at the 6 o’clock. Today, these luminova dials should emit a stronger green glow (compared to tritium) when you expose it to UV light, and should still be able to hold their charge.

From 2000 onwards, the dial indices used superluminova lume, and were marked with “Swiss Made” instead like below. Superluminova uses the same base compound as luminova and both possess very similar qualities. If you flash a UV light to this dial today, it should also be able to hold its charge with a quite bright greenish hue for a longer while still compared to luminova. Like this.

Saying that, there are variants out there. Luminova has been said to have been found on a T<25 dial (which in theory should read Swiss at the bottom instead). Presumably, as is the case with certain Omega Speedmasters from the 1960s, parts and materials were used towards their transitioning out – if a manufacturer had material left which was good to use, it might well have been used.

Bezel

The Bezel! That beautiful design. The aluminium bezel on the 16710 came in three colours: black (“LN” – Rolex code for “lunette noir”, which in Swiss means “black bezel”), the classic blue and red (the “BLRO” – code for “Bleu Rouge”), and black and red (er, sorry – we’re not sure what the Rolex code for this one is. You’ll often hear this referred to as the “Coke”). Some have reported that the newer plastic service warranty cards (as opposed to the previous paper warranties which used to be issued as proof of service) print “N” for Noir (Black bezel), "A" for Black/Red and "B" for “Blue/Red” on them. I can’t attest to this; when I had my 16710 serviced at the Rolex Service Centre it simply came back to me and had “16710” printed on it.

The bezel should also be bi-directional and have 120 clicks in one full turn.

Collectors in the US will swear that original papers for the 16710 should also have the specific bezel colour model printed on them. Whilst this may be true for American pieces, this isn’t necessarily the case for the rest of the world. Friends on The Rolex Forum (“TRF”), particularly those in Europe, have said that the papers often will not have this printed on. Mine don’t and my papers were originally stamped by a German retailer.

Buyers will also usually want to know whether the bezel on the watch is an original Rolex part. The capacity for aftermarket (read this as a polite way of saying “non-Rolex original”) bezels is huge. Producers know that they cost very little to make and can be sold on for a healthy profit, particularly with the current craze for faded bezels. I bought a genuine 16710 myself which turned out to have an aftermarket pepsi bezel (Rolex politely informed me of this when I took the watch for service). Although it did have an authentic Rolex black and red bezel with it too.

If you are worried about a bezel, your best bet is to visit a Rolex Service Centre to confirm that your bezel is genuine. I wouldn’t bother buying “genuine” bezels often advertised on ebay/gumtree or anywhere else at - the often - extortionate prices you see them listed for. A Rolex Service Centre will happily let you buy a brand new, genuine bezel for about £30 (or £50 if you want to keep any existing genuine bezel whilst buying a new one).

Fonts 

One thing frequently debated is the print of the “II” wording on the GMT Master dial. There are three different variations known out there at present: the stick dial, roman dial, and the rectangular dial. From my own experience, I’ve seen less rectangular dials out there available compared to stick dials, and less stick dials out there compared to roman dials. See the picture below which shows the difference between these dial variations.

Some argue that the so called “stick” dials (once referred to as “error” dials) on the 16710 are worth more given their rarity (and apparent pairing with the 3186 movement - see more below). Others say that the change in font is actually nothing more than just that: a change in font as years of production has gone on, and that, today, stick dials can are increasingly found on replaced service dials. If so, we may see more stick dials in the wild as time goes on. The reality is - no one other than Rolex knows the truth here on this, and, personally, I don’t obsess about this sort of thing. 

Movement 

The 16710 featured the 3185 movement until 2007 when the 3186 movement was introduced. The very last batch of reference 16710 GMT-Master II watches had the updated 3186 movement which included Rolex’s famous Parachrom bleu hairspring (in basic terms, and without overdoing the physics/watchmaking lessons, this is the regulator that controls how precise the watch runs). You’ll see 16710s with the 3186 movement being priced at a premium compared to those with the 3185s.

Crystal

The crystal used on all versions of the 16710 was a sapphire glass crystal. One thing to note is that those 16710s from 2003 should have a laser etched Rolex crown (“LEC”) - the Rolex symbol - etched into the sapphire glass, usually at the 6 o’clock (although some examples have been said to have been found as early as 2001). It’s tiny, but it should be there. It should also be fairly visible without a loupe, but you may need some good lighting to spot it. If the crystal is a service crystal, you will likely be provided a service replacement crystal, and the LEC will have an "S" (service) inside the Rolex crown.

Case lugholes

To lug hole, or not to lug hole: that is the question. On the side of the case you’ll find 16710s from before 2003 (Y series models) which have lug holes on them. What does this mean? This means that you can change the bracelet on your watch easily with a strap of your own choice - using something as simple as a toothpick to remove and reinsert the spring bars. That’s not to say you can’t change straps with a 16710 that is without holes, it’s just a bit fiddly and you’ll probably need a spring bar tool to make life easier. Also: word of warning – you might scratch the lugs if you’re not used to putting spring bars back on, so be a bit careful here.

Bracelet and end links

The GMT Master II 16710 is usually found on an oyster bracelet (models 78360 or 78790A) – the latter featuring an oysterlock (one of Rolex’s previous iterations of its safety clasps to ensure the bracelet safely remains on the wrist). However, during its lifetime of production the 16710 was also available for sale with a jubilee bracelet too (the 62510H). If you prefer one style over the other, speak to the Rolex Service Centre who will be able to sell you the version of the bracelet in question you’re after.

The 16710s can also be found with two different types of end links (the part of the watch that connects the bracelet to the watch head): hollow and solid. The first versions of the 16710 until around 2000 came with hollow end links, and later versions from here onwards came with solid end links (“SEL”). What’s the difference? SELs are meant to be slightly stronger as they are, well, solid – albeit, not entirely solid (I know, a bit confusing right?). Hollow end links have a more vintage feel to them and generally rattle a little more as you wear the watch. The Crown & Calibre guys did a great video on the difference between these sorts of endlinks which you can watch here.

Fruit for thought

The GMT Master 16710 is an iconic watch reference which remains loved by watch enthusiasts over the world. That’s no small coincidence: the watch possesses the style and story of a classic vintage Rolex, and was the last GMT iteration before the move to today’s larger Rolex GMT cases. 

A final word of advice when it comes to buying the GMT Master II 16710: bearing in mind the pointers above, if something feels off - or you don’t trust the seller - my advice would be to stay clear. It’s common sense, I know, but we can often overlook such basic advice when we find - what we think is - a great price. Remember with any Rolex vintage watch purchased, you can always ask a Rolex Service Centre (provided you live close to one) to verify a watch’s legitimacy post sale when you take it in to get a quote for service. And despite all the above variance that exists among the 16710, the usual rules apply: buy what you like, and buy the best condition you can for money available.

Hopefully that was a helpful guide. If you enjoyed the article (or didn’t!) – please let us know below. And as usual, if you have any comments, questions or suggestions on what you might want us to look at next feel free to drop them below.

[hanzi83]

Mix Bagged Thoughts of the Last Couple of Months

This part was written March 4th, 2020 before the Coronavirus quarantine began but instead of deleting it, I am continuing the thought because if I have to be scattered brain, then you will have to as well, as I list off my concerns the past couple of months with the incorporation of what this virus means to the world, in my interpretation.

March 5th, 2020

I haven’t done one of these blogs in the last several months, or at least it feels like it. And yes to answer your questions, to the select few who are able to read my extremely scattered brained thoughts in a really unorganized manner due to the fact that I have not organized my thoughts in a (not so) private journal on my laptop, since I can’t write physically in a notebook since I can’t read back my thoughts, and it was never like I would read them back when I wrote down irrational opinions, and testing the waters to see who was really monitoring this due to the moving of my cursor, that the trolls that have familiarized themselves with me for the last decade plus, have continuously denied, so I have been doing more periscopes, and writing more random threads of tweets just to see how my theories hold up. Let’s face it, for the most part I am a dumbed down guy, who decided to go with whatever the the majority would say because I did not have the facilities to think for myself for years, whether it was going along with a narrative rooted in neoliberalism, while thinking I was being nice and considerate, to wanting to be a contrarian, to being a conspiracy theorist, almost getting himself in the alt right mind set, because you don’t believe MSM, but then you find out that the contrarian conspiracy theorists have been hijacked by the right wing so going by the limited narrative wokeness that exists in the neoliberal, to finally realizing what the difference between a leftist, and a neoliberal is. 

I find that with the limited platform I have, I try to talk to people, who don’t really have the power that the ones in charge do, to maybe deprogram them from the propaganda, because even when this Trump shit went down, I really did not want to give anyone who was leaning conservative a chance, because they want to be with the ignorant, and that is not to say the so called progressives, who only are as progressive as the neoliberal think tanks allow them, are just as much a problem. It is funny because it feels like leftists rightfully compare the neoliberals to the neoconservatives, while the neoliberals point at the leftists as the same as the far right, and it has been done by design. That is what my basic conspiracy theory brain has conjured up, that they place truth tellers in with the racists, misogynists, homophobes etc which is why you can compare Bernie Sanders’ movement to Trump because they have become populists in this era of political theatre. Now the way you can compare them, and this is probably where leftists will hate me, because they insist on their movement to be completely organic and nothing can be compromised, and my point is, that every clique had some type of funding, but it does not mean the leftist is some evil shit, so sure you can compare different cliques being the same as in they are probably funded by big people. But you cannot compare what each one stands for because the far right has been funded by people who are on the evil side. By the way anything that I put out, that has not been confirmed yet, is just a theory in my fucked up brain. 

It feels like when I don’t organize my thoughts, and I need to write something down to express and vent my feelings, I don’t know where to start and how to transition smoothly with my segues, so I feel good about setting it up and then as I continue, my brain continues to get exhausted with all of the stuff I have read and absorbed from a television show or movie, in fact I have not been caught up on movies, television shows. It is like I don’t care but then immediately I go to regret because I don’t understand the latest references going on, on social media. It fucks with me, then I convince myself that maybe my experience in life has been so interesting, maybe I need to focus on that rather than trying to watch a new television show or movie just so I can pretend to tell the difference between a show with good politics and bad politics, and then questioning if I am even comprehending what I am watching, listening to, or reading, and when I have debates, I can barely retain, so I have to examine the world in my fucked up way since I never paid attention to details, and I never expected to live this long, and each year that passes, and as each hair on my face begins to turn even grayer than the prior time I had facial hair, I just try to simplify it in my head. I still hold out for the death card, because I think i want to transfer my consciousness to another entity, or maybe if I cross over to the other side it will be a lot better than the mental hell I have dealt with. I have to believe we are far more advanced and things are far more organized. I have tried shutting that part of my thoughts down ever since I fully became entrenched with the conspiracies, but the fact that so much of my family and friends have been kind of secretive, and now putting the pieces together from the past, it makes me wonder what kind of world have I been pulled into and all it took for me to realize this was being an (at times voluntarily) being exploited by the show, so others can gain from it and profit off it, and the fact that these things are not to be focused on, on the surface, me bringing it up was not good for anyone, because the perceived people in charge behind the scenes, did not like that I was being transparent. And all of these years, I am not content I have all the factors right, or not but I do realize, in my opinion, that I am not going to believe anyone of any clique is giving you the truth 100 percent, and that doesn’t mean it is all meant for evil, I have stated multiple times before if you can spread propaganda for evil, you can have a clique that serves the power of good to spread propaganda for the sake of good. It just difficult to figure out all of this because the roles are kind of hitting a grey area, we don’t know what is the good guy or the bad guy, because depending on which circles you follow, they can convince you people who are evil are the ones who are being victimized, or that good ones are being made to seem evil, it basically how wrestling fans are debating if someone is a good guy because they did something kind of unethical. 

March 25,2020 

So I wrote that last part prior to this forced quarantine shit, and now it even rings true in some regard to me at least, especially with how pretentious some of these celebrities are acting by doing a sing a long of John Lennon’s “Imagine” and keep repeating the Sarah Silverman part to debate if she is really obnoxious, or if she is self awarely being a cornball, either way too much thought has been put on that, then you have the “clone” billionaires deteriorating right in front of you and making asinine statements, where they are justifying many deaths to save the economy, and to save my head from even thinking of the horrible death that is heading our way because I believe people are being sacrificed in masses by unethical people having control and hoarding knowledge and tools to keep them safe while the rest of us probably have to die, so in order for me not to break down at that thought because it has weighed on my head, that the reason I did not sell my soul was because I don’t know if I could have been quiet with some of the fucked up things happening behind, so now I just put weird ass conspiracies together because I think we are given hidden truth in our fiction, and I wonder if people dying, are we so advanced, that our consciousness can be transferred or have we given our governments enough DNA over the time we have lived where they can secretly clone us again? It makes life more exciting thinking it like that, but as much as I want to express these theories, I want to make it clear you should never listen to me about these things, I am just someone who has no one to talk to and since they fuck with my journal entries, I am almost a year behind and I need to write long winded blogs, that no one will pay attention to, I just need to get this out and think out loud because over the last year so many thoughts have been building up, one minute I want to vent about this, but then a few days pass and my mind is onto something else and I still have these notes jotted. Now the list I am looking at does not seem as important when this stuff is going on. 

I am scared about what is happening because I don’t know if we are being given the right information or if that there is bits of truth but the hucksters who have taken over the conspiracy movement are also giving us false information, because apparently everything is a fucking hustle. Is this something we already have but other factors play into if the virus will be extracted or is it as organic as they say it was, it feels the more the oppressed groups are starting to rise and gain traction, the neoliberals and neoconservatives are discrediting anything other than the establishment view. Part of me feels like it is wrestling where they neoliberal types are passing the torch but a lot of shit is going to have be sacrificed because this is some elaborate game/reality show that we witness, and the public figures are playing roles that seem relatable to the rest of us but their plight is more symbolism than what is actually going on. I wonder if this world is so organized that it is already pre planned who is going to die and are the celebs getting it, a ploy or is it symbolism that they are escaping this planet because they know where the world is heading. I still believe a lot of the elite type and their associates have clones and some of the ones we see are not the real ones, but that is another story. 

I don’t know if anything happens to my elderly parents, how I will survive. I never wanted to be alive during something like this because I don’t feel I am useful to this planet anymore and I feel I am meant to just be a target for people to bug because they know if I snap then it will always reflect badly on me, because I can’t fight back and if I do then they can play that I am mentall unstable part. It really fucks with my head. I know I will never get back all the years I missed with my family and friends, and I know that the longer I will be alive, I will question if people who are supposed to be close with me are setting me up for something or do they really love me. This fame shit has fucked my head up. I have to deal with trolls who constantly threaten me and I never know at what level they are keeping this, they have showcased they can misplace my documented thread on twitter of the evidence of people threatening me and hinting something bad will happen to me, I don’t know if something will or are they continuously instilling fear into me, since my last blog I went into the specifics of that extra terrestrial lady who thinks I owe her a platform because she is allegedly going through the same harassment, while catering to the trolls who hate me, but she claims she is training them, and while one of them has been more peaceful, I don’t know if that is a ploy to have a front row seat to be allowed to troll, he will bring up every irrational thing I have said, and not provide context in hopes to embarrass me in front of new people I meet on periscope, and if that does not work, they will have to endear themselves to those people so it makes me uncomfortable, this specific troll tried to convince me that him getting me banned on twitter and facebook for a week and month was his doing and that is why he is the reason for me meeting new interesting characters on the periscope app. It feels like this Gorilla Bacon dude thinks he is entitled to being into my life, he claims he is joking. I hope him nothing but luck if he is truly changing but it does not feel like it, and I notice since I have made peace with the guy who was hanging out with that “alien chick” it has caused madness, I am unsure what their friendship is like, but the private conversations regarding my podcast has made people lose their mind. Even people who thought they gained my trust and now that their ways are kind of becoming transparent, I am being ganged up on from this woman at times. Before I continue, even though all this is documented within the videos I have on facebook from my periscope, whenever I bring up the inconsistencies in their argument, I am somehow considered to be lying and slandering her name, when people have been witness to it. I personally think, and I emphasize “personally think” since there is a group of patriots always bugging her, the ones she gives me shit for not blocking, even though I am worried if I do so then some of them will fuck with me. They already don’t like that I am not a Trump guy and that I lean more leftist and some of them get upset that I explain the difference between an establishment democrat and an actual leftist, because they always bank on that the democratic side has the full representative of what is leftism. So I feel like maybe she was tied in with them, maybe did not like what they were into but now instead of just moving on she feels threatened that they could be around to get any kind of word out. I tell her not to come in countless times, but then she will come in and just start taking over and bringing up stuff I said while we were in arguments together, and since this is playing out in front of an audience, I do kind of try to be entertaining, because my brain has been trained that way, and then somehow the trolls she aligned with will just fuck with me by playing my old manic calls, even trying to get me in trouble, because recently on a periscope session, I was being fucked with by this new dude I met on there, who has latched on to me, and he normally just talks shit and tries to start arguments and says the most ignorant shit to people when he argues, and it kind of reminds me of how I would think it would be acceptable to have these barbs because I gravitated towards the most ignorant while trying to be somehwhat woke, and because I have been programmed by that kind of entertainment, especially since it gets applauded by Stern Show because being this way makes for more interesting radio, it feels people have to constantly be on. So i try to tell him it’s not the way because my trolls will encourage that because it is someone who they can align with because these people hate watch me and need someone to represent their disdain so this character will fuck with me more and more. So I was in an argument with him, another caller joined in, who happens to be black, he had no idea about what is going on, and when he was busting my balls I lost it on everyone in the panel, and when i said “You said i was virgin and I was a snitch, I went off” he replies “I asked u if you were, if I wanted to be mean i could I have said it” and I stutter my words where I don’t even speak I make sounds, and I said “Nah Nah go ahead again” and it sounded like I said the n word with an a but I didn’t know how my speech comes across, so when they bring up I said it, I even talked to several black people I respect and showed them the clip, some were like I did not say it, but others said they could see how they thought that” this diarreagun account is fucking with the audio and showing that it did sound like it, so I have tried to distance myself from periscope a little more, because if it isn’t people threatening to kill me, or encouraging me to kill myself, they will find news way to just fuck with my head. And because this lady knows I don’t want trouble and I am being extra careful how to address her, she just lashes out at me all the time, and this woman is like 15 years older than me and I just want her to get help and maybe get some medication because I can relate to some of these mood lashes but I am not the enemy. The guy I was at odds with has become helpful with me and even some of my private conversations with him, I even tell him I have my guard up with everyone and any conversation that is happening privately I figure I am always being spied on because when i do a private periscope, there shows one more person into the room to showcase they can bypass the privacy and listen to us. 

I also tried to distance myself from some people because I don’t know who these people truly are. I don’t have resources to use to background check people, so sometimes i think the system is sending problematic people toward me and hide who they are and endear themselves to me and then if it does not work out they show shades of what they are, and I have to watch out for who it is because I am not trying to have a Jimmernam shit happen to me again, and that situation has gotten crazier because the woman that was being harassed by him has decided to forgive him because she was at odds with the original people who were helping her out because they have crude like humor, and at one point I was at odds with him, but we made peace and even though I have outgrown that type of humor on some level, I recognize that they are not worse than what Jimmernam is, and maybe the problem was becoming so friendly with common enemies of that person, that you had to always be with them and then you get sick of them because being this communicative that often in a discord link is probably going to speed up getting fed up with people. That's why I keep my distance because I know its just people wilding out for the shits and giggles because they were brought up on Howard Stern and Opie & Anthony like humor and not that it can’t be funny but I just don’t find it edgy but I am not going to grandstand because at one time I was partaking on that level of humor because I thought the more inappropriate you were with your “comedy” the edgier you were considered. So it is kind of disheartening that Limon went back to Jimmer, she is still cool with me and I have not attacked her for doing so, but maybe she thinks she has to go back because she needs some backup, but if this Jimmernam guy is really a groomer of kids, and I have gone through the history of him, why would you want to be associated with that. It was fucked up that I was associated with him but I had no idea who this person was, and I assumed anyone who is allowed to be out and about is probably not completely evil. It just so happened that after I had reservations in being part of his Stern like show, and then his show imploded, then the rumors of what he was came out and the fact that he tried to save face by modeling his “struggle” with what I really deal with, he figured a common struggle would make me want to partner up with him again. I asked him when he resurfaced and his reddit shit flopped after starting drama in that community, if these rumors are true then how can i do a show with him, and he has said “Well there are rumors about you and I know they aren’t true” and these rumors are most likely started by him. He has hinted many times that my computer is hacked and probably has that, much like WWE shills did a while back, and because I am not tech savvy, where would I go to look if my computer had these? It is fucked up. The fact that I have to forgive trolls who have tried to get my house swatted is really fucked up and because it did not happen they think “Well it didn’t happen so you are not justified to be angry” is such a stupid fucking take. 

Even when I am just flirting on periscope with women, and most of you know I am not really into having a relationship but I use it to just have some fun and maybe start some friendships, it's mainly to practice if I ever become social again, but it feels kind of cool to connect with people and instead of catching up on movies and television etc, I try to meet new people, whether it's interesting characters and create interesting and entertaining dialogue, but I have to be careful because periscope is just a twitter write off and people don’t care what goes on, and if you go on the app and look at random thumbnails of broadcasts, I had to report so many because by the thumbnail it looks like kids are being exploited, so when i do talk to any women on my panel specifically or go into another periscope, I always make sure the people are all 18 and over. Not that I am saying anything super inappropriate I don’t feel comfortable being in a conversation with someone who is under 18 because if they are impressionable I don’t want to be the reason they get a fucked up thought in their head because of my lack of filter but apparently that is even a problem because I am not supposed to be responsible with my platform according to these people, it is kind of like they want me to get caught up in some traps. It feels like they try their hardest, and that is why I am unsure what kind of people I interact with because it is one thing to be a little ignorant and politically incorrect, I can disarm that, but when it comes to someone being part of a hate group and is planning on doing doxxing and ruining people’s lives, I don’t want any part of that, even if that kind of drama gets a bunch of fake views, so people are constantly encouraged to keep doing it because when you have peaceful conversations then they punish you by taking away views because it shows no one cares about your wrestling talk anymore. I don’t know what these people will do to me to fuck me up. I am very scared and maybe that is the intention because I am a piece of shit and people hate me for still having some kind of audience but since Stern Show is not backing me anymore, it seems people can cross the line with their scare tactics, whether its hacking my shit and not doing anything overly dangerous but enough to show they are in control, and now that I have started a podcast, which at this moment I have not publicized, but believe you me, the trolls are spying on me and know where it is, even one of my trolls has sent me a voicemail on the app to condescendly give me the “I am proud of you speech” after me and the dude helping me out have been talking about it in private. Then my fucked up mind goes “Are me and this guy having private conversations, is he trustworthy?” or did the trolls intentionally do that because now I will suspect him for still setting me up with some of these private talks. I don’t fucking know. I did want to record a couple of podcasts, which I am scared to do because I don’t know if I will have thoughts organized, should I do what is happening day to day and because I think in layers, it is hard to articulate, which is why I am writing this blog with a mixed bag of shit to talk about so I can easier articulate it. I wanted to do this podcast and then after a couple of them being recorded I would then publicize it. I just wanted to feel like a winner for once in my life by accomplishing something, even though the podcast setup is kind of primitive but of course the trolls who I believe are paid will try to ruin it and some of these problematic people who want drama with me will not take kindly I am doing this on my own because they feel entitled to be part of it even though I believe they have been instructed to derail me and my thoughts and constantly keep me in a frenzy. My trolls who hate watch me and who tend to have ignorant views are applauded and encouraged, so they chastise me for not wanting to put up with that because me and other mentally ill people might not be best to mesh on a daily basis, especially ones that don’t want to acknowledge they have mental illness and think to cope with it they better just start drama with every other person and lash out because they think by being on my platform that they have an audience watching that they did not have before, and even though they shit on me, they still love me and need to be attached to me because they can’t admit that I serve more importance than the system has lead on since leaving Stern and becoming an irrelevant asshole who still is hanging on to the remaining milliseconds of the 15 minutes that have for the better part been over.

By the way whenever I mention the reddit they use the harassment they always end up closing it, especially when it has to do with some mission happening on certain days where they plan on kidnapping me or some shit. /R/systemichanzi83 but there are rumors more is happening on systematichanzi or systematichanzi83 or something but those are apparently are private. 

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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