#it's becoming a rarer phenomenon every day

[yousaytomato]

It's so magical when you're looking for info online and you find a defunct, but still accessible, forum thread from 10+ years ago

and you get to read through the niche industry-specific in-jokes and opinions of internet strangers

and 100 replies later you've seen your query answered, that answer rebutted, and then answered again.

And you feel a nostalgia for these long-gone strangers, the internet of old, and a life you'll never live.

[melanirana]

Hi! If it's not a spoiler, I was curious about your ocean symphony fiasco Eclipse. What happened to his partner? I'm assuming he had one because he has children, Sun and Moon.

So, before I stat some context about me. I’m Autistic with a dash of ADHD and I really like animals and their biology.

Let’s talk this AU’s Mer biology and mating patterns.   

Mer are pack hunters and live in schools with up to 50 members. Solidary Mers are as rare as they are big, Mers tend to become solidary at a size of roughly 12 meters (39 ft.). The school dynamic of Mers is similar to that of Orcas, the school takes care of the young together. The school plays together, learns together, travels together and hunt together but not as “cruel” as Orcas, however, still efficient.

One difference between Orcas and Mers is the fact that there is no matriarch that leads the group but rather the oldest individual. This individual can either be male or female since both sexes are part of the school. Batchlor groups can from, both male and female, but don’t tend to last longer than two years.

If an individual is separated from its school or lost, they will sing a song unique to its school and its members would respond with the same song, this song is taught to the young very early on. A Mer could be on the other side of the Pacific Ocean and its school on the other, it would still find its way back.

If a Mer is ready to mate the male will separate from its school and find a coral reef where he would settle down and sings his song for a female to hear. Once a female hears his song and is interested, she also separates from her school. She will approach and or observe the Mer before deciding to mate with him or not. If the female decides to mate with the male, she will sing her own song back to him and the courting starts.

The courting process can lats up to a maximum of two months, in this time both mates will display their hunting, scavenging and overall survival skills. During this time, they will also establish an emotional connection through grooming, cuddling, conversations and singing in duets. All this happens before the actual mating.

The mating is just like that of seahorses. The female will develop an egg for a week, then lay the egg and hand it over to the male. From that point the females role in the mating process is finished. Once the egg is laid, she may stay with the male for a couple more days, which is not too common but after the egg is laid, she leaves and returns to her school.

It is highly unlikely that the same two Mers will meet again, whether that is to mate or just a random encounter. Which also helps broadening the genetic gene pool.  

Females do not contribute to the actual raising of their young, just like seahorses, they lay the egg and let the male take care of it, while she can mate again a few months after. That is the reason why Mers have an equally as fast reproduction rate as humans, balancing out the high death rate.

The male will return to his school once he received the egg and protect it. After 40 days the young will hatch. The entire school will help raise it, even the females of the school will help. The young will never meet their mother and they don’t need to, as everything important is thought to them by the school and their father.

Ther is a very rare phenomenon that has not yet been observed by humans and a rumor amongst Mers.

This phenomenon is Mers staying together after mating and raising their offspring together. This is extremely rare, even rarer than twins. In this chase the two Mer that meet to mate stay together and form their own school with their offspring and other young they adopt, that are either abandoned or lost their school/ father, forming a family unit.

Eclipse was lucky to meet his mate. At the time he finally decided to find a mate he was already the biggest, active, Mer at the time. This caused him some problems, manly every Mer was afraid of him because Mer his size tend to be cannibalistic. Another problem was to find somebody close to his size. As the biggest active, second biggest living, Mer that is going to be difficult.

But luckily for him he did find somebody, or rather she found him. This Mer was the sixed biggest living and the eleventh biggest overall. Still a bit smaller than him, length wise, only by a couple of feet and with a slimmer body type. The both of them clicked instantly, Eclipse being the calm goofball and her being the loud goofball.

The two stayed together for four months, which were filled with a lot of cuddles, kisses and goofing around. After Sun and Moons egg was laid their mother stayed with Eclipse for another week before she left. Neither of them wanted the other to leave but “it’s what Mers do” and they can’t go against what Mer are supposed to do.

So they separated. Eclipse had no school to return to and neither did she, so they returned to a live of solidarity. At least for Eclipse it didn’t last too long, as Sun and Moon soon hatched, and Eclipse devoted his live to them since. This allowed him to shove the feeling of loneliness he felt since his mate left to the back of his mind.

Sun and Moon are Eclipses only biological children but not his only children. It was not uncommon for Sun and Moon to leave for reef exploring as two little Mers and coming back as three little Mers. Or coming back as two little Mers and an abandon egg.

Eclipse never said no.

Hope I answered your question :D    

[amalgamgooze]

double rainbow

Rainbows are a pretty cool sight.

As we return to the sunny seasons of Spring and Summer, rainbows are only going to become more common.

Every time I see a rainbow, whether it's while I'm walking home or practicing for something outside, it's always kind of cool.

Something I've been hoping to see for a while now is a double rainbow.

I honestly don't know too much about them. Rainbows are already kind of rare as is, so I imagine a double rainbow is even rarer.

I can't exactly say why I thought of writing about this tonight. I didn't see a rainbow today, nor can I say I was inspired by any rainbow surroundings. The human mind works in mysterious ways...

I dunno. I guess "double rainbow" also just sounded like a cool post title.

Maybe this is the next big phenomenon I'll spend my days waiting for, now that the eclipse has passed. What's cooler about this one is that it's got no specific date. So long as I keep my eyes open for one, I might have the chance of seeing one someday.

Someday.

[nflstreetsanimereviews]

Welcome to the NHK novel review

Welcome to the NHK, despite being published over twenty years ago at this point, is still as relevant as ever. In fact, it’s only become more relevant as time has gone on. Not just the phenomenon of being a hikikomori, more commonly known today as being a ‘NEET’ (Not in Education, Employment, or Training), has grown in the last twenty years, but conspiratorial thinking has as well. Especially ever since

the COVID lockdowns began, conspiracy theories have been thrown into the mainstream. The difficult part about conspiracy theories is that while most of them are bunk, there’s a tiny percentage of them that make sense, or even rarer, aren’t conspiracies and things that actually happened. The most common conspiracy theory right now that is nonsense is QAnon. Well, at least four-fifths of the population believes that. Compare that JFK was killed in a conspiracy, which more than half the population has believed ever since the CIA popped him. Conspiracy theories fill in the gap in the middle, which replaces the unknown with what you want to believe. With many things with unknown origins permanently affecting our lives, conspiracy theories have grown significantly. This makes Welcome to the NHK feel like a contemporary read, even though the book is old enough to drink alcohol now.

The conspiracy that Tatsuhiro Satou, the main character of Welcome to the NHK, believes in isn’t anything related to anything that’s a real-life conspiracy. He’s smart enough to acknowledge that most conspiracy theories come from people projecting their own insecurities onto others. Despite all of this, he still ‘stumbles’ upon a conspiracy. A conspiracy that only he knows about, and one that came to him while he was tripping on a hallucinogen (named ‘White Drug’). He comes to the ‘realization’ that the NHK, the Japanese equivalent of the BBC or NBC, doesn’t for “Nippon Housou Kyoukai (Japanese Broadcast Association)”, but actually stands for “Nihon Hikikomori Kyoukai (Japanese Hikikomori Association)”.

Basically, the gist of the conspiracy is that the NHK wants to increase the number of hikikomori in Japan. In the novel, there are stated to be already two million hikikomori in Japan alone, which means that the NHK has done a good job. They ‘maintain’ this amount, and increase it, by broadcasting content that caters to the hikikomori (stuff like anime). This is a conspiracy that Satou doesn’t bother spreading across the internet, but is honestly one that could take off if it was about, say, CNN.

One day, Satou is approached by an odd girl, named Misaki Nakahara, who claims that she can save him from his hikikomori lifestyle. She coerces him into signing a contract, which ‘binds’ him to meet her at the park behind his apartment every night after dinner. These meetings, which are meant to help Satou return to ‘normal life’, mostly are her reading beginner-level psychology and philosophy books that she rented from the library. It’s questionable if these meetings are helping Satou, but he can’t afford to not come–if he breaks the contract, he’ll have to pay a one million yen fine.

Satou’s neighbor, and a former junior in the Literature Club back in high school, Kaoru Yamazaki, is his partner in crime (quite literally). Being an otaku, he and Satou share a lot of the same feelings of insecurity and loneliness. Yamazaki, however, isn’t a hikikomori–he’s currently at university to become a game creator, against his family’s wishes of taking over his father’s business. Yamazaki and Satou, while being terrible influences on each other, are the closest things each one of them has to a support system.

For Satou to escape being a hikikomori, and for Yamazaki to make it big in the game industry (and avoid being forced to take over the family business), they decide to create an eroge game. As you would expect from someone who has been a hikikomori for four years and a hopeless otaku, their eroge game is half-baked, and might as well be dead on arrival. This is one of the things that make Welcome to the NHK so relatable–the feeling of having a great idea, and finally getting the courage to put the pen to paper, only to find out that it’s very hard to create games. Being an eroge game, the scenario Satou has to write doesn’t have to be the best, but even writing sex scenes is hard, or at the very least embarrassing to type. Part of this roleplay that Satou and Yamazaki are doing is escapism from what seems like their destiny. Satou and getting a job, and Yamazaki and taking over the family business. If Satou can prove that he’s busy, then his family won’t feel obliged to force him to move back. If Yamazaki can make something that sells, then he can afford not to go back home. 

If you’ve already seen the Welcome to the NHK anime, then you already know the general plot. The Welcome to the NHK anime adaption was different from most other novel adaptations, in the sense that this volume is the only entry into the series. The anime has original arcs that aren’t in the novel, and the drug use in the novel is way more noticeable. I appreciate this version since it’s the original version. While it’s rougher on the edges than the anime, it feels more real. Part of this is because we get to read into Satou’s thoughts more in the novel–another part is because the author of this novel, Tatsuhiko Takimoto, was a hikikomori at the time of writing Welcome to the NHK. Having first-hand experience of being a hikikomori, writing what is partially a story about himself had to be very tough to do. It does make me hope that the lolita part was conjecture–either way, it does show how depraved one can get after an extended period of no human contact. Satou, for better or worse, isn’t part of society. One part that binds pretty much all hikikomori and NEETs together is a lack of social skills–it’s hard to get ahead if you can’t associate with others. Satou nearly obtains a part-time job near the beginning of the novel, but freaks out and runs out of the establishment before even getting an interview.

I have to admit that part of my admiration for Welcome to the NHK is due to nostalgia. It was one of the first anime that I watched back when I first got into watching anime. I downloaded the novel back then but never read it. It’s a shame since the Welcome to the NHK novel has bits original to it. It’s also a change from most light novel series, which can potentially drag on forever due to sales. While the novel and anime were successful, there hasn’t been any new content since the manga ended in 2007. There easily could have been more novels written with the added content the anime had, but there weren’t. And that’s a good thing. Too often a series gets ruined by outstaying its welcome and not knowing how to end. Welcome to the NHK knows when to end, because really, there isn’t a way to ‘solve’ being a hikikomori. There’s not much inherently wrong with being one too, as long as you have your wits about you (which Satou fails at miserably). For all we know, Satou could still be a hikikomori today, twenty years later.

I call Welcome to the NHK a ‘novel’, and not a ‘light novel’, since it isn’t one. While it reads like one (it is a light read), there aren’t any illustrations in the book besides the cover (which was drawn by the same illustrator who did the character designs for Serial Experiments Lain), which is the biggest tell. Welcome to the NHK lacks the vapidness that light novels often have, willing to be disgusting. Welcome to the NHK has more in common with novels such as No Longer Human than its contemporaries that also got an anime adaptation. Satou is about as vile, if not more, than Oba (the main character of No Longer Human), and both novels are semi-autobiographical. Welcome to the NHK is more of an ‘I-novel’ than a ‘light novel’, or rather, an I-novel written in the style of a light novel.

The rather painful nature of this novel, which comes with the territory of writing about something that affects you, also means that it’s unlikely to ever be any new Welcome to the NHK novels. I’ve been proven wrong before, but the apparent psychological toll writing this took leaves me to believe that Tatsuhiko Takimoto won’t be bothered to do it again, even if it was a winning formula. In the second afterword of the novel, Takimoto states that he hasn’t written a single new story since he wrote Welcome to the NHK and that he ‘returned’ to being a NEET, “living as a parasite on the royalties from this book”. I argue that he in fact isn’t living as one, since he’s living off of his work, which sold quite rather well. Well enough to warrant an official English translation. There’s also the fact that being a writer isn’t a regular 9 to 5 job–meaning that authors who ONLY write for a living are as much as ‘parasites’ as Takimoto is. Writers aren’t in a constant state of writing. Well, some may think they are, but the point is that Takimoto sees this book as something agonizing to think about, not his crown jewel. Ever since writing that second afterword in 2005, Takimoto thankfully has been able to write some original stories. None of them have made it big like Welcome to the NHK has, however.

If you were a fan of the Welcome to the NHK anime, then I one thousand percent recommend you to read the novel. It’ll connect to you the same way the anime does, and maybe even more if you also participate in recreational drug use. Really, knowing that Satou is high during most of the novel makes his nonsensical actions make a lot more sense. The Welcome to the NHK novel is also different enough from the anime that you won’t feel like you’re reading a screenplay.

Normally, I would end the review here, but seeing as there’s no reputable place to buy the English edition of Welcome to the NHK at the current moment, the only way you’d be able to read this is by reading it here. Don’t worry, it’s legal. Here’s hoping that it gets reprinted one day.

80/100

[tzuyusluv]

Once Upon A Time

☆ Seokjin | King of The Bamboo Forest

read here

Title —> tbd

Summary —> The Bamboo Forest is known for its pandas, the trees that grow so close together there’s little walking room and it’s incredibly handsome King. As a merchant, you eventually learn that the rarer the item, the higher pay you’ll get. Though the King doesn’t seem thrilled to let you set up shop there.

Release Date —> tbd

☆ Yoongi | King of Dragon Mountion

read here

Title —> tbd

Summary —> Since you were little, you’ve traveled to the Dragon Mountains for winter. During winter, a prophecy of the Dragon’s choice is assigned and only certain royals may know about it. So, it’s a surprise when your best friend, Yoongi, only has six months to marry someone before his crown is given to someone else.

Release Date —> tbd

☆ Hoseok | King of the Hot Spring Islands

read here

Title —> tbd

Summary —> The hot spring islands are a known myth around many towns and city’s. Just a simple bedtime story for children. So why do you see them in your dreams? And why are there voices asking you to come to them? Your beliefs soon change, and once your town finds out, you become the outcast. Now you’re more determined to find and prove their existence.

Release Date —> tbd

☆ Namjoon | King of The Cherry Blossom Grove

read here

Title —> tbd

Summary —> Every five years, the Cherry Blossom Kingdom opens it gates for tourists to enjoy ‘The Festival of Blooming.’ The festival goes on for six days and five nights, though the King is never seen there. After you meet a handsome man named, Namjoon and he treats you to some traditional food, you find out he’s the king. Now, will you pretend it never happened? Or will you confront him?

Release Date —> tbd

☆ Jimin | King of The Koi Fish Ocean

read here

Title —> tbd

Summary —> The koi fish ocean becomes vibrant in spring and summer. The orange of the fish clash beautifully with the dark blue of the ocean. While there, the King takes an interest in you and swears you’re more beautiful than the ocean and it’s inhabitants. Too bad you’re betrothed to another.

Release Date —> tbd

☆ Taehyung | King of The Lotus Flower Field

read here

Title —> tbd

Summary —> The lotus flower field is a phenomenon. The main flower sits perfectly in the middle of the lake. That’s where every royal wedding is supposed to take place. When you’re invited to Prince Taehyun’s wedding, you meet a shadowy figure. Introducing himself as King Taehyung, you soon realize that there isn’t a wedding but a gathering to find the brothers their brides.

Release Date —> tbd

☆ Jungkook | King of The Ancient Battlefield

read here

Title —> tbd

Summary —> The King of the Ancient Battlefield is a young one. So when your governess takes you there on a field trip, you soon find a secret that the King was trying to hide from the public.

Release Date —> tbd

©️ Tzuyuluvs | Do not copy, translate or blatantly steal my content.

[shoichee]

ALSO CAN I ASK FOR SOME RANDOM GOM HCS U HAVE? like just random ones u have or if u want like some toxic hcs abt them :D

I’m assuming that I can include their negative traits of their personalities as well 👀 Also including Momoi in this… lots of analyzing for this hc, so I used my brain here pls appreciate AGAIN these are all headcanons/interpretations of possible toxic hcs about them and only a few are canon

[Headcanons]

Kuroko Tetsuya

Kuroko is the hardest person to find a “negative/toxic” trait in, and it doesn’t seem like he has any

kind, understanding, hardworking, and compassionate; he’s everything a good-natured protagonist is

but he’s only like this to people/hobbies he cares about/close with; anything else he’s quite apathetic and also very passive/neutral about

the biggest hint to this is when Akashi criticizes Kuroko for cherry-picking who the GoMs should “go all out against” and who to casually toy with

and Akashi is absolutely correct

most of the series is portrayed through Kuroko’s perspective, and Akashi is the first direct outside perspective who comments on his actions/attitude

it’s obviously not that Kuroko didn’t “notice”... he clearly sees and knows what these GoMs are doing; after all, he had a conversation with Aomine about how observant he is to everything around him

of course, if you were close to him, all your opinions and issues matter to him

it’s the fact that what’s not really important to him is suddenly now important just because someone he knows is involved

just an example: if someone was advocating climate change, he has no opinion on it until someone he knows cares about the issue

in other words, he has a subtle hypocritical view on things, especially when he interacts with others

another clear negative trait could be that he’s too idealistic or perhaps naive, seeing things in a clear black-or-white picture and not necessarily a gray area

WE know, as an audience, that the GoMs honestly needed therapy and a proper adult to guide their out-of-control talents

but Kuroko, in his eyes, had viewed them as “bad” and “evil” in their ways of basketball until they changed after their respective matches

he’s probably someone who doesn’t yield to other opinions once he forms his own, and this may make him unable to consider things in other people’s perspectives

which is again, ironic: someone who doesn’t have generally a strong stance but once they do, it’s very unyielding, which further proves Akashi’s comment about Kuroko’s tendency to nitpick which to care about

a final hc about a potential flaw he might have here in a different ask!

Kise Ryota

y’all… it’s as canon as day that he has a mean side

straight from the author himself, it’s confirmed that Kise is only kind to those who he respects, and to the rest, he’s cold-hearted

in the manga, it’s very clear that he’s super judgmental on every first impression on people he meets, boxing them into categories based on the way they look, act, and speak

only when they surpass his preset expectations (low or high depends on his preliminary judgments of them) is when he opens his mind to the rest of their personality

this is a very close-minded way of thinking, and I hope I don’t need to explain why LOL

this can be interpreted as him being two-faced by the majority of the people in his school

his way of speaking can definitely be very cruel and crass, and to sensitive people, his words can easily shatter hearts

Kise’s negative/toxic traits are pretty straightforward here, so let’s move on

Midorima Shintarou

his harsh words can be considered a “negative” part of his personality, but I think it’s a lot more than just that

it’s confirmed in the series that he’s a bystander and almost always minds his own business

on one hand, one can say he’s self-driven and that he constantly strives for self-improvement

on the other, it can be interpreted as him being very dangerously ambitious and selfish, in which most actions he takes are for the sole reason of self-improvement and not for altruistic reasons

for example, when he helped Kuroko and Kagami in the training camp, it was under the reasoning that them becoming stronger would be a good challenge for himself to test and learn

that’s not to say that he can’t have friends, but most friendships he’s built are with capable people who can potentially provide him with some new beneficial skill/goal to strive towards

after all, he’s only learned to trust Takao as a friend only after seeing him as someone capable

because he’s so focused on himself, he’s extremely likely to turn a blind eye to injustice, most also likely to use Oha Asa to justify their “misfortunes” as he continues on his day

he’s not cold-hearted, but altruism comes by Midorima a lot rarer than the average person

now, we know that his Oha Asa aspect is used to balance his serious side as the “comedic side” of him, but if we really think about it, his obsessions with the horoscopes could be a huge obstacle in the future, where he may refuse to listen/depend on others in favor of his own intuition and the stars; after all, no one knows everything, and depending on the stars as one’s next source of advice and guidance isn’t a sound decision to commit themselves to

he seems like the person who overthinks and jumps to conclusions when it comes to social situations, but instead of confronting the person, he turns to fate and fortune if Takao isn’t near to help

Aomine Daiki

I wouldn’t be surprised if Aomine had a skewed sense of beauty standards from all those magazines he consumed and from being around Momoi for the majority of his life

of course anyone can distinguish pieces of media from reality, but during the most impressionable years of life, without experiencing other types of people and physiques, he would have limited knowledge on what “beauty” is and whatnot

this probably would be more of a problem in his adolescence than adult

a very given negative trait is his short temper plus his tendency to turn to physical violence when someone nags him to a certain point, seen with how he’s treated Wakamatsu in the beginning (though this seems to almost disappear by the end of the series)

what I’ve noticed in every scene he’s in, is that everything seems to revolve around him and his hobbies of basketball and Japanese idols

what I mean is that everytime we see Aomine, it’s always Momoi approaching to Aomine or just him always being the center of attention; never once has he approached Momoi for anything and it’s always been the other way around

in other words, people have to cater to him in order to get along with him/be in good graces (additional example: Imayoshi letting him do as he pleases to get him to be cooperative and participate in the games)

we’ve actually never seen Momoi’s hobbies outside of being a manager for her basketball teams and just anything basketball-related

he can be quite apathetic, choosing to only pay attention and try in things he’s interested in… which is basketball and those magazines

he seems to mature in the Last Game though, so I’m not quite sure to what extent these headcanons would apply to older Aomine (these also don’t really apply to Puremine)

Momoi Satsuki

the author probably also included this type of anime trope as comedy, but belittling another female for her body is definitely a no-go in reality; I feel like this is something most people gloss over really lightly

her body comments on Riko are actually what made me skeptical of her character at first before the show really shows her entire personality

that being said, it seems that she always takes the opportunity to look down on other girls (especially to those she is a stranger to) as a sort of “competition” when there’s boys around

definitely at certain moments, she screams a “pick-me girl” type of person (real phenomenon, you can search this up!)

while Kuroko doesn’t seem to actively mind this, I think she also has no good sense of boundaries and what’s considered appropriate touch and consent; people can chalk this up to “oh it’s just infatuation,” but this definitely isn’t okay if we really think about this

her life also seems to revolve around either Aomine or Kuroko, and based from that, I’d feel like she’d have a difficult time forming her own identity/life separate from her “manager life,” especially once she graduates from Touou

can definitely be interpreted as too clingy at certain moments, while others may think it’s her way of showing that she cares

Murasakibara Atsushi

most people would chalk up Murasakibara as “lazy,” and on the surface level, it does appear to look that way…

I think his true negative trait is that he has a lack of intrinsic motivations to drive him to do things

it’s different from being lazy; someone can be lazy while still having a goal, and certainly someone can be lazy while they’re motivated by thoughts of “I want to learn more,” “I want to get stronger,” etc. (you guys, it’s me right now in college)

and he doesn’t have that

part of this was contributed to the fact that he’s already so gifted with genetics and thus, there’s never been a goal for him to have to work towards to when he’s already at the top

he doesn’t actively seek out, and while that may be a characteristic of sloth, it’s not exactly right either

he willingly does things if people around him give him the motivations/reasons to do so; a person of sloth wouldn’t do anything even with all the motivations and goals handed right to their face

snacks/food are examples of extrinsic motivations that fuel him to carry on daily life

Himuro is always the main motivator for Murasakibara to come out and watch matches, and he also does whatever Akashi orders in both Teiko and present days // a person who can give the giant the motivation to do tasks would get along with him the most

searching out for a challenge against his basketball skills is something that’s never crossed his mind

why? he grew to be like the way he is because of the lack of results from his “search” of a challenge throughout his games

again, it’s only when Murasakibara gets handed a silver-platter of a challenge, Jason Silver, that actively gets him pumped up and raring to go

as such, Murasakibara is equivalent to a rusty machine, extremely difficult to start up and find compatibility with, but very powerful and efficient once he finds that spark

Murasakibara finding any partner or friend in the future would be extremely difficult because he ticks a different tune from the rest

Akashi Seijuro

his entire Bokushi side was a giant-ass red flag for very obvious reasons LOL anyways, moving on…

it’s difficult to pinpoint a negative characteristic for Oreshi because he’s the pinnacle of a gentleman character… but that technically is also his negative trait

for him to maintain that perfect image for himself and others, he has always carried himself in such a way that doesn’t allow for errors or expressions of “weakness”

thus, bottling up his frustrations and emotions to the point of no return is something very familiar to Akashi, and I’d feel like Bokushi is the result of his overflowing emotions left unchecked in the first place

I also predict that if Akashi continues to carry himself without letting himself wind down and feel emotions on the spot rather than locking it up inside him, a day will come when he splits into two halves again with a “new” Bokushi to deal with his current life (and let the current Oreshi take a backseat in his psyche to take a break from the turmoil)

also will tend to overwork himself to manage people’s expectations as well as his own, and he’s not one to depend on people not because he sees them as inferior or incapable, but because he’s doing this out of habit from being in positions of authority and responsibility for much of his life

and so, he may tend to hide important things or just not speak about his problems in general to those close to him because he feels like he can do it all himself and spare everyone the work and stress associated with them (a leader mentality)

throughout the majority of his life being calm and calculated, his emotions would definitely escape from him in forms of uncontrollable lashes of anger… before he would realize what he’s done… that is, assuming that another Bokushi hasn’t form within his subconscious yet

[ohpsshaw]

~DFS Christmas Special~

No desire to draw lately, so I’ve been doing little prose sketches instead.

Just in time for December, here’s what turned out to be Uncle Jack taking Al Christmas shopping. This would be circa 199X B.G. (Before Glenn), making Al in his early 20s.

(Watch out if you have high blood sugar, cos this gets KINDA SACCHARINE.)

It had finally stopped snowing, thank goodness. The fresh white blanket reflected crisp light in through the windows, making him feel chilled inside. Luckily Pop was a comfort creature who kept a stock of hot chocolate mix in the pantry. Al never seemed to reach for it back at his apartment, but something about visiting home in the winter months made a warm mug feel as essential as a limb.

Uncle Jack had asked Al to accompany him for some holiday shopping later, and a chocolate briquette would be good to have heating his gut. He took it to the couch in the living room. Someone had dug up the old photo books and left them on the coffee table a few days ago. Flipping through, he noticed that half the pages were completely empty— photography had never been a popular concept in the Czar household. The preserved moments were of family trips and landmarks, rambunctious sepia-washed office parties, Al’s school portraits. Rarer was anything taken inside the house. One shot of himself at four or five years old, standing on the yellow-sunlit staircase and showing the camera a toy car, surfaced a memory of being coached to keep his mouth closed so as not to alarm a 1-hour photo developer. Thinking on it, it may have been more than coincidence that most of these were instant Polaroids.

Through the window, he heard the muffled sound of a car door, then: “What the fuck are you doing!?” Hey, Pop’s home. Al pulled back the curtain to watch the drama unfolding at the end of the driveway, where Uncle Jack had been chipping at the wall of powder the afternoon snowplow had left. Xav had just returned from morning errands and parked in the street, storming over the slush to stop his brother from working.

Cold air blasted from the foyer. Snow crunched as Xav shook out the snow shovel behind him. “Why was he doing this by himself? Did you become a quadriplegic when I wasn’t looking?”

Al flipped through the Rolodex in his head for the answer that would earn him the least amount of grief. He shrugged, as if confused by the absurdity of the question. “He didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t ask, Max.” Jack took the shovel back. “But you’re right, I should have. Reckon it was my vanity what did me in— I can’t stand to be upstaged by some young buck doing the same job in half the time.” He winked at his nephew. “Well, three-quarters.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Xav spat, the corners of his mouth curling up against his will. “You both know I’m not being unreasonable. You’re not a guest, Alan Henry. As far as I’m concerned, you still live here. You earn your keep during the day, and MAYBE I’ll consider putting on my robe and letting you suckle dinner from my left tit.”

Al choked on his hot chocolate.

“Shit. Careful on the carpet. I’ll get you a paper towel.” Xav left for the kitchen, grumble-exorcising demons as he walked. “If Papa caught one of us sitting on our ass while the other did chores...”

Why did Pop have to save his best lines for when people were eating? Bent over and lapping chocolate out of the crevices of his palm, Al thought he saw a piece of marshmallow among the bubbles. Heh... hope that didn’t come out of his nose.

“You still need me to shovel?” he asked Jack.

“Son, I would be honored,” Jack nodded, holding the shovel on the doormat like a knight leaning on an orange sword. “Gitcher boots on and you can finish the job before we head out. I’ll make sure your Pop watches the show from inside.”

Xav returned with the towels and a smirk. “Talking shit about me, Jack?”

“I was just sayin’ how you’ll hate to see us go, but you’ll love to watch us walk away.”

“Got that fucking right.” Al cleaned his face while Xav dabbed each of his fingers individually. An oddly tender gesture. “What are you two going out for, exactly?”

“Juuust... shoppin’. I need Alan’s opinion on somethin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Secrets being a rare and dangerous thing in this family, there wasn’t much question as to what this was really about. Especially between brothers who were as close as twins. But the holidays were about giving, after all, so Xav seemed to decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. A game is more fun when everybody plays along.

Truthfully, even Al wasn’t sure what they were going to get for his father. A successful family man hitting his sixties doesn’t want for much. By this point, Xav had enough neckties and “#1 Dad” mugs to be buried surrounded by them like a pharaoh. Jack could always steal the show by reaching into his deep D.D.S. pockets or by making a new piece of furniture, but the son was held to no such standards. Xav had simple hobbies, and he seemed to have the house exactly how he wanted it. Was Al too old to make a coupon book, redeemable for hugs and remembering to use a coaster?

Or maybe his gift to Pop could be giving college another shot. Dropping out had caused some... friction, a flint-strikes-wood situation that had led to Al moving out of the house, and eventually out-of-state. He had to admit, the independence felt good. Putting his shoes on the coffee table, not having to tell anyone where he was going... he’d definitely become more promiscuous. No independent murders, though, which was starting to grate on him. He’d realized lately that he had always expected to be allowed to do more, without his father and uncle. Maybe if he did what Pop wanted, things would calm down so he could move back to Michigan and use the cabin. But the idea of sitting in another classroom, taking notes on a subject he didn’t care about, all for the promise of 50 years chained to a desk... It made him want to sleep forever.

When the car pulled up to the mall, Al was not surprised at all by the entrance his uncle had chosen. “Mind if I peek in Sears?” Jack asked, as if wild horses could stop him.

Home improvement and appliance stores were another phenomenon Al only seemed to experience at home. The dusty, unvarnished smell and high ceilings had been a frequent backdrop during his childhood— for Jack, they seemed to be akin to a candy store. He was talented as a carpenter and repairman, and sincerely relished something going wrong with the house if it meant he could pull out his toolkit. He also liked to make things go wrong with human bodies on occasion, but there was a separate box for those tools waiting up at the cabin.

Two steps in the door, and a weary-looking holiday hire hit them up with a canned pitch: “...and I’m happy to help you find whatever’s on your list!“ Aggressive customer service, the bane of the paranoid shopper. Jack was the front line for shaking off overly helpful greeters, which Xav had called “the second-worst thing to come out of the 80s after Iran-Contra.”

“Just lookin’, God willing— I brought my conscience with me to make me behave,” Jack looked to his nephew. “Don’t let me buy a single screw, y’hear?”

“Got it. Bulk purchases only.” That earned Al a shove.

Salesperson successfully deflected, Jack ducked toward his usual corner: the big ticket carpentry goods. When Al caught up, he was running his hand over a table saw. As much as he loved his uncle, Al wasn’t particularly interested in watching him fantasize about cutting wood, or even bone. “You have a project in mind?”

“A bit of a science experiment, next time we play cards,” Jack’s pupils darted along the equipment, still in reverie. “I’ve been readin’ a book about crucifixions, and how they affect the body.”

“Oh, that’s seasonal.”

“‘Course, I won’t be able to try it ‘til next year. You think your Pop would let me pick out a rabbit by April?” Jack chuckled. He was not talking about the Easter bunny. “We can see if she comes back to life after three days.”

Al snorted. “Jesus.”

“Precisely. Y’know, Christ is usually depicted with holes in his hands, but in actuality, the Romans would have put the nails through his wrists.” Jack picked up Al’s arm to demonstrate, dancing fingers across his palm. “Ain’t much to take hold of in here. It’s too fragile and open-ended. But if you move up the arm,”— he pressed his thumb into the straightened portion of Al’s median nerve— “You can hook the radius and the ulna. Much better support.” Jack’s eyes flickered with glee. “And it hurts like a bitch!”

“Wait, are you going to go first, or last?” Playing cards was usually a once-a-year affair, and the night Al looked forward to the most. If Jack snuffed her out before he had his turn...

“Oh, don’t worry, son. Done right, she could last for days.” Not that she would, since Pop would probably have something to say about that. “I just want to try, er... doin’ as the Romans do. And who knows, maybe you’ll like it. Every bachelor eventually needs to have a girl nailed down!”

They cackled and then shushed each other, wincing like sneaky little boys at the idea that someone would hear them over the store’s ambient shopping muzak. They really shouldn’t talk like this in public, even with code words and euphemisms. Though over the years they’d learned that people can be experts at ignoring what’s right under their noses. Certainly none of the men had ever overheard anyone else planning a murder.

“It’s just a pipe dream, I’m still in the plannin’ stages,” Jack added. “Ain’t even got the lumber yet. So if you wanna put some packages under the tree that are, say, 4-by-6 and 72 inches long... I promise to be shocked when I unwrap ‘em.”

Al’s attention shifted over his uncle’s shoulder, to a shelf of handheld orbital sanders. Al was more of a hands-on kind of guy— he still got a little queasy thinking about Jack’s experiment to see which sandpaper grit was the best at removing skin.

“So what was it you wanted me to look at? I don’t think Pop needs a crucifix for Christmas.”

“Oh, I’m just killin’ time before our appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“At the photo studio. I want you to give your Pop a picture.”

“...of us?”

“Naw, just you.”

Al loved that. “Yeah, that’d be hilarious. Merry Christmas, Pop, I got you me!”

A pause. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“As a heart attack, son. It’s just what he needs.”

“Do you have, I don’t know, a backup plan?” Al faltered. “Something less self-centered? I’m not exactly his favorite person right now. He kind of thinks I’m a failure.”

“Alan, you are not a failure. You are...” Jack patted his nephew’s cheek. “An unbroken mustang who has not yet found his ranch. And your father is just tryna keep you from bein’ sold as horse meat.” He slid them into a far aisle for more privacy. “He worries about you a lot, and he misses you somethin’ fierce.”

Al chewed his cheek. “Well, talk to him about showing it sometime.”

“No, son,” Jack took him by the shoulder, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Your father cries. At night when he talks about you, he starts wellin’ up like a waif. He doesn’t need to hear that you know about it, but it’s the God’s honest truth. All he talks about is wantin’ you back home.”

“I think movin’ out has been good for you, and I’m happy you did it. But it wounded him to his core. You’re his heart, kid.”

Al wasn’t sure how he was taking this information, but he knew how he was supposed to. He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

“Okay... If you’re completely sure he won’t think it’s stupid.”

“Are you kiddin’? He’ll put it on the nightstand.” Jack grinned. “And if you smile for it real nice, I’ll take you to that steakhouse in the plaza after.”

Al cocked an eyebrow. “You were gonna go there anyway.”

“Yes. Yes, I was. But won’t you enjoy your ribeye that much more knowin’ you’ve earned it?” Mmn, maybe. “Besides... did you have any better ideas?”

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Come Christmas Day, Xav had unwrapped the waist-up portrait and just said “thank you”— which was worrying because he was usually much more verbose than that— and gone silent in his chair. At least he wasn’t mad. Al looked to Jack, who smiled knowingly and handed him a package to keep the gift exchange going.

Al figured it was because Jack had given him something funny, but then he heard his father breathe in sharply.

“Maudit tabarnak... you fucking assholes,” Xav’s voice sounded high and squeaky, like it was being squeezed through slabs of rock. He ducked his chin into his bedshirt collar to hide his face.

“You, fucking... why’d you have to...” He shook his hand at the framed photo. Oh boy, he really did hate it. The whole idea was idiotic. Al had sat in front of that artfully-mottled green backdrop and squinted for a man with a bow tie and no indoor voice for nothing, except for the sheer discomfort of it. And a ribeye steak with a baked potato.

Xav blinked up at the ceiling and gulped, his Adam’s apple fluctuating grotesquely. Eventually he seemed to find his voice again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having pictures taken, so I could make sure he had his fucking hair combed?” He showed them the photo. “Look at his bangs— they’re all over the fucking place.”

Al had to admit, they did look a little wild. “Aw, shoot. Sorry, Pop,” he laughed.

Jack tutted. “I think it looks nice. Rugged.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to comb your hair either, Jack.” Xav brought the photo back into his lap, looking it over. “Looks like he fought a bear before sitting down. But don’t worry, I still like it. You look handsome, kid. Maybe I can find some space on my nightstand.” Al and Jack exchanged victory grins, and didn’t catch Xav wiping tears from both eyes.

[arcticdementor]

Stefanie Gray explains why, as a teenager, she was so anxious to leave her home state of Florida to go to college.

“I went to garbage schools and I’m from a garbage low-income suburb where everyone sucks Oxycontin all day,” she says. “I needed to get out.”

She got into Hunter College in New York, but both her parents had died and she had nowhere near enough to pay tuition, so she borrowed. “I just had nothing and was poor as hell, so I took out loans,” she says.

This being 2006, just a year after the infamous Bankruptcy Bill of 2005 was passed, she believed news stories about student loans being non-dischargeable in bankruptcy. She believed they would be with her for life, or until they were paid off.

“My understanding was, it’s better to purchase 55 big-screen TVs on a credit card, and discharge that in a court of law, then be a student who’s getting an education,” she says.

Still, she asked for financial aid: “I was like, ‘My parents are dead, I'm a literal fucking orphan, I have no siblings. I'm just taking out this money to put my ass through school.”

Instead of a denial, she got plenty of credit, including a slice of what were called “direct-to-consumer” loans, that came with a whopping 14% interest rate. One of her loans also came from a company called MyRichUncle that, before going bankrupt in 2009, would briefly become famous for running an ad disclosing a kickback system that existed between student lenders and college financial aid offices.

Gray was not the cliché undergrad, majoring in intersectional basket-weaving with no plan to repay her loans. She took geographical mapping, with the specific aim of getting a paying job quickly. But she graduated in the middle of the post-2008 crash, when “53% of people 18 to 29 were unemployed or underemployed.”

“I couldn't even get a job scrubbing toilets at a local motel,” she recalls. “They told me straight up that I was over-educated. I was like, “Literally, I'll do your housekeeping. I don't give a shit, just let me make money and not get evicted and end up homeless.”

The lender Sallie Mae at the time had an amusingly loathsome policy of charging a repeating $150 fee every three months just for the privilege of applying for forbearance. Gray was so pissed about having to pay $50 a month just to say she was broke that she started a change.org petition that ended up gathering 170,000 signatures.

She personally delivered those to the Washington offices of Sallie Mae and ended up extracting a compromise out of the firm: they’d still charge the fee, but she could at least apply it to her balance, as opposed to just sticking it in the company’s pocket as an extra. This meager “partial” victory over a student lender was so rare, the New York Times wrote about it.

“I definitely poked the bear,” she says.

Gray still owed a ton of student debt — it had ballooned from $36,000 to $77,000, in fact — and collectors were calling her nonstop, perhaps with a little edge thanks to who she was. “They were telling me I should hit up people I know for money, which was one thing,” she recalls. “But when they started talking about giving blood, or selling plasma… I don’t know.”

Sallie Mae ultimately sued Gray four times. In doing so, they made a strange error. It might have slipped by, but for luck. “By the grace of God,” Gray said, she met a man in the lobby of a courthouse, a future state Senator named Kevin Thomas, who took a look at her case. “Huh, I’ve got some ideas,” he said, eventually pointing to a problem right at the top of her lawsuit.

Sallie Mae did not represent itself in court as Sallie Mae. The listed plaintiff was “SLM Private Credit Student Loan Trust VL Funding LLC.” As was increasingly the case with mortgages and other forms of debt, student loans by then were typically gathered, pooled, and chopped into slices called tranches, to be marketed to investors. Gray, essentially, was being sued by a tranche of student loan debt, a little like being sued by the coach section of an airline flight.

When Thomas advised her to look up the plaintiff’s name, she discovered it wasn’t registered to do business in the State of New York, which prompted the judge to rule that the entity lacked standing to sue. He fined Sallie Mae $10,000 for “nonsense” and gave Gray another rare victory over a student lender, which she ended up writing about herself this time, in The Guardian.

Corporate creditors often play probabilities and mass-sue even if they don’t always have great cases, knowing a huge percentage of borrowers either won’t show up in court (as with credit card holders) or will agree to anything to avoid judgments, the usual scenario with student borrowers.

“What usually happens in pretty much 99% of these cases is you beg and plead and say, ‘Please don't put a judgment against me, I'll do anything… because a judgment against you means you're not going to be able to buy a home, you’re not going to be able to do basically anything involving credit for the next 20 years.”

…

The passage of the Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act of 2005 was a classic demonstration of how America works, or doesn’t, depending on your point of view. While we focus on differences between Republicans and Democrats, it’s their uncanny habit of having just a sliver of enough agreement to pass crucial industry-friendly bills that really defines the parties.

Whether it’s NAFTA, the Iraq War authorization, or the Obama stimulus, there are always just enough aisle-crossers to get the job done, and the tally usually tracks with industry money with humorous accuracy. In this law signed by George Bush, sponsored by Republican Chuck Grassley, and greased by millions in donations from entities like Sallie Mae, the crucial votes were cast by a handful of aisle-crossing Democrats, including especially the Delawareans Joe Biden and Tom Carper. Hillary Clinton, who took $140,000 from bank interests in her Senate run, had voted for an earlier version.

Party intrigue is only part of the magic of American politics. Public relations matter, too, and the Bankruptcy Bill turned out to be the poster child for another cherished national phenomenon: the double-lie.

…

Years later, pundits still debate whether there really ever was an epidemic of debt-fleeing deadbeats, or whether legislators in 2005 who just a few years later gave “fresh starts” to bankrupt Wall Street banks ever cared about “moral hazard,” or if it’s fair to cut off a single Mom in a trailer when Donald Trump got to brag about “brilliantly” filing four commercial bankruptcies, and so on.

In other words, we argue the why of the bill, but not the what. What did that law say, exactly? For years, it was believed that it absolutely closed the door on bankruptcy for whole classes of borrowers, and one in particular: students. Nearly fifteen years after the bill’s passage, journalists were still using language like, “The bill made it completely impossible to discharge student loan debt.”

…

The phrase “Just asking questions” today often carries a negative connotation. It’s the language of the conspiracy theorist, we’re told. But sometimes in America we’re just not told the whole story, and when the press can’t or won’t do it, it’s left to individual people to fill in the blanks. In a few rare cases, they find out something they weren’t supposed to, and in rarer cases still, they learn enough to beat the system. This is one of those stories.

…

Smith’s explanation of the history of the student loan exemption and where it all went wrong is biting and psychologically astute. In his telling, the courts’ historically sneering attitude toward student borrowers has its roots in an ages-old generational debate.

“This started out as an an argument between the Greatest Generation and Baby Boomers,” Smith notes. “A lot of the law was created by people railing against draft-dodging deadbeat hippies.”

He points to a 1980 ruling by a judge named Richard Merrick, who in denying relief to a former student, wrote the following:

The arrogance of former students who had received so much from society, frequently including draft deferment, and who had given back so little in return, accompanied by their vehemence in asserting their constitutional and statutory rights, frequently were not well received by legislators and jurists, senior to them, who had lived through the Depression, had worked their ways through college and graduate school, had served in World War II, and had been paying the taxes which made possible the student loans.

Smith laughs about this I didn’t climb the hills at Normandy with a knife in my teeth just to eat the debt on your useless-ass liberal arts degree perspective, noting that “when those guys who did all that complaining went to school, only rich prep school kids went to college, and by the way, tuition was like ten bucks.” Still, he wasn’t completely unsympathetic to the conservative position.

…

This concern about “deadbeats” gaming the system — kids taking out fat loans to go to school and bailing on them before the end of the graduation party — led that 1985 court to take a hardcore position against students who made “virtually no attempt to repay.” They established a three-pronged standard that came to be known as the “Brunner test” for determining if a student faced enough “undue hardship” to be granted relief from student debt.

Among other things, the court ruled that a newly graduated student had to do more than demonstrate a temporary inability to handle bills. Instead, a “total incapacity now and in the future to pay” had to be present for a court to grant relief. Over the course of the next decades, it became axiomatic that basically no sentient being could pass the Brunner test.

…

In 2015, he was practicing law at the Texas litigation firm Bickel and Brewer when he came across a case involving a former Pace University student named Lesley Campbell, who was seeking to discharge a $15,000 loan she took out while studying for a bar exam. Smith believed a loan given out to a woman who’d already completed her studies, and who used the money to pay for rent and groceries, was not covering an “educational benefit” as required by law. A judge named Carla Craig agreed and canceled Campbell’s loan, and Campbell v. Citibank became one of the earlier dents in the public perception that there were no exceptions to the prohibition on discharging student debts.

“I thought, ‘Wait, what? This might be important,’” says Smith.

By law, Smith believed, lenders needed to be wary of three major exceptions to the non-dischargeability rule:

— If a loan was not made to a student attending a Title IV accredited school, he thought it was probably not a “qualified educational loan.”

— If the student was not a full-time student — in practice, this meant taking less than six credits — the loan was probably dischargeable.

— And if the loan was made in an amount over and above the actual cost of attending an accredited school, the excess might not be “eligible” money, and potentially dischargeable.

Practically speaking, this means if you got a loan for an unaccredited school, were not a full-time student, or borrowed for something other than school expenses, you might be eligible for relief in court.

Smith found companies had been working around these restrictions in the blunt predatory spirit of a giant-sized Columbia Record Club. Companies lent hundreds of thousands to teenagers over and above the cost of tuition, or to people who’d already graduated, or to attendees of dubious unaccredited institutions, or to a dozen other inappropriate destinations. Then they called these glorified credit card balances non-dischargeable educational debts — Gray got one of these “direct-to-consumer” specials — and either sold them into the financial system as investments, borrowed against them as positive assets, or both.

…

Smith thought these practices were nuts, and tried to convince his bosses to start suing financial companies.

“They were like, ‘You do know what we do around here, right?’ We defend banks,” he recalls, laughing. “I said, ‘Not these particular banks.’ They said it didn’t matter, it was a question of optics, and besides, who was going to pay off in the end? A bunch of penniless students?”

Furious, Smith stormed off, deciding to hang his own shingle and fight the system on his own. “My sister kept saying to me, ‘You have to stop trying to live in a John Grisham novel,’” he recalls, laughing. “There were parts of it where I was probably super melodramatic, saying things like, ‘I'm going to go find justice.’”

Slowly however, Smith did find clients, and began filing and winning cases. With each suit, he learned more and more about student lenders. In one critical moment, he discovered that the same companies who were representing in court that their loans were absolutely non-dischargeable were telling investors something entirely different. In one prospectus for a trust packed full of loans managed by Sallie Mae, investors were told that the process for creating the aforementioned “direct-to-consumer” loans:

Does not involve school certification as an additional control and, therefore, may be subject to some additional risk that the loans are not used for qualified education expenses… You will bear any risk of loss resulting from the discharge.

Sallie Mae was warning investors that the loans might be discharged in bankruptcy. Why the honesty? Because the parties who’d be packaging and selling these student loan-backed instruments included Credit Suisse, JP Morgan Chase, and Deutsche Bank.

“It’s one thing to lie to a bunch of broke students. They don’t matter,” Smith says. “It’s another to lie to JP Morgan Chase and Deutsche Bank. You screw those people, they’ll fight back.”

…

In June of 2018, a case involving a Navy veteran named Kevin Rosenberg went through the courts. Rosenberg owed hundreds of thousands of dollars and tried to keep current on his loans, but after his hiking and camping store folded in 2017, he found himself busted and unable to pay. His case was essentially the opposite of Brunner: he clearly hadn’t tried to game the system, he made a good faith effort to pay, and he demonstrated a long-term inability to make good. All of this was taken into consideration by a judge named Cecilia Morris, who ruled that Rosenberg qualified for “undue hardship.”

“Most people… believe it impossible to discharge student loans,” Morris wrote. “This Court will not participate in perpetuating these myths.” The ruling essentially blew up the legend of the unbeatable Brunner standard.

Given a fresh start, Rosenberg moved to Norway to become an Arctic tour guide. “I want people to know that this is a viable option,” he said at the time. The ruling attracted a small flurry of news attention, including a feature in the Wall Street Journal, as the case sent a tremor through the student lending world. More and more people were now testing their luck in bankruptcy, suing their lenders, and asking more and more uncomfortable questions about the nature of the education business.

In the summer of 2012, a former bond trader named Michael Grabis sat in the waiting room of a Manhattan financial company, biding time before a job interview. In the eighties, Grabis’s father was a successful bond trader who worked in a swank office atop the World Trade Center, but after the 1987 crash, the family fell out of the smart set overnight. His father lost his job and spiraled, his mother had to look for a job, and “we just became working class people.”

Michael tried to rewrite the family story, going to school and going into the bond business himself, first with the Bank of New York, and eventually for Schwab. But he, too, lost his job in a crash, in 2008, and now was trying to break the pattern of bubble economy misery. However, he’d exited Pennsylvania’s Lafayette College in the nineties carrying tens of thousands in student loans. That number had since been compounded by fees and penalties, and the usual letters, notices, and phone calls from debt collectors came nonstop.

Now, awaiting a job interview, his phone rang again. It was a collection call for Sallie Mae, and it wasn’t just one voice on the line.

“They had two women call at once,” Grabis recalls. “They told me I’d made bad life choices, that I lived in too expensive a city, that I had to move to a cheaper place, so I could afford to pay them,” Grabis explains. “I tried to tell them I was literally at that moment trying to get a job to help pay my bills, but these people are trained to just hound you without listening. I was shaking when I got off the phone, and ended up having a bad interview.”

Two years later, more out of desperation and anger than any real expectation of relief, Grabis went to federal court in the Southern District of New York and filed for bankruptcy. At the time, he, too, believed student loans could not be eliminated. But the more he read about the way student loans were constructed and sold — he’d had experience in doing shovel-work constructing mortgage-backed securities, so he understood the Student Loan Asset-Backed Securities (SLABS) market — he started to develop a theory. Everyone dealing with the finances of higher education in America knew the system was rotten, he thought. But what if someone could prove it?

The 2005 Bankruptcy Act says former students can’t discharge loans for “qualified educational expenses,” i.e. loans given to students so that they might attend tax-exempt non-profit educational institutions. Historically, that exemption covered almost all higher education loans.

What if America’s universities no longer deserve their non-profit status? What if they’re no longer schools, and are instead first and foremost crude profit-making ventures, leveraging federal bankruptcy law and the I.R.S. code into a single, ongoing predatory lending scheme?

This is essentially what Grabis argued, in a motion filed last January. He named Navient, Lafayette College, the U.S. Department of Education, Joe Biden, his own exasperated judge, and a host of other “unknown co-perpetrators” as part of a scheme against him, claiming the entirety of America’s higher education business had become an illegal moneymaking scam.

“They created a fraud,” he says flatly.

…

Grabis doesn’t have a lawyer, his case has been going on for the better part of six years, and at first blush, his argument sounds like a Hail Mary from a desperate debtor. The only catch is, he might be right.

By any metric, something unnatural is going on in the education business. While other industries in America suffered declines thanks to financial crises, increased exposure to foreign competition, and other factors, higher education has grown suspiciously fat in the last half-century. Tuition costs are up 100% at universities over and above inflation since 2000, despite the 2008 crash, with some schools jacking up prices at three, four times the rate of inflation dating back to the seventies.

Bloat at the administrative level makes the average university look like a parody of an NFL team, where every brain-dead cousin to the owner gets on the payroll. According to Education Week, “fundraisers, financial aid advisers, global recruitment staff, and many others grew by 60 percent between 1993 and 2009,” which is ten times the rate of growth for tenured faculty positions.

…

Hovering over all this is a fact not generally known to the public: many American universities, even ones claiming to be broke, are sitting atop mountains of reserve cash. In 2013, after the University of Wisconsin blamed post-crash troubles for raising tuition 5.5%, UW system president Kevin Reilly in 2013 admitted that the school actually held $638 million in reserve, separate and distinct from the school endowment. Moreover, Reilly said, other big schools were doing the same thing. UW’s reserve was 25% of its operating budget, for instance, but the University of Minnesota’s was 29%, while Illinois maintained a whopping 34% buffer.

When Alan Collinge of Student Loan Justice looked into it, he found many other schools were sitting atop mass reserves even as they pleaded poverty to raise tuition rates. “They’re all doing it,” he said.

In the mortgage bubble that led to the 2008 crash, financiers siphoned fortunes off home loans that were unlikely to be repaid. Student loans are the same game, but worse. All the key players get richer as that $1.7 trillion pile of debt expands, and the fact that everyone knows huge percentages of student borrowers will never pay is immaterial. More campus palaces get built, more administrators get added to payrolls, and perhaps most importantly, the list of assets grows for financial companies, whether or not the loans perform.

…

“As long as it’s collateralized at Navient, they can borrow against that,” Smith says. “They say, ‘Look, we've got $3 billion in assets, which are just consumer loans in negative amortization that are not being repaid, but are being artificially kept out of default so Navient can borrow against that from other banks.

“When I realized that, I was like, ‘Oh, my god. They’re happy that the loans are growing instead of being repaid, because it gives them more collateral to borrow against.’” Smith’s comments echo complaints made by virtually every student borrower in trouble I’ve ever interviewed: lenders are not motivated to reduce the size of balances by actually getting paid. Instead, the game is about keeping loans alive and endlessly growing the balance, through new fees, penalties, etc.

There are two ways of approaching reform of the system. One is the Bernie Sanders route, which would involve debt forgiveness and free higher education. A market-based approach meanwhile dreams of reintroducing discipline into student lending; if students could default, schools couldn’t endlessly raise costs on the back of unlimited government-backed credit.

Which idea is more correct can be debated, but the one thing we know for sure is that the current system is the worst of both worlds, enriching all the most undeserving actors, and hitting that increasingly prevalent policy sweet spot of privatized profit and socialized risk. Whether it gets blown up in bankruptcy courts or simply collapses eventually under its own financial weight — there’s an argument that the market will be massively disrupted if and when the administration ends the Covid-19 deferment of student loan payments — the lie can’t go on much longer.

“It’s just obvious that this has become a printing money operation,” says Grabis. “The colleges charge whatever they want, then they go to the government and continuously increase the size of the loans.” If you’re on the inside, that’s a beautiful thing. What about for everyone else?

[drjackandmissjo]

float among the stars and fly to Mars and back

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

OR The Men In Black AU no one asked for

Feysand Masterlist --- Ao3 

Feyre Archeron had, since she had been a little girl, always believed that there must���ve been more to the Universe than their little Solar System.

Granted that there was nothing ‘little’ about a star and the nine planets (Viva la Pluto!) and the many other cosmic rocks that rotated around it, quite the opposite if you looked at it from the perspective of a tiny 7 years old, yet for Feyre, after her school had taken them to the city’s planetarium for a field trip, their Solar System had become undoubtedly small compared to the greatness of the unknown sky above. She had got home that day with stars in her eyes, literally because they had been given stickers of stars and planets, and she and her friends thought it was a good idea to stick them on their faces and eyelids, and had begun to constantly look up.

And she had not stopped since.

Many of her classmates laughed at her interest for the sky, thinking she only thought aliens were real because of movies and the TV, but the truth was that Feyre didn’t even want to acknowledge life outside of the Earth unless she had all the cold facts and hard proves laid out in front of her. To her, the Universe was a big adventure waiting to be explored, full of different atmospheres and gravities and temperatures, and it was simply wonderful. And yes, it was statistically impossible for such a vastity to have only one liveable planet, considering how well creatures could adapt to different environments, but that was not the point.

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

Which was why at 25 years of age, fresh off the most prestigious university in Prythian with a bachelor’s in aerospace engineering and a PhD in astrophysics, she had sent her curriculum all over the continent, to the best space programs and some. She had graduated valedictorian of her class, scored the highest marks with her thesis and just genuinely worked her ass off to maintain the full scholarship that had landed her at the Day Court University. She was gonna get what she deserved!

Or at least she thought. Weeks passed and she got no answer at all. She was not expecting to be submerged by requests but, by the Mother, at least some acknowledgement!

“No news is good news” wasn’t part of her vocabulary and she was growing impatient by the hour.

In the meantime, she still kept her job at a local library in her university town, not particularly wanting to go back home to her sisters who had never shown her any support in her academic career. Besides, it was not like they would provide for her anyway: she had learnt since a young age to take care of herself, knowing that if she didn’t nobody else would.

It was on the third week of no reply, that someone walked in the shop during her shift. A tall man in an impeccable black suit strutted in like a model on the runway. As soon as he opened the door, the bell rang, signalling a customer and letting Feyre slip on her Retail Smile, which she had practised for years to make it impeccable.

Coincidentally, it was also the same condescending smile she reserved to people who thought they knew more than her in her own field before she crushed them with stone cold facts without breaking a sweat. “Oh, you believe that astrology and astrophysics are the same thing? Sit your ass down, Tamlin, you’re in for a lecture,” had been one of her best moments, followed by a quick “Nothing’s in retrograde, Ianthe, you’re just a plain basic bitch.”

The customer was her dictionary definition of ‘hot’: elegant, tall, with deep russet brown skin and dark unruly curls that framed his forehead nicely. The stranger also knew how to wear a suit, which was a rarer and rarer phenomenon, that didn’t hurt a bit.

It was such a shame that he was clearly a douche, given that he wore dark sunglasses inside her little bookshop after the sun had already set down.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, watching as the customer scanned through the files of books mindlessly. He lazily reached up her counter with an entitled smile that almost made her punch him the face. “Could you point me to the sci-fi section, Darling?”

The fact that he looked like a thirty-something made the term somehow less creepy, or perhaps it was the fact that he was attractive. But Feyre could not, for the life of her, let that slide down. “I’m not your Darling” she said in her most saccharine voice while throwing daggers at the customer. She was completely out of fucks to give, stressed and anxious, half an hour away from closing time and with her manager on a vacation far away.

Besides, she doubted Alis would give her hell for mouthing an entitled but attractive customer who was patronizing her. If anything, she’d probably push Feyre to flirt with said attractive customer. Cauldron knew that woman wanted her to have a relationship more than anything!

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, I am truly sorry. Didn’t mean to sound rude nor impolite.”

Feyre was quickly taken aback. He truly did sound apologetic and not condescending at all. But he also could just be a great actor. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked at him, signalling that she was still not convinced by his behaviour.

She would usually be not this bold with customers, but there was something about the stranger that seemed to put her at ease and to let her nature pass through her nurture.

He scratched his neck, probably uncomfortable with the energy Feyre was radiating, and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing the most gorgeous pair of violet eyes she had ever seen.

Immediately, Feyre went from thinking he was a douchebag to understanding that his pretty eyes didn’t work. Which was probably why he didn’t take off the sunglasses at night.

But then why in the Hell would he take them under the store light and not outside, where it was already dark?

She was on the fence, too many contrasting details that sent her rational side derailing, looking for answers that she knew she wasn’t gonna get. Unless she played her cards right.

“Apology accepted” she claimed, truly smiling as she saw the hot stranger visibly relax.

“If his eyes are purple, that means that he’s basically blind, so where are his prescription glasses?” she wondered, eyeing him up and down as she would with any specimen to analyse for a lab. She was a scientist, after all, and Cauldron Damn Her, she needed answers to each and every puzzle that came in front of her.

“I am looking for the sci-fi section. Would it be possible for you to show it to me?” His voice was sensual and low, a rich baritone that seemed to be able to get to her very bones, if she wasn’t careful enough.

“Would you rather me show you our audible or kindle selection for the genre?” she quietly asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. She was only making assumptions with the tiniest bit of information by her side, after all, so she had to be careful not to make an ass out of herself.

“No, what for?”

There went it. The ease with the customer had said it made it completely clear that she was utterly mistaken. She quickly tallied her notions of genetics, trying to understand how such a colour could be created without a damaging mutation.

Realizing she still hadn’t answered and was actively zooming out, staring into the space between the stranger’s brows without really realizing it, Feyre shook her head, saying a quick “Never mind,” before leaning over the counter to point to her left.

Counterintuitively, that had not been the greatest of ideas. There she was, already on a rollercoaster with a rather pretty stranger in an empty store, leaning towards him without thought or restraint. “It’s down that row, you can’t miss it,” she quickly said, moving fast into her original position to avoid any more embarrassment, “There’s a sticker of a Martian next to the tag.”

The customer raised one of his brows in a RDJ-esque way, sparking even more interest in Feyre’s stomach. “How do you know what a Martian looks like?”

“I’ve been scarred by the Tim Burton movie, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to forget them anytime soon!”

He nodded along, “Ah, yes. Apparently there had been a revolt after that film was released due to its controversial portrayal of the Martian Race, by making them look like a green oversized Arquillians. Such a bad political move, if you ask me, considering we’re right in their direct laser trajectory!” The stranger then laughed, a crystalline sound that resonated throughout the store as he began to walk away towards the direction Feyre had indicated.

She had been so entrapped by his laugh that it took a minute to register his words. He had already disappeared between the rows and all she could do was dumbly stare at the spot he had been as her eyes widened in shock.

“No fucking way in Hell!” her mind screamt as she stumbled to find a different solution to the situation at hand. He was clearly pranking her, saying words that didn’t really make sense. He had asked for the sci-fi section, after all! So he must’ve been a nerd, albeit a really hot one, that was just referencing some sort of obscure specie from an equally obscure piece of media.

The only problem was that she was a nerd that knew all of the obscure sci-fi knowledge. She had spent most of her life looking up at the stars and wishing to know more about them, and what better way to start than by watching and reading everything that had to do with her favourite topic. She was used to be on forums, to talk with people that had her same interest and to explore all her crazy theories.

And never once in her entire career as a proud nerd had she heard the term ‘Arquillians’. Vulcans and Krill and every single type of alien that made the Star Wars universe, sure. ‘Arquillians’, never once by mistake in the deepest bottom of reddit.

Feyre was about to debate with herself whether or not she should’ve run to the stranger to demand explanations, when he appeared in front of her, holding a copy of ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells, one of the most iconic books ever written and one of her personal favourites.

“He’s definitely messing with me” she reasoned as she grabbed the book and scanned it, ready to place it in a bag, when she noticed an envelope laying on her counter. It was a non-descriptive, black envelope with some sort of a six electron configuration in minimalistic drawn atomic orbitals. The image was wrong, depicting the electrons in a specific spot on the ellipse rather than in a general area in which they were thought to be empirically.

She raised her head up, looking expectantly into the stranger’s eyes and telling him as such. One of her hands also crept under the counter, towards the baseball bat Alis kept down there just in case.

“Wow. Took you less to realize it than most people!” he cheerfully said, his violet eyes shining with some unknown feeling behind them.

“Realize what?”

“That those are not electrons.”

She snorted at that, unable to keep her sarcasm in. “And what should they be? Wasps?” she asked, amused by their exchange as she grabbed his credit card to pay for the book. It was pitch black too, apparently like everything that revolved around the pretty stranger who was going to get his head open like a melon if he kept up with his antics.

“Why don’t you tell me, Miss Degree in Astrophysics.”

Feyre froze with her hand mid-air as she was giving him back his card. Her expression shifted in cold distance as she sobered up. They were getting on dangerous territory

She was far from powerless: she had a weapon at hand and several years of martial arts by her side, but she doubted she could take down someone the side of her customer in her skinny jeans and Avatar: The Last Airbender shirt. But there was also the counter separating them, which seemed protective enough for Feyre to answer his question.

“First of all, it’s only theorized and not proven, that planets could share an orbit around a star, but I fail to believe that three pairs would form this symbol without colliding against each other and disrupting the harmony of the system. Second, who the fuck told you that?”

“Well, you did, when you sent your exquisite curriculum around” he replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That was the last straw of weirdness she was willing to witness. “This is getting very creepy and I’m gonna ask you to leave” she said coldly, grabbing the bat with both hands and leaning it over her shoulder, ready to attack if the necessity arose.

The stranger blinked twice and then took a step back, raising his hands in a placative motion. “Pardon me, I still have not grasped human social skills to the full extent, despite my long stay.”

“You are human” she retorted back, unable to keep her voice from shaking. This was absurd, ridiculous, impossible. This was everything she had ever hoped for since she was a child. This was a walking nightmare.

The smile he gave her didn’t look human, nor the way his violet eyes reflected the light, seeming to sparkle with amusement. His lips opened as his tongue wetted them, revealing sharp canines. Feyre had never seen a scene more captivating than when the stranger moved a strand of curly hair behind his ear with deliberate slowness, showing off the pointed tip of his ear. “Correction, I look humanlike.”

“You’re messing with me” she rationalized, refusing to believe that it was possible. Anyone could buy fake vampire teeth and elf ears at any Halloween store or online. But they usually didn’t look this real. Perhaps it was make-up: she had seen so many videos on YouTube and Instagram of artists literally transforming in different things with make-up.

He just shrugged, unaware of Feyre’s rocked existence. She both wanted to believe him and not. She didn’t know what she truly wanted.

“Why would I? I was just sent here by my agency to give you personally the invitation for a job interview, which I think you’ll find fascinating.”

She was speechless. Couldn’t even begin to think about where to start speaking.

This had to be the cruellest prank someone had ever pulled on her.

The stranger cleared his throat and moved once closer to the counter, resuming his initial position. Since Feyre didn’t seem to be hitting him anytime soon, he took the liberty to lean on the counter with his hands splayed out. He had long and lean fingers, like the ones of someone who played an instrument, a piano or a violin, and Feyre ignored the twist her stomach did at the sight.

If he wasn’t messing with her and if he was in actuality a fucking alien, would that be even allowed? Moral? Ethical?

“Look, I know you have an analytical mind, so I’ll be quick,” he began, his smooth voice washing over Feyre in an equally calming and disruptive way, “In case you have wondered why you still haven’t gotten a single reply for your applications, it’s because something big in Velaris is calling out to you. And my agency believes in dibs.”

“What’s there for me in Velaris?”

He smirked at her, a cocky gesture that made her want to strangle him quickly. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Damn him, damn his perfect face, damn everything. Feyre had many strengths: she was patient, passionate, artistic, kind. But her downfall would always be her curiosity, her desperate want to know.

“I don’t particularly want to get murdered, so no” she tried to play it cool, but inside she was burning alive. Every muscle was taut, every nerve active. She hoped he couldn’t see through her bluff, she prayed the Mother he didn’t think her to be a pathetic little girl.

The Alien, it was impossible in her mind to call him that even if he had confessed it in the most subtle way possible, regarded her with shiny eyes and a grin that promised trouble.

Feyre had always been terrible at staying away from trouble.

“Pity. We could’ve used someone with your talents. If you change your mind…” he motioned to the black envelope, that still laid on the counter untouched. Too many Mission Impossible movies told her that the message was most likely to destroy itself after it opened.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, the alien turned around to leave and suddenly Feyre realized she didn’t want him too. She had too many questions.

“Wait!” she called as he had his hands on the handle. He slowly turned around and looked at her expectantly. Or at least she thought he was: there was no way of seeing his violet eyes behind the black lenses. Suddenly, all of the questions that had filled her mind a moment prior escaped her grasp. Except one.

“Let’s pretend I believe you. What are you?”

The smile he gave her was genuine, blinding and warm. “I am an Illyrian, but I doubt you know of us.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added. “I’m Rhys, by the way.” She couldn’t understand why he looked sheepish out of the blue, it was almost as if he was a teenager revealing a secret crush.

“Feyre.”

“Well, in that case. I hope to see you soon, Feyre Darling.” And with that, he left her utterly alone, with a black envelope and stars in her eyes.

Part Two: The Letter

Feyre had waited until she had gotten home to even think about the black envelope, least of all to open it where someone could immediately walk in with their prying eyes.

Not that she would have had any, after all she was just about to close shop for the weekend and the only people she was in speaking terms with were Alis, who would never call her at such a late hour, and the stray tabby cat that lived near her building and for whom she always left some milk and some food whenever she went out to work. She had playfully began to call him Lucien, after a former college friend she had fallen out with that shared the same ginger hair with the cat, and constantly damned her landlord for his ‘no pets allowed’ policy, but alas, she couldn’t do more.

She had always appreciated her privacy, but lately it had become very close to loneliness, with her being too engrossed with her work to maintain a social group of friends. Not like she missed the assholes she used to hand out with in college anyway. They could all rot in their expensive clothes and expensive cars and expensive degrees, cause Daddy Dearest is a powerful donor and alumni.

Yet it wouldn’t have been so bad to have someone to hang out with when her mind became too loud.

Not too bad, if the alien, “Rhys” she reminded herself, was to be believed. The Night Court was adjacent to Day, but she had left nothing there worth justifying the trip back in case she did move to Velaris.

Velaris. The city of starlight, they called it. Feyre had always wanted to visit, but never could afford it with her tight budget and her focused plan to graduate valedictorian. In the end, she only got that, her impeccable career, which was truly the only thing she cared about. Loneliness was feeble compared to her fear of failure in what she believed was her destiny. It is a funny thing, destiny, it smacks you in the face when you least expect it, and smack Feyre in the face in the form of a very attractive stranger with possibly the best news ever it did.

She had almost expected him to appear out of the blue as she walked back home. Thankfully, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean she slowed her pace before being inside her complex doors and that didn’t mean she didn’t have her keys at hand throughout the entire journey.

It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe properly before she got inside, door locked twice behind her as she leaned against it to help her mind to stop spinning.

Too many things had happened in a too short time for her to cope properly. She needed answers, but she equally needed a strong drink.

It wasn’t until she had managed to calm down her beating heart, that Feyre sat down at her desk and placed the black envelope on her closed laptop.

“This better not be a sick joke” she thought as she ran a paper cutter through the edges. She had wasted too much time on this already for it to be fake or, worst, disappointing.

The paper inside was, predictably, black. She could start to see a theme, linking everything that had happened to her that evening.

The silver writing was subtle and not to bright, perfect to not cause her an headache reflecting the light from her reading lamp.

Feyre almost expected to see alien signs and letters, to not be able to understand what was written as some sort of challenge to test her knowledge. Luckily for her and her dyslexia, it was in English. Still a struggle, but very doable.

“Doctor Archeron,

We have been sent a copy of your resumé from one of our affiliates. We apologise if this letter comes out as brusque due to the circumstances of your possible recruitment.

We are more than pleased to inform you that we have envisioned your request. Our Agency specializes in your field and your accomplishments are remarkable. We are particularly interested in your research in the attrite of different materials against the atmosphere, which you created a masterful thesis around, we were mostly drawn by your detailed research with the Martian atmosphere.

We know that was not part of your resumé, but we have read it and it is very insightful.

We would appreciate if you were willing to come to Velaris for an Interview with our Head of the Research Department. We think you would be interested in a position and we are open to discuss a fortuitous partnership.

In case the way you received this letter was not direct enough, Our Agency values privacy and secrecy above all, and therefore we would request for you to not discuss of this with anyone.

Attached you will find your scheduled meeting time with the address, plus a train ticket to reach Velaris and the booking of an already paid room.

We are truly hoping to be able to work with you.

Our Best Regards,

MIB”

Feyre had to read the letter three times, for the meaning to stick in her head.

Any thought of it being a joke flew out of the window. No one in their right mind would ever read what her supervisor had claimed to be a ‘monstrosity of twenty pages without pictures about materials and Star Trek’ simply for a joke. No matter how well thought the joke could be, the Mars piece was the penultimate point of her research, before the conclusion and not even featured in the syllabus.

Her mind became crowded with a thousand different thoughts. Her emotions were all over the place, running around and doing flips and diving into her subconscious.

She leaned back on her chair, letter momentarily forgotten on her desk as she covered her eyes with her hands and just focused on her breath.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

She could rationalize this, just like she did everything else in her life. She had jumped to conclusions with her emotions only once in the past 10 years since she had started college, following her loneliness and the pressure to date the guy that screamt red flags for many reasons, yet she had ignored them all because he was gentle at first, filthy rich and nice looking.

Never again, she swore to the mirror after she had managed to end the toxic relationship that had developed.

Feyre did what any rational person would in her situation: grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a list of pros and cons.

PROS:

Job opportunity in my field

ALIENS?

Secret Organization

Area 51?!

Already estranged from family

Secrets!

Velaris!

Best food

The Rainbow

Seaside

Best Library in Prythian

Snow in the winter

Fresh Start

CONS:

Moving

Finding a place

Totally new city

Know literally no one

Have to quit job with Alis

Already told her I was waiting for replies

She has a replacement ready

Could still be a prank

Too complicated to be a prank

Definitely an opportunity

Am I really thinking about saying no?

It took her longer to come up with cons. Besides, her gut told her to do it, and so far it had never lead her astray.

Worst case scenario: she comes back and waits around for another reply to her resumé.

Best case scenario: the job of the literal dreams, that can possibly exceed expectations, in her favourite city in the entire world.

Besides, she already had a paid train ticket to and from Velaris and an already paid room in what, if the website was to be believed and it was, was a 5 stars hotel in the creative centre of the city.

Before she could doubt herself even further, she grabbed her phone and shoot a quick text to Alis. The older woman didn’t believe in phone calls past 8 pm, considering her nephews would be already asleep by then, or at least she hoped they would.

Her thumb ran over the keyboard as she frantically wrote, in the most cryptical wording known to womankind, that she would have a job interview in the Winter Court on Monday and that she needed the day off. It didn’t matter that she was going to the Night Court and that her meeting was scheduled for Sunday at 11 am, she figured that, if she had to be secretive, better start as soon as possible!

Feyre didn’t move from her position with her phone pressed tightly in her hands until, ten minutes later, Alis replied with a thumbs up emoji, followed by ‘you’re wasted at retail’.”

Feeling lighter than she had in months, she rushed into her room to begin to pack for the upcoming weekend. The train would leave the next afternoon and would get her back Monday after lunchtime. She had to prepare, in case she could go out on Sunday night for a ‘I JUST GOT THE JOB OF MY DREAMS!’ celebration and shenanigans.

Perhaps with a very cute and nice alien with violet eyes, she thought as butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea.

Part Three: The Agent

Her old pencil skirt clashed with the aesthetic of the entire building.

At first she had thought that the whole black attire Rhys was wearing when they met was only due to personal preference, and that the black letter was used to be more secretive or something along those lines. Yet when she hopped, literally hopped on the pavement out of excitement, off the taxi she had taken from the hotel, she immediately realized her error.

To say that they were peculiarly attached to their aesthetic was an understatement: floors, walls, dresses, desks. Everything stuck to the black and white palette, making Feyre extremely aware that she had underdressed as she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In her defence, that was her lucky outfit: hair tight in a professional bun, glasses because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts on important mornings, white blouse and beige skirt she had bought for her graduation in high school and that she had worn to every job interview since then.

Of course, she had brought a full professional black outfit from home, but she had decided that morning not to take a chance. So far, that combo had never failed her, and it wasn’t going to betray her now, by the looks of it.

Upon arriving to Velaris the night before, she had spent the entire time daydreaming about what would happen that morning. Countless of scenarios had created and resolved themselves in her mind. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as soon as she walked into the address the letter had given her.

It was a perfectly non-descriptive building, something akin a factory that had been converted in offices or lofts, inconspicuous amongst the other nearly identical buildings. Perfect if you didn’t want to be found. But while the outside looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over a century, inside it was completely different.

It was modern, sharp and very Tardis like. And it apparently had several levels underground, so it was ‘bigger in the inside’!

She couldn’t keep her awe in, because not even a few steps in and a short and scary looking woman came approaching her, her silver eyes blazing. “Every human has the same impression” she said in lieu of a greeting, and Feyre could only stand there and nod dumbly.

The woman, if she was human at all, reached to shake her hand, “My name is Amren, I am the chief of MiB. I assume you are not familiar with our Agency, correct?” her voice was cold and dangerous and Feyre had no doubt in believing that she might not be from Earth at all, if her ancient like eyes didn’t give her away.

“No, ma’am, I’m not” she replied curtly, unsure of what to say. No, she had not heard of their Agency. Stars, that was the first time someone had referred to it with its proper name! But she had also dug as deep as she could, trying to find information about all that crazy situation, conscious that her every move must’ve been tracked.

Amren gave her an appraising nod, as if she knew every single detail of Feyre’s life, “As you should” she said calmly, before beginning to walk away, motioning for Feyre to follow her through a maze of bodies and beings and desks. She was kind enough to point a race there, a post here, but refused to get too much into detail. “You’ll find someone else to ask” had been her curt reply before resuming her random naming game.

She only stopped leading her around when they reached a black shiny door that was open, revealing on the inside the only colour in the entire building, or at least that was what Feyre thought. Inside, there was one of the most gorgeous females Feyre had ever seen, long golden hair in contrast with her tan skin, a red dress that hugged her like a second skin, and a smile that could blind and that could counter as a weapon, if needed. When she saw them approach, she immediately jumped to her feet with agility and elegance. “Hello! I am Mor!” she chirped with enthusiasm, avoiding Feyre’s outstretched hand and going straight for a hug. Amren loudly scoffed, “Be professional, Morrigan,” she reprimanded the blonde, who simply winked at her before returning to her side of the desk, motioning for Feyre to seat.

She awkwardly looked at Amren, trying to convey her disorientation through her eyes alone. There wasn’t a name tag at the door, not any indication of what was going to happen. For all Feyre knew, they could be about to wipe her memory clean and dispatch of her in the garbage.

“I hope I will see you around, Dr Archeron” was her only reply, before leaving her alone with Morrigan, who still hadn’t diminished her smile.

“If they made me come all the way up here just to kill me, I’ll be pissed.”

“Dr Archeron, please have a seat, we have quite a lot to discuss.” Morrigan then proceeded open an enormous folder and began to pull out all sort of wavers, undoubtedly that Feyre would need to sign to give her life away. Mother Help Her, what had she gotten herself into?

“So,” she began, her energy still up and running as she maintained a kind and comforting expression, “Feyre, can I call you Feyre? Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

She could only nod quickly, before she was once more submerged by the blonde’s voice.

“Marvellous! I’m sure you want to know what in the Cauldron is happening, right? I mean, you get a letter that basically tells you to uproot your entire family and that you’ll have a job, but it’s described as vaguely as heck and you get here blindly and possibly terrified. Trust me, I know the feeling, it sucks. But it does get away pretty quickly. Now, you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Please, call me Mor.” Her eyes were kind, a deep brown that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her, and Feyre didn’t have it in her heart to disagree. After all, if things went well, as they seemed to be going, they’d be on first name basis. Stars, maybe they’d even be friends!

“Mor. Very well,” she gave her a quick smile, trying to keep her nerves down, “Will you be the head of my department?” “Cauldron no!” she laughed, so crystalline and contagious that Feyre almost followed suit, or at least she would have, if her heart wasn’t practically beating out of her chest. “That’s Azriel, you’ll meet him soon. I’m just HR and well, I’ll walk you through this major life change. Is it okay?” “Oh, yes, of course. Truth to be told, I don’t even know what I’m here for.”

How pathetic it was of her, to go to a foreign Court without even knowing what she could be facing. But, no matter how much she thought about it, her brain couldn’t wrap around what a secret agency could want for little old her. Sure, she was brilliant and hardworking, but she was also young. And employers didn’t like young.

Mor gave her a sympathetic smile, slightly nodding her head as she moved some papers around, looking for something. “I know, I hate having to be so secretive whenever we recruit, it only leads to confusion. The number of people that refused to be interviewed just because they thought it was a prank it’s concerning.” “I did believe it to be a cruel joke in the beginning…” she trailed off, still not 100% positive that it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry about that. That’s the downside of being in a Secret Agency that deals with Aliens! But let’s get down to business!”

Feyre couldn’t resist: in the quietest voice possible, she filled the space Mor’s voice had left, uttering the most indiscernible ever “To defeat the Huns!”

She knew she had made a mistake when Mor stopped with a sheet of paper mid-air to look at her expectantly. ‘SHIT’ was her only thought as she stumbled to apologize in the least embarrassing way possible: “Sorry, I don’t know what came to me, it’s just a silly song from…” But Mor cut her off enthusiastically. “Mulan, yeah! One of my favourites. I’m pretty sure we’re on the way to become best friends, Feyre!”

Her smile was blinding, and for the first time since she had stepped foot out of the Velaris train station, Feyre felt herself relax. It had been quite a while since someone didn’t mock her for still knowing all the words to Disney Songs and it had been quite a while since someone seemed to truly want a friendship with her. She wasn’t used to this anymore.

Her throat constricted and all she could do was nod, suddenly filled to the brim with emotions. “I just have a couple of questions that you have to fill out for me, before we can move on to what you’ll do and, most importantly, how much’ll be. Spoiler alert, high secrecy means high cash!”

“That should be your slogan!” She accepted the pen that was given her, ready to start and finish this. Nerves wore out into excitement and she was about to combust. “I’ve been trying to have them change it for ages.”

She chuckled lightly, before giving her entire razor sharp focus to the piece of paper. She could already imagine the questions: was she able to do this mathematical equation? Could she resolve that chemistry problem? Did she know this and that Law Of Physics?

But nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared her for the little array in front of her.

For on the paper, there were written five questions, with adjacent a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ to be crossed.

Feyre could just raise her puzzled eyes up at Mor, who gave her a shrug and went back to re-apply her blush and highlighter.

She expected to do calculations, to waste time. She didn’t expect to be done in less than three minutes.

‘Do you have living relatives?’ YES

‘Are you in contact with any of them?’ NO

‘Do you have a relationship or partnership?’ NO

‘Are you able to keep calm under pressure?’ YES

‘Are you able to swim?’ YES

“That’s it?” Feyre asked, unable to put together the pieces in front of her. To be honest, the thing that was bugging her the most was the last question. That was the most out of it.

Mor simply smiled at her, giggling a little, “Yeah, we wouldn’t have sent you that letter if we weren’t sure you could take it,” she happily said before taking the paper and scrutinizing with analytical eye. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who can’t swim” she stated, answering her unspoken question with a disbelieving look and a shake of her head.

“Excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you, it was a pretty hard test!” Feyre joked, momentarily terrified of having said the worst thing, before Mor followed her suit with her laugh.

“I know! But it’s mostly to check finally what we already knew.”

Feyre snorted at that, “Good to know I was being watched.” It wasn’t that big of a problem anyway: every single social media used their private information to get money, so of course a secret agency about freaking aliens would keep a possible employee in check! “If it’s any comfort, you won’t be from now on. It’ll be like you never existed or…” “Died?” “Yeah. Morbid, I know, but it’s the price of the job,” Mor claimed, sliding a folder with her name on it over the glass desk. “Not really a problem, I’ve got no one that would miss me too much,” she quickly said, opening it up and almost falling off her chair. The first page was a detailed list of what she would earn and it was a lot. Probably more than her entire tuition would have costed if she hadn’t managed to get a scholarship, and all of that for one year?

“You weren’t kidding about the slogan, uh?”

On the next few pages there was written down a non-disclosure contract, which was understandable, and the secrecy policy she would have to follow. Bye-bye Instagram! Not like she used it much anyway, there were too many pictures of marriages and babies for her liking, and she didn’t like already to share every minute of her private life over social media.

And, finally, on the last page was the thing she was most scared and excited of: the inscription told her that she would work on the research department, studying what she loved the most and finally getting all the answers she needed. She could be able to explore the stars from her desk and also in person, with trips to adjourn her curriculum and work! A tiny little clause on the bottom also read that she could be assigned intergalactic! field! work! alongside of an agent, if the situation arose.

She couldn’t help herself when tears started to swell her eyes and fell down her cheeks in two streaks, nor she cared if she was ruining her make up.

She had never been happier.

“What do you thing, Feyre?” Mor was suddenly nervous, as if doubting that her answer would be anything other than a big fat yes. Probably seeing her cry didn’t seem like a good sign and all Feyre could do was nod enthusiastically as she gladly accepted the box of tissues the blonde woman was handing her. She knew she must’ve looked awful and batshit crazy.

“Where do I sign?” she asked finally, after having managed to regain her composure, wiping the rundown mascara from her cheeks, trying not to smudge it all over her face.

What followed was a quick work on the paperwork, the proper signature and stamp and boom! “Welcome to MiB, Dr Archeron!” declared Mor, jumping to her feet to cross the desk and to bend down and hug.

Feyre held her just as tight, trying to keep all the emotions away. Later, after getting back to her hotel room, she’d have all the time in the world to cry as much as she wanted, but now there were more pressing matters. “Ready?” asked Mor, dragging her away from her office and into a maze of halls that Feyre didn’t even bother to try and memorize. She’d have all the time in the world to do so, after all.

Their first stop was on the wardrobe and armoury, where she got her measurements taken and was fitted in the most exquisite looking black suit she had ever seen in real life, the materials soft and luxurious under her fingers.

“This feels like a 007 movie,” she joked, marvelling at the figure she cut in the mirror, immediately finding Mor grinning at her.

“Our gadgets actually work,” Mor fired back, causing Feyre to go into a fit of giggles that had the blonde join almost immediately.

It was a wondrous feeling, being able to connect instantly with someone. She had rarely had meaningful friendships and relationships in her life, some of them were entirely faked from the other side and she was just used for someone else’s gain, but she hoped that what was beginning with Mor could fall into one of those categories.

Truth to be told, she didn’t think having any romantic relationship would be the best thing when just moving into a new city and a new job, but she was a sucker for Friends To Lovers trope and who knew? Maybe the future could be bright for her, and not only in her work life.

There was also the topic of a certain pair of violet eyes that had occupied her mind for the previous two days, but she was pretty sure that was a hopeless route: no one in their right mind could take a liking of her, especially when they looked like that.

She was so lost in her own mind, trying to scratch away the way Rhys’ smile had made her insides turn into gelatine, that she didn’t realize Mor had taken her in front of a slightly ajar black door. Without seeing the label on it, she could understand where she was by Mor’s little excited squeal as she pushed the door open with a flare.

If it was possible, Feyre’s eyes would turn into anime hearts and stars, in a typical Sailor Moon fashion. Inside, after a set of stairs, there were rows of desks, surrounded each by microscopes and spectrometers. Humans, or humanoids, and aliens alike wore black lab coats, contrasting with the white of the walls and the equipment, working alongside each other in harmony. There were several grand doors, religiously black, on the back of the room, which she assumed lead to the bigger equipment.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. At university their laboratory had been severely restricted and she would have to rely on other’s data, but here the possibilities seemed to be endless.

“Pretty, right?” asked Mor, a smile on her face. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover.

“For a specialist, pretty would be an understatement” a quiet voice chimed in, seemingly out of the shadows and making Feyre jump to her feet and hold to the rail for dear life. The voice belonged to a man wearing a white lab coat with black accents, politely extending his right hand at Feyre to shake it. “Dr Archeron, I am Agent A.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” came her trepid reply. She didn’t know why, but she immediately was washed over by the impression that this man, if he was human, was more dangerous than he might let on. Be it the fact that he looked like he blended in the shadows and belonged alongside of them or be the act that he had freaking wings? Holy Cauldron how had Feyre not realized that he had wings, proper angel-like feathery wings that grew from his skin and seemed to ruffle under her gaze and, Dear Mother, she was about to faint.

She knew her eyes must’ve reached a comical stance as she took them in, when Mor gently pushed her with her shoulder. “You can call him Azriel. After all, you’re the one with a PhD!” the blonde cheerily said, winking at her and bringing her back to the reality at hand.

Feyre gave him an apologetic look, trying to make amends for the staring, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He gave them a soft smile and nodded his head gravely alongside Mor’s words: “Unfortunately, that is true. I did not attend Earth university. In Illyria we have a different education” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door at his back and motioning for them to follow.

“You’re Illyrian?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering her first alien encounter as her cheeks heated up. She wondered if she might be able to see him again, even only to thank him for bringing her the envelope. She knew that he must have been only following orders, but he didn’t have to stay and make sure she didn’t freak out too much.

She was met back by a puzzled stare from Azriel and a shrug from Mor, who momentarily looked at each other as to confirm that that was probably an information she wasn’t allowed to know yet. “And you are familiar with our specie because...?” began to ask Azriel, a suspicious tone in his voice that made Feyre froze from the inside. It wasn’t even her first day and she had already fucked up big time, that was a new record!

She was about to reply, to defend herself, when a deep voice came from the door, which opened from the inside and revealed two figures standing there: one had matching wings as Azriel’s and the other was someone she didn’t think she’d meet again so soon.

“Because I introduced her to our existence, dear brother” Rhys said, violet eyes sparkling as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that took up her face at his sight, nor she could control the way her cheeks flared up, the redness there for anyone to see.

The man that stood next to him eyed her up and down with a puzzled expression, his brown eyes twinkling with understanding as he, not so lightly and not so subtly, elbowed Rhys on the side, causing him to wince. “First of all: Hi, I’m Cassian,” he started, holding his hand out for Feyre to shake, “Second: You’ve met?” he asked, gaze running back and forth between them as his eyebrows shot up comically and emphatically.

If the ground decided to open up at that specific moment in space and time and swallow her whole down, Feyre would be okay with it. Extremely okay with it. Actually, she’d bring a shovel to sink down lower if necessary. “He brought me the envelope…” she whispered, trying to draw the least attention to herself and justifying the entire thing in the least embarrassing way possible. “Of course, cause mailing it would’ve been too mainstream, right, Agent R?” Azriel chuckled, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe casually, wings folding behind him.

Rhys fretted nonchalance with a wave of his hand and a bored expression: “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought, why waste money on stamps?”

Out of all the things that had happened to Feyre in that weekend, that must’ve been the weirdest. “You were going to mail it? So much for secrecy!” she exclaimed in disbelief, eyes darting to Mor as if asking confirmation about it all and at the same time trying to understand if they were secretly pranking her.

“You’d be surprised about how many postal offices rely on aliens to work” came her curt reply, followed by a solemn nod from the three males.

She’d have all the time to understand if they were pulling her legs or not, and all the time for an eventual payback, she reasoned, dropping the subject without too much fuzz. “Alright,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulders and turning expectantly to Azriel, waiting for her superior to say something.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ushering both Rhys and Cassian away from what Feyre assumed was his office. “All of you, that’s enough! I have to finalize my work with Dr Archeron before we’re ready to properly start.”

“Not so fast, brother!” Cassian yelled, chest puffed out as he languidly strolled over to where Feyre stood, towering over her. She had to resist the urge to clutch to Mor’s arm for dear life.

“Do you know how to fight?” “Ten years of Karate when I was a child and 4 of Krav Maga between high school and college,” she replied without missing a beat, raising a brow in a silent question as she held his stare.

After a couple of heartbeats, Cassian’s face broke into a wide grin: “Impressive! I’ll hold you to that one of those days,” he said, leaning almost conspiratorially and blocking Azriel’s face from her view, who yelled in outrage a very shocked “Agent C!”. He was pointedly ignored by Cassian, or Agent C, ‘What’s up with that?’ she wondered as she looked up at him, who kept on talking.

“I’ve got only one more question: do you know anyone in the city?”

She didn’t know how to reply nor why it was suddenly their topic of discussion? Was this guy hitting on her in the most random, yet not the most  uncalled, way ever? She should mention that long hair was a turn off, no matter how manly and in style the man-bun was supposed to be. “I can give you two replies,” she cockily stood her ground, crossing her arms at her chest and assuming a defensive stance, just in case she had to headbutt him in the chin, “no and technically I shouldn’t be supposed to so…”

He took one look at her before clasping his hand on her shoulder with raw force, giving her what seemed to be the most platonic expression of affection ever: “Okay, I officially like you! But you’ve just got a new job, you ought to celebrate!”

Feyre considered it. On one hand, she had brought an outfit specifically in the case she got the job, which she clearly had just gotten and had to work out only the minimal details. And partying alone in a city she didn’t know at all was not an option. On the other, she really didn’t know these people.

But one look into Mor’s direction and instantaneously she knew that she’d love to hang out with them all.

Her only reply was a quick yes in affirmation, but she was soon overpowered by Mor’s cheers. “YES! We can go out together! We’ll show you Velaris’ night life!” she cried out in happiness, hand up to high five Feyre as Cassian held her closer to his side and fist-bumped the air.

She was having quite a bit of trouble, not liking small spaces and Cassian’s side hug was definitely a tight fit. She wanted to remove herself from the position, to try and regain the control of her breathing that was starting, so very subtly, to accelerate alongside her discomfort.

These people seemed nice and wanted to include her, her rational brain knew that, but old wounds didn’t always manage to mend right and panic was rising. Feyre tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, and her eyes darted around the two, hoping one of them would stand down a little.

Luckily for her, her knight in black armour arrived just in the nick of time before she erupted like a volcano. “Let her breathe! Mor, Cassian, back off from poor Feyre,” Rhys intervened, helping her untangle from Cassian’s limb and letting her have her space. He quickly let her regain her breathing as the pair moved to Azriel, their next prey. The man was shaking his head as they both raised valid arguments and Cassian ‘Triple Dared’ him not to be a killjoy.

That scene alone served to strengthen her resolve to hang out with them, only to be able to witness the pure and unadulterated chaos that would come out undoubtedly.

All of the sudden, it felt like she and Rhys were in a different plane, the others to engrossed in their planning of the night to pay them attention. “Thanks. But, yeah. I have no idea where to go and I suppose I deserve it” she joked, laughing lightly while cringing internally at her own awkwardness. She had always been able to flirt her way through any situation, be it with men or women or anything in between, yet with him she felt like an high school girl with a crush. Perhaps it was because he was a literal alien that looked like an ancient Greek god and had a smile that managed to lit up Feyre from the inside.

Smile he was now giving her freely and without restraints. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, count each one of them.

“How are you finding out agency so far?” he asked, as a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks out of the blue. A blink and it was gone, so quickly that Feyre thought she might have imagined it.

She was about to reply that she hadn’t done much sight-seeing, self-doubting whether or not she should push herself to ask for a tour or if it was too forward too soon, when a loud voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Shut up!” Azriel bellowed from behind her, causing both hers and Rhys’ attention to turn to him expectantly. “All of you have more important things to do other than bother me and Dr Archeron. And no, Agent C, while we’re at work we use our titles so stop talking! We’ll tune in the details later, Agent M, but I assume you have other more pressing business to attend.”

“Actually…!” Cassian had begun to disagree, but Rhys had been quicker and had planted his hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

He quickly nodded to Azriel as he struggled to maintain his hold as Cassian put on a childish fight, that culminated with him licking Rhys’ hand like he was some sort of overgrown five year old on the school ground. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that got out of her at Rhys’ affronted face.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, moving to shoo away both Cassian and Mor, who pulled Feyre in a tight hug before leaving and whispered in her ear ‘I’m so glad you’re part of us now!’. She could only respond back with a squeeze, her throat constricting with sudden emotion.

“Agent A, we’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Thank you, Agent R, I appreciate that!” came the exasperated reply from Azriel, who immediately disappeared inside his office, undoubtedly to avoid any more anarchy, motioning for Feyre to follow. She turned around to salute and wave goodbye at the improbable trio leaving, only to find Rhys standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He winked, causing Feyre’s cheeks to heat up, and bowed gracefully. “Welcome on board, Feyre Darling,” he said, before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways and glass that made up the MiB headquarters.

Feyre pinched herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. One more step and she was done, she would finally have her dreams answered.

She’s have her answers, her opportunities, what she worked her entire life for. And if she could manage to have the life she had always wanted, with people that cared about her, that would be the icing on a perfect cake.

A part of her brain whispered that she didn’t deserve it, that she was an imposter and that everyone would realize it. But Feyre had had several years of experience in dealing with her own negativity, considering herself a pessimist as a coping mechanism because it was easier to expect the worse in every situation, and immediately shut that voice down, focusing her breathing to steady her beating heart.

Sending up a prayer to the Mother, she closed the door at her back and took a seat in front of Azriel, slipping on her glasses and putting her hands flat on the table.

“Shall we begin?”

[prophezeiung]

ways of realizing that you’re falling in love with your best friend pt. 1: the murdering of his girlfriend a holden vaisey x pollux parkinson drabble @vorhersage​

A young woman had been killed, murdered in cold blood, the papers said. Whatever noteworthy family members she had left behind were not only, understandably, in mourning, but also desperate to find whoever was responsible for this tragedy and hold them accountable. Among them were her sister, Ophelia, who some people claimed had gone a little insane over this loss; and her boyfriend, Pollux, who wore the darkest shades of black and the hardest facial expressions in the weeks after her death. Among them was her killer. Holden Vaisey, this killer's best friend, had watched the events unfold like the one-man audience at the enactment of a drama. He had missed most of the lead-up to this breaking point, by his own volition, but he had been there when she had died. He had seen the desperation creep into her eyes the moment she realized that she had put her trust in the wrong person, and the gravity of this mistake. He had seen it leave her eyes as well, along with every last glimmer of life at one stroke of his best friend's hand. The months that had led up to this moment had been agonizing to watch, but now his front row seat was paying off. He supported Pollux fully in this decision, not only because their relation had become more than a nuisance to Holden, but because he thought it better for Pollux to rid himself of this unsustainable foolery. He surely would have helped out, had Pollux himself not come to the conclusion that entertaining a charade like this was anything but beneficial to him. Taking matters into his own hands had proven to Holden that Pollux, when it came down to it, was still the man he took him for. They had not talked about it, Holden hadn't known the plan or if there even was one, but he had sensed it, the stern determination and the cool composure that had taken over his friend, and he had felt at ease, just as much as if he had taken this life himself.

Somebody who did not know Holden Vaisey might see this: A deeply disturbed man reenacting the traumas of his youth. An affinity for the violent things in life born from the foreignness of affection and devaluation of empathy. An untrue self-image through distorted reflection. The physical denial of feeling — quite literally the drowning of emotions to the brink of extinction, self-torture under the pretense of betterment. Somebody who did not know Holden Vaisey might also see this: A love, like a flame, obsessive, hungry, scorching and selfish to the core, yet oxymoronically sacrificial. The sickening satisfaction over the misery of somebody else, only unusual and therefore more twisted in the context of their mutual and exclusive love. The routined incomprehension and denial of either.

Holden Vaisey himself was happy. Not the pure, unadulterated form of happiness, the innocent joy that grows rarer with wisdom, nor the twisted schadenfreude, the malicious pleasure at others' despair. He was simply and wantlessly content. It did not matter that someone had died and that consequentially something had to die. Things were like they were before, or soon they would be. He had not cared at all for this phase, this short-lived phenomenon that had been his best friend's relationship, and so it was good that it was over.

He didn't know how it had started, and he wanted and didn't want to understand it in equal measures. The less he knew the better, it should seem, but the material with which his mind filled in the gaps was at times just as unsavory as the sting of the truth, if not worse. He caught himself asking Pollux to decide in his favor time and time again, a little private experiment conducted in order to measure how invested in their friendship he should remain: "Stay a little longer?", "Are you coming?", "Any plans for tonight?"

The girl — rather than a woman, because they too barely were men — was secondary to Holden. They had met before, of course they had, whoever met Pollux would subsequently meet Holden as well, but she had instantly fallen in the same category that Holden filed most acquaintances in: Useless, uninteresting, unimportant. She was but background noise to him. The more surprised he was when Pollux began to seek her favor. She was not plain aesthetically, but she lacked even a spark of charm to Holden, and beyond that, she represented the class of leeches and lowlives that neither of them had ever paid much mind to, as well as political opinions that should alert even Pollux' sense of self-preservation. She was not only their inferior, she was their opposite. And yet Pollux spent every moment he could afford by her side — time that had previously been reserved for Holden, because of course they spent every spare minute of their life together. It was elemental to their bond. It was all they knew.

Someone who wasn't Holden Vaisey might have seen this: Jealousy.

Pollux Parkinson had withdrawn his attention slowly but noticeably, and even someone like Holden, who took the only meaningful bond he had for granted — because since he was born until now, it always had been granted —, noticed. When the unthinkable suddenly becomes reality, the first natural reaction is apprehension. When the only stability suddenly becomes unreliable, the first natural reaction is wariness. When the source of mutual trust is suddenly opened to a stranger, the first natural reaction is reticence. So Holden had just flashed his bloodhound growl grin and let Pollux believe that nothing had changed. He didn't let him know how unbalanced he became when Pollux went to spend time with his lover, he didn't show his disdain for his new strange lifestyle, he didn't express his doubts over how this choice would affect either of them. They barely spoke about her or Pollux' feelings, and Holden was quite happy with that.

He did not understand what they meant, anyway. The love that he had seen was this: A thoughtless devotion that made you blind and deaf to the world. The sacrifice of freedom and rationality. Bitter disappointment and lifelong aching for a never-real fantasy. It was this: Weakness. He didn't claim to know it, neither to want it, nor to understand it. But what he had seen of it did not match what he knew to be true about his best friend. The Pollux that he knew was clever, alert, rational. He was strong. To Holden's mind, it was easier to believe that what Pollux claimed to be love was false than to believe that his view of him was. The possibility that there were things that transcended previous beliefs and devotions lay so far outside of his reach that it wasn't even within sight. Any dark inkling that the person he'd known his entire life and was confident he knew by heart had a side that to him that was unknown and incomprehensible was buried as quickly as the victims of the manhunts that Holden conducted with increasing frequency. With or without Pollux, though more and more without.

Finally Pollux had seen how vulnerable he had made himself, how he had lost control, and so he had taken it back by force. Given her what she deserved. To Holden's eyes, it had been long overdue. The only consequence of Pollux' decision to kill this alleged love of his that Holden cared for, then, was the relief he felt at the prospects of things going back to how they were. Pollux had, to him, changed beyond recognition, but not beyond reversal. Whatever this girl had done to him, he had shaken it off, and even though Holden presumed that some of it might preoccupy him for another while — Pollux had always been the quieter of the two, and neither of them had a habit of prying innermost thoughts from the other —, nonetheless this choice must surely mean that he had found closure, or was confident that he would.

Someone who knew Pollux and the thing most important to him might see this: Two lovers, heartbroken, torn apart by the expanding gap between their two worlds. Doubt, rearing its ugly head for the last time, so strongly this once that the bond that had always managed to squash it before now snapped under its heel like a twig. The admittance of a true nature, supposedly, against all previous efforts of salvation, and the destruction of any proof that there had ever been such.

Nobody, not even those who knew Pollux and the thing most important to him, would see this: Two lovers, oblivious, each breaking their own heart and turning away from help and each other. Love masked as habit, desire masked as codependency. Knowledge of one another, so intimate it might predict actions even before they are initialized, yet an intentional blindness towards the most basic psychological processes, their own and the other's.

That Pollux was keeping his distance even after the deed was done and the circumstances had shifted back to something familiar was always part of the equation. Holden knew his friend, and he was patient with him. Not the calculating patience he had for everyone else, people that he expected to gain something from and would therefore suffer through their antics if the price was right — no, for Pollux he would wait, however long and for whatever reason. In this case he knew what he would win from it, and it made him display an almost childlike anticipation that grew with every day, but it made no difference. Holden was certain that, sooner or later, Pollux would return to his old self, return to him.

Because in turn, nobody knew what Pollux Parkinson meant to Holden, not even Pollux himself. It was this: Glue that held together something irreparable. A silver lining for someone irredeemable. An extension of himself, as irreplaceable as a limb and as vital as an organ. A mirror, and at the same time, guidance. The promise of safety, taken for granted and the only reason why his world didn't collapse daily.

Had he been provided with this clear-cut definition, cold as steel, and asked, was it love? The answer would undoubtedly be yes. But a man who let a sick mind decide over a healthy heart would never consider that it was able to love when he had decided long ago that he didn't subscribe to this strange concept. No, the admission to anything but self-sufficiency would certainly crumble the so carefully constructed self-image.

For a person so keen on controlling every single aspect of their presence, Holden paid very little mind to the routines pertaining to his best friend. Whatever he felt like doing, he just did; Pollux understood, he was the same. There was no reason to overcomplicate matters that so smoothly ran on their own. If a future without the other was impossible, why bother trying to live any other life?

[graduationemmasep]

'I like the way MDMA gives you a deep sense of connection to your friends'

I'm no fiend. Most nights I'd rather share a bottle of wine with some friends than stay up till 6am getting sweaty and boggle-eyed on a bender. But while I associate alcohol with talking about past experiences, I associate drugs with making new ones. Party drugs can often make a stranger feel like a confidant; a simple trip to a town centre feel like an Enid Blyton escapade.

I probably take class-A party drugs such as MDMA or cocaine once a fortnight, and have done since I was 16 (I'm 27 now). I like the way cocaine gives you a new lease of life, like a mushroom in Super Mario, to carry on with a night out. I like the way MDMA softens the edges of reality and gives you a deep sense of connection to your friends that you can never get when you meet them for dinner and they moan about their jobs. I like how when you're coming down from a pill another person's touch has a comforting, almost electric capacity. If you're suffering from exhaustion, anxiety or stress, recreational drugs can give you a bit of a leg-up.

Drugs can also be a total pain. Ecstasy can make you feel like you're floating in a cloud, but just as often it's an admin nightmare: you come up at different times from your friends; only half the people in a group remembered to get sorted and there's endless hassle at a party trying to get more. Even when you're having a great time, there's a self-doubting internal monologue running through the whole process: Have I done enough? Am I coming up? Do I look like a prick?

I would just like to have that conversation about drugs being sometimes brilliant and occasionally annoying. Yet I feel like there is no one who is willing to talk about drugs in those terms.

When children ask their parents where babies come from, they get a white lie – a stork delivers them, you find them in a cabbage patch, you order them from Ocado. That's the closest thing I can think of to explain the difference between the perception and the reality of drug use by young people in the UK. There is a societal stork myth that is propagated by the media and popular culture to hide a basic reality. Even users themselves are entirely unwilling to talk about drug-taking honestly. Everything in the drugs world tries to stifle this conversation. Take nightclubs. It doesn't take a genius to work out that staying up till 6am listening to dance music at an ear-splitting volume would not only be unenjoyable without some kind of mind-altering stimulant, but a painful test of endurance. Most people in big nightclubs are on drugs. The clubs know that: that's why they charge so much for entry and, often, for bottles of water. They know that not many people will be buying drinks. Most of them have in-house dealers too, so they can sort out their DJs. Bigger DJs put requests for drugs on their rider. "We just put it on expenses as 'fruit and flowers'," a promoter at a major nightclub told me this year. But there's still a stork charade, with the venue covered in posters promising to eject drug users and bouncers searching punters – but not too thoroughly. The pretence is that this could all be above board.

I suppose the reason for this false picture of drug-taking is that most people don't take drugs. The statistics show that only a small fraction of the UK population are regular drugs users, and a smaller fraction still do anything harder than weed. But drug use is not spread evenly across the country, nor across age groups. In my demographic – under 30, living in London, job in the creative industries, disposable income – almost everyone is a recreational drugs user.

Where I grew up in south London, it was pretty uncommon to find someone who didn't at least smoke weed. The children of more middle-class parents were taking cocaine, ecstasy, ketamine and mephedrone almost every weekend. These were not reprobates ruining their lives: they were intelligent, bright people who got three As at A-level and went to good universities.

We would go to raves in places such as Camberwell and Hackney Wick, to warehouse venues where almost no one was over 18. White powders flowed as freely as the Fanta Fruit Twist and Malibu we were drinking. Festivals played a big part, too. Parents, even quite strict ones who wouldn't dream of letting their kids out past midnight, were happy to send their kids to music festivals, perhaps because of the reverent music-focused coverage in the media.

If you go to somewhere like Reading or Benicàssim, almost everyone is under 20. Half of them barely leave the campsite. Festivals are drugs playgrounds where teenagers experiment with copious amounts of uppers in presumably quite dangerous combinations. Some of the best moments of my life took place going to festivals as a teenager. I remember one muddy year at Glastonbury, racing down the hill arm-in-arm with a bunch of people, all off our faces on MDMA, feeling happier than I had ever felt. Another year, I remember taking mephedrone with a girl I fancied during Blur's headline set, both weeping with joy at a band we'd grown up with our whole lives.

Again, everyone knows this; no one thinks the thousands who watch the sunrise at the stone circle in Glastonbury every year are just on a high from seeing Mumford and Sons. But the festivals keep up the pretence that they are drug-free zones. Even a recent BBC3 show, Festivals, Sex and Suspicious Parents, which was supposed to show parents what their kids really got up to at festivals, ignored the fact that as the cameras panned around the festival, many revellers were plainly as high as a kite, their jaws swinging back and forth like pendulums, a side-effect of taking ecstasy. The voiceover just kept talking about people being "drunk".

I am also part of the first generation of people whose parents are likely to have been drug users. Of course, some adults would be outraged, like the parents on BBC3, to see what their kids got up to. But many more knew only too well ��� plenty of people I know would smoke weed or share dealers with their parents. In some families drug use had less stigma than smoking.

I thought all this was normal, but at university I met, for the first time, young people who totally abstained from drugs. They mostly came from outside major cities, or outside the UK, and many shivered in horror when they saw the rest of us dabbing our gums with mysterious white powders. I thought there would be a rift in social lives, an us-and-them situation, but it was around that time that mephedrone happened. Known by literally no young person ever as "meow meow", mephedrone was a legal high that changed attitudes towards drug-taking. Polite do-right kids who would never dream of taking illegal drugs were happy to chow down on bombs (self-made wontons of mephedrone powder wrapped in Rizla) like they were no more risqué than chocolate liqueurs.

Mephedrone was incredibly cheap – about a tenner a gram – and incredibly available. You could order it with next-day delivery to your university PO box. Mephedrone was a drugs phenomenon of which I have never seen the likes before or since. Everyone started doing it. I remember visiting a friend at Leeds University during this period. We went to a club and the queue for the men's bogs was at least 70 people long. When I finally got inside the place stunk of mephedrone, you could hear everyone loudly sniffing.

On nights out during this time, everyone would be raging – making out with one another, dancing with total abandon. But the comedowns were immediate and severe, far worse than ecstasy. By 4am people would be lying on the floor sharing the most intimate and personal shames and secrets, as if the drug was somehow compelling them to be honest. Some people called it a truth serum. Friendships were forged in the hot irons of that emotional exposition, as were the most horrendous hangovers.

Mephedrone was banned within two years of it taking off. People talk a lot about one legal high being banned only for another to take its place, but the real legacy of mephedrone was to numb the stigma of harder drugs. By the time I left university, many of the drug abstainers who had tried mephedrone became relaxed about most illegal drugs, too.

Ecstasy and mephedrone make it pretty hard to get much done in the days after taking them. You can't regularly use them and be a successful, functioning adult, so they become a rarer treat once you leave student life. In their 20s most people are overworked: they have second jobs and work incredibly long hours. If they're going to go out on a Friday night they need a pick-me-up. And that is why cocaine remains the young professional's drug of choice.

I see cocaine usage almost every weekend wherever I go: clubs, pubs, people's houses, dinner parties. At fancy celebrity parties, the sort you see on Mail Online, cocaine is so prevalent that it's almost boring. Everyone does it – butter-wouldn't-melt TV presenters, wholesome pop stars adored by your mum, people who would immediately lose their job if anyone found out. Those tabloid stings where they catch someone doing cocaine are kind of hilarious in that respect. If you followed any celebrity around with a secret camera on a Friday night you'd be almost guaranteed to find them doing coke. But cocaine users are like hipsters in the way they will vehemently deny they are one, and cast aspersions on others. "It was just full of self-aggrandising wankers doing coke and talking about themselves," someone will say about a party where they did cocaine and talked about themselves. Most of my friends are cocaine users, but I've never heard them say one nice thing about cocaine.

No doubt some people will have read this piece and think that I am just a monstrous twat, that this has all been little more than infantile boasting in a vain attempt to try to sound cool. But that, too, is part of the cover-up, that any open discussion of using drugs or enjoying them is necessarily a boast. We can talk about great food, great films, great sex, but if we talk about great drugs we immediately sound like we're engaging in some teenage bravado. That's why the biggest taboo surrounding drugs today isn't taking drugs, but saying that they're fun.

I'm not saying that people are lying about the negative effects. I have, of course, seen lives ruined by drugs. Rarely has this been because of an overdose or because someone has ruined themselves financially because of addiction (although I am only 27 – that may yet come). Far more often I have just seen people become dulled through regular drug use: their youthful spark extinguished by a never-ceasing quest to get on it; brains frazzled by overheated synapses. There are friends I want to slap every time I see them doing another line, but I can't because that would be hypocritical.

I also appreciate that's it's easy to be blasé about drug use when you're a well-adjusted middle-class white guy who has never been stopped by the police and has a distant non-social relationship with their drug dealer. For many people, drugs aren't something they can dip in and out of and separate from their lives. People entangled in the economic and legal realities of drugs – dealers, those convicted of possession, addicts – don't have the luxury of my relaxed attitude.

But until we stop pretending that getting high is inherently bad – that drugs can never be brilliant, can never enhance human experience for the better – how can we properly deal with people whose lives have been made worse by drugs? At some point, kids grow up and learn the facts of life. I think it's time we all had the talk.

[playertsuna]

Silver Sky Chapter 4 [Part 3]

Chapter Four [2/3] | Chapter Five [1/2]

Fanfiction Master List | Silver Sky on AO3

A mirror verse to New Games Plus. [Still debating whether to post on ff.net.]

Summary: Instead of simply returning to the beginning with higher stats, Tsuna returns with all his powers levels and skills.

XXxxx Chapter Four xxxXX

As the last customer left the Midnight Shop, and the light faded from the entryway, wisps of mist flame faded from the shopkeeper and his workers. Instead of three people within the shop, only one person remained. Young and looking to be in his late twenties to early thirties, Kawahira walked up to the stairs to his office. It had been an interesting day for the shop and he couldn't help but think of the young teenager he had encountered after midnight.

Unlike the various other mafioso who claimed territory in Japan or even the Yakuza themselves who hunted in the darkness of the Japanese world, the young man in question was someone new.

Sitting at his low table, he went through the papers from earlier.

Written in small but neat writing, he looked over the profile of his newest customer. He had never heard of Phillia or any such group allied to them, but that might have been because it was new. Perhaps it was the combination of several smaller families or perhaps a new family from Cyprus or North America. He wasn't entirely too familiar with the underworld in those areas. They tend to die off much to often to be of any importance, and yet thinking back to the flames he felt, he couldn't help but wonder.

A Misty-Cloud was a rare flame combination, even rarer than sky flames or even to their counterpart Earth Flames.[1]

Most people in the underworld could train themselves to manifest a second or sometimes a third flame, but a true flame duo was rare. In the upper echelons of the mafia, there were only two he knew of. One was the Varia leader Xanxus and the second was his precursor, Vongola Secundo. Every other mafioso user who could use other types of flames was due to either training or flames fragmentation but never duality.

And then his guest appeared.

According to the files, his name was Tsukiya, and he was native to Japan, but Kawahira wasn't fooled. The name was obviously false. Although the young man appeared to have a touch of Asian blood, and his Japanese was fluent, his slight accent gave him away. Likely his first language was European, because even when speaking Japanese his words were tinted, every single 'r' pronounced perfectly. His age seemed to be about fifteen or sixteen, perhaps a few years younger or old, but not by much.

Shifting through the papers, and finding the page that detailed the family's holdings, Kawahira mulled over the information he had received.

Phillia was supposedly a medium family, with a sizable number of people, most likely formed from new flame actives, perhaps with a few veterans. According to the paperwork, Tsukiya was a right-hand man answering only to his Don. Something that was highly unusual. From what Kawahira had been able to sense, the young teenager had not Harmonized with any sky, in fact, if Kawahira hadn't been looking for flame bonds he would have missed it entirely.

Tsukiya was not harmonized to a sky. There were flame users harmonized to him.

The sheer impossibility of it all broke every single flame theory and accepted medium that Kawahira had known for hundreds of years.

The only flames capable of Harmonizing were sky flames. Earth Flames formed something similar known as gravitating with their own set of flames, but that was it. No other set of flames could connect in any other meaningful way without sky flames, so how this child managed to do that was a mystery.

Perhaps it had something to do with the type of duality the child had naturally, Kawahira pondered.

Strong enough mist flames could bring the imagination into reality, and if that was combined with the full power of propagation perhaps it might be enough to form a type of secondary bond with other flame users, but even this theory was flimsy at best.

Unless...

Could that child have sky flames? Perhaps as a tertiary flame?

It wasn't impossible, and it would explain how the young teenage managed to have harmonization bonds on his own, as well as why Kawahira could not immediately sense the presence of sky flames. A sky flame at the third level of flame attribute was easily overlooked and in most cases never surface. Yet it would explain a great deal of the mystery surrounding that child and how he had been able to bond with other flames.

Mulling it over Kawahira could tell the bonds were either ignored or unacknowledged. Either because of abuse or because the sky was hiding. Thinking back to his guest, and his actions in the shop Kawahira did not see an abused child. He saw a survivor. A cunning child.

If he had to guess, he would assume that the child knew and whether by accident or by design, had hid his sky flames. Perhaps that was the reason why he had dual flames. After he rejected his sky flames, his body had adapted and channeled his power into the only avenues it had left changing what could have been his secondary and tertiary into his primary flames.

It was hard to tell, but the fact the child was alone and unguarded in Asia, especially this close to the Chinese Triads was strange.

Even if the child only used his Cloudy Mist flames, in Asia, he had a target on his back. China, in particular, was desperate for Cloud flame users doing everything possible to obtain them. Cloud trafficking was a phenomenon that was growing ever more popular and lucrative in China as fewer and fewer users were born among the population. The reasons for which were unknown and hotly debated. Kawahira himself suspected it had something to do with the explosive death of the previous generation's Cloud Arcobaleno, but regardless, the fact was that clouds were not born and a lack of cloud even venturing into Asia had significantly reduced cloud flame user to trifling.[1]

So that left only one question.

Why had this child ventured here into the heart of Asia?

Shifting the pages, Kawahira summoned Wonomichi.

There was much work to be done.

XXxxxxXX

Author’s Notes:

[1] Kawahira can sense the mist flames coming off of Tsuna but assumes its part of his natural flames, especially because of the flame placement on Tsuna's body. Unlike normal mist illusions, instead of being a thin cover around his body, Tsuna's mist flame jewelry is directly emitting mist flames by inserting itself directly into Tsuna's body. Note: Tsuna has the only the vaguest idea of how this works.

[2] The Hibari Clan is the sole exception to much of what Kawahira is thinking mostly because of their ties to the Chinese Triad. Using this headcanon I suspect in Canon that if Hibari hadn't become a part of Vongola he might have been forced into serving the Triads. The only reason he wasn't had to do with Fon's influence and the rocky relationship between Japan and China.

Something that I kind of hinted/play within this chapter was that geography and history play a role in determining flame types as well as its impact on mafia cultures.

Tsuna can use flames from other attitudes, but he's never actually been treated as a flame user of them. For example, in the other timelines, whenever he has shown the ability to use other flames he was always met with a certain amount of awe and just general acknowledgment because he is a sky. Whereas normal members of the mafia have their entire futures determined simply by flame type if their skill is not high.

Generally, the set up for western mafia recruitment goes like this; Sky: (SSS Rare) Cloud (S Rare) Employment Depends Entirely on Skill and Influence; Mist/Sun/Storm/Lighting/Rain

Generally, the set up for eastern mafia recruitment goes like this; Cloud (SSSS Rare) Sky (Rare) Employment Depends Entirely on Skill and Influence: Storm/Mist/Rain/Lighting/Sun

Asia has long had problems finding, raising and maintaining clouds, that a whole new industry was created has to fill this need. Cloud trafficking has become extremely lucrative as a result, and families will literally sell their sons and daughters away for enormous sums. Because of this, most weaker clouds avoid Asia like the plague/join a family to maintain some semblance of freedom and protection.

Oh, and in case anyone was wondering, Tsuna never took off his mist ring, so he still looks like a long hair Riku (from Kingdom Heats).

Chapter Four [2/3] | Chapter Five [1/2]

Fanfiction Master List | Silver Sky on AO3

[psychicphilosophies]

Synchronicity: 10 Signs The Universe Is Speaking To You

What is synchronicity and why does it have such an impact on our lives? Well, whether you believe in it or not, synchronicity is a spiritual phenomena, which is presented by experiencing frequent coincidences, names, phrases, numbers or even seeing the same animal regularly (omens). Coincidence, on the other hand , does definitely exist just like synchronicity, but ther’s a slight difference. Coincidences only happen once and one time only, whereas synchronicity is the same coincidence that keeps getting repeated. Now this is when a simple coincidence that happens to us becomes a sign from the higher realms and the universe. This is when we should take note of it and listen to our intuition, rather than ignoring it. The first person to take notice of synchronicity, was Swiss psychiatrist and psychologist Carl Jung, who was talking to a client about a dream they had about a golden sacrab beetle, and before they knew it, they saw one in the window of Carl’s psychotherapy cabinet which was rather majestic considering that species of beetle wasn’t native to Switzerland.

Most people in everyday society believe that synchronicity is utterly meaningless and should be taken as a pinch of salt. However, this is the attitude that feeds mediocrity and unsatisfaction within our lives. By acting this way, we are subconsciously blocking ourselves from experiencing serendipity, joy and blessings that life brings into our path. Ever since we were children, society and our parents have continuously made us believe that the world is dangerous, scary and full of negativity and tragedy. Society doesn’t want you to have a curious mind because society thinks these people have the power to change world instead of conforming like everyone else. So start embracing your inner child and explore the world like you’ve never stepped on Earth before. You’ll begin to see your life as more blissful, wondrous and free, so adopt this attitude and end the cycle of negativity.

1. You keep noticing or hearing their name in random places

Have you ever experienced this? When you consistently hear or see a particular name everywhere on your travels it means that this person male or female, is soon to enter your life in 3D some time in the near future, who will awaken you spiritually and make drastic changes in your life for the better. It can also have romantic connotations as well, which means that they will be manifested as your ultimate lover that you’ve always dreamed of. This is very common with people who are on the twin flame journey, particularly during the seperation stage. The universe gives you these divine messages because it wants you to know that you are still loved by your beloved twin, even though in reality it doesn’t seem like it at all. It’s like the universe is telling you to never give up hope and listen to your higher self.

2. You see angel numbers and sequences on a regular basis

You see numbers like 1111, 777, 888, 111 and many other sequences on a regular basis whether that is on a clock, number plates or telephone numbers. Sometimes you can wake up at the same time every morning or night as well, which often causes many people to freak out. The synchronicity of 1111 is very common within the spiritual community, as it generally means someone special is coming into your life such as a twin flame. However, it can also mean that you are going through a spiritual awakening as well. I have experienced the 1111 phenomena occasionally, but it is not as common for me. My angel number has been 111 for over a year and it continues to be even now. I have also seen 222 and 333 randomly sometimes. These numbers can also represent as a deceased loved one that is trying to communicate with you. See these numbers as a message from a deceased relative that is telling you to keep following your spiritual path and have faith in it.

3. You think of someone and then out of the blue you accidently bump into them

When this happens most people take this as a pure coincidence or chance. This is right, especially when it only happens once and never to occur again. However, when you consistently think of someone and see them randomly on your travels, take note. Do not get this synchronicity confused with stalking, as this can be mistaken very easily. If you keep bumping into someone serendipitously this means that this particular person will have a powerful impact in your life in someway. They can be people you knew in the past or a random stranger you just met yesterday.

4. Hearing a song on the radio that reminds you of someone or scenario that had a significant impact in your life

Have you ever listened to the radio and then a random song plays with lyrics that coincidentally matches up with how you feel about someone or a scenario? I have experienced this several times in my life. This usually happens between soulmates and twin flames during the separation phase of the divine partnership. It is another form of telepathy or psychic communication soulmates and twin flames can experience when they’re not talking to each other in the physical world. Music is created and lead by the emotions and the spirit, so this is why many twin flames and soulmates have experienced this synchronicity while they’re on their spiritual journey to reunite with each other again. 

5. Randomly thinking about someone and they call you or send you a message a split second after

This phenomenon is very common with soulmates, but more so with twin flames. This phenomenon is called telepathy, which means mental communication between two people (whether they are near each other or faraway). Sometimes twin flame or soulmate couples can have telepathic communication - even when they’re on the other side of the world from each other. I have experienced this myself, and I have to confess that I’ve often scratched my head out of pure confusion because the phenomena is just absolutely bizarre. It’s so bizzare that no one would believe you if you told them about it or they would ask for evidence to prove that it exists. Bearing in mind that soulmates and twin flames don’t necessarily have to be a potential romantic partner, but they can also be a relative, your child, sibling, a best friend or parent. However, most of the time twin flames (more so than soulmates) are romantic partnerships.

6. You come across something that fixes a problem that has been worrying you for some time

Have you ever gone into a store or read an article online and then out of the corner of you eye, you suddenly see something that has the answer to a problem that you’ve been desperately wanting to fix? These are epiphanies or miracles from the universe showing you that you can finally break down the blocks that have cause you pain, suffering and anguish. When you see this, the universe is telling you that there is hope and you can escape from what has been holding you back.

7. You meet a stranger that awakens you about a particular aspect in your current life

Throughout our daily lives we meet many people who come in and come out without us consciously thinking about it, but then there’s some people that entered our life in some way that stay in our memory for many days, months, years, decades or even for a lifetime. These people may have been a stranger that helped you or saved your life or that special someone who took your breath away at the first glance of them. These people are usually lightworkers, twin flames, soulmates or your guardian angel that has incarnated on Earth. When you encounter someone like this, you feel an instant connection to them which feels sacred and cosmic. These people are your healers, protectors, divine lovers, soul friends and spirit guides. This why you’ll always remember them for many years. 

8. You consistently see meaningful or sacred symbols

These symbols can be anything that has significant meanings and interpretations or have a religious connection to them. Symbols such as the holy trinity or infinity (lemniscate) are perfect examples of this. If you are on the twin flame journey, whether that is meeting your twin for the first time in 3D or you are currently going through separation you may see synchronicity involving the infinity symbol. When this happens the universe is basically telling you that their love for you is eternal and unbreakable and you should never give up hope even when you feel lost, helpless and stuck. On my twin flame journey, I have experienced synchronicity, especially with the infinity symbol so much so that I decided to buy an infinity necklace because it’s meaning meant so much to me.  

9. You casually find yourself watching a movie that accurately mirrors the story of your life and what you’re going through (or have gone through)

This is a rarer type of synchronicity, as there are not many movies that have been made, which are nearly accurate to your own life story. If you have experienced this before, consider yourself lucky because it’s very, very rare. I believe that this is the most meaningful and poignant kind of synchronicity that I have listed in this post.

10. Reoccurring prophetic dreams about an event or person that will soon be entering your life

This synchronicity is very common when you begin to start waking up spiritually and develop psychic abilities. When you have very profound dreams that are repeated regularly with the same dream, this is known as clairvoyance or psychic vision. You’ll begin to have these at the very beginning of your spiritual awakening and journey. By having these dreams, you are now becoming self-aware of your divine gifts and talents that you can share with the world, rather than ignoring them and pushing them away.

[pictureperfectdesign]

Aplikasi Crypto Terbaik Termudah di Indonesia - emiten.com

Cryptocurrencies are now being recognised by governments and accepted by major companies globally. Crypto coins like Bitcoin and Ethereum have helped the rise of new digital assets. One such digital asset is NFTs. In the first half of 2020, there was €12.1 million in NFT sales. This new industry combining new technology with art has skyrocketed 'to the moon' with €9.4 billion at the end of the third quarter of 2021.

What is an NFT?

The acronym NFT which has become popular both in the financial and art world stands for non-fungible tokens. An NFT is a unique identifier that can prove ownership of digital goods. They make digital works of art and other collectables into one-of-a-kind, verifiable assets that are easy to trade on the blockchain. https://emiten.com/info/mengenalkan-pintu-aplikasi-trading-cryptocurrency-terbaik-di-indonesia/

Until the arrival of NFTs, digital art did not hold value in the same way that a masterpiece from Monet or Picasso does. This is simply because digital could easily be duplicated with the click of a button, making it almost impossible to distinguish the original.

Sacha Jafri explains how software makes this possible. He said, "There's software that scans an art piece. It can't be faked. It's absolutely impossible. If you scan a blank piece of paper and another blank piece of paper, they are different because this software will recognise the difference between the two blank pieces of paper."

The most expensive NFT

A phenomenon in the NFT marketplace is limited art collections such as Cryptopunks, Bored Ape Yacht Club and Cool Cats.

Each of these collections are limited to 10,000 pieces of digital art. Each day 1000s of NFT artworks are sold. Like traditional art pieces found in an auction by Christie's or Sotheby's, the rarer the artwork, the higher the price it can fetch.

The remaining third of a 10,000 Cryptopunks collection was recently sold for over €472 million. This pixelated art piece shows the potential of NFT sales in the future.

Why should I invest in NFTs?

You may wonder why someone would invest in something that you can easily duplicate on a mobile or laptop. Expensive NFTs are being used as profile pictures on social media accounts to show wealth, much like business people wear expensive watches.

Many people are buying into the world of NFTs to be part of an online community. Owning certain NFTs can give you access to exclusive content and live events.

Digital investors are utilising NFT marketplaces to make large amounts of money in what they hope will be a short amount of time. Also, business models from many industries are getting reshaped to incorporate NFT trading. A single NFT can be bought and sold multiple times, but the buyer must pay a royalties fee to the original owner or creator with each sale. The royalties fee is typically around 10 percent.

Charles Morin, Co-founder of Jumy, told Euronews: "Since we can trace the full story of the token at every single ownership transfer, the artists get some money out of the royalties."

Whether involvement in NFTs comes from financial interest, joining a community, or simply for the love of an art piece, the future of NFTs looks prosperous.

[orbemnews]

Fire chiefs raise the alarm – too few young recruits MEREDITH — Cole Boggis knew he would make his career in the fire service since he was a boy and his father was a member of the Brookline Fire Department. “I was fortunate to grow up in the fire department in my hometown. All the guys were good enough to include me, and got me interested,” Boggis said. At 14, he joined a junior firefighter program in the neighboring town of Hollis, joined Brookline when he turned 18, and came to Meredith as an intern with the Fire Technology program at Lakes Region Community College. He’s now 21 and a member of the Meredith Department, covering the station during day shifts. Over in Franklin, Mike Mussey has been a full-time member of the department for seven months. He’s 23 and said he’s known he wanted to be a firefighter since he was 14, also through a junior program. Mussey grew up in Franklin, and said it’s “fantastic” to be able to serve the people of his hometown. People like Boggis and Mussey are increasingly hard to come by, though. Fire chiefs around the region report  difficulty filling their rosters. They might have once had 10, or even 20, applicants for each open position; now they have two or three, and those who are highly qualified are likely fielding multiple job offers. That’s leading some in the industry to warn that the shortage could soon become critical. “I think everybody knows it, the total amount of firefighters that we have applying statewide, everywhere, it’s much more difficult to hire firefighters now,” said Kirk Beattie, Laconia’s fire chief. “The numbers of them just aren’t out there. And if you factor in that we’re looking for paramedics as well, they are very hard to come by.” If he were fully staffed, Beattie said he would have 40 firefighters on his roster. He currently has 38, and pending retirements will soon drop that to 36. “We are in the process of trying to hire right now, but the total number of applicants is way down,” Beattie said, though he added that, so far, he has been able to land well-qualified candidates. “It would be nice to get back to the days of having 20-30 applicants, instead of 2 or 3.” Chief Michael Foss in Franklin said he has had to change his staffing levels for lack of firefighters. He would like to be able to have a crew of 5 on at all times, but now he has 3 firefighters for each 24-hour shift, with one additional crew member coming on for a 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. shift. Coverage drops back to 3 for the overnight hours. “We are set up well to handle one call at a time,” Foss said. However, about a quarter of their calls occur when the crew is already responding to a prior emergency, which leaves Franklin with a choice. Either try and call in already overworked firefighters on their day off, or rely on Lakes Region Mutual Fire Aid, which will rally help from a neighboring town. Meredith relies on on-call firefighters. It used to be, Meredith Chief Ken Jones said, that the town could handle most moderate incidents with their call firefighters, who work in town and could drop what they were doing to respond to an emergency. “It used to be a 45-man roster years ago,” Jones said, adding that he’s down to around 15 members who will reliably show up when their pagers tone. “We’re struggling. On any call, I don’t know who I’m going to have on that call,” he said. Depending on who shows up, he might not have people trained to attack a house fire from the interior, or operate the necessary equipment. Increasingly, Meredith has to call Mutual Fire Aid for help. “That’s how we are surviving at this time,” Jones said. Gilford uses a hybrid system, with 18 full-time firefighters and an equal number of on-call staff. Steve Carrier, Gilford chief, said his biggest problem is retaining personnel, especially on-call firefighters. “It’s a pretty demanding position to be in,” said Carrier. “You have a full-time job and a family, we’re telling you that you have to come in for training two or three times a month, if you don’t have certification we tell you to go somewhere you can get certification.” When the on-call staff drops out of rotation, Carrier said it’s usually because of the time commitment. They need to stay active in order to retain their skills, but they have to be willing to drop everything and respond when the big calls come in. “The opportunities aren’t there every day for them to be involved,” Carrier said. “I think it’s difficult for some of them to justify spending the time and training.” Deborah Pendergast said the problem has been brewing for years. She’s director of the state’s Fire Standards and Training Department, and said the drop in interest was first seen in smaller, rural departments that rely on call staff. “Now that is trickling to the full-time departments. It is regional, it is not a New Hampshire phenomenon. Overall, if you look at why is that, there are a couple of different things playing into that,” Pendergast said. One of the reasons is a public perception of the service that doesn’t accurately reflect the present reality. To begin a career in the fire service, a candidate would need to get certified as a firefighter, have at least some emergency medicine certification, and a commercial drivers license. Yet, said Pendergast, “The fire service is considered a blue-collar career, a hands-on trade.” That creates a problem. Ambitious young people who aren’t afraid of certification programs might not consider the fire service, but people who expect to be able to walk into a job might be turned off when they realize how much work it is to become a firefighter. Then there’s another perception problem, one which Pendergast confronted herself years ago. Her career started with a CPR class, which led to an EMT program, and when she was doing a ride-along on an ambulance, one of the firefighters suggested she take a firefighting course. She was about 30 at that time, and never thought of herself as a firefighter. That was decades ago, but the picture of a New Hampshire firefighter hasn’t changed too much. “New Hampshire is absolutely not where it needs to be with diversity of fire service,” Pendergast said. Women make up only about 5% of firefighters in the state, she said, a figure well below other states. “If we are only tapping the white males to be in the fire service, we are doing ourselves a disservice,” Pendergast said. She said local firehouses need to invite Girl Scouts, not just Boy Scouts, for tours. Recruiting efforts should take place at softball and field hockey tournaments, not just football games. “If we work hard to tap minorities and females, we can get people who said, ‘I never thought of myself doing that.’” The fire service can break through misconceptions by reviving junior firefighter programs, which were once prolific but have become rarer, Pendergast said, and by encouraging fire-science classes in high schools, which give young people a jump-start on basic training. Beattie, in Laconia, said it will likely take a scattershot approach “There isn’t one answer, I think there’s multiple things,” he said. He pointed to statistics that show significant decrease in active duty military service over the past 30 years – and fire service is a common second act after an honorable discharge. Foss, in Franklin, said some of the decline could be due to changes that have affected the value proposition for someone considering the career. The barrier to entry is now higher, considering the required certifications, while the payoff is farther away. Changes to the state retirement system did away with the possibility of collecting a pension as young as 45 years old. “The increase in age requirement to receive a benefit is a lot higher than it used to be,” Foss said. Jones, in addition to leading Meredith’s Fire Department, is currently serving as head of the NH Association of Fire Chiefs. He said the state recently adjusted the hours required to receive basic firefighting certification by reducing the amount of time spent on wildfire training, with a particular eye at making it easier to become a call firefighter – a frequent first step on the way to a full-time career. More will be necessary, Jones said. If his department is indicative of other call services, the forecast is troubling. Of those 12-15 call members he can rely on to respond to alarms, more than half of them are nearing retirement age. “It’s an issue that’s not going away. Municipalities are going to need to face this and decide what’s the next step,” Jones said, offering the possibility of full-time, regionalized service, though he added that would likely result in longer response times for far-flung neighborhoods. “It’s a question that’s on the horizon and will need to be answered in the near future.” Mussey, beginning his career in Franklin, said he was hooked as soon as he got a look at the career through a fire explorer program. “I found that I enjoyed everything it offered,” he said. He was attracted to the hours, the camaraderie, and the mission. “It’s got a lot to offer. You get to help people during the worst moments of their lives, you get to make connections with your co-workers that you wouldn’t make in other jobs,” Mussey said. Boggis said that it might sound cliche, but it’s true. “I like helping people. I like to be able to interact with different walks of life, and I like being able to put my touch on people’s lives.” Someone with decades in the service, Don Smith, a call firefighter with Meredith, said Mussey and Boggis will find a career doing just what they like to do. Smith said he joined the Meredith department because his father and his younger brother did. Forty-six years later, what keeps him answering the call? “I enjoy helping people,” Smith answered. “I just enjoy firefighting.” Source link Orbem News #Alarm #Chiefs #deborahpendergast #donsmith #Fire #Firefighter #kenjones #kirkbeattie #Meredith #michaelfoss #mikemussey #raise #recruits #Work #young

[mrspookyfox]

A summary of weird things that live in my shop (long post)

As some of you might already know, I work in a kiosk, selling newspapers, candy and other assorted stuff. It's not a pathway to riches, nor a particularly exciting job, but at least is easy enough and I get to meet some nice people. There are, however, some quirks about my workplace that I'd like to share with you.

See, this locale is located in an old building, a relic from the town's Modernist period, restored and remodeled time after time. The kiosk itself has been open and working since before I was born, passing from one owner to the next along the years.

There has also been a couple of unhappy incidents in its past, but I'm not going to talk about them out of respect for the previous owners.

It seems that these kind of places with a long history behind them, where many visitors leave their impression, are prone to attracting certain kinds of phenomena. The person that worked here before me warned me about a couple of them, and I've discovered the others during the time I've spent here.

Before listing them, let me describe the place a bit; it will help you figuring out where and how each manifestation works, so bear with me for a while.

The kiosk itself, where I meet my customers, is a pretty big, square room. To the right, there is a shelf lined with magazines, a tobacco vending machine leaning against a pillar, and more shelves for school supplies, books and small toys. In the left wall you have a fridge with cold drinks, and racks crammed with bags of chips, candy, and assorted trash food. The key to a healthy lifestyle!

The front wall where the entry is located, is basically a big window, so the place is pretty well-lit during most of the day, and in the opposite wall, behind the counter, there are two doorways. One leads to the storage room, a small, cramped space where the lights only work half the time, and the other to a small office connected to the bathroom. Both are covered by those cheap curtains made of chains that hang to the floor. Those get caught everywhere and are a real pain to cross if you are carrying something big, but they are there for a reason you will see later.

Enough description! These are the... Beings that I have to deal with:

- The goblin: the previous owner told me about this one. It seems to be partially invisible most of the time, but I've managed to see his shadow a couple of times, and his hands once. It (he?) takes the shape of a child or a very small humanoid, around [1 m.] tall. He has a hole in the left hand, but it doesn't seem to affect its functionality. Other than that, you know he's around because of his muffled giggling or the effects of his pranks

The goblin usually manifests in the office, but sometimes also appears in the storage, or causes mischief in the shop at night, after I've left. He loves misplacing stuff (usually important stuff, like bills, or my keys) knocking things off their place, cutting the base of candy bags so the contents will spread everywhere when I grab them, and other assorted dickery. He's more mischievous than openly malignant, tho, and the previous tenant taught me a way to counter him: If he's being too obnoxious, toss a handful of something small (candies, paperclips, whatever you have lying around) to the floor and say something like "Count those, do something useful!" He will snatch them into his current hiding place and you will hear how they are dropped to the floor one by one, I guess because they fall through the hole in his hand as he tries to count them. After a while, he'll throw a small tantrum and remain unheard of for some days.

He also loves it when people swear, and if he's too active and there are no customers, I tend to let out a long stream of profanities as creative as I can manage. He seems to enjoy that enormously, giggling in his raspy voice, and behave for the rest of the day.

-The stuff in the bathroom: On rainy days, the bathroom is invaded by a moldy, damp smell (which is something quite mundane) and the sound of whimpers and chattering teeth coming from every drain ( which is definitely not)

-The mold woman: this is the other phenomenon that the old owner told me about, and he was absolutely TERRIFIED of her, although I haven't seen her manifest fully, so I can only count on his description.

She usually appears late, when it's dark, as a wet stain in the office wall, at face height. The stain grows slowly, but noticeably, dripping towards the floor and sprouting a blackish mold, until it starts taking the shape and dimensions of a tall, emaciated woman. If one gets close enough, a faint breathing can be heard. Supposedly, shortly after that, something will emerge from that stain, and my predecessor made me swear that I'll stay away from it at any costs. I couldn't make him tell me why. What he told me is that the thing cannot cross the chain curtains, for some reason; it is confined to the area of the office.

As I said, it appears after sunset, so most of the time I close before it even has time of manifesting fully. However, some specially busy winter days, when I had to stay later than my usual closing hours, I've sometimes heard that breathing coming from the darkened office, getting harsher. It's my cue to hurry up, close the shop, and run home without looking back.

- The tobacco lady: At first I thought this was a normal customer until I noticed that she never seems to use the door. She just pops into existence in front of the counter whenever I'm not looking. She appears as a middle aged woman with a tired expression. Her hair, teeth and clothes are the same shade of dirty yellow. She comes once or twice a week, very early in the morning, when it's still dark, and asks me to activate the tobacco machine for her. Then, she stays next to it, stroking it tenderly and moving her lips, as if whispering something. If I try to interact with her, or if somebody is about to enter and see her, she vanishes into thin air.

- Toothy : This one dwells in the storage room, and I have only caught glimpses of its face, so I don't know much about its appearance or if it has a body properly.

That face is like an abyssal creature, all eyes and teeth, and radiates a faint whiteish glow. Despite that appearance, it seems to be quite shy and curious, preferring to hide among a pile of empty boxes that I keep on the far side of the storage. Sometimes it cooes excitedly if I bring new stuff in to store.

-The moths: Some Tuesdays I arrive to the kiosk to find a perfect circle of dead moths right in front of the fridge. So now I leave the broom by the door before closing every Monday night.

-That Asshole: He has a real name, and I think I've figured it out, but I'm gonna call him That Asshole because I'm petty like that.

Like the Tobbaco Lady, he looks like a regular patron, more so in that sometimes I saw him through the window, walking down the street to enter the kiosk. However, when I asked the owners of other shops near mine (avoiding the spooky details, of course) none of them recogniced him. It seems that he only comes to visit me, so I guess he is just another of those beings linked to the kiosk.

He always takes the shape of a man, but other than that, his appearance, age, voice, or behaviour will be totally different from one visit to another, so it takes some time to recognize him for what he is. His goal is always the same, though: to get money from me.

Until now, he has never used violence to meet his goals. He poses as a homeless man asking for some coins, a salesman, a boy selling lottery... And he tries to trick me to give him money, usually a small quantity. He is a very good actor, convincing, and very, very persistent. It's almost impossible to make him leave without what he wants. And if he gets it...

If I pay him, he'll smile smugly, as if to let me know that he has tricked me, and leave. After that, if I check the cash register, any money I paid him will be back in there, and any stuff I bought from him will have become a pile of ashes. But worst of all: small wounds, like round, coin sized abrasions, will appear on my skin few minutes after his departure, usually on my hands and tights. The more money he got, the more wounds will appear. They are gone after a day, but itch like hell.

He started appearing seldomly, once a month or so, but his visits got slowly more frequent, until one week where he was coming every day, and sometimes twice a day, so the new wounds covered the old ones in my skin. Luckily, it was then when I finally found the way to outsmart him, and since then his visits are rarer, though he still tricks me from time to time.

See, he changes his shape every time he comes, but there are always some tells:

+His name will always be composed of certain syllabes rearranged differently, as if it was an acronym or an abbreviation of his true name. I'm trying to discover what that is, but for now I only know that is long as heck

+Similarly, any number that he identifies himself with (ID numbers, phone numbers, numbers printed in whatever he tries to sell) will be mostly combinations of the numbers 3, 9, and 27.

+Any knot that appears in his person (shoelaces, ties, braids, even patterns printed on his clothes) will be impossibly convoluted, even making one dizzy after looking at them for too long

+He has a slight limp on his right foot. Always. But he is very good at hiding it.

It took me a long time catching on these, but identifying him is only half the battle. Confrfronting him about his nature wont work, as he'll remain firmly in character and deny everything. However, what does work marvellously is shouting at him and chasing him off, preferibly with a blunt object at hand.

With time, I'm getting better at catching him in his games, trusting my senses to identify him without mistake.

Well... Almost. But that Avon salesman was kind enough to not sue me...