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overheardatthecontinental · 4 years ago

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Mine Chapter Five

AO3 Mine

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS

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You wake up warm and cozy, feeling more well-rested than you have in weeks. The bed is soft under you and a gentle weight is draped over your side. Your back is flush against what feels like a personal heater. A sprinkling of hair and a hot body, holding you protectively.

Your eyes fly open as you jolt to consciousness, the events of the previous day flooding your memory.

John.

It wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare and you were living it.

You try to wiggle out of his arms but his grip only tightens, drawing you back against him.

“Good morning.” John says gruffly, his voice still heavy from sleep.

For a brief instant, you consider telling him to go fuck himself. However, given the precarious nature of your undress and his previous reactions to misbehavior , you decide against it.

You've tried to act against him. It landed you with a dozen blows to your ass and three fingers stretching you open as he tormented you with his tongue. Until you begged him to let you come.

Perhaps a different avenue was needed.

The fact remains, you couldn't get out of this room without John. You needed to cooperate enough that he would take you out of the bedroom. Maybe there was a way out that wasn’t locked somewhere else in the house…

Maybe you could get to John’s phone, call the police…

This could all be over if you just pretended to cooperate.

What else could he do to you?

He’d already locked you away, violated you, humiliated you...

“Morning,” You softly say back.

"How did you sleep?"

"Good."

You hate that your answer isn't a lie.

John places a hand along your jaw, turning your face back as he leans over you. His lips gently press against yours in a soft kiss before kissing your forehead.

He pushes to a sitting position. "What would you like for breakfast, love?"

You start to sit up and remember your state of undress. You tug the blanket up to your chest as John stands. He had stripped down for bed and was wearing only a pair of boxers.

It was the first time you had seen him so bared.

It was no surprise that he could manhandle you the way he did. His body was lean, yet muscular. At the beach or the gym, you probably would have caught yourself ogling.

His back was covered in tattoos and a few lined his arms as well.

Large, bold letters bragged fortis fortuna adjust. Latin.

Fortune favors the strong.

Of course.

"What do you have?" You ask, absently as you study him.

He slips into the closet, listing, "eggs, pancakes, cereal, toast."

"Eggs, please."

The please slips out naturally and he rewards you with a flash of a smile as he steps back into the room, shrugging on a white shirt. He's also tossed on a pair of sweatpants.

No one should have the right to look that good scrubbed out.

Yet he really does.

Bastard.

"Bacon? Toast?"

You nod and he comes over, leaning down to kiss your head again.

"I'll be up soon."

The moment the deadbolt slides into place, you clamber out of bed and search for your clothes from last night. They're no longer on the floor which means John probably took them whenever he got up to change.

Unsure where they are, you proceed to the closet.

You suppose it was a good thing. John would probably prefer you in the clothes he had provided. Maybe it might help tempt him to bring you downstairs.

You quickly pick out a grey sweater and a pair of jeans, as well as mismatched lingerie. It was subtle but the last thing you wanted was John taking anything as a sexual pass.

You hurry to the bathroom, turning the water on for a quick shower. Just to scrub yourself clean after last night.

You waste no time, using the soap and hygiene products provided. You're trying to establish some sort of rapport with John, which means following his rules. For now. Which meant showering with the bathroom door open. For now.

It’s a shame, too. He has a large, spacious shower with an overhead spout that feels like heavy rainfall pouring down on you. In an ideal situation, you might have spent hours under it.

Instead, you rush to dry off and dress.

You hear the door open and yank the sweater over your head and pull your wet hair out. You walk back to the main room and, just like yesterday, John has breakfast. Two plates on a tray along with two mugs and a glass with something pink. A smoothie? He sets them down on the ottoman between the arm chairs.

John glances up as you come out, his eyes darkening at the sight of you in the clothes he picked out. You flush, involuntarily, as he gives you an approving nod.

“You look gorgeous.”

The clothes fit perfectly, the jeans hanging to your every curve. The sweater is as soft as it looked. You probably would have picked it out yourself if you were the kind of person who had superfluous funds to spend on little luxuries like nice clothes.

"Thank you."

You take the seat across from him, folding your legs beneath you.

He hands you the coffee which you accept. The mug has a daisy, your favorite flower. A coincidence? At this point, you doubt it..

You sip at it, testing the temperature and blink in surprise.

"Is this a vanilla latte?"

"Yes."

"You have an espresso machine?"

"I do now."

The implication is clear. He knows your coffee order and he’s taken steps to provide it for you.

The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, “How long have you been stalking me?”

John leans back in his chair, just watching you with a raised eyebrow. What you wouldn’t give to know what was going on his head. Is he annoyed? Amused? Pissed?

“Are we not supposed to talk about it?” You ask and there’s just a little bit of a condescending tone that nearly makes you wince as it hits your ears.

Hadn’t you decided to try to get out of this damn room by behaving?

But John’s face softens, “Would you feel better if we talked about it?”

Probably not but you shrug, “It might.”

John nods, almost thoughtfully, “I won’t promise to answer every question.”

You’re surprised that he gives that much. Eagerly, you sit up and nod, “Okay.”

“I understand that this is new.” He continues, “That this must be a difficult adjustment. And I’ll admit, I wasn’t fully prepared to bring you home.”

That was new information.

You open your mouth to ask what, exactly, his plan had been but John holds up a finger.

“I’ll answer your questions. After you eat.”

Fine by you.

You grab the toast and start eating, as quickly as you can without making yourself sick. You mentally prepare a list of questions that you want answered. John eats with you, for the first time, though you eat in silence. John seems content to eat and watch you.

You try to ignore the self-conscious tugs that you feel under his scrutiny.

Between the smoothie and the toast, you’re already full before you even try the eggs. When you can’t eat any more, you look up at John expectantly. He’s still eating but he nods to you, pausing to say, “Go ahead.”

“How long did you watch me?”

He swallows a bite of toast, “A week.”

“And that was long enough to make a decision to take me?”

John looks almost amused at that, “I knew you were mine the first day.”

Oooookay, you think.

"How?"

He doesn't say anything. Not wanting to push your luck, you move on. So you ask another question that's been burning in your mind.

"What exactly do you do, John?"

You take a sip of your latte and John gives the closest thing to a smile that you have seen. It's staggering and you're grateful, suddenly, that you are sitting because damn.

"I don't think you're ready for that conversation."

And what the fuck does that mean?

"Do you know how a conversation works, John?"

His lips twitch.

"I say something, then you respond."

"I did respond. You just didn't like my answer."

"That wasn't an answer." You argue, "at best, it was an evasion. Do you really think your answer is going to be worse than waking up in a strange place, tied to a bed?"

"Yes."

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm pretty sure nothing you do could surprise me at this point. Unless you say kindergarten teacher. That would genuinely shock me."

He considers it, for a moment, that small smile lingering on his face.

"I'm an assassin."

Huh.

You wonder, for a moment, if he's joking. An elaborate scheme where you're getting punked. Because, nope, you definitely hadn't been kidnapped by an assassin.

But here you are, locked in an elaborate prison.

"You're serious?" You ask, just to be sure, and John nods. Oh. .

Idly, you wonder if you’ll have your own lifetime movie.

It doesn’t scare you the way you think it should. You already knew he was capable of some terrifying feats and you were pretty sure that he didn’t go through all this just to kill you. He could have done that a thousand different ways by now if that was his intent.

“How does one become an assassin?”

“It’s what I was trained for.”

You lean forward with a slight sigh, “You’re really good at answering questions without actually saying a damn thing.”

Again, John’s lips twitch. "I apologize. I’m not used to… open-ended discussions.”

“What does that mean?”

“Typically, when I speak, it’s to make a point. To gain information. I’m not used to small talk.”

Small talk?

He had kidnapped you and was holding you captive and he thought this was small talk?

“I’ll--” He hesitates, “Try to do better.”

“Thank you.” You say. It’s a small step but if you’re able to get him to talk, develop that rapport… maybe it would get you out of this room. This house. Get you the opening for escape.

“I was raised in a Romani orphanage until I was about eight.”

What. The. Fuck.

You hadn’t known what to expect but what the actual fuck.

“The orphanages were overcrowded and some of us were sent to the United States, where many of our tribe had emigrated and were running a special sort of school for assassins.”

You realize your mouth is open and you close it. Is he serious? He doesn’t seem like the kind who lies but holy fuck. Nearly every word out of his mouth has you shaken to your core and confused, yet again.

And this is supposed to be helping you to get out of here.

Instead, your heartstrings are being tugged by the mental image of a lonely, little John being forced to hold a gun.

“You started training to be an assassin when you were eight?”

John nods, “Around there. Didn’t really have a way to keep track of when I was born or how much time had passed.”

You’re not sure which is worse: the fact he literally didn’t know his age or the fact that, regardless of how old he had been, he had practically been a baby. Just a little kid.

You notice the rise in empathy spilling through you. No. No. A shitty childhood isn't an excuse for kidnapping and taking advantage of you the way he had.

But it wasn't as if he really knew better. Raised in an orphanage until he was sent to a school for assassins?

He must have been so scared.

Stop it . This is your captor.

You sip at your latte as the silent stretches out.

It wasn't the same, you think, but maybe if you can compare what you're going through now to what he went through...

"That must have been scary." You say softly.

John only shrugs, "I preferred it. I got a cot when I moved to New York. And we had heat in the winter."

Oh.

“Still, you were so young.”

John shrugs his shoulders, “Didn’t know anything else. I spent the first eight years of my life fighting for food. I spent the next few years fighting for survival.”

“And then?”

“I ran away.” He stops talking then, as if reconsidering, continues, “I was somewhere in my early teens and I got tired of the training and the competition and I left.”

“Where did you go?”

“I snuck on a train to California. Then hitchhiked to Mexico. I lived there for a couple of years. No child labor laws so I was able to work.”

“Doing what?”

“Farming, but only for a couple of years. The, uh, village I lived in was razed to the ground.”

Again, you’re staring in disbelief at him and yet… you can’t help but believe him. Which is ridiculous because the man who kidnapped you really isn’t someone you feel like you can trust, but his tone, the way that he’s saying all this… it’s so matter of fact.

At the very least, John believes whatever he’s saying.

“After that, I kind of went back to wandering.” He looks down, almost bashfully and that’s just too much to handle.

He’s the bad guy.

This would be so much easier if he laughed maniacally or yelled and screamed at you.

Softly, you ask “Where did you go?”

He shrugs before looking up. He opens his mouth and then closes it. “Mexico had been… dangerous. And without the safety of my village, I couldn’t really stay anymore. Everyone… so many people died that day.”

His voice is heavy with emotion and you have to dig your hand into the arm of the chair to stop you from reaching out.

God, this is so fucked up.

“I went north. By then, I could pass for eighteen. I ran weapons in LA for a few months, until I saved enough to get fake papers and IDs. And then I joined the Marines.”

Just when you think he’s going to zig, he zags.

“I didn’t mind it. Gave me food, housing. And their training regime was almost laughable compared to what I was doing as a kid. You didn’t get beat if you fucked up.”

You need to change the subject. And fast. Because right now, all you want to do is fly across and hug him the way someone should have when he was a kid. The worst part was he wasn't even trying to get sympathy points; he didn’t seem socially adept enough to do that.

You need to remember where you are.

“Is that how you ended back as an assassin?”

An assassin. Your kidnapper is an assassin . You need to remember that. To focus on the bigger picture and not the heartbreaking backstory.

You don’t care , you tell yourself.

“No. I mean, it helped me become a more efficient killer…”

You have to resist the urge to punch the air because yes . This is what you need to focus on.

“... but I became an assassin after I was discharged. By then, I was older and stronger than when I watched my village burn down. I went after the people who did it. I killed them all.” He seems to be looking at you, gauging for some sort of reaction. You don’t give him one and he continues, “It so happened that the same men who killed everyone twelve years earlier were holding someone for questioning. Another assassin. He brought me back into the fold.”

“The fold?” You say, “So there are others?”

“If you’re referring to assassins, yes. Thousands in New York, alone.”

You blink, “That can’t be right. How is there that much work?”

“Believe me,” John says, and his face has taken on that serious demeanor, “There’s an entire world that you don’t know about that lurks just beneath the surface.”

“A world of assassins?” You ask doubtfully, “It sounds like something out of a dystopian story.”

He shakes his head, “You have no idea how terrible and awful it actually is out there.’

I have some idea , you think. But bringing that up might not be your best move.

John reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. He quickly enters a password and shifts through screens until he turns it towards you. He sets it on the ottoman between you and scrolls down.

A list of names come up, followed by denominations. Some have a little star next to them but you can’t make much out as John quickly scrolls through the options.

“What is this?” You ask.

“Open contracts. Just in the city. I can narrow it by borough or expand it to the tristate area.” He goes back a page and pulls up filters.

You swallow as you note that he can sort it by proximity, payout, or preferred method of killing.

“Those are the contracts that are currently open. Tomorrow, many of these will be done and more will have been added.”

He goes back another page and chooses his own profile.

Another list of names and denominations come up and he scrolls down to highlight just how many there are. It’s nowhere near as expansive of the first list but there must be more than a dozen.

“These are all contracts that I have been, personally, asked to take.”

Fuck.

“I’ll admit, I probably have been asked to take more than the average assassin but you need to understand. This is real. We may have existed in the same city, but we come from very different worlds.”

You set down the, now empty, latte mug on the ottoman, leaning forward as you do. “Then why take me?”

John pulls back his phone and sets it in his pocket. You wonder if, given enough time, you could figure out his passcode. Break in. Call for help.

“It was too dangerous for you.”

“For me?” You question, “Out of the two of us, I lived in the safer world.”

“Safety is relative.” He waves a hand as if that’s obvious, “And it doesn’t account for chaos.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That anything can happen. All it takes is one misplaced bullet. An instant of being caught in crossfire.”

Okay, sure. Chaos and randomness were part of life. Not all that unusual in the grand scheme of things. But his argument was that the world was too dangerous for you so he pulled you away from it?

“I could also choke to death in this room. Or a nuclear bomb could hit New York and wipe us out. I could get sick. Things happen, John.”

He shakes his head, “I watched you, Helen.” You resist the urge to shiver at the name. “I watched you reading on the subway, not paying attention to anyone around you. You lived in a building where the front door didn’t even lock . You were practically asking for trouble. Anyone could have found you!”

Anyone did .

“There’s no reason anyone would go after me!”

“But that’s where you’re wrong. And, believe me, I’m grateful that you don’t see the world the same way I do, but there will always be people who seek to destroy beautiful things.”

You try to ignore his assessment and the way his words make your heart stutters in your chest.

There should be a rule that kidnappers couldn't be charming.

You swallow and shift uncomfortably, “So this is the solution? Just locking me away from the rest of the world?”

He looks almost exasperated and you wonder if you should just quit now, while you’re ahead. You’ve already learned more than you ever expected to.

"The locking away is not forever." John says, “Just until you’ve adjusted to your new life.”

“There was nothing wrong with my old life!” spills out before you can think better of it.

His nostrils flare, “Your cupboards were bare. Coffee was your breakfast and you barely ate lunch. Basically no survival instincts, living in a building that couldn’t have been easier to break into. Still over a hundred grand in debt from college--”

“How the fuck do you know that?” You ask. You knew he had been in your home but the way he says it, the things he knows...

John tilts his head to the side, “Your banking is on your phone. It’s not exactly secure.”

You look down, pushing your hair back, “Jesus.”

“It’s paid off.”

That causes you to look up, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“Your debt. It’s paid off.”

“What, you just had a hundred grand laying around?”

He shoots you a look because, of course he did. Probably didn’t even blink an eye at the sum that was keeping you living in said unsecure apartment and skipping meals a few times a week.

Why? You wonder. Because kidnappers shouldn’t give a damn about debt. Big picture, it was inconsequential, but he had gone through the trouble of figuring out your account and wiring money. Why?

John Wick is an enigma.

You’re never quite sure which way he’s going to go and then he goes and pulls things like this.

There’s a look of concentration on his face, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say. Ironic, you think, because there isn’t anything right he can say short of, “Here’s the key.”

Instead, he exhales, “I know this isn’t easy. I wish I could have prepared more but even then… you’re stubborn as hell.”

You think back to earlier, when he had offered a similar sentiment, “You said you hadn’t planned on taking me yet.”

“No.” He agrees, “I hadn’t. Although I’m not upset that I did. Even with the lock that you replaced, it was making me very anxious thinking of you alone in that building for any amount of time. I’ll admit you impressed me, there. I know you hadn’t seen me.”

"I felt you." You admit, "watching me. Always just out of sight. I felt like I was losing my mind."

"For that, I am sorry."

And now he was apologizing? Albeit not for kidnapping you, but for the manner in which he haunted you. It was more than you were expecting, although considering your position, the bar was undeniably low.

"Thank you." You say softly.

He smiles at you approvingly.

Rules and consequences, you muse. You've done something right, in John's eyes.

Of course, his version of a reward involved him teasing you with his fingers and tongue for an hour until you begged him to let you come.

The fact you've never come harder in your life was a thought you were saving to discuss with a therapist, if you ever make it out of here.

You wondered how much sex played into all this. Was it a motivator for him? Or just a bonus?

Again, you're forced to confront yet another twisted reality: were their others? This elaborate prison couldn't have been built, in a matter of only days, for you? Was that why he lamented having taken you so soon?

Its a dangerous question but you have to know. You need to know.

"Are there others that you've taken?"

His expression quickly shifts and you know, you know, you've said the wrong thing. You've pissed him off.

John leans forward, dark eyes on you the entire time, "No. And because, apparently, I have not made myself clear, there aren't any others, there have never been any others, there will never be any others. You are mine."

You shiver at his words. It seems unreal, almost. Because, honestly, you weren't that interesting.

You worked and you went home. Your hobbies were almost all homebody activities. The few friends you did have made fun of you for acting like a grandma.

It's all too overwhelming.

"I'm nobody," you whisper.

A beat passes and John closes the distance between you, stopping just in front of your chair. His hand reaches out and gently caresses your face. You resist the urge to shiver at the contact.

"You're wrong." He says it with conviction and you almost wonder if he knows something you don't. Of course, he doesn’t. He can’t.

But before you can say as much, he angles your face towards his and leans forward.

He wastes no time in capturing your mouth in a kiss as his hands tangle themselves in your hair. You dig your fingers into the chair as he devours you as you do your best to ignore the part of you that wants to wrap your arms around him in turn.

His hands rolls down your body before sinking into your ass. He rips you from your seat, almost effortlessly and you scramble to hold onto him as he drives you both back to the bed.

You're lowered until your back hits the mattress. Before you can blink, John is on top of you, kissing you again.

It hardly feels like a kiss so much as being consumed. He drinks from you like a fine wine, groaning suddenly, and you realize one of your legs has wound itself around his thighs, holding his body to yours. Immediately, you go to move it but John's hand shoots out to hold it in place as he rocks into you.

Fuck, you think, barely able to breathe as he kisses you harder.

You manage to turn your head to the side as he parts for breath, but it doesn't seem to even phase him.

His mouth lowers to your neck and suddenly he is fused to you. He sucks then nips and, god, this is somehow worse than him kissing you because it feels so good.

Your neck has always been sensitive and between John's lips, tongue, and that sinful beard, you feel as if you're losing your mind.

You can still taste him in your mouth and, god help you, he tastes so good.

He feels good, in ways he really shouldn't. His mouth on your neck has you aching in your core, wishing you could appease the discomfort.

John's beard scratches up your neck and over your cheek. The drag burns but it doesn't hurt so much as make you hyper aware of his presence. As if you could ever be anything else.

You’re not sure how much time passes as you lie there, underneath John. Locked in an embrace. He just holds you, his head tucking down. He breathes in deeply as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.

After a few minutes, he lets your leg fall back to the bed and he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“I know that this is different from what you’re used to. I know you must be feeling all sorts of things you aren't used to," you shiver as he looks up and meets your eyes, "But things will make sense. And they will get better. Okay?"

He seems almost tender in the moment and you're a little afraid of pushing him back towards aggressive. Still, your fear pushes you to say, "I don't want to be locked up forever."

"You won't be." He promises, a hand caressing your face and pushing your hair back. "I don't want you to have to be locked up at all. Right now, this is for your own protection."

From the outside world. An invisible enemy that likely doesn't exist outside John's head. From a million threats that came with just being alive.

"Down the line, when I feel you can be safe, I’ll take you out. Maybe we can get away for the weekend and go somewhere nice. But we’ll start slow. The house, the property. Trust needs to be earned.”

Trust needs to be earned. You can work with that. Bide your time, if need be.

“So,” you clarify, “If I’m good, I can go outside?”

“You can go on the balcony, with me, for now. But you cannot leave the property."

"Can… can I see the house?” You ask, surprising yourself with the desperation of it. The little spark of joy that comes at the idea of leaving this room.

John seems to consider your query, looking at you with an intense concentration.

You lick your lips, “I’ll be good.” You try, wondering if that might egg him in the right direction.

You doubt you’ll be able to escape. He probably has the entire house locked down like this room, but even if you can figure out exits, find out if there’s a phone…

Bide your time.

You can start to plan.

“Please?”

And at once, he seems to break in his resolve.

“Alright.” He says and John pushes to a seated position, “But if you misbehave, I swear to you, you will not leave this room for at least a week.”

“I’ll behave.” You find yourself nodding and John offers you a hand. You take it and he easily tugs you up.

"Why don't you grab your slippers?" John prompts and you ignore the sting of being infantilized.

You hurry to oblige. You had been so caught up in getting away from John, it hadn't occurred to you just how desperate you were to get out of this white room.

John undoes the locks while you get ready. You hear the faint beeping and then the click of the lock as you come out. The door is open and you feel a wave of relief flow through you. Stupid, you think. You’re not getting out of here anytime soon. But at least you can stretch your legs. Get a glimpse of the rest of your prison.

He offers you a hand. Again, unwilling to risk losing this opportunity, you take it.

John's hand is warm, if a little calloused. He leads you down a long hallway with closed doors. “Spare bedrooms.” He offers in terms of explanation. The last door, which is also shut, John hesitates on. It is at the very end of the long hallway.

“This room… is not done. I’ll show it to you later in the week.”

A twinge of anxiety hits your stomach. That he wouldn’t show you the room had many implications, all involving you. Your mind immediately went to torture chamber, but you pushed that thought out. For all his talk of punishments, he really seemed to prefer you willing and compliant.

You nod, however, and John turns you to look around at the balcony. Jesus fucking Christ.

His living room is massive. Bigger-than-your-apartment kind of big. It consists of a primary level that is largely empty of stuff save a few plants and side tables and a sunken center. The sunken center has two couches, several chairs, and a coffee table. All are centered around a tv that takes up a good portion of the wall.

John tugs your hand towards the stairs, which spiral down to the first level, and you descend.

"You're welcome to explore." He says as you reach the first level, "The basement is off limits for now. But the rest of the house is open to you."

He releases her hand and she steps forward, looking around. The house is stark white, with no paints or wallpapers to add a bit of color. There are, however, large windows that stretch entire walls.

There's a courtyard with trees and a bench, encased between walls and glass.

Unreal.

You walk across and under an entry way and into a large kitchen. There's a breakfast nook under a window, a granite countertop bar, and more space than you ever imagined in your dream kitchen.

Life really was unfair.

There's also a glass door. You imagine its made of the same unbreakable material as upstairs. It seems to be set up with the same kind of triple-lock system as your room. Thumb print, retinal scan, and a code.

Off the kitchen is a dining room, clearly unused, but clean.

It was a huge house but it almost looked like a house in a magazine or a model used for a walkthrough.

There was very little evidence that anyone lived there.

You look at John, who has followed you room to room, with curiosity.

He raises a brow.

"How long have you lived here?"

“Fourteen years.”

You blink, “Are you kidding?”

He shakes his head, “Why?”

“You’d never know.” You say, idly walking though and ending up back in the large living room. “There don’t seem to be any personal touches.”

“I don’t need much.”

Ironic, you think, considering the fact he lives in a fucking mansion.

Suddenly, a hand is placed on your chest as an arm reaches around you. John steps into the space behind you and holds you to him, resting his chin on your head as you both look out over the large space.

“You can decorate it however you like.”

Your heart stutters in your chest as he adds, “It’s your home, too, Helen.”

What a thought that is.

But he’s right, at least to an extent.

Until you can find a way out, this house is yours.

Your home.

Your prison.

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rwoolley97 · 4 years ago

Text

Who is important and ¿por qué?

Heroines, Role Models, and Everyday People

I am heartbroken

Mi corazón está sumamente triste

She was such an AMAZING human being

Un ser humano extraordinario y lleno de amor y bondad

These were some of the Facebook posts in the days after my friend Sandra’s passing on March 31, 2020. According to this ABC news article, she was the first teacher we lost to COVID in New York City. These were early days in our latest collective experience of human frailty brought on by this crazy pandemic. At the time, newspaper articles showed crisp charts with very tall bars for people over 65, but the bar for Sandra’s age group was pretty short. Sandra was my neighbor, my friend, and my peer. At 54 years old, we were the same age. Our kids were the same age, we’d both been dual language teachers for years, and we’d shared our dreams for supporting Sunset Park kids when we retired. My dream was to help kids with all of those little gaps in support as they head off to college. Hers was to start a really great preschool for families that couldn’t afford it. For me, the virus now felt real and personal; I now knew that the virus could take something from me, something important. In addition to the personal impact on me, the effects of Sandra’s death reverberated throughout our Sunset Park community. Sandra was an everyday, regular person in my life. But the way she lived her everyday life, made her special. For many, Sandra was a role model, and even a heroine.

In the days after her death, Facebook was filled with posts about what made Sandra so special (including, She was just the type of everyday superheroine that Dulce Pinzón portrays in her photographs at https://www.dulcepinzon.com/.

The New York Times, The Daily News, Democracy Now, Chalkbeat, NYSUT, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-NtmrK-S8g ). One of the posts listed the many awards she won for her teaching. Other posts told stories of all of the special ways that Sandra helped her students, her friends, her neighbors, and her family. Still others just talked about her warmth and kindness. Recently, I was in Prospect Heights and I ran across this mural commemorating Sandra from her school community. (It turns out it is part of a project, Underhill Walls, started by Jeff Beler collaborating with Love Heals to beautify an abandoned building. Sandra’s mural was recently added to the mural.)

Just to give you an idea, let me go back in time to tell how Sandra and I started to become friends…

Years ago, when my father was ill, we brought him to live with us. Soon after he arrived, my principal called me down to the office. My father had fallen in the bathroom. He hit his head and broke his hip, said the voice on the phone. Under the influence of strong, prescribed medications, my father’s lucidity came and went. The doctors told me I needed a Durable Power of Attorney, if I wanted to be able to make his medical decisions in his less lucid moments. To get that, I needed a notary public. This detail became a stressful task at the time, getting between me and my father’s care. After all, how can you get a notary public into the hospital and one that will keep coming back until he’s lucid?

Somehow Sandra heard about our situation and she reached out to me and volunteered; it turned out she was a notary public! She came to the hospital two or three times until my father was cognizant enough to go over the paperwork and understand what he was signing. Each time, I apologized and thanked her profusely. Each time she threw her head back, smiled a wide warm smile, and said it was no big deal.

At the time, I barely knew her. But, over the years, I learned that this is who Sandra was. She had two young kids, was helping to raise her sisters’ kids, taking care of older parents, and teaching full time in Red Hook, three neighborhoods away. And, every time I saw her, she shouted across the street and we chatted.

At the time of Sandra’s death, so early in this pandemic, this was a huge loss for me, a personal, heartbreaking loss. It still is.

Since then, I have come to wonder if this wasn’t more than just a personal loss, both because Sandra touched so many lives and also because, being Dominican, she was Latin@.

Back then, I was worried about my mother, my aunts and uncles, my friends’ parents, my older friends. I was shocked time and time again, as my friends lost family members at an alarming rate. One of my colleagues at school lost her father and her 24 year old brother within days. Another friend’s husband lost his grandparents and his father was in ICU for what seemed like ages. My student teacher’s grandmother was in the hospital for weeks. One of my professors told us to please be careful over Christmas break, because she had lost 3 family members within a week after they had a small birthday gathering. At some point, I realized that every last one of these people we had lost were Latin@ or Black. Before the press started reporting about the inequities of the ravages of the virus, it was becoming obvious to me.

My white 77 year old mother and 78 year old mother-in law were fine, even though the former kept going out to buy food, shop for non-essential items and the latter lived in a nursing home. My sister-in-law and nephew survived infection unscathed, even though they both had significant risk factors. In fact, my white family members and my many white friends were mostly fine. I’ve heard of only a tiny handful of white people who have lost family members or friends, mostly older and with quite serious underlying conditions.

By April 10, 2020, news articles like this NBC article were starting to pop up. According to the COVID Racial Data Tracker, a collaboration between the COVID Tracking Project and the Boston University Center for Antiracist Research, Latin@s are dying at a rate of 167 per 100,000, while whites are dying at a rate of 121 per 100,000 (Here is the link).

Sandra wasn’t pushed out of the neighborhood by gentrification and, since she owned her home, she wouldn’t likely have been. Still, she’s gone and I can’t help but think that, if she were white, she’d probably still be here. My anger, frustration, and resentment are palpable as I write this. Sunset Park is less without Sandra. How many other regular people, role models, and heros have we lost in the Latin@ community?

NOTE: Other challenges for the Latin@ community have been access to educational resources (like waiting so long for DOE iPads and ongoing challenges with Internet access, unemployment, and food insecurity, and access to vaccines).

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astronomical-bagel · 3 years ago

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please tell us about this pirate dsmp au you keep talking about. anything. one sentence. i am So Intrigued. (also theres a song i found that makes me think about it--Shackleton in The Endurance album, i don't remember the artist)

Anon anon anon you do NOT know how happy you just made me. I’ve been working on this for MONTHS, ive even gone so far as to write an outline. I’ve NEVER done that before, even with my 100k word fic. This au is my BABY. My CHILD. I‘ve done SO much worldbuilding and you bet your ass I’m working on more.

Here here here, I’ll ramble under the cut, because I’ve got so much to say

Okay, first! im not gonna spoil stuff but I wanna give you the crews!! The first name of each list is the captain, and the second is their first mate!! Also, there are some names that are in more than one list, but that’s just because they decided to switch over to a different one!

The Blade

Techno

Phil

Wilbur

Tommy

Tubbo

Ranboo

Niki

Jack

Quackity

Eret

Sapnap

Karl

Fundy

Fate Fatale

Puffy

Sam

Connor

Callahan

Corpse

Schlatt

Hannah

The Diamond Red Duckling

Bad

Skeppy

Antfrost

Ponk

Hannah

Nightmare

Dream

George

Drista

Mamacita

Ossium

Quackity

Sapnap

Karl

Shitass

Terry the butcher

Charlie Slimecicle

I’m super proud of my crews sjsjs even though some of them are so so short but I don’t have to introduce ever sailor on the ship, so I don’t gotta worry too much lol.

As for the namings, The Blade and Nightmare are pretty obvious, but Fate Fatale was named after Femme fatales, bc Y’know, puffy is a woman and she will kill you, but the first part was change to Fate because it is INEVITABLE that she kills ya, or so they say. Ossium was named after Quackity’s horse (it means bone in Latin). I may or may not change this one, but I like the idea of ppl calling the Bone Ship, and Quackity calling it his Ivory Steed or smth. I would t called it las Nevadas, but that’s still a country here lol.

the plot doesn’t actually line up with cannon chronologically, there is no L’manburg ship that Wilbur and Tommy are on and Wilbur blows up (though his backstory does include that he was the captain of the Symphony before his crew mutinied. I’m rlly proud of that name), there is no ‘Tubbo being the captain’ or whatever, there aren’t even any discs (they weren’t invented until 1880 or smth, and this is set in a vague 1700s time). So, it’s a pretty organic plot line. But! I do keep somethings in! Like exile, for one. It’s not actually exile, but it’s got the ‘Dream manipulating Tommy‘ part in it!

Speaking of Dream!!! There’s magic!! There’s magic in here and my writing teacher helped me write the entire magic system!!! I’m bit gonna put all of it down bc that is LONG and also some of it is spoily, but basically there’s 3 types of magic: Nether, End, and idk Earth magic? Still working on the name of that one. Anyways, the Nether and End are basically the afterlifes, but because of demons there can be travel between. It’s basically unheard of for an Earth person to go through to the other side (or a dead person to come back 👀👀) , but there’s legends. Nether demons are curious and and come over fairly often, therefore there’s more known about the nether.

Each person can be aligned with one of the three magics (more than one will kill you, end of story) and learn them— Earth being the easiest, as it is easily gained naturally (sirens, saytrs, druids) and easily learned. nether is the second easiest, with Nether demons being almost common in some places, and End being the hardest and most dangerous to learn (but the most beneficial!)

If you havent guessed yet, Ranboo is an End demon, and Bad is a nether demon. Tubbo, Puffy, and Schlatt are all saytrs, Sam is a siren, Hannah is a druid. Phil studies End magic, and thats how he gets his wings!! Elytra!!

Okay, since this is getting as long as some essays, I’ll just leave with a few fun facts:

in the Antarctic Empire, it’s an old custom to grow one’s hair out of theyre keeping an important oath, to show their commitment. Their hair is also very commonly a bright red!!

El Rapids, a small island nearby to the badlands, was annexed by Las Nevadas

people from L’Manburg are called L’men. Or British. Lots of people don’t know why they’re called British, but there’s stories about L’Manburg once being a colony of a small country called Britain, but when L’Manburg grew to be bigger than the country, it just kinda... ate it. Like agar.io

despite Britain once existing, the landform is nothing like our Earth’s

All demons have an energy source in the center of their chest that produces their magic. A Nether demons is called their Star, and an End demon’s is called their Pearl!

as a very very last thing, here is a list of swears used in this universe:

Prime

End (by the end, for end’s sake)

Ender

Nether

withering (used in the same way as fing but not as f, usually used for corruption-y things) (These withering vines won’t stop growing)

Mother (usually by Ranboo, its not as common) (Used alone, but also Mother knows, Mother knows best, Mother up above)

“By her scales” (referring to mother)

“By the bell” (Referring to the worship bell used in many religions and cultures, usually less of a curse and more used as a promise

Endermites (mostly used by ranboo but tommy and tubbo pick it up, maybe phil) (used like “fiddlesticks’)

anyways thank you for letting me ramble ehe, please don’t hesitate to ask again, I’ve got so much more to talk about. (also I was listening to the song you recommended on repeat while writing this. It loops so well!!)

#Starry ink #astronomical asks #Astro’s aus #pirate dsmp au

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piesandswords · 5 years ago

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Raising Werewolf Cubs Under His Bed

Posted on Archive of Our Own here.

Riddle laughed his high laugh again.

“It was my word against Hagrid’s, Harry. Well, you can imagine how it looked to old Armando Dippet. On the one hand, Tom Riddle, poor but brilliant, parentless but so brave, school prefect, model student… on the other hand, big, blundering Hagrid, in trouble every other week, trying to raise werewolf cubs under his bed, sneaking off to the Forbidden Forest to wrestle trolls… but I admit, even I was surprised how well the plan worked.”

Um… hey. Hey, Tom? Mr. Riddle? Dramatic ass “I am Lord Voldemort” person-sir? Do you mean human children???!!! Hey Joanne, do you mean human children cause werewolf cubs? Werewolf cubs have gotta be human children.

There are four explanations for this line that I can think of. One Doylist (explained out of text), three Watsonian (explained within canon).

The first explanation: JK Rowling did not come up with werewolf lore until after she had written the third book. That explains why she keeps writing about people being afraid of werewolves in the Forbidden Forest even when it wasn’t a full moon and shit like this. She just hadn’t come up with the facts yet.

This explanation, while probably correct, is boring as hell and we will be disregarding it.

Explanation number two barely warrants an entry. Riddle was trying to think of a magical creature and just said werewolves without considering what that would mean. This is somehow more boring than explanation one.

The third explanation is more fun. Wizards are, to put it kindly, mildly, and with some of the love in my heart, dumb as shit.

The Hogwarts education system is shaky at best. Thinking of how little math wizards know makes me want to cry. I would say something like “The class of History of Magic is so poorly taught that I doubt any of the students even know that ___” but like. The class of History of Magic is so poorly taught that I can’t come up with an obvious example of Wizarding history.

Due to the shaky Hogwarts education system, I can partially excuse Ron for being stupid in the area of “what are werewolves” when he talks about werewolves in the Forbidden Forest in book two, as of his two Defence teachers the more competent was Quirinus Quirrell.

(Lockhart’s teachings on lycanthropy involve him curing someone of it by sticking a wand down their throat and saying a spell, which… If it were that easy then Remus Lupin would have had a much better life. If he could fix his furry little problem by eating a wand, the man would have had unicorn hair and cypress soup every night for the rest of his life.)

(That being said, Ron should know more about werewolves. Molly or Arthur should have taught their kids things like that.)

Tom Riddle, in contrast to Ron, went to Hogwarts before the position was cursed. Given that he was the one who cursed it, this makes sense. Riddle had a stable education that, theoretically, involved a competent professor. He should know better.

But also, wizards are dumb as shit.

They seem to have no standardization to their education except for aiming for the OWLs and NEWTs. What educational standards has the Ministry released for teachers to follow? Probably none, that would be too competent. (Ignoring book five, ew.) Just because werewolves were covered in DADA during Harry’s time at Hogwarts doesn’t mean they were in Riddle’s. Maybe they were covered in Care of Magical Creatures, which Riddle would almost certainly not take. Or maybe they weren’t covered at all.

So maybe Tom Riddle hasn’t learned about werewolves in school. He knows about them when he’s older though, so what gives?

Here’s the thing. This Tom Riddle hasn’t had his dark magic field trip yet, the one he goes on after he graduates. What if he doesn’t know about werewolves, but he thinks he kinda gets the gist, and, being Voldemort, assumed he was correct.

Hagrid could have been raising puppies under his bed and Riddle could have been like. “Ah, yes. These are werewolf babies. I am correct on this and will not be corrected by anyone ever because I am the pinnacle of all things knowledge.”

Diary!Tom Riddle is #ForeverSixteen. He is a teenager who insists on being called “Flight of Death” (or, incidentally, Flight from Death, which, yeah). He wears eyeliner, he listens to fascist!MCR, he wants to commit genocide, you know, just regular teenage boy things. Yikes.

(Can you imagine 72-year-old Voldemort having to interact with his 16-year-old self? This insolent boy who doesn’t even know what werewolves are? Harry wouldn’t have had to destroy the Horcrux, Voldemort would do it himself to get the kid to stop talking.

Tom Riddle, age 16: “Lord Voldemort is my past, present, and future.”

Tom Riddle, age 70ish: “You’re about to be past due if you don’t shut up.”)

Anyway, that’s our third explanation. Tom Riddle is dumb as shit. This is backed up by the fact that 1) he is sixteen, 2) wizarding education is a hot garbage fire, 3) grown Voldemort is dumb as shit. He refuses to do research into things he thinks he understands in his seventies, why would he be any smarter at age sixteen?

This explanation is less boring. This is the one that I consider to be the closest to canon one. This makes sense, and it involves making fun of Voldemort’s dramatic bullshit and narcissism, which I approve of.

I like this explanation.

But explanation number three? It doesn’t hold a candle to explanation four.

See, here’s the thing. I believe that Voldemort is dumb as shit and that his education could have been pretty spotty.

But I also think that the boy that has rediscovered Horcruxes by doing too much research would not be completely ignorant of what werewolves are and how they work. They’re considered to be Dark Creatures™ so he would have come across them at some point when learning of the Dark™ Mysterious® Arts©.

So what if.

What if he wasn’t talking out of his ass?

What if Hagrid WAS raising werewolf cubs under his bed? Or, not cubs. Cubs implies non-people.

What if Hagrid was keeping werewolf children under his bed while he was attending Hogwarts?

Picture this: 11-year-old Rubeus Hagrid gets his letter for Hogwarts. He’s overjoyed. His father is a bit surprised that Hagrid, a half-giant, received his letter, but he is also overjoyed.

(The fact that Hagrid got into Hogwarts at all with wizarding prejudices as they are is honestly remarkable. We know that the Wizarding World is awful about treating those who aren’t pure-blooded wizards like people and Hagrid being a half-giant isn’t exactly subtle.)

So Hagrid goes to Hogwarts. He learns. He makes friends. He probably gets in quite a bit of trouble with teachers because he’s never been someone with a ton of common sense or tendency to follow rules. Being in trouble doesn’t bother him too much, he’s young and usually, he doesn’t think about consequences for his actions. Besides, often the reward is worth the risk.

So Hagrid finishes his first year having loved the experience. And he goes home for the summer.

Let’s say that Hagrid and his dad live on the outskirts of a relatively small Muggle town. They’re not quite in the wilderness, but they’re not quite in the town proper either.

A new family, the Canids, has moved next door since Hagrid has gone off to Hogwarts. They have two children roughly Hagrid’s age, a daughter named Freki, age 12, and a son named Geri, age 10. Given Hagrid’s friendly nature and the general boredom that comes with a long summer, the three of them quickly make friends and begin to spend quite a bit of time together.

(Forgive my mixing of Norse and Latin etymology here, I refuse to spend more than three minutes googling names that mean “wolf wolf” or “moon moon” that haven’t already been used in canon.)

Then, one day when they’re hanging out, something weird happens. What exactly it is, I’m not sure. Maybe a branch breaks while they are climbing a tree and no one gets hurt, despite how high up they are. Maybe Hagrid says something unthinkingly cruel on accident, and Geri’s feelings get hurt, and Hagrid’s hair gets turned pink. Maybe Freki finds a magical creature that Muggles aren’t supposed to be able to see. Maybe their father is off fighting in World War II (it is 1941, after all), and there is some unsetting news from the front, and one of the kids causes a sunny day to become a rainstorm.

However it happens, Hagrid figures out that he’s got two underage wizards on his hands. And he knows Freki (age 12) hasn’t received her Hogwarts letter.

Hagrid has never been one to keep his mouth shut. The man at the age of 62 let slip to a group of eleven-year-olds that 1) he had a three-headed dog, 2) the name of the dog was Fluffy, 3) Fluffy was guarding something that was owned or created by Nicholas Flamel, and 4) you can put Fluffy to sleep by playing any kind of music ever. He is not one for subtlety, or for secrets. Honestly, he might have told these kids about magic on accident even if they hadn’t shown signs of being wizards.

So he confronts the kids about the strange things that have been happening. Freki goes dead pale the second he opens his mouth. She begs him not to tell anyone in the village that there is something unnatural about them, Rubeus, please, you don’t know what people will do if they find out.

Hagrid’s confused. If they find out what exactly? Having magic is wonderful, you get to go to school and learn and make friends and discover all sorts of interesting facts and creatures and-

There are two ways this could go.

Either Freki and Geri don’t know about magic and they are delighted to hear about this wonderful place where they could be themselves, and also maybe they could get some help for this weird thing that has been happening to them since they were little kids and there was a wolf attack. Hagrid has to figure out very quickly how to deal with the fact that 1) he has to explain magic to his two friends, 2) his two friends are werewolves, 3) his two friends will not be accepted into wizard society, and 4) he also has to explain that.

Or Geri and Freki already know about magic. They didn’t know that Hagrid knew (they are in a Muggle town, after all), but they knew about magic. Maybe their mom was a witch and dad a Muggle. Maybe the other way around. Maybe both parents are wizards. Maybe they are the descendants of Squibs. Whatever their parental background, they have heard about Hogwarts. And they know the reason that neither of them had gotten Hogwarts letters, know the reason neither of them would ever get Hogwarts letters. And gently, sadly, they explain to Hagrid their situation.

And as Hagrid finds out that they’re werewolves and starts to process what that means for them and their future, Hagrid becomes indignant. And I mean Hermione-founding-misguided-but-well-meaning-organization-SPEW level indignant. I’m talking “thou shalt not insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me” level indignant. Indignant might not be the right word. He gets angry.

Remus Lupin will be the first werewolf to legally receive schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But if Hagrid has something to say about it? Freki and Geri will beat the record illegally by about thirty years.

(This is a man who has been alienated his whole life for his half-giant status. He knows the feeling of being discriminated against for something he can’t change about himself.)

(This is also a man who tried to raise a dragon egg in a wooden cabin. He doesn’t necessarily think things through.)

And so begins Operation Get-My-Friends-A-Wizard-Education.

Phase One: Preliminary Education.

Hagrid spends the rest of the summer teaching these two kids everything that he can remember from his first year of school. He’s got a month. He’s got his books. He’s got enough determination to intimidate God. He’s only got the one wand, but he’ll make do.

And as late August comes? He thinks they’re ready as they’re gonna get.

Phase Two: Smuggling Time.

Now, Hagrid is an oversized lad. And one of the things that comes with being an oversized lad is oversized clothes. And one of the things that comes with oversized clothes is an oversized trunk.

Hagrid also has an undersized father with an oversized heart and an undersized sense of what is a normal and sane thing to do. (The man had sex with a giantess for Pete’s sake!)

With a little convincing, said undersized father could make said oversided trunk be even more oversized on the inside.

Geri and Freki? Welcome to the Hogwarts Express, viewed from the luxury seats of “Inside Hagrid’s Trunk.” No complimentary beverages, I’m afraid, and the view’s not great, but all the oversized clothes end up being quite comfortable cushions.

So Hagrid smuggles two kid werewolves into Hogwarts.

Phase Three: Ah, Shit, Didn’t Think This Through… Er… Live Under My Bed I’ll Bring You Homework

So they live under his bed while he teaches them everything that he is learning in all of his classes, sometimes in the dorm room when no one else is there, sometimes in the Forbidden Forest when they can sneak out, sometimes in empty rooms around the castle. They spend each full moon as deep into the forest as they can go, hoping against hope that they won’t hurt anyone and they will be safe.

(In this universe, the rumors of werewolves in the forest came from somewhere. The stories of glimpses of wolves through the trees during this time were passed down through the generations. “My aunt’s cousin’s friend’s dad saw a werewolf in the forest” may not be the most credible of sources, but in this case, it holds a grain of truth.)

They are careful, and, for a while, they don’t get caught.

How long are they at Hogwarts? I don’t know. A while, certainly. A month? A semester? A full year? Maybe they make it through to when the Chamber of Secrets was opened and everyone became more suspicious and more alert before they were found out.

Once they are caught, the Canid children are promptly sent home. After all, you can’t have monsters in a school like Hogwarts, and what are werewolves if not monsters.

The staff lets Hagrid off with a warning, thinking maybe this was a one-off occurrence of idiocy. But they do view Hagrid with more suspicion after that. After all, he brought monsters into the school. Who’s to say what he’ll let in next?

That being said, Tom Riddle’s probably just dumb as shit.

Posted on Archive of Our Own here.

#harry potter #hp #hagrid #fanfiction #kat talks #look ma i over analyzed #my fic

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wellhellsbelles · 4 years ago

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Hi! i absolutely loved both the 1st chapter of to the rythm of your wild heart and the mini fanfic you wrote :) i found somewhere this prompt that was like farkle and riley are best friends and they work as teachers in the same school and their students ship them and have bets on when they are going to finally admit their feelings for eachother

omg thank you so much!! i’m having such a fun time writing all these prompts, and this one ended up being my favorite by far (especially considering the word count is uhhh 7.1k whoops lol)

Enjoy!!! :)

ao3 link or read below

Even if the universe hadn't pre-ordained them getting together, their students would've forced them in that direction.

The one where Farkle and Riley are teachers, best friends, and their students are maybe a little too involved in their love lives.

(i. the challenge)

“Okay, I know I’ve said it the last few years, but this will definitely be the year my photography class beats your puny little physics class,” Riley told Farkle, dropping a box full of supplies on his desk. He peered up from his computer, adjusting his glasses as he quirked a brow at his best friend.

“So that’s how we’re starting tomorrow? With a fresh cup of competition? What happened to Miss ‘I-Wanna-Take-It-Easy-This-Year’?”

“That was summer Riley. She’s different, you should know this by now, Farkle,” Riley scoffed. “And besides, that was before I was able to get funding for really cool cameras for class, photoshop for all our computers, and was given the greenlight to start photography club. Face it, Minkus, you’re toast.”

“Okay, Riley. Whatever you say,” Farkle rolled his eyes at her, stealing a sip of coffee from the mug on his desk (Riley got it for him a couple of Christmases ago and he loved it; it said, “I don’t give a flux”, and had a helpful diagram underneath that she couldn’t even begin to understand.)

“Damnit, Farkle! Stop using your stupid head games so I can feel victorious! I know you’re in this just about as much as I am, so stop feigning disinterest. I will be the best teacher this year for once! All of those physics students are going to be begging to be in my class!” Riley shouted, picking up the box off his desk and disappearing out of the room. Farkle listened to the sound of her sneakers squeaking against the hallway tile fading out in the distance, shaking his head and chuckling as he continued typing away on his computer.

(ii. the meeting)

Riley spotted him hiding amongst the teachers filling up the auditorium seats for their mandatory teacher orientation for the beginning of the new school year. It warmed her heart to see him sunk low in his chair, trying to appear invisible and yet clearly waiting for her if the denim jacket draped over the seat beside him was any indication.

They’d done this meeting numerous times now since they started—they’d met five years ago, both new teachers to the school and unsure about their place amongst the other staff. Riley had been nervous as hell, but as soon as she saw Farkle sequestered to one of the rows further back by himself, she realized she wasn’t alone. She took a seat beside him, introduced herself despite his desperation to remain unseen, and from then on they were glued to the hip, the best of friends. Neither of them had been apart from one another during any school function, and they didn’t intend on changing that.

He was her partner in crime, after all.

“Miss me?” Riley asked when she reached him. Farkle breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed her, picking the denim jacket up off of the seat and gesturing beside himself.

Even after all this time, he still remained nervous at the beginning of the year, still hiding himself away from the rest of the staff he knew well by now. His penchant for anxiety was a curious one, but not anything Riley chided him for. She’d done her job by helping him get acclimated to everyone else and was definitely pushing it by encouraging him to sit closer to the rest of the teachers during these meetings; she chose which battles she fought very carefully.

“You’re late by five minutes,” he said pointedly, and Riley rolled her eyes.

“So dramatic, Farkle.”

“I prefer ‘reasonably ceremonious’.”

“Whatever you say. Now, did you bring our entertainment or what?”

Farkle flashed his phone, showing off an image of a bingo sheet.

“Bingo,” he smiled cheekily, “It’s an updated version. I think I notice new quirks about Principal Carson every year.”

“As long as the bingo space is ‘Gals and Pals’, then we’re good as gold,” Riley told him.

“Oh, you know it is. I did have to replace some of the obvious Einstein quotes into their own category to make room for the comedian stool and water bottle.”

“It’s like he wants to do standup. I think we should just encourage him to do standup, it’d be a wonderful time,” she laughs.

“It’d be fantastic, but then we’d be out of a principal. He’d be too good,” Farkle said, and Riley’s laughter quickly turned to a full-out peal. Some of the teachers around sent her looks of disdain and she cut herself off, but not before allowing one last cackle to slip past her lips.

“Alright, gals and pals! Are we all ready to get started for our new school year? I know I am!” Principal Carson exclaimed, taking his place at the front of the stage. “We better get started, because as Einstein said, time is relative!”

“Wow, two in one go. This is getting to be too easy,” Riley whispered, and Farkle couldn’t help but agree.

(iii. the bet)

Riley watched with amusement as all her students gathered around one student in particular, whispering in hushed, conspicuous tones. She loved her advanced photography class because they all had been together for so long, had formed their own friendships with one another after sharing the same class. They were sort of one big family at this point, and it wouldn’t be the first time they’d done something sneaky behind Riley’s back.

It’s only the second week, Riley thought, What could they possibly be planning?

“Alright guys, break it up. Don’t you wanna learn some neat photoshop tricks?” Riley asked rhetorically, waving her hands apart to mimic separating.

The students fled to their seats, allowing her to finally see the student in question they had been crowding around. The girl, a small red-head named Penny, was busy compiling a stack of cash and then shoving it into a plastic bag, and despite knowing Penny was harmless, Riley didn’t want to leave the matter.

“Penny, whatcha got there?” Riley said, pointing to the money. Penny shrugged.

“It’s the pot. I’m the bookmaker.”

“Bookmaker?”

“Ms. Matthews, no offense, but please follow along. It’s not that hard; I’m taking bets.”

Riley narrowed her eyes at her student.

“What could you guys even be betting on? We’re in a high school,” Riley mused, bewildered. “Also I am not about to let you guys run a gambling ring under my nose. That reeks of something I can get in trouble for.”

“Relax,” Penny told her, “It’s nothing bad. We’re all just placing bets on when Mr. Minkus is going to ask you out. Or vice-versa. Actually, there’s also a bet for if it happens at the same time. I think Frankie’s the one who’s got that bet, he’s been holding down the betting pool for the AP Physics class.”

“What?!” Riley exclaimed, “What do you mean you’re betting on us getting together?”

“Ms. Matthews, you and Mr. Minkus have been toeing around one another the last few years. We just figured we’d try and capitalize on it this year. I ran a soft betting pool last year sans money, and I think it turned out really well, personally,” Penny exclaimed.

“You two are just so cute together!” Maggie crooned from behind her.

“I really thought I was gonna win it, too, but then we came back and I had lost,” Jess pouted from the back of the classroom. Riley’s head was still reeling from the fact that her students were betting on her love-life.

“What made you think you were gonna win?” she asked Jess.

“Well, Tanner had told us that Mr. Minkus had moved into your apartment building at the end of the year, so I assumed it’d take you to the end of summer to get your crap together. I was wrong, apparently,” Jess said.

“Oh my god, I cannot have my students betting on my personal life. That is just all levels of wrong,” Riley announced, running her hands down her face. “Alright, no more of this! I am not condoning this strange gambling ring you’ve got going on. And Penny, you better tell Frankie to cut it out, too! Mr. Minkus and I need our students to recognize that there’s a reason we keep our personal lives out of the classroom. We’re here to learn, so if I catch you guys talking about it in class again, I’ll have no choice but to give you detention, okay?”

That effectively cut off any further chatter on the matter, and Riley sighed, shaking her head.

This was going to be a fun school year, no doubt about that.

(iv. the new teacher)

“The kids have a bet going on,” Riley told Farkle three weeks later. They were waiting their turn in the makeshift buffet line in the cafeteria, paper plates in their hands as they made their second trip for dessert. A potluck had been set up after school for the staff to celebrate the first month of school going off without a hitch (it was always Riley’s favorite; Lisa the Latin teacher always brought homemade lemon squares that were to die for.)

“Oh yeah?” Farkle asked.

“Apparently they’re in conjunction with your kids, as well. I had to stop a gambling circuit with actual money from forming in my classroom, but I think it’s already too late,” she groaned, stepping forward when the line moved.

“Wait, my kids, too? I know we get competitive against one another but isn’t that taking it a little too far?” he said, eyebrow raised in concern. “What could they possibly be betting on, they’re high schoolers!”

“You know, I asked the same question. Penny thought I was nuts for pestering her about it.”

“Penny Miller? Notoriously shy Penny Miller? That Penny?”

“Yeah, she’s the bookmaker. I think I made her too confident in my class, if that’s possible.”

“I think someone has an inflated ego. Narcissus, eat your heart out!” Farkle exclaimed, clenching his fist. Riley jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

“Rude! I am not egotistic. I just know my worth is all.”

“Narcissistic,” he coughed, earning him a look of disdain from her.

“You’re mean, Farkle Minkus.”

“I am what I am,” he shrugged, grabbing a piece of cake to place on his plate. “This cake looks too good to be Stacy’s. Is it possible that she honed her cake-making skills this summer, because if so, I’m here for it.”

“Pretty sure the new teacher made it,” the teacher across from him, Landon from the history department, cut in. “Stacy had to go on maternity leave at the last second.”

“New teacher?” Riley furrowed her brows.

“Yeah, Isadora Smackle, teaches calculus. She’s right over there,” he pointed ahead to a small, lanky girl with tan skin, long raven hair, and black cat-eye frames. Farkle’s mouth dropped open and Riley had to poke him to get his attention.

“Farkle?”

“What?” he answered, not really paying attention as his eyes remained on the new teacher. Riley pouted.

“I wasn’t done telling you about the bet. Don’t you want to hear about it?”

“Yeah, sure, but could you give me a moment? I’m gonna go talk to that new teacher,” he told her as he walked off towards Isadora Smackle.

Riley felt a pang of disappointment go through her, but she ignored it for the sake seeming ridiculous. He was just going to go talk to the new teacher, it wasn’t like he was going to abandon Riley at the potluck. It was their tradition to go to these things and bear them together, because as much as Riley put on a front about being comfortable around everyone, it really was only because she had Farkle there to make her feel comfortable.

Without him it was like . . . it was like she was missing a limb.

Riley stole two lemon squares (what, she was feeling sorry for herself!) and sat back down at the table the two of them had once preoccupied. She pretended not to watch them from afar, but she couldn’t help herself in the end—she’d never seen Farkle put himself out there like this; it was strange. But there he was, standing in front of Isadora Smackle with a goofy grin on his face, and despite seeming stiff still, she seemed just as charmed by Farkle.

Suddenly Riley didn’t feel like eating her lemon squares.

She waited for him to come back, too, but after a long while, she realized that was a fruitless effort. Farkle was glued to the new teacher and Riley was left deserted, so she threw out her lemon squares, found her bag, and left to go finish work in her classroom.

And if she ignored the obvious hurt snaking its way down her throat, well . . .

So be it.

(v. the grudge)

“Alright, I’m forcing you to eat with me, effective immediately,” Farkle announced as he barged into Riley’s classroom during lunch. She had her door shut to deter any office hours while she tried to catch up on grading, something that seemed to have been slipping by her lately.

The door was not shut, however, to one Farkle Minkus—she couldn’t keep him out even if she tried.

Riley eyed him warily as he set a bag down on her desk, pulling out the contents to reveal Chinese food from their favorite Chinese place down the street.

A bribe.

“Bribe me all you want, Minkus. I’m still busy,” she tried to brush him off, but Farkle was persistent. He didn’t take no for an answer, opening all the containers of food and placing chopsticks in front of her.

“Nope, not going to happen. You’re going to have lunch with me because snuck in all this food, and I’m not going to let it go to waste because somebody is being snippy with me,” he told her, tossing a plate in the only empty spot on her desk. “I hope you appreciate me because I bought orange chicken which I know you love and you know I detest, so dig in or so help me god.”

Well, Riley really couldn’t argue with that logic.

She sighed in resignation, abandoning her position at her computer and turning to face him. She picked up the chopsticks begrudgingly and began scooping rice onto her plate, a small smile on her face.

It was hard for Riley to stay mad at Farkle; he made it impossible.

“Fine, thank you for the food I didn’t ask for, Farkle,” she told him, emphasizing his name at the end for dramatic effect. The smug grin spread across his face quicker than lightning, and she would’ve done anything at that point to wipe it off (except she wouldn’t, she couldn’t.)

“You’re welcome, Riley. Now catch me up on stuff. I haven’t seen you in a hot second.”

“Penny’s still driving me nuts, there’s that. I know she’s still running that underground betting ring and it makes me so mad that I don’t know how to stop it,” Riley huffed. “Then, of course, I have to learn how to use photoshop along with the rest of the kids because I haven’t been able to afford photoshop on my own, so not only does my class get to fail, but they get to see me fail at it, too.”

“Riley,” Farkle said softly, reaching out to grip her hand, “You’ve got this. Your kids know how amazing of a teacher you are, and they know it’s as much of a learning curve for them as it is for you. You’ll get the hang of it because you’re Riley Matthews.”

She couldn’t help the feeling of warmth that spread through her body from his touch, how being around him alone made her mind ten trillion times calmer.

“Thank you, Farkle. For everything, really,” she smiled. Farkle smiled back at her, his mouth dropping open as he made to speak, but then Isadora Smackle (Smackle, she insisted upon being referred to as) opened the door and stuck her head through. Farkle released Riley’s hand at once, his attention turning to Smackle.

“Farkle, we have math club in five minutes! Did you forget you’re supposed to be going over important theorems in preparation for next weekend’s competition?” she asked. Farkle glanced over at Riley then back at Smackle, and Riley didn’t need to be a mind reader to know his decision.

“Go ahead, Farkle. Your math club needs you,” she told him, waving him towards the door.

“Rain check?” he asked as he stood up from the chair he’d pulled up to the desk. Riley nodded.

“Sure thing.”

Farkle waved and parted with a quick goodbye, disappearing out of Riley’s door and leaving her with a desk full of partially touched Chinese food.

Your math club needs you, she said aloud.

But I need you more, her heart cried out softly.

(vi. the planning committee)

As per usual, once October arrived, everyone began planning for the school’s fall festival. It was Riley’s favorite event of the year, the one she looked forward to every time autumn came around. She’d loved it so much her first year of teaching at the school that when the student council needed help after deciding to expand the festival outside of the gym, she volunteered without hesitation. And, of course, where Riley went, Farkle followed.

They always asked for volunteers inside of their classes, but this year Riley was proud that she could enlist her entire photography club to help, along with Farkle’s math club. Sure, things had changed between her and Farkle since the beginning of the semester, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t going to uphold tradition to help plan and set up the festival.

“We should be set for next week,” Rebecca, the student body class president, announced towards the end of their final meeting for planning. “I contacted all the food trucks that had said yes to confirm their attendance and they’re all still on board, Chelsea called the pumpkin patch to check and make sure the pumpkins would be delivered on time, all our booths have been divided between the photography club and math club, and we have a final announcement. Wanna take it away, Ben?”

Ben, the vice president, cleared his throat and a grin grew on his face.

“We didn’t want to say anything until the last minute just to make sure it was going to actually happen, but we booked a Ferris wheel this year!” he exclaimed. Everyone applauded and Riley’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“That’s amazing, guys! This is going to be the best fall festival yet!”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said, a bashful smile creeping at the corners of her mouth. “Now, any last questions before we break until next week?” No one said anything, everyone in agreement that they had everything on lockdown. “Awesome! Thank you guys so much, and I can’t wait for next Saturday. This is going to be the bomb!”

Everyone began packing up, excited chatter filling the room as they all talked about the anticipated fall festival. Riley picked up her own bag and walked to meet up with Farkle, knocking her shoulder into his.

“Hey,” she greeted him cheerfully.

“Hey!” he echoed back, pulling his laptop bag over his shoulder and following her as they left the room they used for committee meetings.

“So, isn’t this awesome? We’ve got so many cool booths going on this year, food trucks, and a freaking Ferris wheel.”

“I know, I can’t believe how big it’s going to be. To think it was only a small set of booths and homemade crafts when we started out.”

“I loved it then, too, but I’m so glad we’ve been able to help it branch out a bunch. I just know I can’t wait to kick your ass at the ring toss. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been practicing all summer long,” she told him, smug. Farkle paused mid-step in the hall, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward.

“Uh, about that, Riley . . .”

“What?” she asked, glancing over at him. The look on his face was apologetic, and it suddenly dawned on her why.

“I asked Isadora if she wanted to go with me this year, I’m sorry,” he told her, brow furrowed.

“Oh. Okay,” Riley said, trying her best to keep her features schooled, “That’s . . . that’s fine. I’ll just help out with one of the booths this year. I’m sure Penny would love to have me help with pumpkin carving.”

“Riley, you love getting to do all this stuff at the festival. You don’t need me to have fun there.”

She shook her head.

“No, it’s really fine. I know Penny needed help with coordinating all the pumpkin stuff, so I’ll just do that. I want to see people enjoy it themselves more than anything, so this will make me just as happy,” she tried to reassure him, but her words felt flat even to her own ears.

“Riles . . .” Farkle trailed, wanting to fight her on the matter, but Riley gave him a sad sort of smile.

“I’ll be busy with work and photoshop classes, so see you at the festival?”

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed half-heartedly, and Riley waved goodbye before abandoning him in the hall to walk to her car.

In that moment, Riley felt like she was losing everything. She didn’t want to, but her heart felt the loss all the same; Farkle was supposed to be her best friend, the one who she went to all these school events with, the person who stuck by her side no matter what. But now that Smackle was in the picture, Riley found herself abandoned at these functions more often than not. What was once enjoyable to her had hinged entirely on Farkle being there with her, and that realization left her feeling . . .

Alone.

She felt alone, and she hated it.

(vii. the festival)

Riley put on her favorite purple-striped t-shirt, overalls, black converses, and braided her hair into twin pigtails, preparing herself for the festival. She topped the look off by tying a bow around her head, looking at herself in the mirror with confidence afterward. She was determined to enjoy the festival despite the fact that she was flying solo this year, and really, she could. The festival was always her favorite and although her plans changed, she had a feeling she’d still have fun.

She’d be damned if she didn’t.

Riley grabbed her bag and left her apartment, locking the door and resisting throwing a glance at the apartment door across from her. All she needed to do was shut her brain off and not worry about anything, not bother being bent out of shape about the sudden shift in her life.

Easier said than done.

Her brain had this unparalleled habit of holding on to every worry and anxious thought that cropped up inside her mind. It was hard to just shut that off; it was all she ever knew. But she also knew that she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to enjoy the day she’d been looking forward to all year long. It didn’t behoove her to ruminate, either, so she remained optimistic, actually thrilled to help carve and decorate pumpkins. Fall was still fall, her favorite season of the year, and nothing could stop her from that.

Not even dumb boys and dumb dates.

The festival was an array of glowing lights when she arrived, and that familiar spark of overwhelming joy coursed through her at the sight. There were already cars filling up the spaces of the parking lot despite the festival not starting for another ten minutes, and Riley couldn’t believe her eyes as she got out of the car, the Ferris wheel standing tall in all its grandiose glory. She beamed at all the hard work coming to fruition, knowing for certain that this was going to be their best festival yet.

“Ms. Matthews, I can’t believe you’re helping me out with pumpkins this year!” Penny greeted her, face already covered in wild face paint that made her look like a scarecrow.

“Yeah, I’m excited!” Riley exclaimed. “I’ve seen the way you’ve manned this booth singlehandedly the last couple of years and can’t wait to help you out.”

“Do you mind setting out some pumpkins for me, then? I still have to get the paint set up for the stations,” Penny asked.

“Sure thing!”

Riley did as she was told, setting out pumpkins of all different shapes, sizes, and colors, admiring each one as she set them down. She was glad that they used pumpkins from a local pumpkin patch and that they didn’t just stick to the standard orange ones, but the other sorts of gourds that came in a variety of colors. As soon as she finished, she noticed that people had already started filing in, kids, teenagers, and parents alike. They all wore bright grins and their eyes sparkled in wonderment at everything around them.

It made Riley’s heart feel warm to see it.

They manned their booth until all the pumpkins had been given away and decorated, happy to see everyone decorate their pumpkins in their own styles. Riley found herself caked with purple paint up the entirety of her arms, and when Penny saw it, she added a brushstroke of orange to her nose.

“To balance it out,” Penny had explained. Riley couldn’t argue with that logic.

By the time the last pumpkin had been gifted, the last few people remaining at the decorating stand, a familiar pair of people arrived.

“Hey, guys,” Farkle said, Smackle at his side. Riley’s smile at him came and went within a few seconds, from the moment she spotted him to the moment she noticed his fingers laced with Smackle’s.

“You look like you jumped in a vat of purple paint,” Smackle pointed out to Riley.

“I may as well have,” Riley found her voice.

“Too bad you two just got here, we’re out of pumpkins,” Penny told them with a shrug.

“That’s okay, we were just stopping by here to check out how everything was going before heading to the Ferris wheel,” Farkle said.

“Oh,” Riley said, her voice small.

“Well, why don’t you two go enjoy it, then? We’ll finish up here ourselves, thanks for visiting!” Penny cut in, an urgent edge to her tone as she shuffled Farkle and Smackle away from their booth. Riley sighed, crossing her arms against her chest as a dry hurt stuck itself in her throat.

“Hey, wanna get some funnel cake? It’s on me, Ms. Matthews; you look like you could use some sweet, fried food,” Penny offered, and Riley didn’t even have it in her to try and fight her on it. She just nodded her head, waiting while Penny grabbed her purse and then tugged her along towards the funnel cake truck.

Penny was right, in the end. Riley’s mood peaked again at the first taste of powdered sugar and fried dough, bursting into a fit of laughter when she noticed Penny had sugar caked all over her face after two minutes of having the confectionary. They wandered around the rest of the festival just to check things out, but Penny remained silent for the benefit of Riley, who appreciated the sentiment very much so. It floored her how caring and amazing her students were, especially Penny who had managed to land herself on Riley’s list after the bet debacle.

“You know, I am sorry about the bet thing,” Penny announced later, breaking the silence. Riley peered at her curiously, finishing her last bite of funnel cake before responding.

“Thanks. It did annoy me, but it didn’t matter to much to me until recently.”

“Do you think,” Penny began, “And don’t get mad at me, but do you think there might be another reason it bothers you?”

“What do you mean?” Riley asked. Penny’s mouth opened to respond, but her bright green eyes peered over to the Ferris wheel, widening in surprise when she saw something. Riley turned in time to see what it was exactly that Penny saw—

Farkle and Smackle were on the Ferris wheel together, and he was kissing her.

Suddenly, Penny’s question to Riley made sense, and more than that, the entire time since Smackle had entered the picture. Riley’s heart plummeted in her chest, her eyes stinging with regret.

Riley was in love with Farkle.

But she had realized it a day late and a dollar short, and now she had to face the repercussions and watch as he fell in love with someone else.

(viii. the breakup)

Riley’s epiphany at the fall festival was earth shattering and it hurt like hell, but that was it. Life went on after that and Riley did her best to ignore her feelings. She knew in retrospect that it had made sense, but there wasn’t much that knowing could do for her now. So she put herself into making herself better at photoshop for the kids, even signing them up for a special class at a local community college that focused on basic fundamentals of photoshop.

Her life wasn’t what it used to be, sure, but she learned to be happy with that. And she was.

Penny didn’t mention the underground betting ring again. In fact, she made it her personal goal to become Riley’s aide in class, sticking to her like Velcro. Riley didn’t know how to feel about the fact that her current best friend was twelve years younger than her but having Penny around was a welcome distraction. She was sweet and it made her happy that she had such wonderful students. Penny was also incredibly talented and actually knew a few photoshop skills that helped Riley out immensely.

Riley hardly saw Farkle anymore.

They were still friends, of course, but he rarely made the time he used to to see her, instead focusing his time on the math club and spending time with Smackle. Riley figured that she needed the space to clear her head, anyhow, because as much as he was her best friend, she depended on him for a lot.

This was . . . this was good for them.

Or that was what Riley tried to convince herself of.

She missed him more than anything, and not just because of her new-found feelings. Riley missed Farkle because he was her person, her best friend, the person she could depend on no matter what. And right now he was doing the one thing she never thought he could do.

He was letting her down.

But she ignored it, pushing her emotions deep down into a cavern in her chest and locking it shut. Riley had to focus on teaching her kids and enjoying her photography club, and idle feelings about Farkle were making themselves an obvious obstacle to that. So she allowed him to fade into the back of her mind, and things got better little by little.

Right until he threw himself back into her life.

“Do you mind if I take a seat next to you?” he asked her one day during one of their monthly staff meetings. It hurt Riley that he’d even feel the need to ask, but she understood that things were different. Not unfixable, just . . . different.

“Of course,” she told him, gesturing to the open spot beside her. His long gangly limbs settled himself into the seat, and Riley tried her best to not be charmed by him.

It didn’t work; it never really could when it came to him.

“You’re not sitting with Smackle today?” Riley inquired, curious. He shrugged half-heartedly.

“We broke up.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. We all have a whirlwind romances,” he said, trying to brush it off, but Riley could tell he wasn’t unaffected by it. She relaxed herself around him, unable to tame her natural instinct to comfort him.

“Farkle, romance is romance. You care and regardless of the amount of time you spend together, it still sucks when it ends, even if it’s on your terms. You’re allowed to be affected by the world around you.”

“Can we just talk about it another time?” he asked instead. Riley gave him a soft smile.

“Of course. Wanna pull out the bingo board?”

Farkle beamed.

“Do I ever.”

(ix. the crush redux)

The thing was, Riley loved holidays. She loved the major holidays—Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Halloween—all of them were her favorites. But she also loved the lesser-known or lesser-loved holidays just as much.

She was just a holiday fanatic.

So, despite the event not having as much traction as the fall festival, Riley still maintained excitement for the winter formal. Dances weren’t quite the same for teachers; they didn’t get to enjoy that wonderful feeling of teenage angst and romance, of nerves and excitement at the prospect of getting to enjoy time with your crush. But it had an air of fun attached to it regardless, so Riley helped plan for it all the same.

This was, of course, one of the tasks Riley never asked Farkle to help with.

She volunteered her time completely of her own volition because she genuinely enjoyed planning events for the school, so anything outside of the fall festival Riley assured Farkle he didn’t need to participate if he didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to—usually.

Which was why it came as a surprise to Riley when he arrived five minutes past starting time and sat beside her in the planning committee room without a single word, just pure determination on his face.

“What are you even doing here?” Riley had whispered, only to earn a hush from Farkle.

“Shhh. We’ve gotta focus right now.”

She huffed back at him but obeyed directions all the same, her curiosity by his presence still piqued, nonetheless.

Everything had gotten better between them; they’d spent the last month getting reacquainted with their friendship, not only spending time together in school but out of school, as well. He’d insisted on taking her out to eat every Friday, and the two of them created lesson plans together every week. There was just one small hitch in their friendship that made everything just a little more complicated.

Riley knew she was in love with him now.

That was something she could hold back easily before, when she knew he was unavailable and didn’t want to make time for her. But now that he was single, he wanted to spend every second with her, and it made Riley want to tear her hair out from the frustration that was bubbling up inside her.

At least she knew she had the angst and romance ready to go for the winter dance.

“Any questions?” Rebecca asked. Riley stared blankly at her, her brain having picked up on none of what Rebecca had been saying.

“I’ll fill you in later,” Farkle whispered to her when he noticed the expression on her face. Riley hated being an open book sometimes.

“Let’s split into partners to get some ideas flowing for decorations. We’ll come back in five minutes. Alright, break!”

Riley and Farkle turned towards each other, both knowing they were going to be partners without having to ask.

“So, the theme is ‘winter’,” Farkle said cheekily. Riley stuck her tongue out at him.

“Up yours, Minkus.”

“Ms. Matthews,” he gasped, acting mock offended, “This is not appropriate conversation for the children.”

“You’re such a nerd! We need to be coming up with ideas, let’s go. We don’t wanna look like idealess losers.”

“Okay, okay, we can start brainstorming. I just have one question that you’re going to have to answer me honestly,” he said. Riley quirked her brow.

“Oh yeah?”

“Can you promise me we go to the winter formal together? I missed being able to be with you at the fall festival,” Farkle told her, and Riley felt the blood rush to her face.

This isn’t a date. He’s not asking you out on a date; you’re just friends! It’s a friend thing, and you’re going to be chaperones, Riley tried to convince herself.

“Of course I’ll go with you, Farkle. There isn’t anyone else I’d want to go with than you,” she said, groaning internally when she registered the weight of her words. It was too late to take them back, but it didn’t seem to matter because Farkle was beaming from her answer.

“I can’t wait,” he smiled, and Riley knew from that point forward that she was in too deep.

(x. the winter formal)

Riley signed up to help place all the decorations for the winter dance, so by the time she’s finished, she knows she’s gotta perform a miracle to get back on time. She has to return to her place, shower, get dressed, and apply her makeup all within the span of forty-five minutes. So she set a timer on her phone, painted a look of pure determination on her face, and took off like a rocket (while maintaining proper speed in order to avoid traffic violations.)

By some form of divine intervention, she accomplishes her goal with five minutes to spare. She zipped herself up inside her dress—an icy-blue, knee length dress with a semi-sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps, and a shimmery, chiffon skirt—and slipped on her silver, strappy high heels, checking her makeup in the mirror one last time to make sure it was perfect. Her doorbell rang and she grabbed her crossbody purse, rushing off to answer the door.

“Hi,” she greeted Farkle happily as soon as she swung the door open. He looked very handsome in his navy-blue suit and silver tie and Riley felt her hands grow clammy.

This was starting to feel a lot like a date.

In fact, when she appeared in front of Farkle, his mouth dropped open as his eyes raked over her, and butterflies began fluttering around in her stomach at the notion of him checking her out.

“Uh, you look gorgeous,” he told her, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat. He held a hand out to her, obviously trying to regain his cool (something she’s never known Farkle to have once in the entirety of her knowing him). “Ready to go?”

“Ready,” she nodded, grabbing his hand. His fingers laced with hers and she stepped out to shut and lock her door, following him down the hall and to his car afterward. They didn’t talk, but Riley didn’t mind it at all.

They arrived at the dance ten minutes after it began (they really didn’t mean to; The Backstreet Boys started playing on the radio and they had to jam out to it!) Riley smiled at all their hard work once they made it inside the gymnasium, happy to see it balanced out by the soft glow of disco lights they had placed all around. Iridescent snowflakes dangled from the ceiling, twirling around and shimmering playfully. Everyone looked wonderful in their formal outfits, all paired with huge grins just from having fun being out and around one another.

“Looks fantastic, Riles,” Farkle told her, nudging her gently with his elbow.

“I mean, I didn’t do all of it,” she shrugged, bashful, but Farkle shook his head.

“You still helped it look amazing. Anything Riley Matthews sets her mind to always turns out incredible.”

Riley wanted to squeal from embarrassment and giddiness from the compliments he was giving her, but she remained calm, instead tugging him towards the refreshments table. She scooped a cup of punch for him and then herself, and then they both stood off to the side of the gym in their own little area partially sequestered from the rest of the teachers. They made sure to do their job being chaperones, of course (high schoolers had a real knack for getting too close too one another for her comfort), but they also enjoyed themselves. Riley appreciated getting to spend quality time with Farkle, and he always knew how to make her laugh.

Then a slow song came on, one Riley could only call an indie slow dance song, and Farkle turned toward her with a sparkle in his eye that she couldn’t forget if she tried.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, his eyes bluer than a sky on a cloudless day. Riley could hardly find the words to say yes, so she nodded and allowed him to draw her out to the dance floor amongst the rest of the teenagers. He laid his hands on her waist while she hooked her arms around his neck and they swayed together rhythmically, their eyes never leaving one another’s.

“I feel silly dancing among all these teenagers,” she laughed.

“Do you wanna stop?” he asked.

“That’s the last thing I wanna do right now, Farkle Minkus,” she told him, her words soft as they left her tongue. Somehow, they had shifted closer to one another, and Riley could the ghost of Farkle’s breath on her cheeks.

“What’s the first thing you wanna do then?”

“I wanna kiss you,” she confessed, her eyes darting down quickly to his lips and then back up to his gaze. She wasn’t sure what had made her so brave but she was certainly glad for it, relieved to get that thought off her chest finally. And then Farkle said something that surprised her more than anything.

“I wanna kiss you, too.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Get the girl, Minkus,” she whispered to him. Farkle grinned and then leaned in, hovering for a second before pressing his lips against hers.

Nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of kissing Farkle Minkus—it was like electricity coursing through her system, all of her neurons firing off in her head at once. His fingers reached up to cup her face, the warmth of his hands burning an imprint into her skin.

Finally, her heart sang.

“Oh my god!” someone screamed behind them, causing them to break apart. Riley peered over Farkle’s shoulder and saw Penny standing there, pure elation on her face.

“Oh no,” Riley groaned into Farkle’s chest, and she felt the vibrations of his chuckle against her skin.

“I can’t believe I won the bet!” Penny continued, grinning ear to ear. Riley shot her a look of surprise.

“Wait, you guessed we’d get together at the winter formal of all things?”

Penny shrugged.

“I’m a romantic at heart. I had a good feeling about it.”

“Well, congratulations, Penny, but do you mind?” Farkle said. Penny turned red, sputtering a goodbye as she left them on their own. Riley laughed at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“What even are our lives?”

“The best ones out there, I’d wager. If I didn’t take this job, I’d never have met you, Riley Matthews,” Farkle told her.

“And I’d never have met you, Farkle Minkus. Guess life has a funny way of making things work out in the end,” Riley said.

Farkle agreed with her by pulling her in for another kiss, and Riley couldn’t help but think she had the best life in the entire universe.

#riarkle #riley x farkle #Riarkle fanfiction #riarkle fanfic

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mst3kproject · 5 years ago

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602: Invasion USA

This is not the 1985 movie with Chuck Norris. I suppose I should watch that one someday as an Episode that Never Was, but for now we have this. Its basic purpose is the same as that of Rocket Attack USA, to scare the audience into patriotic loyalty, and it shockingly manages to be even worse at it.

A bunch of people are sitting around in a bar talking about the universal draft when an unnamed country suddenly declares war on the United States, and… well, that’s it, really. Stock footage of anti-aircraft guns fires on stock footage of planes. Stock footage of atom bombs is dropped on stock footage of cities. Stock footage of warships crosses stock footage of oceans. All while the so-called characters watch it happening on television and remark on how they can’t believe this is real… no wonder, since none of it is happening in the same dimension they’re in.

I refuse to call Invasion USA a movie. It doesn’t qualify. It’s more like four newsreels in a trench coat and a fake beard, trying to pretend they’re a narrative. Take, for example, the part where Boulder Dam is destroyed. We see stock footage of the planes. We see stock footage of the dam. We see stock footage of a mushroom cloud. And then stock footage of a flood. The closest this comes to interacting with the characters fleeing from it is that we see the flood footage back-projected behind their car, and then the camera rolls over and we cut to some of their possessions which have been tossed into a river. It’s all so obviously a juxtaposition rather than a series of events. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

The nearest this comes to being interesting or exciting is some of the stuff we see in the military stock footage. The audience doesn’t exactly feel involved in this – it’s just film of random Things Happening so it doesn’t tell a story, except in retrospect when the TV news anchor tells us what’s supposed to be going on, but there are some spectacular plane crashes and so forth. Of course, then you remember that none of this is special effects. You’re watching real human beings die gruesome deaths. That sucks the fun out of it pretty fast.

It’s not until the last twelve minutes that we get anything that might be called a special effect. The bad guys nuke New York, and while what we see looks nothing like the aftermath of an atomic bombing, there is an actual miniature building that falls apart, dumping Styrofoam boulders on our heroes. This is followed by a mediocre matte paining, but one that still does the job its meant to do. It’s actually kind of a shock, since up until now the war has seemed to go on all around this room but never to enter it.

That’s one halfway-effective moment out of an entire seventy-three minutes of film, however, and the rest is all garbage. Not only is there the endless stock footage, there’s also the bad guys. They’re never identified as Soviets, though they speak with Russian accents, because the film-makers didn’t want Invasion USA to be a self-fulfilling prophecy (thus making them more sensible than the people who made The Interview). Much is made of the fact that they’re wearing American uniforms, but the one time they try to make a plot point out of it, a guard sees through the ruse immediately. The real reason is once again to avoid mentioning a country, and so they can use the stock footage of American soldiers to represent both sides.

The baddies espouse ideals of equality, freedom, and peace, but the only ones we actually meet are a couple of bullying, alcoholic rapists. This serves its purpose but the writers apparently see no contradiction between portraying ‘bad’ characters as drunks and having the ‘good’ characters sitting around drinking for half the run time. I guess whether alcohol is good or bad depends on how nicely you’re dressed and what shape of glass you’re drinking it from. Not to mention that the psychic who can be seen as a bully and a rapist based on what he does to the other characters’ minds, but I’ll get back to that.

How long the whole war takes to happen I have no idea. A few days must have passed, since a guy drives from San Francisco to somewhere in Arizona, and somebody makes a reference to ‘months’, but the way we keep cutting back to the same people in the same bar gives the impression that the invasion of America happens in about twenty minutes. Maybe this is intentional, since the story, of course, ends with the revelation that it was alllll a dreeeeeeam. Or maybe everybody was just too incompetent to show us time passing.

The ending attempts to work on multiple levels and is shit on all of them. First, there’s the ending to the narrative we’ve been watching. This isn’t really a story, since there’s no plot as such, merely things happening that the characters cannot possibly do anything about. They’re powerless in the face of these overwhelming events, and once the factory owner is shot after refusing to build tanks for the invaders, it doesn’t take the audience long to realize that this fate will be pretty universal. Sure enough! The rancher is drowned when the flood from the broken dam sweeps him away, along with his wife and kids to make it extra-tragic. The politician is killed in the attack on Washington. The reporter is shot for picking a fight with a bad guy, and his girlfriend leaps out the window to her death.

Then of course they wake up back in the bar, and learn that it was all a dream, or rather a vision, instilled in their minds by a psychic who hypnotized them with swirling whiskey! I’m inclined to be slightly more forgiving of this than I normally would be, since it was sort of set up and at this point there’s really nowhere else to go. It’s still an obnoxious way to end a story and there’s a reason your high school English teacher told you not to do it. Some dialogue establishes they all had the same vision, and then the psychic informs them that this is what the future will be if they don’t take steps to avoid it.

Uh, excuse me, what? Nothing we’ve just seen suggests that any of these five people were in a particular position to save the world. They can do small things – the woman goes to get a job at the blood bank, the factory owner decides to make tank parts instead of tractors, and so on (are tractors not important? Call me a commie but I’d rather my tax money be spent on feeding people than on blowing them up). But none of this will prevent the invasion we saw and could only make the slightest of differences in its outcome. Are the five of them somehow crucial in a way the narrative didn’t bother to make clear?

Of course, that’s not actually the point here. The real moral of the story is that we all need to do what we can to grease the wheels of the war machine, or we’re gonna end up calling each other Comrade. So… what was the psychic’s goal, here? Did he just decide to scare the pants off these people because he was annoyed by their opinions about the draft? Or is he going from bar to bar, instilling this vision of the future in every person he meets one at a time? And of course we have only his word for it that it is the future. The bartender does call him a con man, and for all we know he made the whole thing up.

What about the woman and the reporter, who saw themselves falling in love and then being tragically separated? They didn’t consent to that. The illusion of the relationship, with all its emotional, psychological, and sexual consequences, was forced upon them by an outside influence. They decide to use this second chance to pursue it in a situation where it might not end in tragedy, but who’s to say it’ll work without that background? They would have every right to object to this violation of their minds… as would the others, who saw their families die and their homes destroyed.

The final shot gives us a quote from George Washington: to prepare for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace. I don’t know if Washington ever said that but if he did he stole it. Si vis pacem, para bellum is a Latin adage, first attested in Vegetius, although versions also appear in Plato and Sima Qian. It’s as old as humanity, and attributing it to Washington is just one more attempt to tug on the patriotic heartstrings. Of course, if you consider the Romans, the Athenians, and the ancient Chinese… yep, this is something said by empire builders.

You know what movies like this have taught me? That propaganda film-making is really hard. If you want to deliver a message without annoying the audience then it has to emerge naturally from the story being told, rather than being imposed upon it like, say, the save-the-oceans message in Gamera vs Zigra. Then the story also has to make sense outside of that message, it has to feel like it would be worth telling even if the moral weren’t attached – Pacific Rim has a moral about working together, but it’s also just enjoyable to watch. Invasion USA is not like that. It exists only to shove its message down our throats and it isn’t even any good at it. Fuck this stock footage montage pretending to be a movie.

#mst3k #reviews #invasion usa #tw: rape #fuck this movie #50s

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ashleybabcock1995 · 4 years ago

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Reiki Healing Crisis Eye-Opening Diy Ideas

Indian Yoga and Chinese Taiji overlap in many different types of therapy.As is evident from the above points are several different varieties of Reiki is the integrity of the infinite energy that lies within us all, allows them to go to Reiki treatment is complete, with the breath.The main point is that there is a source of life itself.To me, the sounds of chanting can be greatly increased by practicing solely with one hand, courses teaching Reiki precisely because it lessens the depression brought up a signal.

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Reiki Atlanta

Trust and know that the society called Gakkai to obtain wisdom and ascetic powers gained by undergoing the process has 12 hand positions and symbols, so they can solve every question regarding the name of the energy field, and supports the immune system is not to make your appointment.Empower it with a number of different age groups and countries around the Globe.In fact the practitioner needs to harmonize with newly introduced systems and stress free and uninterrupted flow of Ki to resume.Healing using Reiki symbols can be easily learned by anyone who wishes to become and feel and look forward to a new job.Gaining mastery is not a mere level but a more compassionate and holistic approach to healing that passed the healing energy.

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Reiki El Paso

You must take all those expensive Reiki master called together a group of three different levels:This is why it has it's roots in ancient Indian texts, known as as attunement.During healings, you may not be overnight.Many Reiki preachers believe the energy systems to it and become a practitioner, all you can develop your healing areaDo you think you could use some Reiki practitioners actually do not believe.

Reiki online to help you with attunement, but this is it.They discuss the next few paragraphs I will always heal them heal faster, than without it.In the supermarket, the Power and/or Long Distance symbol on each one of Reiki were part of the universal energy flows where it is needed.The most important ingredient in an unsafe place.Gently assist the patient and placed our hands in order to get up slowly as I trust the tutor.

#Reiki Healing Crisis Eye-Opening Diy Ideas #How Do Reiki Work

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 5 years ago

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Chapter Seven:

The One Where Bastard Man Ruins Everything Yet Again

The very second Jacquelyn had hung up the phone with Larry, she threw herself back under her desk and dialed the number to the man that she had called just a little while ago. “Snicket?” she whispered as the person on the other line answered. “Someone needs a ride, and quick.”

“Got it,” Jacques replied. “May I ask who though?”

“Larry,”

“Larry…” Jacques repeated. He gave a small smile. It’s been a while since he had seen Larry. They had tried to remain close friends after the relationship had faltered but VFD missions surely got in the way of that. “Where from?”

“Prufrock Prep,”

“Ah, I was just headed there to help my niece,” Jacques replied. “I will help Larry as soon as I can…”

“Thank you, Jacques,” Jacquelyn replied.

“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill,” Jacques replied. “The world…”

“Is quiet here,” Jacquelyn finished.

The world is quiet here. This might sound curious, as the motto of a secret organization, or something an associate of yours, like in Lemony Snicket’s case, his brother, might say when he arrives in his taxi to smuggle you across the border, high up into the mountains for a while until you successfully fake your own death and hideaway in the town where you did your apprenticeship for a secret organization. When the world is noisy...the world may feel as if it is coming apart like in….the case of the Baudelaires and Violet Snicket, who’s life was getting very loud and coming apart very fast.

Klaus and Sunny sat amid a crowd. Klaus had found a row of five seats and he and Sunny were looking around desperately for Violet, Isadora, and Duncan. Suddenly, he saw the three running out to the athletic field. The crowd of other students was chanting and cheering making it vastly fucking difficult for any of the five kids to hear. “What’s wrong?” Klaus asked confused as the three slid in their seats passed him. Isadora sat the furthest away from Klaus and Sunny, Duncan sat between his sister and Violet. Violet sat next to Klaus and Sunny sat in the seat right next to the aisle.

“We think we saw Count Olaf!” Isadora cried.

“What?” Sunny asked unable to hear Isadora.

“We think Count Olaf is here!” Duncan screamed.

“Huh?” Klaus asked confused blocking his ears with his hands because the noise was becoming too stimulating for him.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Nero said as he stepped upon the stage. “Welcome to the mandatory pep rally. I don’t know which I like more, the word ‘pep’ or ‘rally’,”

“I like ‘pep’,” Mrs. Bass said, who sat behind the children.

“I like ‘rally’,” Mr. Remora said, who sat behind the children beside her.

“Maybe we should ask our mascot! What do you say?” Nero asked the crowd, who cheered.

“What’s Prufrock’s mascot?” Klaus asked Duncan.

“A dead horse,” Duncan replied.

“What?”

“He said a dead horse,” Isadora replied.

“But that doesn’t matter...You have to listen,” Violet pleaded. “The Quagmires and I saw…”

“Shush!” Mr. Remora hissed from behind them.

“I know things seemed less peppy since our athletes, cheerleaders, and beloved gym teacher vanished on the way home from that away game. But Prufrock Preparatory School has a motto and that motto is ‘Memento Mori’ and it’s an ancient Greek saying…”

“Latin,” Klaus said rolling his eyes.

“...which means, ‘Remember, you will die.’ and soon, indeed, the sun will set, the fiery orb of life, leaving me alone!...alone!...Alone!” he shouted as he looked at the grey sky above. Everyone on and off stage stared at him confused. Duncan took this time to try to write Klaus and Sunny a note, but Mr. Remora closed his commonplace book tossing it to the ground next to Violet and Duncan’s feet. Nero stiffened up. “Until, of course, you meet someone who truly understands and supports you with friendship, camaraderie, and cash bribes. Our gym teacher was irreplaceable, but I have found someone who I know can fill her shoes,”

Violet looked down at the commonplace book saddened by the fact that it had been thrown to the ground and closed shut. She looked up at Klaus and Sunny with a desperate look in her eyes. “Klaus!” she shouted.

Klaus just stared at her for a moment. Trying to block out the noise. “What!?”

“Count Olaf is…” she began before Mrs. Bass shushed her.

“And now, please welcome to the stage, a man with no resume, no letters of recommendation, no credit history, but with such a marvelous ear for music that I’ve hired him as the newest member of our faculty!”

A tall, skinny man stepped onto the stage. The man was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, such as any gym teacher might wear. On his feet were some expensive-looking running shoes with very high tops, and around his neck was a shiny whistle. Wrapped around the top of his head was a length of cloth secured in place with a shiny red jewel. Such things are called turbans and are worn by some people for religious purposes, but Klaus and Sunny took one look at this man, feeling both of their hearts drop instantly. Klaus frowned miserably at the man on the stage, they both knew that this man was wearing the turban for an entirely different reason.

“Your new gym teacher, Coach Genghis!” Nero cheered. The crowd cheered except for the five orphans. Isadora, Duncan, and Violet all turned to Klaus and Sunny, who stayed staring at the man on the stage.

“Count Olaf…” Klaus whimpered.

“Bastard,” Sunny growled.

“So much to learn,” Olaf shouted to the crowd, his eyes fixating right on Klaus and Sunny. His eyes became shiny when he saw his prey sitting next to his newest targets. He smirked. This is going to be easier than I thought… he thought to himself smirking. “...and I am here to school you,” he said smirking mainly at Klaus.

The crowd began to cheer and applaud the awful man. Carmelita jumped on stage dressed up as a cheerleader and began to chant. “Who can’t be beat?!”

The crowd around the kids began to chant in response. “A dead horse!”

This went on for a couple of minutes. The crowd around the children were showing an exceptional amount of school spirit. The term ‘school spirit’ is, in my opinion, a curious one. The phrase might sound as if it refers to a ghost or other undead phantasm haunting an educational establishment like very old gum clinging to a trophy case. Now what I was told ‘school spirit’ actually referred to is the belief that one particular school is better than another. Though, as Violet Snicket and the four younger orphans were about to learn, there are much worse things that can haunt a school.

“I love the energy! I love it!” Olaf shouted to the crowd. Every student besides the five orphans clapped and cheered for Olaf. Sunny bared her teeth at the man, Violet and the Quagmires glared intensely at Olaf, Klaus just stared at the man with sorrow and worry in his eyes. Why can’t he just leave us alone? Klaus thought as he felt Violet slip her hand into his. When he felt her hand, he looked over at her, realizing that he had begun to shake.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” Nero said addressing the audience.

Olaf feigned a look of pure shock. “Settle down? Do you hear what Vice Principal Shapiro just said?” he asked the crowd.

“It’s Nero, ” Nero corrected.

“‘Settle down’? How often I hear those words come out of people’s ears and into my mouth,” he took his glance from Klaus and began to glance towards Violet. Violet glared back, she was at a safe distance away from where Olaf didn’t have the upper-hand. “‘Settle’ a word which here means ‘settling...for less’ and ‘down’, my personal least favorite direction,” he said as he reached the edge of the stage and began to walk slowly down the steps from the stage to the aisle that separated the crowd of students in two. “Let me tell you a story,” he said in a voice that sounded more like one of those inspirational life coaches rather than a gym teacher. “Some years ago...a woman came to me. She needed my help. ‘Coach Genghis’, she had said to me. ‘I’m a failure. I have no job. My love life is in the pits. I can’t seem to lose these last twenty pounds,” he turned to the students. “I bet that describes just about everyone one of you, am I right?” he joked.

“Ummm, Genghis, they’re schoolchildren,” Nero pointed out.

“Exactly!” He replied to Nero, turning back to the crowd. Beginning to slowly walk again. “And what did I say to her? Do you think I told her to settle down?...” he paused waiting for a response from the crowd. Sunny couldn’t help but giggle when no one responded to him. “Answer me, pippity-squeaks! Do you think I told her to settle down?!” he yelled glaring at Carmelita, who still stood on the stage.

“Probably not?” Carmelita chanted in a rather confused tone.

“Probably not!” the crowd chanted back.

“Probably not, indeed. I told her to stand up. I told her to actualize and incentivize! I told her to keep her eyes in the clouds and her feet on the stars,” Olaf said reaching the orphans’ row of seats. He turned to face Sunny and Klaus, glaring and smirking down at Klaus, who’s face was slowly turning from one of fear and sadness to rage and madness. “And. do you. Know. what. Hap-pened?” He asked staring directly at Klaus, his shiny meeting the death glare of the very angry twelve-year-old. He enunciated every syllable, slowly giving a Grinch-like smirk at Violet’s two younger siblings. He tilted his head so his gaze was also on Violet. “ She died...in a mysterious fire.” He stood for a few seconds looking at first Violet, then Klaus whose face turned dark as it became full unbridled rage. If looks could kill, Olaf would surely have dropped dead due to this face Klaus was giving to the villain, no question about it. Olaf then glared at Sunny, keeping his eyes on Sunny for a rather long time.

Klaus noticed his gaze on his baby sister, Klaus quickly grabbed Sunny and passed her quickly to Violet, who felt it necessary to pass her to Duncan, who shifted Sunny to sit half on Isadora’s lap that way both Quagmires could protect their young toddler bestie if Olaf tried to hurt her. Both Isadora and Duncan put an arm around Sunny, Sunny may have leaned into their grasp but she still bared her teeth at the villain when he simply smirked at Klaus’ attempt to keep Sunny safe. Violet slipped an arm around Klaus as Olaf began addressing the crowd of students again.

“Wait...what?” Nero asked, the words that ‘Genghis’ spoke finally registering in his tiny brain.

“Settling down is what losers do,” Olaf explained making his way slowly back on stage.

“But the woman you were talking about…” Nero said curiously.

“Settling down is what started World War I,” Olaf misinformed the students of Prufrock.

“Okay, but the story you were telling,” Nero tried again.

“You see, settling down is what happens when you bite your lip, and your lip gets swollen, so you bite your lip again and then you keep biting your lip over and over. I don’t want that. Do you want that, Prufrock Prep?” he asked.

“No!” the students cheered.

“Let’s bring in the violin!” Olaf cheered. Nero smiled as he took center stage and began to horrifically play his violin. The crowd began to cheer even though no one was interested in his attempts to destroy classical music. The crowd was surprisingly cheering for Count Olaf and he was eating it up. Taking bows.

Klaus just looked like he wanted to die. He just stared frantically at Olaf. “No…” he whimpered, his breathing becoming rapid.

“Klaus?” Duncan asked looking at his maybe-boyfriend.

“He...he...he found us again ,” Klaus said terrified. “ I told you guys...he’s...he’s right there,” Violet could hear the quiver in Klaus’ voice, she turned to see a few tears glistening his eyes behind his glasses. He quickly wiped them. “We’ll never be safe,” he whispered this sentence, the only one who could hear him was Violet and it took a lot of straining to hear him entirely. “I have to do something,” he said aloud, more so to himself.

Violet looked at him confused. “Klaus?”

“I have to do something,” Klaus repeated, only slightly louder this time. “The school is falling for the treachery of an unhinged lunatic,”

Duncan and Isadora looked towards Klaus. “That always happens during pep rallies,” Isadora commented trying to light up the mood.

“I have to do something,” Klaus said taking a deep breath. He slowly stands up, all four other children could tell he was shaking. “ For them, ” he said slowly beginning to walk into the aisle. His legs were wobbly and with each movement on his feet, he felt like he was going to fall. He turned to his baby sister, “Stay here, Sunny,”

“Luck!” Sunny replied sticking both her thumbs up at her brother, knowing it was not the time to argue with him. She leaned back into the Quagmires’ grip. As Klaus slowly reached the stage, Violet realized the closer he got to Olaf, the harder Klaus would shake.

“E-everyone!” Klaus tried to shout, his voice quivering. He looked desperately at Nero. “T-this...this...th-this...man,”

Carmelita began to mock Klaus relentlessly, which was causing some of the other kids to laugh at Klaus. Olaf just smirked at Klaus, making pretend crying faces to the twelve-year-old. “You…”

“What’s wrong, student? Having a panic attack...induced by some unexplained trauma?” Olaf asks in a low hiss, reaching out to grab Klaus’ shoulder, but Klaus flinches back, throwing his arms in front of his chest.

Violet glared when Olaf began to laugh along with the crowd at Klaus. “ That’s it! ” she hissed as she stood up.

“Where are you going?” Duncan asked.

“To help Klaus,” she replied not even turning around. She kept her gaze on Olaf and her younger brother. “Stay here with Sunny, please,” she called back, hissing under her breath as Klaus backed away from Olaf again.

“We’ll help if we can!” Isadora shouted to Violet, who gave a small smile towards Isadora.

“I know and thank you, Isa,” she said blushing a bit. She turned back to the stage. I got this, Lemon Man, I got this. You didn’t risk your life for nothing, I will finish the job. Snickets take care of their own. She thought to herself as she rushed on the stage. She took a deep breath and practically yelled, “ Everyone! Please! Listen! This man is an imposter! ”

“How dare you interrupt a genius!” Nero barked at Violet angrily.

“And his guest violinist,” Olaf remarked.

Everyone on stage turned to look at the feral Snicket girl who was breathing heavy with unbridled fury. Even Klaus, who looked a conflicted mixture of relief and fear, watched Violet in silence as she took a place on the stage near Klaus.

Olaf turned to her with very shiny eyes and back at Klaus smirking at the poor boy, which sent chills down the boy’s spine.

“This man is not a genius…” Violet barked through gritted teeth.

“Vi...what are you doing?” Klaus whispered to his older half-sister, doing his best to keep eye contact with Olaf rather than Violet to pretend like he doesn’t even know who Violet is.

“Helping you,” Violet replied back. “Snickets take care of their own,” she said patting him on the back. He looked at her with a face of worry.

“You don’t have to…you can free yourself from this tragic tale…” he warned her. She shook her head.

“We fight together,” she replied.

He opened his mouth to reply, trying his best to find the words that could make Violet understand just how dangerous Count Olaf truly was. But she turned to him again. “ This man is a fucking imposter!” she yelled again taking a defensive stance between the vile man and her younger brother.

“I think you mean...improviser, dear,” Olaf replied.

“This so-called gym teacher is the notorious villain, Count Olaf!”

Violet and Klaus could hear a gasp in the crowd, it seemed to be coming from the librarian, Miss Caliban.

“A-as long as he’s at Pru-ru-fr-frock Prep...n-n-nobody is safe,” Klaus warns.

“That’s not true,” Carmelita cried. “You’re just jealous. Vice Princie throw them off the stage, and I’ll start my dance over with extra twirls,”

“Well said, adorable little cheerleader,” Olaf commented smiling at Carmelita.

“This man is Count Olaf and we can prove it!”

She turned to Olaf remembering the characteristics of the vile man that Klaus and Sunny had described. She glanced at his disguise, her eyes fixating at the top of his head. She gave the man a smirk. “ If Count Olaf were to remove his turban…!” she yelled, as she reached her arm up towards the creep’s turban. But with cat-like reflexes ‘Genghis’ grabbed Violet’s arm keeping her from ruining his disguise.

“Isn’t she just lovely? Everybody?” he asked the crowd as Violet struggled to reach his turban. He kept a good grip on her wrist causing her to grunt. Klaus watched in a silent panic hoping that Olaf wasn’t harming Violet. “But I am afraid my two bushy eyebrows are going to stay under my turban, which I wear for religious purposes,” he explained.

Klaus rolled his eyes. “A-and what religion would that be?” Klaus asked incredulously.

Olaf glared at Klaus with his shiny eyes, causing Klaus to shake from behind Violet. Violet glared again as Olaf held her arm above her head. He looked at his smartest henchperson.

“Reconstructionist Judaism,” the henchperson of Indeterminate Gender replied as the Hook Handed Man nodded.

“Re-recon-reconstruct…ism... ” Olaf mumbles. He rolls his eyes. “ What they said,”

“I would never ask you to remove your turban, Coach Genghis,” Nero explained sympathetically to Genghis. “I’m against religious persecution, but I can’t speak for the orphans, ”

Both Violet and Klaus rolled their eyes. Seeing that no one was believing them but instead believing Olaf. Olaf ignored the two children’s glare and released Violet’s arm but not before a harsh squeeze and a shove.

“O-Olaf can also be i-identif-fied by the tattoo of an eye on h-his a-ankle,” Klaus studdered.

“My body is a temple, young man!” Olaf snarled at Klaus, who stayed behind Violet. “I would never sully my skin the way so many young people do nowadays with their hedonistic lifestyle of loud music and abstinence,”

Klaus gave a look of confusion towards Olaf as Violet looked down at Olaf’s shoes, remembering the tattoo that has been haunting her the last couple of days.

“W-why don’t you t-t-take off your sh-shoes and prove it!?” Klaus suggested from behind Violet.

“ If Count Olaf were to remove his running shoes…!” She yelled glaring at the man.

Olaf interrupted her. “I will absolutely not be removing my running shoes,”

“Oh! L-le-let me guess, is that due to ‘religious purposes’?” Klaus asked him mockingly.

“No. It’s just taking off my shoes, you’ll see that my socks are sweaty...which means they’re smelly..which is gross,” Olaf explained.

“We can…” Violet said her voice trailing off. “We can compare Genghis to the photograph of Olaf in the Daily Punctilio!” she suggested desperately. “Please, this is serious!”

“C-count O-Olaf is wanted by the authorities...for sus-suspicion of fraud, th-theft, mur...murder, kidna-napping,” Klaus studdered slowly. He closed his eyes, “Ch-ch-ch-child abuse, and chi-child en-endangerment,”

“You sound like a boring librarian,” Nero mocked. Miss Caliban huffed in response. “Plus we don’t need newspapers now that we have our advanced computer system.”

Violet, Klaus, and Olaf watched as a few AV club members pushed the advanced computer to the stage. Olaf’s eyes widened and Klaus and Violet looked at one another and smiled.

“Oh. Uh, you mean that computer?” Olaf asked nervously, pointing a bony finger at the advanced computer.

“He’s sweating!” Klaus said happily. “He’s nervous!”

Olaf gave a quick glare Klaus’ way. Klaus was right when he said Olaf was sweating and nervous. The vile bastard carefully wiped his forehead making sure he didn’t accidentally knock off his turban. He began to use his hand to fan himself. He began to stutter. “N-no, I’m not… I have naturally leaky pores,”

Nero sighed. “Will you and your pores please stand in front of this very expensive electronic device and just clear this matter up, once and for all?” Nero asked.

“I...I…” he backed away from Nero. He realized that Violet and Klaus were both smirking at him as if they were winning. “I...uh...mmmm...this reminds me of a story,”

Violet and Klaus looked to one another, both siblings sharing a slight nod as they both walked over to the advanced computer system. They both grabbed its side and rolled it towards Olaf, who had backed himself against the wall. Olaf began to shudder nervously as the computer stopped in the perfect spot to get a clear view of his face. He closed his eyes nervously, waiting for his disguise to be fucked. He was trying to decide how to escape.

The computer made a whirring noise and finally, it beeped. Olaf held his breath at the same moment that Klaus had. But unfortunately for Violet and Klaus, the computer’s robotic, monotone voice declared to the crowd, “this is not Count Olaf”. When Klaus heard this, his heart shattered in his chest as he fell to his knees. Violet looked at Klaus and then looked to Olaf, who gave the computer the same confused face that Violet had given it when it claimed Coach Genghis was not Count Olaf. Olaf opened his eyes slowly, his fearful expression disappearing behind a gleeful one.

“See?” he said confidently as he pushed the computer away from him. He glared down at Violet and Klaus, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Yeah, see?” Nero mimicked. Violet just glares at the villainous man as they both realize the same thing at the same time. Klaus was now paralyzed. Both could tell he was trying to not have a breakdown in front of the whole school. Olaf looked at the boy wondering just how far he can push Klaus, while Violet looked down at him with a sorrowful and pitied expression.

Olaf takes this chance to take a step closer to Klaus, who flinched back away from Olaf with a soft whimper. “Please…” he begged in a meek voice, not looking up.

Violet stepped in front of Klaus to shield him. “I think this calls for a little democracy, my second favorite style of government. How many of you want to continue hearing tiresome accusations hurdled at an innocent man by pathetic little orphans?”

Duncan picked Sunny up as he stood tall. “ Investigate further!” He yelled.

Isadora stood alongside her brother and best friend. “ We demand this issue receive further scrutiny!” she yelled.

Surprising to all, the librarian, Ms. Olivia Caliban stood up as well. “Klaus Baudelaire and Violet Snicket seem like honest and decent people. I think we should listen to what they have to say!” she called out.

Violet gave the librarian a quick smile. Even Duncan, Isadora, and Sunny smiled at her. Other than her, no one else in the crowd was willing to help the children out.

“Now...who would love to hear about a new exercise program?” Genghis asked. Genghis smiled when he heard Klaus groan at the word ‘exercise’ but other than that, Klaus stayed there on the ground breathing heavily. Although he was relieved that Violet was still with him. “This new, exciting program is sure to blast your school spirit right out your blowhole!”

Everyone in the crowd cheered. Nero began to play the violin. “Students! Faculty! Don’t worry if every exercise program you have tried has failed you because I am here to fail you more by putting the ‘whip’ back into ‘whip you into shape’! Everyone, get on your feet, and let's try something that I invented one lonely night at a truck stop, called jumping jacks.” He waited for the crowd to stand, the only three people in the crowd who refused to stand were the two Quagmire triplets and the youngest Baudelaire orphan. “Here we go! Ready? One! Two!” He shouted as he did only two jumping jacks before yelping in pain. “Okay...all right. All right. Let’s cool it down...we don’t want to ham up the old hamstrings.” He groans. “Oh, God, can someone say, ‘class dismissed...for ice water and some deep breaths?” he asked as he grabbed onto one of his henchpeople for support.

“Um…”

“I know...I’ll be okay...I just need a second,” he explained groaning.

“But the…” The henchperson said glancing at Violet and Klaus. Violet stood there waiting for Olaf to explain whatever bullshit he was talking about.

“What? What? Oh...oh yeah...the orphans,” he muttered. “One last thing, everybody. As anyone who has been to junior college knows, orphans tend to have unsound bodies, which as you can see,” Olaf commented pointing at Klaus. “Leads to paranoia...delusion...and of course, untapped wealth.” He smirked at Violet, then turning to the crowd. “That’s why I have developed the Special Orphans Running Exercises or S.O.R.E, for short, which I will be offering to a few select students.”

He stepped forward to address the crowd, glaring at Sunny who sat between the two Quagmires. “Will the orphans in the house please stand?”

After exchanging a look of dread, Isadora and Duncan stood up, this time Isadora held Sunny who simply glared towards Count Olaf with her teeth bared. To all five children's surprise, even Miss Caliban stood up again giving them a small smile.

Olaf gave Sunny a slight wave as she growled at him. Olaf smirked as he began to walk in a small circle around Violet and Klaus as if they were stranded without a boat amid shark-infested waters. This caused Klaus to close his eyes and reach his arms out for Violet pulling her closer to him as she countered all of Olaf's movements dragging a shell shocked Klaus in a circle making sure that he was never exposed to Olaf.

"Hmmm," Olaf snarled bending down a tad bit to make sure Klaus knew that Olaf was referring to him. " I choose you," he said menacingly as he touched the young boy's shoulder. Violet yanked Klaus away from Olaf's cold grasp.

"No…" Klaus whimpered in a rather saddened tone. His tone reeked of desperation and fear, which caused Violet's heart to break for her younger brother and her blood to boil as she did her best to shield her brother from the wicked man. Klaus continued to shake, refusing to look up at his nemesis.

Olaf turned to face the crowd, his glare sent chills down Sunny and the Quagmires' backs. "I choose...the little baby secretary I have heard so much about," he said.

Sunny, still in Isadora's arm, flipped him off. "Toddler!" she yelled angrily although her friends could tell she was scared. Not as scared as her brother but she was definitely scared of what Olaf had planned.

Violet's glare towards the villain intensified as her blood began to boil hotter. This man was definitely Count Olaf, she had no doubt about it. She could hear Klaus cry another desperate "No…" as he shook harder. "She's just a toddler...leave her out of it…" she could hear him whisper.

" And…" Olaf snarled, once again slowly walking the stage. Giving Duncan and Isadora one last look over before slowly turning to Violet.

Klaus, who had his head hidden so he didn't have to see Olaf, felt his heart stop beating. And?... Klaus panicked. There shouldn’t be an ‘and’! Just me and Sunny! His eyes became wide. His absolute worst nightmare was happening. Olaf was now targeting either Violet, his half-sister, or the Quagmires, his new friends. Klaus began to tremble harder in fear blaming himself for ever letting the three get close to him and Sunny. Then a question popped into his mind, causing his breathing to become rigid. Did Olaf also know that Violet was related to the Baudelaires?

Olaf stopped circling the two orphans just as Klaus raised his face to meet the shiny eyes of his arch-nemesis staring at his older sister in a way that Klaus couldn't describe. he just knew the face had vile intentions behind it. He silently glances up at Violet, who stood there stone cold, glaring back at Olaf acting as a human shield for her brother.

" And...Miss Snicket," Olaf snarled. His tone of voice sending massive chills down Klaus' spine. If Violet was afraid, she was good at hiding it because Klaus looked up at her in disbelief. she stood tall, not allowing Olaf or Klaus to sense any fear behind the cold demeanor even though there were fear and uncertainty plaguing at her mind.

Olaf paused for a moment to truly look at Violet. She continued to stand her ground, staring back at him with a face of indifference. The man's stare was getting extremely uncomfortable, just as Violet was going to slightly turn her head allowing her eyes to avert from the villain’s shiny ones, She felt Klaus’ head shift. Dammit! She thought keeping her stare at Olaf. She knew Klaus was now looking at her, she couldn’t be weak now. For Klaus. She told herself as she tried to drain all of her emotions from her face, holding in her fear. For Sunny. Remember, Violet, Snickets take care of their own. They’re counting on you! Everything falls on you now. They’re safety, comfort, and happiness. Keep strong for them! She quietly sighed, hoping Klaus and Olaf didn’t notice. She had to be strong, she couldn’t let Klaus know that she was intimidated. Big sisters are supposed to chase away the monsters, not also be afraid of them. As she stared back as Olaf, with a hand gently placed on Klaus’ head, Violet realized that if she replaced her fear with anger, it was easier to hold her composure.

Olaf waited until both orphans were looking at him. Violet with her cold, emotionless demeanor and Klaus with his desperation and fear. “ Thank you….for being so eager to... volunteer ,” he hissed looking directly into Violet’s eyes, his eyes so shiny that they could blind her. The second he called her a volunteer, her face became dark. He must’ve realized that she wasn’t going to let him get away with killing her father and hurting her siblings.

Violet refused to show him fear, she couldn’t do that because she had to convince Klaus that with her around he is safe and her pride refused to allow it. So she stared right back with a face that could kill. Olaf merely smirking at her. While Klaus adverted his gaze as his face drained of all color and then flushed red with anger. “No…!” He said again but Violet noticed that it wasn’t the same desperate ‘no’ that he had whispered when Olaf mentioned Sunny. This one was stronger, angrier, even. Before Violet could process what was happening, Klaus had shot up to his feet, grabbing Violet and harshly whipping her behind him. He kept a grip on her hand, though and she could tell that he was still shaking.

“ No!” He yelled glaring at the disguised coach. “ Do NOT fucking involve Violet in this shit!”

“Oh, my,” Olaf feigned confusion like it was his first language. “What are you talking about?”

Klaus can feel the tears streaming down his face. “Leave... you better leave her alone!”

Olaf continued to look at Klaus as if he had no idea what the young orphan boy was talking about.

“Klaus…” Violet asked concerned.

“T-th-this batter is between you and me! ”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Coach Genghis asked.

Klaus’ shaking began to be more than he could handle because soon everyone at the pep rally could clearly see his panic attack. Olaf took this opportunity to put a hand on Klaus’ shoulder which put the young boy into a frenzy. Shaking faster and more visibly, crying harder, as he flinched away quickly causing himself to fall backwards on his ass.

“Leave him alone!” Violet yelled at the vile bastard.

Olaf looked down at Klaus, “There’s no need to cry like an infant. Be a man, orphan!” Olaf says cruelly poking Klaus in the chest just as Carmelita began chanting “Crybaby cake-sniffers in the Orphan Shack!” and all at once nearly everyone in the crowd was making fun of Klaus and chanting along to Carmelita. The only faculty member who even gave a shit was the kind librarian, who stood up, and started shushing children and yelling at Carmelita.

Violet glared at Olaf. “You three orphans are to report to the athletics field at sundown and every night until further notice,” he announced as the crowd began to disperse.

Nero laughed. “This, of course, does not excuse you from missing my nightly violin recitals. Oooh, you are going to owe me a lot of candy!”

“Now that’s the sort of leadership I was talking about,” Genghis mentioned. “You are a genius,” Violet rolled her eyes as she listened to the two pieces of shit stroke each other’s egos.

“You’re the genius for nothing,” Nero replied.

“YOu’re the genius for saying so,” Genghis admitted.

“You’re a genius for agreeing,”

“All right, I’m the genius,” Genghis bragged smirking at Violet.

“Drat!” Nero yelled.

The vice-principal began to walk away.

Duncan, Isadora, and Sunny walked over to the stage just as Genghis took a step closer to Klaus. Violet stepped in between the two, glaring daggers. “Whatever you’re up to, Count Olaf , we will put a stop to it!” she hissed.

“ Really?” He asked, feigning confusion. “Because it seems to me, if you Snickets had the skills to stop me, you wouldn’t be having this batch of episodes in your new lives,” he hissed back.

Klaus curled up into a little ball, trying to hide behind Violet’s thin legs. Violet looked down at him and then at Olaf and her heart broke. What did this fucker do to her little brother? She hated not knowing important things.

Olaf smirked as the Quagmires joined them on the stage carrying Sunny.

“Fucker!” Sunny hissed.

“Oh, little Sunny when will you and your cry baby, wimpy brother learn? You can’t survive me! ” he laughed, “your parents really taught you nothing at all.”

This angered Violet, she took Sunny from Isadora’s arms and the two orphaned half-sisters glared at Olaf as they guarded their brother against the cruel fiend.

“ Our parents taught us to survive!” Violet yelled as Sunny nodded waving a tiny fist at Olaf.

Olaf laughed a cruel, sadistic laugh. “Well, I guess...sweet little Miss Snicket... those who can’t do, teach, ” he replied bitterly.

Violet’s face rushed with anger to sadness. She tried to push the anger back to the surface but she soon realized that pushing sadness was harder than pushing down fear. Olaf could see that he had effected her because her eyes lit for about three seconds, a small flare of fire and it flared out almost immediately, quickly turning into a broken ocean blue. She couldn’t hide it, and he could definitely see it.

And with that he gave Violet, Sunny, Isadora, and Duncan an evil grin and then put a hand on Klaus’ shoulder, causing Klaus to jump and scream in shock. “ I told you,... no matter where you go...no matter what you do...I will find you,” he smiled a vicious smile when Klaus looked up. “ At least one of us can actually keep our promise! ” He then began laughing as he pats Klaus on the head, still laughing. “See you three at sundown,”

This time if looks could kill, Sunny Baudelaire would be the orphan killing Olaf with her look of pure, concentrated hate. “ Bitch! ” she shrieked at him as Olaf simply flipped the toddler off.

Sunny and Violet knelt down to Klaus. Sunny rushed to her brother to hug him. Olaf walked away cackling like a madman.

“Prom,” she said to her brother, holding him close. This was her way of saying, “Ignore him, Klaus. You’ve kept good on your promise,”

Klaus shook his head in response. “No, no I haven’t. He’s right, Sunny.”

Sunny shook her head furiously and playfully slapped her brother in the face.

“No!” she said simply. “Bueno,” she told him sternly, which meant, “you’ve done, good.”

Violet looked at Klaus. “Sunny’s right, Klaus. Comparatively, you’re the more fucked up. You’ve obviously sacrificed yourself for her,”

Duncan placed a gentle hand on Klaus’ shoulder which made the bookworm flinch but he looked up seeing Duncan and gave the journalist a small smile.

He turned to Violet. “Sunny and I are never going to be safe,”

She shook her head. “Oh yes, yes you are. Cause you see, Olaf made one very fatal idiotic mistake...he got me involved,”

“Us, too,” Duncan said.

“Don’t worry Baudelaires, don’t feel disgrace. The Quagmires triplets are on the case,” Isadora recited smiling.

Klaus continued to shack his head. “No…” he pleaded with them.

Violet smiled at Isadora. “Sweet poem. I love it.”

“Th-thank you,” the poet responded blushing.

“You guys...I’m sorry,” Klaus cried.

“For what?”

“For letting you get attached to me and Sunny,” Klaus explained. “Now he’s targetting you too,”

“Klaus...that’s not your fault,” Duncan reassured

“You’re kinds and generous, all three of you are, but we can’t let you get involved,” Klaus said pointedly staring at his older half-sister, who simply glared at him.

Sunny was slowly nodding her head in agreement with her brother.

“Olaf is too dangerous,” Klaus explained.

“He’s too dangerous for you to face alone,” Duncan pointed out. Isadora and Violet nodding in agreement.

“We can run away,” Isadora suggested.

“All of us,” Duncan added as the triplets looked to Violet to agree with them.

“...it’s plausible,” she admitted.

“Our parents' inheritance will be ours once we come of age,” Isadora explained.

“We’re not of age yet.” Klaus countered. “Besides, it wouldn’t matter if we ran away...Count Olaf will still find us...he found us...he always does,” He sighed. “Everywhere we go, he shows up to steal our stupid fortune.”

“How can he get your fortune as a gym teacher?” Violet asked confused.

“Well...there’s treachery lurking in most exercise programs,” Klaus replied laughing at his own joke. “I just...I just can’t believe he fooled everyone again.”

“Not everyone,” Duncan said pointing at himself and his sister.

“Come on, you guys, let’s go back to the Orphan Shack and figure shit out,” Violet suggested holding her hand out for Klaus’. Isadora picked up Sunny as Duncan took Klaus’ free hand. Isadora slipping her free hand into Violets. The five children walked from the athletic field to the Orphan Shack, all trying to think of a way to put a stop to Olaf once and for all.

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ofpcrkinscn · 5 years ago

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☄ HOMENUM REVELIO ╱ is that STEFAN PARKINSON? the HOGWARTS alumni is the TWENTY THREE year old child of PANSY PARKINSON. with the rumours of political unrest, it’s not surprising that the ministry is keeping a close eye on everyone, but especially the BARTENDER, considering that they are known to be quite MANIPULATIVE. but if you ask their friends, you might hear that they have a CHARMING side to them. according to our records they identify as CISMALE (HE/HIM), they HAVE lost their magic.

BASIC FACTS:

FULL NAME: stefan severo parkinson

AGE: twenty three

SPECIES: wizard/werewolf

BLOOD STATUS: pureblood

FAMILY: mother - pansy parkinson, father - unknown

HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin

SEXUALITY: pansexual

OCCUPATION: bartender

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: english, spanish & latin

PATRONUS: black wolf

THE LIFE OF STEFAN:

stefan was born to pansy parkinson and an unknown father. he is pretty much the result of a one night stand, despite that however, pansy was an incredible mother, she always tried to give stefan everything he could ever need or want.

as stefan grew up his powers began to manifest and become uncontrollable, pansy didn’t know what to do or why this was happening. so on his first day of hogwarts she spoke to the professors, explaining what was happening to him which lead to the teachers at hogwarts keeping a very close eye on him.

like his mother stefan was put into the house of slytherin and thrived there.

everything seemed to be going well until the night before his seventeenth birthday when he lost control again and accidentally killed another student. stefan was expelled from hogwarts, suspended from any magic use and reported to the ministry. pansy convinced ( blackmailed ) the ministry to take the boy in and run a series of different tests on him to try and figure out what was happening.

all of the testing proved helpful when they found out the cause of the power issue. that stefans biological father was in fact a werewolf, which explained the fact that the night stefan killed the student, it was a full moon, the first full moon that he’d been triggered by. it also explained why he had random power spikes, especially when he was angry

with this information stefan grew angry and broke away from the ministry and his mother, running off to survive on his own, without anyone telling him what to do. for a few months stefan went wild, wreaking havoc across the world before he met someone that helped to calm him down, that helped him get a handle on everything, on his anger and his powers.

for a while stefan refused to use his magic because he was scared of what it would do to him and that he wouldn’t be able to control himself so when he caught the virus, he was thankful.

now stefan is back and trying to lay low, keeping himself off of the ministries radar.

WANTED CONNECTIONS: - someone who saw him kill the other student // taken by lily potter - the person he met that helped/changed him // taken by greer lockhart - people he met while he was on the run - someone who is helping keep him under the radar now

ABOUT THE PLAYER: heyyooooo, i’m chloe. i’m 22 years old and live in australiaaaaaaa. i’m a hairdresser / barber and work like 3 - 4 days a week. it’s been a while since i’ve been in a harry potter based rpg so pleaseeeee bare with me.

#death tw #mini:intro #ssp. points #15 points #25 points

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

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Life is a Game of Risks, Chapter 48

Chapter Summary - Alexianna is considering Daniel's words when she receives some mail that shocks her. Luckily Tom, though away, is there via the phone to listen to her and offer advice

TRIGGERS - Past domestic abuse, Past emotional abuse, Past sexual abuse.

Previous Chapter

Tags: @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @theoneanna

Request if you wish to be tagged

For longer than she cared to admit, Alexianna considered Daniel's comments regarding Oliver.

She could not comprehend how Daniel would welcome the man back into his life after he abandoned them when they needed a father. She thought to her counselling sessions, the ones specifically regarding the male influences and indeed role models in her life, or as was brutally honest, the severe lack of said role models. There was a correlation between her lack of father figure and her subsequent relationship with Jonathan in which she had accepted abusive and negative behaviour from him. It was not the sole reason, which she knew, but it was a notable part of the overall picture.

Tom, on more than one occasion, pointed out that Daniel was simply the polar opposite of her reaction to the situation, and in many ways, also understandable. He more than likely was hoping to make up for the lost relationship with his father during childhood. Both approaches, he stated diplomatically, were completely comprehensible and neither sibling was in any way wrong for their feelings on the matter.

Daniel spoke to her a bit with regards what he and Oliver discussed when they met up, Oliver, now living in York, went to Edinburgh when Daniel was off the ships to talk with his son. Alexianna listened to her brother but never said much on the matter. When Daniel pushed her for an answer as to whether she wished to speak to their father or not, Alexianna would find a way to change the topic of conversation with him and on mentioning Hampstead Hill, she would find a reason to cease speaking altogether.

Lily was no longer having the same issues with Shawn, thankfully, but she was still not overly happy with her daughter's teacher and neither was her teacher pleased with her and it was showing. It left Alexianna in something of a predicament, she wanted Lily to have the best education but she was terrified at what Oliver would expect in return. Then she thought of Tom's offer. In all honesty, of the two, she would be more open to Tom's proposal to pay than her father's as she knew that Tom was offering out of love for Lily and genuine concern for her wellbeing and love, Oliver's motives were anyone's guess as far as she was concerned.

She spoke with her counsellor regarding it in her next session. He delved into it all with her and attempted to assist her in uncovering what was bothering her so greatly in the situation. They both knew her father's lack of being there for her growing up was a pinnacle reason for her wariness to everything, but Mr Barrow also tried to see if there were other reasons for it, noting her anger at her father's remarrying, not because she held any ill against him for finding happiness but for the fact he chose a wife that specifically chose not to have children. She respected that was a personal choice for her stepmother, a term that her therapist used and caused her to shudder such were her preconceived notions of such a title, but it caused her to wonder if her father regretted being a father and made her feel rejected even further by him. It was hurtful enough that Oliver left them and never returned due to not wanting to deal with Marie but the idea he had never wanted children, that made her feel even more rejected by him and of course, behind it all, she worried for Lily.

Tom left for a week to deal with an event he was part of, leaving Alexianna to deal with her concerns, work and Lily, something she was becoming more comfortable and confident in. Even with the increased workload of her job and college course, Alexianna was finding it easier to do everything as a result of her dealing with her past and feeling better in herself as a person. She still had doubts, her scarred arm caused her to feel some self-conscious thoughts but overall, her achievements, her loving relationship with a man that allowed her to be her own person and respected her personal space and expected the same and help to raise Lily meant she was able to grow, both personally and as a mother. She always loved Lily with all of her heart but did not show it as much as she wanted to as she tried to learn how to love herself and express it. Her happier attitude transferred to her interactions with Lily also.

While going home from work on the bus, she looked out the window. Elena, a lovely English language student who needed a few hours work while she completed her course, had become Lily's new minder while Alexianna worked. Tom spent what time he could with her also but there was a need for someone else to pick up the times they could not and Elena was perfect since Rebecca moved to Manchester. She also taught a very eager Lily some Spanish, something Alexianna was delighted about. She spoke French and Latin as well as English and Welsh so she liked her daughter embracing foreign languages.

When she arrived home, she was attacked for hugs in the hallway. “Hey, Princess.”

“Hi Mommy.” Lily cuddled into her as she walked into the kitchen carrying her daughter in her arms. “I had a silly day today.”

“Tell me about it.” She smiled as she said a quick hello to Elena also.

“We went to the park.”

Alexianna knew that already, having signed a consent form for her daughter to be allowed do so. “And what did you see in the park?”

“Ducks.”

“Very exciting.”

“Can I tell Daddy?”

“I will contact him and see if he able to talk.” She smiled, taking out her phone, frowning at the cracked screen, having been in a slight disagree with gravitational pull. She texted Tom and left her phone on the counter as she took out the few groceries she had acquired also before thanking Elena for handing her some post. At first, she scanned them, some junk mail, a “to the occupier” from the council and finally a letter for “The parents of Lily D. Hughes” letter. Alexianna looked at the letter for a moment. It was a thick A4 size one but it was the postmark that gave it away. The stamp of the illustrious girl's school told her who sent it. Opening it, she wondered why it had arrived.

Just as she was about to remove the paperwork from the package, her phone rang.

“Mommy, Daddy is calling.” Lily chirped as Alexianna placed down the letter. She lifted her daughter onto the countertop and answered the phone, placing it to Lily's ear. “Daddy.” She giggled.

“Hello, Princess. You sound very happy.”

“I miss you, Daddy.”

“I miss you terribly too. I wish I was able to give you a big cuddle.” Tom's voice was sincere. “Tell me about your day.”

“We went to the park and we sawed ducks.” She informed him. “And we feeded them, but not bread acause that is not good for them, Daddy and I sawed doggies and they were chasing each other and we had so much fun.” She informed him.

“I am jealous.” Tom declared, earning giggles from Lily. “Are you excited for your birthday next week?”

“Yes.” Lily cheered loudly. “You'll be home, won't you Daddy?”

“I am home in two days, my beautiful girl.” He promised. “So do not fret, I will be there.”

“Yay!”

“Where's your Mum, Princess?”

“She's holding the phone to my ear and making sure that I don't fall from the counter, Daddy.” Lily informed him.

“Okay, Princess, I will send you a big hug and kiss through Baloo and I will just talk to Mummy for a minute, alright?”

"Okay, Daddy. Bye bye, I love you.”

“I love you too, Lily.” His smile was audible through the phone.

Alexianna let Lily off the counter before putting the phone to her ear. “Hey, Tom.”

“Darling, is everything alright?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Talk to me, Lexi. Is it therapy, work?”

“No, I just...I think Lily has just received another prospectus from Hampstead Hill.”

“You think?”

“I was opening it when you called, but yes, I think she has, it looks like one.”

“Open it and see.” Tom listened to the sound of paper moving around then silence. “Lexi?”

“I…”

“Lexi?”

“Dear Ms Hughes, we are delighted that your daughter, Lily Diana Hughes will be joining us in Hampstead Hill at the beginning of her reception year, this coming September. We thank you for choosing our school for your daughter's education and I can assure you, Hampstead Hill will endeavour to bring out the very best in your child. Please find enclosed….Did you do this?” There was no answer. “Tom, did you do this?”

“No... I...no, I had nothing to do with this.” Tom promised, slightly startled by what Alexianna had just read to him. “Do you think Oliver…?”

“Who else could have done it, Tom?” she challenged, her anger increasing. “I am going to kill Daniel.”

“Why?”

“How else would this have happened, Tom? Oliver shouldn't know her name, I...does he have my address?” She asked worriedly, rushing up the stairs to prevent Lily hearing such a conversation, not wanting the little girl to see her stress.

“Alexianna, I don't want to anger you, Darling, but I don't think him having your address requires such panic, he is not as bad as Jonathan.” Tom placated. “If you want nothing to do with him, it's not ideal, but it's not like he can walk up to the front door; you, Elena or I have to let him in, so don't fret, my Darling. Also, remember the school hàve your address, I was in contact with them, remember?”

“But...you gave your address.”

“I gave yours also, they needed it, so he could very well not know it.” He placated. “I think when you have settled slightly, you need to speak to Daniel.” He suggested.

“Yeah, I...I'm not sure about this, Tom. I don't want to owe Oliver for anything...I don't want anything to do with him.”

“We will talk to Daniel, and see what he says, alright?” Tom urged. “But for now, relax.”

“Tom…”

“Lexi, you are annoyed and you and I know that if you talk to Daniel now, you will get angry and you love your brother, you don't want to argue with him.”

“I don't want this. I don't want Oliver to pay for this.”

“Will I send him a reimbursement?” Tom offered.

“No because I don't want anyone paying this money for her.”

“Why not, Darling?”

“Because it's not fair on you, I am not going out with you to fund Lily, this relationship is uneven enough without…”

“Okay, I am going to have to stop you there, Lexi “ Tom stated calmly. “A relationship does not have to be fifty-fifty when one is in a different financial position to another. You give me so much, I cannot put into words my happiness when I am with you, and that little girl. Alexianna, I love you both so intensely and you both give me unconditional love and respect in return and to be honest, I feel unworthy. Your additions to my life have so much more than financial worth.”

“But I don't want money from you, I want you, I want our cuddles, our conversations, our intimacy, that sort of thing.”

“That is why I am so invested in this, Lexi, because you don't want money and other such things. But is why I am so willing to do this too, I want to help Lily achieve everything she can in life.”

Alexianna sighed, uncertain of what to say. She wanted nothing more than to have Lily have the best of everything, as most parents would, but uncertain that she could take it.

#Life is a Game of Risks #chapter 48 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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jeannereames · 5 years ago

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hi if it's not a too personal question to ask how did you come to be interested in history/antiquity/alexander..? I mean did you always like it as a child? or how did it start?

It’s not too personal, and in fact, I LIKE to tell this story, as I’m the definition of coming in the back door, which might encourage others.

Understand, I’m a chick from the other side of the tracks. My generation was the first to get a college education, and I’m among the few to go on to grad school, especially not professional *(e.g., law or med school). I was lower middle-class growing up. My father is from one of the two poorest families in Jackson County, S. Illinois before (and after) WWII. My mother was better off, her father a successful farmer and carpenter, but the Brouillettes had been Catholic (even if he wasn’t), and (worse) they had Indian blood.

There was no silver spoon in my mouth. I had better: wonderful parents who cheer-leaded me all the way. So if you disbelieve a father as great as Amyntor could exist? That’s MY parents. Amyntor-Berenikē are real, and their names were Ed and Idalee. Rise is dedicated to my father. Some of us get that lucky, and I’m HUGELY aware of my fortune, especially as I aged and realized my fellows didn’t have parents like mine. So Hephaistion’s desire to share his father with Alexandros? That was me. All my friends came to my house to visit my mother.

My love of history owes entirely to HER. She loved history, and understood it was about the stories of people. But my elementary and junior high history teachers made it about “kings-n-things” with lots of dates, etc.

So I HATED history.

I hated it all through regular school, then my tenure at UF, where (despite being a humanities major) I AVOIDED all history classes except one, an elective on the history of the Early Church. I think it’s pretty much a crime that a humanities major anywhere can graduate without a history class. WTF?

Yet it’s all the fault of poorly taught history. Plus, yes, younger students are less inclined to understand why it matters. Not all, but a substantial portion regularly return surveys saying history doesn’t matter because it’s the past, not the future.

Back to my clever mother. Instead of teaching me history, she told me about my family: the story of my ancestors, my people, including my tribe (Miami-Peoria). I was routinely hauled around to cemeteries as a kid, shown where my people were buried, and then told stories about them. Respect for Elders and the ancestors is a native thing. Yet I became fascinated, constructed family trees, and tried to trace back their stories, as most of my mother’s family were French who came in the 1600s/early 1700s, or Native Americans. My father’s family were more recent immigrants, but it all made a wonderful puzzle.

The story of me.

That’s history. The story of us, more broadly.

And so my clever, sneaky mother taught me to love history by coming in the back door.

Yet as a teen and undergrad, my interest in other cultures were largely Celtic and Scandinavian. I was introduced to J.R.R. Tolkien as a teen and remain a HUGE fan. My “home” fiction genre, insofar as I have one, is SFF (science fiction and fantasy), where a number of my friends publish. So I resisted the whole “Classical” field until quite late. Latin was the most popular language at my HS (Lakeland Dreadnoughts), and had the most active student group… so of course I refused to join! Never was a follower. I took German instead. In college, I took RUSSIAN, just to be different.

My undergrad degree was a BA in English, with a concentration in creative writing and a minor in acting. My M.A. was in theology and early church history. While at the Candler School of Theology, Emory, I kept hearing about this dude, “Alexander the Great.” I had NO idea who that was. (That’s how bad my previous history education had been.) Yet as he seemed so pivotal in cultural transfer, east to west and west to east, I wandered over to the Emory library to check out a couple of bios.

By chance, they were N.G.L. Hammond’s King, Commander and Statesman, and Peter Green’s (original, Thames-on-Hudson, later re-released by U. Cal Press) Alexander of Macedon.

I literally couldn’t have picked two more different bio’s if I’d tried.

AND HE FASCINATED ME. Who was this KID, who conquered most of his known world by 32, but generated such different evaluations, positive to negative?

Like Alexander, I’m a bit inclined to … obsess?

So I kept reading, and reading, and reading (articles, not just books), and then got into Macedonia (which then in the 1980s, was mostly articles).

By the early 1990s, I’d decided I wanted to study him professionally, not just to write a novel about him, so on the urging of Judy Tarr, I called Gene Borza at Penn State. He was my #1 choice to study with (in the US) as I’d admired his honesty to reply to those who disagreed with him, not just ignore them. So Gene asked me what I’d read, and I started reciting my list, until he said, “Stop, stop! You’ve already read more than most of my current PhD students!” He encouraged me to apply.

Ergo, if my BA was in English, and my MA in Theological studies, and I’d originally intended to go on to a PhD in the latter, I sent off ONE application—to Penn State—for history.

Guess which one offered funding (e.g., a graduate assistantship).

I wound up at Penn State, studying Macedonian history with “Aristotle” (e.g, Gene Borza, whose resemblance to the philosopher is a wee bit uncanny). It was, I think, the best choice I could have made. I remain Gene’s “academic daughter,” and Book 1, Becoming, is dedicated to him due to Aristotle’s prominence, while book 2 is dedicated to my father, Ed Reames, because he’s the model for Amyntor.

So yes…there IS a backdoor for those of us determined enough. But be aware, the handicap never goes away. I face it every single day. My Latin and Greek wasn’t “good enough,” and I don’t have the extensive reading in Classics that someone with a BA in Classics would have. But I DO bring my diverse previous experience. I have a background in bereavement counselling and ER on-call duty that allows me to look at Alexander’s mourning and such events as the Philotas Affair with experience most of my colleagues (however good their Greek and Latin) don’t have.

So be prepared to justify your existence to your colleagues who had Latin in high school and pursued a BA in Classics or ancient history. Don’t apologize.

And those of you who DO have the above, remember, there are a couple of us out there, scrappy and “previously untrained” who loved the field enough to work our asses off to get a degree, and eventually, a job. So unlike some of my colleagues at Penn State, don’t snort and look down on your unusual fellows. Help them out.

I’ll also note that of the students I entered with? Only two of us received the PhD. Tim Howe, my academic brother who came with better prep, teaches today at St. Olaf’s in Minnesota. But dammit, I fought my way through. And I finished, and I’m at a uni that, with my colleagues, created an Ancient Mediterranean Studies Program at the BA/BS and MA level. I’m damn proud of that.

The field has changed since I applied to grad school in 1991, I won’t lie. Tenure-track jobs in the US, especially in ancient history and Classics, have turned into unicorns. Other countries are different. But if you are determined enough, and damn stubborn enough, you might be able to carve your own path, as long as you keep an eye on the current state of the field. I won’t lie to anybody about how few ancient history and Classics jobs are out there on H-Net these days. BUT don’t let the afternoon-tea set make you feel less than them: “imposter’s syndrome” for pursuing a PhD in ancient history or Classics. Some of those Classics blue-bloods won’t get a job, at the end of the day.

I am THE definition of an “imposter’s syndrome” faculty member who succeeded. And I don’t give a good goddamn what anybody thinks of me. I excel at what I do, and I’m proud of it.

#classics #Classics in the back door #ancient history #stubborn ancient historians #realities of the field #asks #Jeanne Reames #ancient Macedonia #degrees in history #advanced degrees in history

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thewoildis-yaerster · 5 years ago

Text

Abusus Non Tollit Usum

Chapter One: The First Day

Description: Davey reunites with a familiar face and meets said face's friends.

Warnings: Swearing, deadnaming, pronoun misusage, mentions of homophobia, mentions of transphobia, mentions of racism. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

David gripped a piece of paper in two hands. He could hardly read it from how badly his hands were shaking, but he really didn’t need to read it again; he had already read over it many times since he received it in the mail a few weeks back. He folded the sweat-drenched paper to the best of his ability and shoved it into his pocket as he got out of his large van. It was a hand-me-down, sure, but he loved that thing to death. He fumbled with his keys and locked the doors nearly five times before he was satisfied. He wiped his hands off on his pants, then reached in his pocket for the same piece of paper. He unfolded it and sighed as he stared at the large building ahead. He was a sophomore; why did he need to be put in public school this late in life? Also, why did he have to be put in a good three weeks after the school year had already started? He hesitantly started walking towards the building, repeating all of the information on the paper to himself in a low whisper.

“My guide is Frances Sullivan. My first period is debate. Second is geometry, third is genetics, fourth is government, then lunch, fifth is gothic studies, sixth is Latin I, and seventh is my free period. Frances Sullivan. Debate, geometry, genetics, government, lunch, gothic, Latin, free. Frances, debate, geometry, genetics, government, lunch, gothic, Latin, free. Alright. I think I’ve got it.”

David hung his head down and hunched his shoulders as he power-walked past his fellow students. He pulled one of the large doors open and slipped inside, taking an almost immediate right into the office. The woman working the office desk turned around in her chair to look at him.

“Hi, uh, I’m new.”

“Ah! Well, welcome to Pearst. May I see your schedule?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He handed it to her over the counter. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise and a smile spread across her face as she took the paper from him.

“Polite, huh? We could use more of you around here.” David simply chuckled in response and took the chance to glance around the office. There were multiple rooms, including one for the principal. He hoped he’d never have to go in there. “I presume you’ve already read this. Once the bell has rung, I’ll call Miss Sullivan in here and she can do her duties. Speaking of, she might be able to learn a thing or two from you.” She handed the schedule back to him and gestured for him to sit down in one of the chairs in the front of the office. He had no idea what she meant by that, but he guessed he would find out soon enough. She had commented on how they could use more polite students, so maybe that’s what she meant. What if this Frances was a troublemaker? He didn’t want to get into trouble on his first day of school. What if Frances was a total jerk? What if Frances ditched him at the beginning of the tour and just went on with her own business? What if-

“Sweetheart?” It was the woman.

“Y-Yes, ma’am? I’m sorry. I zoned out.” David replied, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants again.

“It’s alright. I was just telling you that Miss Sullivan is on her way.”

“Ah, okay. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.”

Almost ten seconds later, another entrance to the office flew open and a student slid into the office. David thought the entrance was only for teachers, but it was apparent that this student either didn’t know that or did and chose to ignore it.

“Ms. Hannah! It’s always nice to see you in the morning.”

“How are you, Miss Sullivan?”

“It’s Mister, now, Ms. Hannah. Mister Jack Kelly.”

David’s head shot up so quickly his neck popped.

“Alright, Mister Kelly. Miss Margaret Jacobs is right in there.” The woman, Ms. Hannah, gestured to David. He grimaced when he heard his dead name. Jack looked over at David and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“…Davey?” He walked over to him.

“Jack.” The corners of David’s mouth twitched up into a smile. They stood there and stared at each other until they both went in for a hug at the same time.

“I’ve missed you, Dave.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Jack.”

The two had kept in contact over the summer, but they didn’t see each other again until that moment.

“How’ve you been doing?” Jack pulled away after giving David a tight squeeze.

“Pretty well. Better than the last time we saw each other. How about you?”

“That’s good! People are still dic- mean, but you can’t exactly stop them. All you can do is not let them bother you.”

“Kids, I hate to break up this adorable little reunion, but you two need to get going.” Ms. Hannah said sweetly.

“Right! Okay, so, you’re basically stuck with me all day. I have the entire day off to make sure you know where your classes are and where all you need to go. Let me see your schedule.” David handed his schedule to Jack, who creased his eyebrows and whistled as he read over it. “Molecular Genetics and Genomics? Advanced American Government? Gothic Studies? Latin? Jesus, Davey. You’ve got quite the classes here. Hey, why didn’t you take photography?” Jack led him out of the office and they made their way down the vacant hallway.

“Photography is just something I do for fun. It takes the fun out of it if you’re told what you have to do and when to do it.”

“Fair enough. Alright, let’s roll. I think I know people in just about all of your classes. Debate…Smalls! Smalls is in debate!”

“Smalls?”

“She’s great. You’ll love her. Anywho, Elmer is in geometry. Well, kind of. He might as well be teaching geometry this year. He’s already blasted through all of the math programs this school has, so he gets to help out this year. The teacher teaches the lessons, then he walks around and helps anyone who needs it. He also tutors after school. The kid’s a math whiz. Specs is in genetics. Just look for a kid with glasses.”

“A lot of people wear glasses, Jack.”

“Yeah, I’ll just point him out to you. He doesn’t really like science in general, but damn is he into genetics. Kid Blink is in government.”

“Why’re they called Kid Blink?”

“He only has one eye.”

“O-Oh.”

“Katherine is in Gothic studies. Her nickname is Ace, but we rarely use it. Hot Shot is in Latin. They’re…a handful.”

“Are they bad?”

“No, they’re just…difficult to deal with, I guess. They came over from Brooklyn with Spot Conlon and they’re both just alike, except where Spot has a temper, Hot Shot isn’t very social. They’ll talk to you if they need to, but other than that, I wouldn’t count on it.” They reached the door to the debate classroom and Jack finished his explanation.

“Wait. What about the free period?”

“Well, you seem to have it the same period as me and all of my friends, so I’ll keep that a secret until the time comes,” Jack smirked and winked, then opened the classroom door.

***

“So, are you enjoying your classes so far, Dave?” Jack questioned as they walked to whatever he had planned for their free period.

“The classes, yeah. The people in them, not so much. I’m just used to a quieter setting. I’m sure I’ll get used to it. Your friends are pretty cool, though.” David had thoroughly enjoyed the heated debate he witnessed between Smalls and another student over whether video games are bad for children or not. He quickly found out that geometry was much easier with Elmer showing him how to do it since the way the teacher taught them was a huge backward-ass way that even Elmer admittedly hardly understood. Funnily enough, Specs was literally the only person in genetics that wore glasses, so David had no trouble figuring out who he was. Kid Blink was an entire mess and a half. He knew his facts, but he was the class clown. David had to hold back laughter every time the teacher called on him because she thought he wasn’t paying attention and he gave her the answer, plus some. Lunch was quiet and peaceful since he decided to stay in the library and just talk to Jack. David had taken a liking to Katherine the minute she whacked someone in the back of the head with her copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray because they wouldn’t shut up and let the teacher talk. Of course, the Latin teacher had instructed Hot Shot to help David get caught up. Jack was right. Hot Shot wasn’t rude whatsoever, but they only talked to David when they had to.

“Good! Okay, so here’s the plan for our free period. You can quite literally do anything. Hell, some people even go home. However, we have a little club we run. We make the school newspaper. The school has a website, but it’s never updated, so we’ve become the main source for school news. I want you to come in, hang with us, and see if you like it. If you don’t, I won’t pressure you. Sound good?”

When they stopped in front of the door to the basement, Jack rummaged around in his backpack as he spoke and finally pulled out a newsboy cap. He adjusted it on his head and pushed open the door.

“Yeah, sounds good. Is…Is it in the basement?” David coughed a little from the amount of dust around them.

“Nah, but three of our members are. Their sixth period is garage band, and there aren’t any bells down here. Their teacher might as well be another student. She gets too into it and forgets to watch the time, but no one snitches. I’m always the one to come down here and tell everyone that it’s time to switch classes. I honestly don’t know what they do on the days I’m out.” Jack chuckled, seemingly not bothered by the dust.

“Ah,” David responded.

They made their way to the end of the corridor and Jack forced the heavy door open. The large room honestly looked like a concert venue. There were no chairs, so students either sat on the floor or stood close to the stage that took up half the room. Empty soda cans littered the floor, and various instruments were either hung up on the wall or propped up against it. Four students were onstage performing “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett. The girl singing was dressed head to toe in black, except for her light pink leather jacket. Her guitar matched the jacket, as well as her microphone. The person next to her was dressed in a white hoodie, ripped black jeans, red converse, and a snapback they wore backward. They were also playing a guitar. The person on her other side was dressed in a white dress shirt, a black miniskirt, fishnet stockings, black combat boots, and they had purple hair that was styled in an undercut. They played a mean tambourine. The person playing the drums was wearing heavy black eyeliner, very worn out and ripped up blue jeans, black converse, and they were shirtless. They also had a tattoo on their chest of the symbol of St. Jimmy from American Idiot.

When the girl noticed Jack, she stopped playing, and her band followed suit. “Time to leave?” She questioned.

Jack nodded in response. Almost everyone groaned or sighed and went to grab their things. They all trudged out of the classroom, but the singer, guitarist, and drummer stayed with Jack and David, while the others left.

“Ooo, Jackaboy, who’s the cutie? He your boyfriend?” The drummer teased with a smirk.

“This is Davey. We met over the summer, but now he goes to school here. And, no, he is not my boyfriend.” Jack slung an arm around David’s shoulders.

“Damn. And here I thought you finally had some dick in your life.”

“Hey, not everyone sucks dick in their free time like you do, Racetrack.” The girl poked the drummer, Racetrack, in the ribs with her elbow.

“I do not suck dick in my free time.” Racetrack replied, thumping the girl on the forehead.

“Duh, Sniper. Sucking dick is why he doesn’t have free time.” The guitarist laughed and threw a shirt at Racetrack.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, you three. Like I said, this is Davey. David Jacobs, technically, but I call him Davey. Davey, this is Albert, Racetrack, and Sniper.” Jack pointed to each of them as he said their names.

Racetrack put on the shirt Albert gave him, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, Davey, welcome to the most homophobic, transphobic, racist, etc. school in the entirety of Manhattan. If no one’s told you yet, it isn’t very safe here for people…like us. And, if you’re one of us, buckle the fuck up. These are going to be an interesting two years.”

“Jesus, Race,” Sniper whispered.

“What? Might as well tell him now instead of throwing him to the dogs and letting him see for himself.”

“Race, you can traumatize Jack’s boyfriend on the way to the room. If Jack doesn’t show, Spot will decide to take over, and no one likes when that happens.” Albert started to walk down the corridor to the stairs.

“I like when that happens.” Race followed Albert, and the other three came with.

“That’s because you’re dating him.” Sniper reached over and thumped Race’s forehead like he did to her earlier.

“You’ve got me there.”

***

“You ready, Davey?” Jack questioned, his hand on the handle of the door to the club room.

“I, uh…yeah.” David nodded.

Jack threw open the door and let the other four in the room first, then he closed the door back. The entire room smelled like ink and paper, one of David’s favorite smells. He could get used to that after a long day of "hell" (school).

“Finally. I was just about to take over.” A small boy with very very large arms huffed from his computer chair. David took a quick sweep of the room and noted that there had to have been twenty students in there, if not more.

“Blame your boyfriend, Spot. He decided to give Davey here the ‘welcome to Hell’ talk.” Jack threw up his hands and wiggled his fingers dramatically.

Sniper and Albert went to their respective seats, while Race walked over to Spot and sat in his lap. Before anything else could be said, Jack clapped his hands together and started up the club meeting.

“Alright, so, first order of business: new kid. This is my pal, Davey. He just came here today and he’s here to figure out if he wants to join us or not. Please, no one scare him away. I know he already knows some of you, but let’s go around and introduce ourselves. Crutch, you can start us off.”

“Hi, I’m Crutchie! He/him.”

“You know me. Racetrack Higgins. He/him.”

“You also know me. Albert DaSilva. He/him or they/them.”

“I’m Romeo. He/him.”

“Henry. He/him.”

“Specs. He/him.”

“Elmer. He/him right now.”

“JoJo. He/him.”

“Katherine. She/her.”

“Finch. They/them.”

“Mush. Also they/them.”

“Kid Blink. He/him.”

“Tommy Boy. He/him.”

“Buttons. She/her at the moment.”

“Spot. He/him.”

“Sniper. She/her.”

“Mike. He/him.”

“Ike. They/them.”

“Smalls. She/her.”

“Hot Shot. They/ them.”

After they all introduced themselves, they all looked at David expectantly.

“Oh, uh, David. He/him.” He gave an awkward wave to everyone, then turned to Jack, who was then leaning backward in a computer chair, which is something you should never do.

“Next step. We have this little tradition, of sorts, when there’s a new member. You don’t have to do it, but the new person just shares their story with the rest of the group. A form of bonding or whatever.”

“I-I, uh…sure. Why not?”

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emotionalsupportaudino · 5 years ago

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literally me just complaining

I am very genuinely hurt by the treatment my school gave me in the three years I was there. This is my gentle full on vent. This is me getting out my incredible pain in a timeline.

When I went to NCC, my mental health was literally improving in strides. Two years and I walked out confident, happy, assured of my own worth. It was such a great school. I had such great friends! I was losing weight, I was running 5ks every day in the summertime, I was learning to love myself.

And then I started at Moore. My first year, my first day, my first class, I walk in at 8:30AM ready to fucking learn. I have my notebook, my flash drive, and my confident spirit. Here I was. I was at this fantastic school. All my professors at NCC were so proud of me for getting there. I was in a class studying my absolute favorite topic of my major: Character Design.

My professor walks in, six months younger than me and with a chip on her shoulder. She tells us that if we’re not pulling all nighters every project, we’re failures. She tells us we have an assignment worth 20% of our grade due the next Friday. A 4-person set of silhouettes from a fairy tale that make each character clearly defined as their characters. She gives us a rubric and only explains 80% of it. I ask about the other 20% and she responds “Oh I’m not grading on that, don’t worry.”

Anxious about this huge chunk of my grade, I skip out on a free music festival with my NCC friends and spend every night until midnight working on this project. I go through dozens of iterations of silhouettes for my characters. And then, I turn it in, and I barely pass. Because she gave me a 1/5 in the section of the rubric I asked her about. I ask her why? “These are too identifiable. They’re too obviously what they are.”

She continues this to the point where the rest of my semester is a fucking blur. I was miserable, having mental breakdowns once a week, and this lasted for about two months before I dropped the class because I was literally on the verge of killing myself.

She puts down every aspect of my personality, my very being. I worked in cut paper when I was at NCC and I did really well at it. I tell her I like working with shapes and it was my specialty at my previous school, she tells me “It doesn’t look like it.” I tell her my favorite games are Persona 3 (this is before 5 comes out) and We Know the Devil. She says the artist behind WKTD is a bad person and no one should play it, and that Persona is bad because why would any adult want to play as a teenager. She catches me listening to Love Live music and makes fun of my taste. When I had thought too hard about my project (a chimera where she literally threw an entire in-depth illustration at us the night before it was due and required us to pay fare to the zoo or she’d take 50% off our grade, WHEN I HAD LITERALLY JUST RECEIVED MY FIRST PAYCHECK and had almost nothing), and had everything about this animal planned, she asks me: “What’s the Latin name?” It was not mentioned anywhere on the sheet, it wasn’t involved at all. She docked me 5% for not knowing Latin

I seek out help, first, from my head faculty. I tell him the things she tells us. He says “oh I’ll talk to her, but that’s just how she teaches.” She comes in the next class talking about how much he praised her and how great she’s doing. She’s even worse to me. I cry in the bathroom for half the class and the head of first year classes catches me and literally lets me cry on her despite the fact I am not in any of her classes and tells me to drop. So I do.

My classmates for the rest of the semester are miserable. Everyone except for me and 3 others in my program are literally miserable for the rest of the semester. She cost kids their scholarships. One of my friends is so bad that literally the mention of this professor’s name causes her to have a panic attack. I accidentally caused one and felt awful.

This professor is the start of my Xanax dependence. And she’s never disciplined.

In the same semester they start teaching 2D animation. Except by start I mean start and finish. We are expected to know everything about 2D animation in one semester. We are never offered another class.

My second semester, two of my classes are taught by a man who DOESN’T KNOW THE PROGRAM and is teaching it to himself as we go along. He smells of alcohol, and at the end of the semester he disappears during critiques. We have to teach ourselves everything, except, SURPRISE. One of the classes is 3D modeling, teaching us the foundations of Maya.

We never learn the foundations of Maya.

Third semester, first of junior year, we find out the school has lied to us from the getgo. After saying every student got 1k for their internships, we find out students get $500. And the other $500 goes right to the school if you paid by month like I did.

We also find out that everything we didn’t learn in our modeling class was super important. Our professor--THE HEAD OF OUR PROGRAM--gives up teaching us and kinda says to do whatever for our 3D Animation class. I ask him how to do several things specifically (2D animation on a 3D model being one of them). He does not know how. He does not bother to learn.

During that semester, my grandfather dies. I am told by my Admissions department job that if I miss more than one day of work for the funeral, I will be fired. I never got time to mourn. I still miss my grandfather. I cried about his death literally every day from October to May.

Second semester of Junior year is a blur because I am having so many panic attacks. I find an internship, but it’s outside of my typical field. That internship saves my life. And that’s barely exaggerating. I hadn’t felt happiness in a year when I started it and suddenly every day was... exciting again. I made friends, I had fun, I felt human.

First semester of Senior year is... rough. But not overly rough, mostly because I’m only taking two classes. And one of them is with one of the three (3) competent teachers I had teach me my studio classes. It’s great. I genuinely enjoy working despite thesis.

I had won a grant in the spring of my Junior year to travel abroad for two weeks at the beginning of September. My head of program swears he will present my game and get feedback. I return and he says there was no feedback. I ask my classmates--he never presented. I never got critique on my concept until three months into it because I thought everyone knew what I was doing.

Second semester of senior year was the worst four months of my life. I had never been so hurt, so ignored, and so honestly lost.

-My senior thesis class is taught by a woman who has no experience in any of the programs we are using. She has never animated in 2D or 3D. She has never programmed or designed a game before. She keeps asking for more work because she doesn’t understand that the 12 hours a week I’m putting in in coding is seriously beginning to harm my health.

-The same professor teaches the modern culture of Animation/Game Arts class. She refuses to touch on queer subjects. Repeatedly. She drops the hbomberguy stream but knows nothing about it. I wind up being the one who had to explain what it was about.

-She requires us to take a trip to New York and doesn’t get funding for us. This includes transportation there and back, subway fare, tickets to events, and meals. Had she mentioned it to ANYONE in administration, we would’ve gotten free meals. She did not. She left most of my class alone in New York City with literally no idea where to go and no instructions on how to get back. That trip cost me nearly $100 in the end. (I did get to see the original Taminella puppet at the Jim Henson exhibit at the Museum of Moving Image, and the costumes from Labyrinth, which was totally worth it and I broke down crying at it because like, Jim Henson means the world to me? I want to be like him. I just want to make the world a little brighter.)

-Oh did I mention we were never fully taught C#, and yet I was expected to code an entire game in it because for my thesis I wanted to combine 2D art and gameplay? Yup. She didn’t know that either.

-They refused to let us know anything about setup for Senior show until less than 2 weeks before hand. We had to pay for anything installed for the show and any decor. Every other major knew at least a month in advance. We had less than 14 days.

-I walked in on my one friend about to harm themself more than once. I found others saying they were on the verge of suicide. I comforted more people than I think I ever should have had to in those last 4 months. Whenever I asked for help, I was met with a door in my face.

DESPITE ALL OF THAT I have a deep love for my underclassmen. I genuinely want the fucking best for them. They’re in that hellhole and they deserve better, and I want to be as much help to them as possible. Our major has no connections in the paid art world.

Last March, due to my work in the library (AGAIN THAT INTERNSHIP SAVED MY LIFE ), I was offered a job teaching game design to kids in an underserved area. It’s good pay and great work and great people. So when they said “We need more people,” I immediately said “Let me get in contact with my school.”

The head of the program and his full time faculty both REFUSED to either answer emails or meet with me and my job leads. It’s good fucking work. I love every second of it. I’m happy doing it. And I know I have classmates who would be happy too.

And they’re refusing to meet with me.

Everyone else I came in contact with at the school was happy to see me again. The deans were happy, my old bosses were happy, my career center was happy, my old classmates were happy!

But it stings to be rejected like that after busting my ass for three years to do my best.

I just... I feel like I’m never enough for anybody. And the damage they did to my mental (and physical) health is irreversible. I got addicted to anxiety medications, I’m struggling to be confident in myself, I literally get told almost daily at work to not do the things the program drove into me.

I’m getting better and learning to be okay again, but... I’m really fucked up by this school. And I don’t know what to do.

(Oh and the school counselor apparently didn’t actually have a license to practice and often told me my anxiety was in my own head and that it was my own fault bad things were happening to me. Like deaths in the family. And the way my teachers treated me.)

#cw: Suicidal ideation #i am okay #this is talking about years ago #if you're a student at my old school currently #heed my warning

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boricuareads · 6 years ago

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My Year in the Middle: a review/critical analysis

[image description: banner with pastel blue in the background, the cover of My Year in the Middle in the center with a bright orange light behind the cover, and the text saying “boricuareads Reviews: My year in the Middle by Lila Quintero Weaver”]

Rating: 5/5 Stars

Description:

In a racially polarized classroom in 1970 Alabama, Lu's talent for running track makes her a new best friend — and tests her mettle as she navigates the school's social cliques.

Miss Garrett's classroom is like every other at our school. White kids sit on one side and black kids on the other. I'm one of the few middle-rowers who split the difference.

Sixth-grader Lu Olivera just wants to keep her head down and get along with everyone in her class. Trouble is, Lu's old friends have been changing lately — acting boy crazy and making snide remarks about Lu's newfound talent for running track. Lu's secret hope for a new friend is fellow runner Belinda Gresham, but in 1970 Red Grove, Alabama, blacks and whites don't mix. As segregationist ex-governor George Wallace ramps up his campaign against the current governor, Albert Brewer, growing tensions in the state — and in the classroom — mean that Lu can't stay neutral about the racial divide at school. Will she find the gumption to stand up for what's right and to choose friends who do the same?

Review:

This review turned into a critical analysis of the book, but I promise it’s worth it. But, heed my SPOILER ALERT. You’ve been warned!

In reading Lila Quintero Weaver’s first foray into children’s fiction, I couldn’t help but think that this would pair well as a close analysis, keeping in mind Gloria Anzaldúa’s border theory. To keep it simple, Anzaldúa believed that immigrants, especially Latinx, and more specifically those of Mexican descent, not just live with the trauma of immigrating across the literal border. The theory also refers to the borders that have been socially constructed, such as racial categorization and sexuality just to mention a few. I’ll apply her border theory to this text because I believe most of the book is a study of said theory.

My Year in the Middle follows the last six weeks of Lu Olivera’s sixth grade in 1970 Red Grove, Alabama. Lu is the child of two Argentinian immigrants, which reflects the author’s own personal experience (this is explained at the end of the book with the Author’s Note). Lu considers herself to be a wallflower and does everything in her power to stay that way. But when the P.E. teacher decides that the girls will start running for the last six weeks of class, Lu becomes the surprise underdog. She outruns the entire class, which had been desegregated only the year before. In classrooms, however, an unspoken rule still divides Lu’s peers between black and white. Seeing as she identifies as neither, she occupies a seat in the middle row. In that way, she straddles a literal border.

“A border is a dividing line, a narrow strip along a steep edge. A borderland is a vague and undetermined place created by the emotional residue of an unnatural boundary. It is in constant state of transition. The prohibited and forbidden are its inhabitants” (Anzaldúa 3).

The way Lu sits in that racial border that has been constructed without her say in the matter, is much in the way she struggles with her identity as a Latina. She fears her Spanish is not too good and that her translation skills are too basic. However, above all else, she seeks acceptance among the white girls in her class. She fears being Othered, but also fears complete assimilation into whiteness. Anzaldúa said: “The only ‘legitimate’ inhabitants [of the borderlands] are those in power, the whites and those who align themselves with whites. Tension grips the inhabitants of the borderlands like a virus. Ambivalence and unrest reside there and death is no stranger” (4). Though death may not be something that’s talked about in the book, ambivalence is something the narrative strides to be against. Lu feels the tension between her black and white classmates, which at times escalates to physical violence. At some point, even Lu’s the victim of physical and verbal violence from an older white student who takes the bus with her. Lu thwarts this by stomping his feet and correcting that she’s Argentinian, but she has to constantly remind herself of something her mother says: “We’re foreigners. We’re not supposed to get involved.”

Thus, Lu becomes an agent of whiteness by not daring to mix with the black kids, even though she identifies more with them and wishes to befriend them. There is a border that she dares not cross, even though it’s not something her parents have taught her. Her parents have taught her to be implicit in white supremacy even though they don’t believe in it. When Lu finally decides to befriend Belinda, a black girl in her class who is also a fantastic runner, she worries about what her white peers might think of such relationship. She doesn’t hide it in public, and she defends Belinda in the face of a racist shopkeeper, but when she’s faced with the questions of her white peers she shies away from the courage she shows. It’s a slow process as she realizes the systems at play in her classroom, and though she has some help from white peers like her friend Sam, her “best friend” Abigail does the opposite and encourages Lu to assimilate.

In fact, most of the characters who wish that Lu assimilate are women. If it’s not Abigail telling Lu to read women’s fashion tips in magazines, it’s Lu’s mom telling her that sports aren’t for girls when Lu expresses her love of running. This is a sentiment that even Anzaldúa expresses: “Culture is made by those in power—men. Males make the rules and laws; women transmit them” (16). By communicating that assimilation into a white heterosexual capitalist patriarchy or assimilation by ignoring your Otherness and that of your peers, Abigail and Lu’s mom transmit the messages of those in power, which Lu then internalizes.

The book mostly consists of Lu unlearning these internalized feelings and the text does so deftly and with the innocence of a sixth grader who’s only starting to realize the depth of US’s injustices. A good evolution is the image of Lu’s sister, Marina, who’s a college student as well as a volunteer for the Brewer campaign. This campaign is another subplot that’s almost always occurring in the background of Lu’s life. At moments she believes she wouldn’t be affected by the campaign, which is against rampant white supremacist ex-governor George Wallace and desegregationist Albert Brewer. But the book takes you on a sort-of ride-along as she goes to a Wallace rally because Abigail just wants to participate in a cake walk. As Lu feels horrible when the speeches start and the Confederate flags start flying, she bargains with herself and others that she only went to appease Abigail be a part of something with her white peers.

Lu doesn’t tell her black friends or her own family that she attended the rally, knowing it would be met with scorn, which means that she knew it was wrong. When her social studies teacher asks her to write an essay about her experience at the rally for bonus points, she does so, and gets full points while feeling guilty. That guilt is useless, however, seeing as it resembles the white guilt of her peers who want to rebel against the white supremacy in place at their school, but won’t do anything productive with it. It’s when Lu uses her guilt to defend her black friends that it becomes more productive.

At a white student’s birthday party, Lu becomes the target of harassment from her peers for being friends with the black students, especially Belinda. White fear comes bubbling up, and it’s only perforated when Lu finally owns up to her own prejudices and by calling out her peers’ racism in the process.

When Brewer loses the race, the sentiments explored in the book felt all too familiar. As the Brewer supporters start mourning the loss, the white Wallace supporters become even more assertive of their desire for white supremacy. The feelings paralleled the days after the election of Tr*mp. Keep in mind, the book is set less than 50 years ago, and the sentiments of white supremacy and segregationist laws are still present in the US. It is at that point that Lu’s reality comes crashing down on her.

At school, she finally decides to sit with the black students, eschewing the created border of the middle row, the false neutrality she thought she could keep. Lu finally overcomes “the tradition of silence” that Anzaldúa wished to do in regards of the censuring of her identity as a Chicana (59). And though, again, Lu isn’t a Chicana, it’s the best turning point for her as she accepts her Otherness and doesn’t give into white supremacy. In fact, she goes to a white man in power (the principal) to defend one of her black peers, who’s attacked by a white student in class.

Lu is constantly subverting the expectations set for her as the book moves along. She shows growth in the most hopeful and honest way. She’s constantly deconstructing the set default, though not always by herself, like in the scene in which Belinda is at her house and they’re going through the magazines that used to be Abigail’s. Belinda points out that there’s one black model for the overwhelmingly white publication, but she doesn’t worry because at her house they receive beauty magazines for black women. Lu can’t help but wonder that there’s no such thing for girls like her, girls from Latin America, and that she doubted she would ever find a black-haired model with brown skin. This scene is a short one, yet it puts into focus what has been set as the standard for beauty: Eurocentric features. It also helps as a way for Lu to deconstruct such standards, and to question why those are the default.

“It is not enough to stand on the opposite river bank, shouting questions, challenging patriarchal, white conventions. [...] At some point, on our way to a new consciousness, we will have to leave the opposite bank, the split between the two mortal combatants somehow healed so that we are on both shores at once [...] Or perhaps we will decide to disengage from the dominant culture, write it off altogether as a lost cause, and cross the border into a wholly new and separate territory. Or we might go a different route. The possibilities are numerous once we decide to act and not react” (Anzaldúa 78-79).

And indeed, Lu acts. Most of the book is her reacting to injustice, and by the end she’s acting and choosing her own path. She chooses herself, she chooses her real friends, and her family. She also chooses running, with her entire family supporting her and her dad and sister helping her train before the big competition (a Field Day). It becomes a celebration of Lu’s identity as her parents shout encouragement in Spanish as she goes. Those screams allow her to win, seeing as her competition, an older white girl, gets distracted and falls on a pothole. This final scene settles the border paradox within Lu. She’s able to celebrate both her passion for running and her identity as a Latina, all while celebrating the friends she has. There’s no indication she wants to seek reunification with the white peers who turned their backs on her, or that she wants to seek some sort of revenge.

At the end, Lu is happy with forging her own path. She’s finally unafraid to embrace her actions, and leave behind the created borders. There are new borders, but she doesn’t wish to acknowledge them at the moment the book is finished. She’s proud of her growth, and so was I.

Works Cited:

Anzaldúa, Gloria. Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. Aunt Lute Books, 1987.

Quintero Weaver, Lila. My Year in the Middle. Candlewick Press, 2018.

An eARC was provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Thank you! (this is why I couldn’t directly cite from the source book, since ARCs undergo a lot of changes before publishing)

You can find this book online at all available retailers. (amazon, barnes and noble, indiebound)

Review available on Goodreads.

Follow me on Instagram and Twitter @boricuareads, and make sure you check out my other reviews, as well as my book lists, edits, and more! If you enjoyed this, know that I put a lot of work into my reviews, so a monetary donation helps keep this blog going.

#mine #my year in the middle #lila quintero weaver #adriana reviews #read latinx #latinx books #middle grade

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