#I mean the fact an adult man asking to buy photos of their daughter somehow wasn't a red flag is bad enough

[coockie8]

So have y'all also heard about the 13-year-old TikToker who had an 18-year-old fan travel all the way to Florida from Maryland with a gun to, I assume, kidnap her, after which her parents just continued to let her post publicly available videos of herself online for literally anyone to find?

I'm sorry, I'm just losing my mind a little bit over this. Like apparently they even had to pull her out of school at some point due to a second stalker, and at no point do these parents stop to think "Maybe we should stop letting our barely pubescent daughter post videos of herself online for every single creep in the world to fawn over" like seriously!?!?!?

I get wanting to give your child freedom, but at what point do you draw the line here? After she gets kidnapped and further traumatized for life, 'cause you know her dad having to literally kill a guy who showed up at her house with a gun is having some kind of impact here.

[rayadraws]

Shitty Teen Squad, babies and King suffers

This is the result of a brainstorming session between me, @criscura, @batneko and @zgirlly. Background is that Genos, Garou and Badd form an unlikely trio of friends - the Shitty Teen Squad. We have Genos as the mom friend slash feral gay, Garou as the vodka aunt friend and Badd as the... chaotic friend, slash mom friend slash recliner friend.

We ended up talking about various things including future children and poor King babysitting said children. While this isn’t explicit, there’s talk/jokes with adult themes, so please bear that in mind before diving in!

(~2k)

A vodka aunt is someone who 'takes others kids out for fun and brings them home loaded with sugar, cranky, and with a new noisy toy' - that’s definitely Garou. One time he takes Zenko to an amusement park. They’re gone all day and she comes home exhausted, very happy and with at least a dozen new curse words in her dictionary.

There are also a few honourary members of the Shitty Teen Squad -

Saitama - considered very uncool (except by Genos) but harmless. Tags along sometimes and has no idea what is going on at any given time.

Fubuki - would never admit to being one in the group, but someone needs to keep these idiots from killing themselves, so she sometimes hovers at the edge.

Mumen - When Mumen shows up, everyone is on their best behaviour all day. If Mumen slips up and says a (mild) swear everyone else is immediately like ”Gasp! Mumen Rider, how could you? Such language!”

A few years pass, and everyone is starting to settle down and starting families. As we have both Mumarou and Batarou fans in our discussion group, we intentionally kept things a bit vague - so go with whatever your preferred ship/parent combo is! But Saitama and Genos are first to have a child, with the others following perhaps a couple years or so later.

Badd is a rather... intense father. His baby girl is not only a princess, but the most amazing princess in the world. He’s an expert at doing her hair and picking out outfits and every time he meets up with the shitty squad, he forces them to look through all his latest photos of her. He and Genos take their kids to playdates, in matching outfits. So many photos...

Zenko, having learnt from the best, turns into a world class vodka aunt herself, taking the kids to outings and having lots of fun with them.

Tareo might not have a reputation as a cool kid among his peers, but to Saitama/Genos’ and Badd’s kid, he totally does. He loves to read to them, and help them identify bugs and birds they see.

Genos, being the first in the Shitty Teen Squad to have become a father, finds himself giving the others advice from time to time. As always, he refers to his journals, and before Badd’s baby is born he has a diaper change demonstration with Garou and Badd, who look on in silent horror - no one has seen Garou look that terrified before. There is much yelling and gesturing, until the demonstration is over, at which point they act as if nothing happened.

(They never talk about their new knowledge, but whenever they spot a distressed parent struggling in public, they offer their services)

After Badd’s baby is born, Genos finds himself receiving frantic phone calls at all hours of the day, including the middle of the night, such as Badd calling (yelling) about how you’ll know the bottle is the right temperature?! - a groggy, barely awake Genos just mutters ”just... listen to whatever your HUD says...”.

Badd’s daughter always looks like a princess, whereas Saitama’s and Genos’ child always has tousled hair and scraped knees and if you’re not sure where she is... she’s probably off climbing the tallest tree in the area.

At this point, the Shitty Teen Squad has more or less evolved into the Brooding Dad Squad. It’s not everyone who gets the honour of being allowed to babysit their kids, but one man does, and the kids absolutely love him - King!

At this point, the children are a little older, and they love visiting King not only because to them, his engine makes him sound like a purring cat, but also because he has the BEST video game collection. Having said that, Badd always makes King hide his collection of sexy anime girls before the children are allowed over:

"This is nasty!!" "It's art, the level of skill needed to make her stand like that is--" Badd, taking off the removable top: "SHE'S TOO HORNY MAN SHE'S GOTTA GO" "///////but--" "Listen the first thing kids do around dolls is strip them she's gotta go!”

King is nervous to have the kids over! But he does his best and it turns out putting them in front of a video game and handing them snacks is quite effective at keeping them still and happy.

The girls are also very interested in King’s merch, despite him doing his best to hide it. Sometimes they find the empty boxes the most interesting (a favourite game is putting King, as the princess, in his box castle and then coming to save him), but other times they are determined to find all his toys. It’s his engine that’s the problem, it goes off whenever the girls get closer to his hidden stash, like echolocation.

"Are all the pretty dress-up dolls in here?" "N--no!! There's--" "They have so many pretty dresses!! I like all the kitty ones!!" "NO, NO KITTIES--"

(The King engine also means it’s super fun to play hide and seek with him! You can never win with Genos, and Saitama tends to lose interest and wander off, or fall asleep in his hiding place...)

One day, as they play house, one of the kids asks King where babies come from, and poor King struggles to explain... after first shutting down and then taking so long to collect his thoughts that the child already lost interest and went to get pudding.

"Babies--are--love--when mommies--there's a bird I DON'T KNOW PLEASE THEY'RE JUST THERE ONE DAY" ”But I have two daddies?” ”LISTEN this is already complicated for me to explain ;;;;;”

At this point, King goes full possum and all but shuts down again until one of the girls poke him, with one of his anime girl figurines (as kids do, the first thing they do is always to undress every single doll, so it’s naturally naked).

When picked up to go home, their girl tells Saitama and Genos that ”King shut down, like Papa”. When they ask why, she tells them what they had asked him. Saitama, bless him, actually calls King later to apologize for the trouble.

(Badd on the other hand immediately blamed King (and his anime girls) for this question)

Said trouble is not yet over, it turns out - while playing with all the merch, Badd’s daughter put a figurine in her mouth and swallowed a part of it. It’s with extreme dread that King calls Badd that night...

”I don’t know how to tell you this but I really, really need that limited edition accessory back, Badd.”

(That whole evening is traumatizing for King - the kids have undressed every single figurine he owns and he has to painstakingly put them all together again.)

Another time when the kids visit they find a pair of scissors. King immediately gets up to remove them, but the older child is quick to tell him that they should play hairdresser - she does this lots at home.

”...with Sai?!”

On that note, the kids will happily tell King all sorts of things about their parents, whether he wants to hear it or not, including 'they like to wrestle really loudly when it's past my bedtime' and how Badd needs to buy a new bed every few months because they always break. Saitama’s kid helpfully supplies that ”Daddy smells like hot dog after. It’s a LOT of smoke!”.

Sometimes it's serious though.... Like one kid says that Daddy is in a laying-down mood again, or Pop has been going out and coming back with bloody knuckles... Other times it can be things like "Well papa likes to wear all clothes, and be pretty sometimes, and daddy uh....... doesn't. So. Yeah."

King does his best to listen to the kids like a responsible adult, down to taking their suggestions: ”Papa likes this kind of skirt, Uncle King!! I want to get it for his birthday!”

The child doesn’t mention that it’s really her preference to have lots of glitter and shimmer, not Genos’, but he loves his new sequin glitter unicorn shirt anyway. In fact, they dress up to match more than once, and the child loves to play with Genos’ hair and makeup stuff:

"PAPA WEAR THE PURPLE EYELINER" Genos: "It doesn't really go with-" Kiddo: "IT'S PURPLE." Saitama: "It sure is." :D

Speaking of things that are pretty, the girls end up falling in love with a particular anime girl in King’s collection - she’s got ombre hair, and pretty bows, and the biggest bow is also her hair.

The bad news: she's the hardest-to-win girl from an ecchi game

The good news: they're making an anime which will probably cut out all the sex

Medium news: since she's the hardest-to-win girl she's unlikely to be the main heroine of this adaptation.

Poor King is struggling to find the least thirsty merch of her that the girls can actually play with. Genos is put to the task of editing together a child-friendly edition of the show that the kids can watch. There’s.... not much left when he’s done.

King: "The... the plot is-" Genos: "There was a two-episode arc about the shy girl losing her bra on vacation somehow." King: "In the game, um, that's where you prove you're a nice guy." Genos: "Why did she only bring one bra on vacation, King." King: ....................

King uses his fame and clout to start commissioning SFW works of this character - sweating the entire time.

Despite himself, after spending so much time watching and editing clips from the show, Genos actually gets invested in the (barely there) plot. The next time King visits their apartment, he’s shocked to find a bit of merch with the shy girl. Genos’ argument is that he ”needed to protect her from perverts!”.

Carefully, King offers him:

”.........I do have the game, if you want to try it” ”.....yes.”

(For the record, Genos’ merch is a cast-off figurine, and he made sure to get her the bra variety pack, so she’s never out)

...King has no idea how this all started, he just wants to live and now he has Badd swinging his bat a bit too close for comfort, while Genos doesn’t say anything... for his eyes says it all (and what his eyes says is keep this away from the kids and also where can I find the latest episode?)

Saitama is chill about the whole thing - like, okay, it’s not for kids but he doesn’t think they’re old enough to understand. Ladies in historic paintings are nude too, right? Right. Best to hide it though, especially since it makes Genos upset.

The biggest prude of the group is actually Garou, who has quite possibly never seen a wild boob and was always so focused on his training - weird feelings? Go punch a sandbag. Hormones going wild? Sudden boner? Time to go run seven miles. To him, sex stuff is private and he’s very much a ��protect the children!” guy.

(Garou is not allowed to give any dating advice, seeing him being in a relationship is due entirely to his partner accepting his weirdly aggressive courting. Garou gives off that 'bringing dead animals as a gift like a cat' vibe, or happily showing off his collection of beaten thugs, as the case may be.)

[safflowerseason]

i just want you for my own

To my faithful and wonderful Bring Me to Light readers, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays ❤️🎄My gift to you is some shameless fever-dream holiday BMTL fluff. 

Premise: Dan teaches Cassidy to ice skate. Amy watches. Set three months before the events of Bring Me to Light. 

December 19th, 2024

Amy’s ass is frozen. 

She’s wearing approximately forty layers of clothing—long underwear underneath her jeans, one of Dan’s expensive wool sweaters over whatever top she had pulled on that morning, a down jacket, a thick scarf and gloves, two pairs of socks, and somehow it still feels like her body and the bench beneath her have fused into a single ice block. 

It’s fucking cold in December in upstate New York.

“Whose idea was this fucking tour, anyway?” She had grumbled to Liz that morning, as they made their way to a visit with some rangers at Adirondack State Park. 

Liz had laughed, looking offensively cheerful. “I believe that would be yours. And no, I don’t accept your resignation.” 

Amy chose to ignore the fact that her boss was right. (It was too cold to be reasonable). The Senate was out of session, Liz wanted to do something constructive before Christmas, and so Amy had proposed a miniature five-day tour of northern New York. Winter tourism was a huge part of the local economy up there; they could visit some state parks, talk about the new tourism initiative Liz wanted to start, and court some big-timber titans. Liz could bring her family along, there would be plentiful opportunities for holiday photo-ops with the locals, and and they could all try to forget that in January, Jonah fucking Ryan would be inaugurated as the next president. 

With D.C. a fucking bleak place to be right now, Dan had elected to come along as well. His parents were in Florida, so there was no risk of running into them. And the trip gave him an excuse to buy a few dozen high-end winter sweaters that made him look like a rugged outdoorsman, even though they were only going to be gone for five days, and even though Dan never liked to go anywhere he couldn’t schedule an emergency spa appointment within twenty-four hours.

If she thinks about it, it’s really Dan’s fault Amy’s stuck here, sitting on this frozen bench for what feels like hours and hours, but according to the time on her phone, has actually only been forty-five minutes. 

The ice-skating was his idea, after all.

“Mommy! Mommy, look at me! Look at me!”

Well, it was Cassidy’s idea first. But Amy blames Dan for going along with it. 

“I’m looking!” Amy forces her numb lips into a smile and removes one gloved hand from where it’s shoved deep into her pocket in order to wave at her daughter, who is tentatively making her way around the picturesque ice rink. “Oh sh—Cassie, watch out!”

Distracted with trying to catch her mother’s attention, Cassie trips over an invisible dip and goes tumbling into the ice, sliding into the side of the rink. Quick as a flash, before Amy can blink or yell or move, Dan swoops out of nowhere in a shower of ice flakes and plucks Cassidy up off the ice, so fast that her shriek of dismay turns into a shriek of delight. 

Amy gets her breath back. The way Dan moves over the ice, the way he neatly balances Cassidy against his side, so lightly and yet so sure, thaws her slightly. 

As befitted many upper-middle class kids from upstate New York, Dan was familiar with a variety of ice sports…but then he went through puberty and decided, at the age of fourteen, that he couldn’t risk anything happening to his precious face (which, as a forty-three year old adult man, he still referred to unironically as the moneymaker), so he dropped ice hockey in favor of golf. (It isn’t even a real fucking sport, if you ask Amy). 

But he could still skate.

They had been walking back to the hotel, after the last event of the week. Cassidy, learning how to pick her battles based on the rhythms of her parents’ work schedule, chose that moment to start exclaiming over the ice rink, which was still decently populated with skaters even in the late afternoon. 

Amy was more than ready to shut her down, go back to the hotel and thaw herself in front of the fire in the hotel lobby until dinner, but…Dan got that eager gleam in his eye whenever a valuable social media opportunity presented itself, and decided that sure, there was time for a quick skating lesson. So here Amy was, freezing her extremities off in the dying sunlight, curling and uncurling her toes inside her too-tight skates, and trying to look appropriately interested whenever Cassidy called her name. And she can’t check her email or do anything real on her phone—besides take a few pictures, even though Dan’s already snapped enough for a week’s worth of Instagram Stories—because that would require taking off her gloves. 

(Dan insisted on renting her a pair of skates as well, even though she point-blank refused to get on the ice. She had gone a few times as a kid and a teenager, and…well, those experiences had basically cured her of any interest in the sport. Dan had rolled his eyes and snarked, “Suit yourself, have fun freezing your ass off.”)

Dan has set Cassie back down on the ice, but unnerved by her fall, she’s clinging tightly to his hand and looks stubbornly unwilling to let go of it at any time soon. Amy catches a rueful, indulgent smile on Dan’s face as he maneuvers in front of her to make sure she’s got her balance. He bends over to talk to her and Cassie tips her head to his, seeking reassurance. Her hair is starting to come loose from the braids Amy had hastily done up this morning, in the car on the way to the park rangers’ headquarters, and Dan tucks the stray strands behind her ear and rearranges her hat before straightening up. Amy can’t hear what he’s saying—something cheesily inspirational and transparently bullshit, no doubt—but whatever it is, Cassie furrows her brow in increased determination (or suspicion, Amy can’t tell which.) 

Dan starts skating backwards, still holding Cassie’s hand, pulling her along. When she seems slightly more at ease, he lets go. Cassie doesn’t stumble or lunge for his hand, just keeps her eyes fixed on her dad, giant and trusting, and Dan grins and nods approvingly. He circles around Cassie a few times, which makes her glare at him and pick her up her own speed, and eventually Dan falls back a few paces and lets her skate ahead of him, her strokes over the ice becoming more confident again. Amy watches, forgetting for a moment how cold she is as the familiar (and fragile) little glow spreads through her. Even though there are much bigger and much faster skaters on the ice, Cassidy is fearless again, shaking off Dan when she thinks he gets too close. 

(Amy is suddenly seized by how big Cassie has gotten in the last year, how fast she’s grown, and yet she is still so, so small, so small and so breakable. And every day Amy lets her out into the world, a world which is shitty and unfair and broken, and she wants Cassie to be able to face it head on, unflinching…but she never, never forgets what that means. Dan doesn’t get this, doesn’t want to understand it or think about it, but Amy never forgets.) 

“Ames…Earth to Amy…” 

Amy blinks, and everything comes back into focus. Dan has skated over to her side of the rink, and he’s now standing just a few feet away, waving a hand at her exasperatedly.

“Hi.” he says when she meets his gaze, grinning in what he obviously thinks is a winning manner.

“What?” she asks him, suspiciously.

He holds out a hand to her. “Come here.” 

“Dan…” 

“It’s fun. You look miserable sitting there, and it’s making me look bad.” 

“No.” she repeats. “I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but next to me, it’ll just come off as cute. I’ll hold your hand and everything, so you won’t risk physical injury.”

When she doesn’t move, he rolls his eyes and tries again. 

“Ames, come on,” he repeats, cajolingly. “You’ll warm up, if nothing else.” 

Ultimately, that’s what prompts Amy to uncurl her fingers from around the edge of the bench. At least Dan is always ten degrees warmer than she is. Tentatively, she stands and wobbles her way to the edge of the ice. Dan looks angelically patient, which means he’s just holding back some quip about how awkward she must look. She grasps the railing with one hand and reaches for Dan with the other. His gloved hand is firm and warm around hers, and he smiles encouragingly. 

“There you go.” he says, as she steps onto the ice. It’s been years since she’s done this, and it takes a second to figure out how to bend her knees the right way and propel herself (in minute increments) across the slippery surface. After a few moments, Dan winces dramatically.

“Okay, relax, Amy, you haven’t squeezed my hand this hard since you were contracting in the back of that Secret Service limo, and there’s no fucking way this is harder than that.” 

“And what the fuck would you know about it?” Amy mutters, finally secure enough to raise her eyes from her toes. “Where is Cassie, anyway?”

“She’s fine, she’s over there.” Dan replies, gesturing carelessly. Easily visible in her bright red scarf and matching hat, Cassie is studiously skating ahead of them. “She’s having a lot more fun than you are. Maybe…we should do this again. We can go to the sculpture garden rink by the National Gallery.” 

Amy makes a face. “Haven’t you gotten enough holiday-themed content today to satisfy the salivating horde of delusional “Eager-for-Egan” fans who stalk you across the city?”

“Those crazies? Please, they can’t get enough of me in flannel.” 

Amy laughs in spite of herself, but it quickly dissolves into a shiver. “Jesus fuck, Dan, no wonder you moved south.”

“It gets cold in D.C. too, Ames.”

“Not like this. I could see my breath indoors this morning.” 

Without warning, Dan slides backward over the ice in a dramatic arc, pulling her after him and leaving the railing far behind. Amy squeaks in rage and practically slams herself into his chest, clutching at the open collar of his down jacket in order to regain her balance. 

“Dan!” she hisses when she can speak, her heart pounding in her throat. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

Dan just laughs, close enough now that the sound vibrates through her. “I’m just trying to warm you up with a little adrenaline rush.” 

“It didn’t work, you sociopathic asshat. I’m still freezing and my fucking lungs have stopped.” 

In response, he just slides his hands underneath her coat to grip her waist more firmly, pulling her in so she’s practically flush against him. “Damn, guess I’ll have to try something else.”

“You’re such a dumbass.” Amy says, but doesn’t move away, because moving away means falling over, and also because he’s so warm and broad and solid, like this, and she can’t resist the urge to lean into him fully. “You could have just told me you wanted to feel me up on ice skates.” 

Dan’s smile gets even more shameless. “But my way is more fun.” 

Winter looks very good on him. His freckles stand out more in the cold, his cheeks are flushed, and the icy breeze has mussed up his hair, but she has no intention of telling him so (she secretly likes it when it’s less perfect…it reminds of her of Dan on early weekend mornings, when he wanders around their kitchen, making coffee in an old Rangers sweatshirt with his hair sticking up at the back, the version of Dan only she gets to see).

Even after…even after all this time, even a year and a few months of being married, for fuck’s sake, the heat of his gaze still makes her blush, so she looks away from him, out over the rink to the landscape beyond. They’re staying in some picturesque little town adjacent to where they hosted the Winter Olympics, and beyond the landmark hotel and the main street, there’s not much else…just the frozen lake and hills dotted with trees spreading out around them, covered in pristine, undisturbed snow, tinted gold from the sun that’s just started to set. Underneath the clamor and swoosh of the ice skaters, Amy can hear the wind gushing around the giant trees. There’s a stereo system somewhere weakly pumping out Christmas carols, and the whole scene is just too much of a fucking postcard to be real. 

“It’s so pretty here, it’s…gross.” she grumbles, more to herself than to Dan, but he laughs anyway, running a hand up and down her back. 

“Think you’ve warmed up enough to catch up to Cassie?”

“If you’re nice.” she replies, warningly, but lets him step back and take her hand. They fall in line with the other skaters, and Amy lets Dan lead her over the ice, satisfied that he’s not fucking with her anymore. This way, she doesn’t have to worry about losing her balance or tripping over her own feet. Ahead of them, Cassie appears completely absorbed in her skates…Amy wouldn’t be surprised if she’s temporarily forgotten that her parents exist.

“How do you think the week went?” Dan asks, after a while. 

Amy shrugs. “Fine. I’d have liked a bigger crowd on Tuesday, but overall it went well. She can fucking code-switch like nobody’s business…talk about folksy.”

“She got better press than Jonah all week.” Dan muses. “That ass clown is at least going to lower the bar for public appearances. The regular party donors are going to be fucking desperate for someone who can stand up and speak in coherent sentences at the same time.”

“Sure, if the Tanzes don’t keep buying them off.”

He shrugs that off. “Whatever, the novelty of that will fucking wear off…we can think of a way to make it backfire.”

“Yes, because people frequently get tired of money.” Amy retorts, but not too meanly…she knows he’s just trying to buck her up. Dan opens his mouth to respond, but then they’re both distracted by Cassidy, who has slowed her pace significantly and has started to wobble as a result.

“Steady there, kid.” Dan calls, and drops Amy’s hand so he can swish over and prevent her from falling again. 

“Mommy!” Cassie exclaims, ignoring her father. “You came skating too!”

“Uh huh…” Amy replies, through a clenched smile, and heroically manages to skate over to the two of them without toppling to the ground. Up close, Cassie looks simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted, the cold highlighting her china-doll looks, sooty eyelashes drooping over robin’s egg eyes. Her cheeks are pink like Dan’s, and her nose is running slightly from the cold. Amy fishes in her pocket for a tissue. “What do you think of ice-skating, huh?”

Cassie blows out her breath, leaning dramatically against Dan. “It is hard.” 

Dan reaches out and reties her scarf, which is almost trailing on the ground. “What?! But you make it look so easy.” 

“Daddy…” she whines, clearly over it, and there’s a high-pitched, fractious note in her voice that Amy recognizes as a warning sign. “Can I see the phone?”

She wants to see the pictures he took, they both know, and Dan just grins while Amy refrains from rolling her eyes.

“You can look at them during dinner.” she answers, before Dan can give in. “It’s too cold just to stand here looking at a phone.” 

“Then I want to go.” her daughter pouts in response. 

“Sure,” Dan agrees, affably. Too affably. “Lead the way, kid.” 

Cassidy sighs, like she’s responsible for everything, and with a little push from Dan, starts skating off in the direction of the hotel. Without further ado, Dan grabs Amy’s hand and follows.

She looks at him suspiciously. “You gave in with minimal teasing…what’s up? It’s not like our room is that nice.” The hotel is an old Olympic resort, but they’re staying in the most modest room since they’re technically working. 

Dan shrugs, not looking at her. “The sun’s going down, and I’m hungry, and there’s only so many times I can watch Cassidy make a circle around the ice before it gets boring…”

“And…” Amy prompts him, not believing any of those excuses for a second. 

“And…after dinner, I think a little soak in the hot-tub is required, so we don’t wake up with sore muscles tomorrow, so I want to make sure there’s plenty of time for that.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not setting foot in whatever suspicious public facility—”

“Well, for your information, Ames, I upgraded us this morning.” Dan interrupts, looking immensely pleased with himself. “We’re off the clock, so there’s no need to pretend to be fiscally responsible or whatever the fuck for Liz’s voters, and we’re not leaving until tomorrow…I figured one night in the Olympic Suite would be suitably festive.” She must look completely dumbfounded, because he adds, “There’s a private balcony, complete with a Jacuzzi and complimentary champagne and a pretty nice view of the lake.”

Amy opens her mouth and then closes it again, staring at Dan in disbelief. She had been expecting to get back to the hotel, crank up the shitty heater in the drafty room they were sharing with Cassidy, bury herself in every available blanket, and shiver until their flight tomorrow morning. Now…she gets to actually relax, to really shake off the long week with Dan, with heat and champagne and privacy…(and of course they’ll talk about work, but afterwards…)

“…You’re welcome.” Dan says into the silence, smirking all over his stupid face, clearly delighted to have surprised her. 

“…what about Cassie?” Amy manages to ask. The evening that she’s suddenly and vividly picturing does not involve a needy and inquisitive five-year-old.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Why else do you think I’ve been tiring her out for the past hour? She’ll sleep like a fucking rock tonight, and we’ll be free to…entertain ourselves.” 

Amy raises an eyebrow, trying hard to conceal just how pleased she is. “Dan, I just…this is such an unprecedented degree of strategic thinking from you…it’s truly a Christmas miracle.”

“Fuck off.” Dan retorts, but he wraps an arm around her shoulders as he says it, pulling her into him. Amy shifts so her cheek rests more firmly against his shoulder. He smells like his cologne and the outdoors, fir trees and crisp snow and damp wool, and she can feel him smiling against her hair, and right now, Amy feels as light as a snowflake. In the distance, Cassidy’s red scarf flutters like a cardinal’s wing, as she turns back to look for her parents.

“And don’t worry if you haven’t gotten me anything yet, I can think of a number of appropriate thank-you presents.” 

She laughs. “Warm me up first, jackass.”

[citizenscreen]

I’ve been wanting to dedicate a commentary to one of the first ladies of horror since I saw her on the big screen last year at the Landmark Loew’s in Jersey City. Starring Gloria Holden as Countess Marya Zaleska, Lambert Hillyer‘s Dracula’s Daughter is the lesser-known sequel to Universal Pictures’ influential Dracula (1931) directed by Tod Browning and starring Bela Lugosi in his signature role. It’s somewhat of a head-scratcher that despite the Countess’ impressive pedigree she barely gets a mention as compared to her father, Frankenstein’s Monster or any of the other big boys of classic horror, but she should. Both Dracula’s Daughter the movie and the character are worthy members of Universal’s illustrious monster legacy… because they give you that weird feeling!

While the daughter followed five years after the father in real time her story begins just as the stake is rammed into the Count’s heart in Tod Browning’s eternal classic. Right off the bat you have to overlook the fact that Dracula was set in the 19th century and his daughter’s story takes place in the 1930s, but that’s ok. You also have to overlook the spoilers that lie ahead if you want to keep reading.

When Dracula’s Daughter opens we see Count Dracula’s corpse with the stake through its heart. Professor Von Helsing, who’d done the ugly deed, is proclaiming his innocence for killing the monster. Edward Van Sloan repeats his performance as Von Helsing in this – the only actor from the original to do so – and is as dedicated to the role as he is in the predecessor. Despite the performance, however, Scotland Yard is not buying his story. They are yelling bloody murder. I mean, even a respected man must pay for such a gruesome crime. The thing is that Scotland Yard doesn’t know the victim was already dead when Von Helsing killed him. In fact, he’d been dead for centuries.

While the professor is trying his best to convince people of his innocence the body of Dracula is left guarded by one policeman who fails at his duty almost as soon as he’s left to it. But who can blame him when the mysterious Countess Marya Zaleska shows up at the Yard. Zaleska is there to make sure Dracula’s really dead and harmonizes the policeman to get access to the body. Knowing those of her ilk well, the Countess steals the body to dispose of it properly by way of a freeing ritual, which she hopes will free her of the vampirism spell. To be honest I’m not sure why she thinks it’s a spell, rather than a curse you can’t escape from as we’ve seen in countless other vampire tales, but it makes sense that destroying the source would free her of the monstrous affliction. Zaleska longs to live like a normal woman without the dark desires that plague her existence.

The Countess destroys her father’s remains in a freeing ritual

Countess Zaleska’s dramatic ritual manages to get rid of her father’s body for good, but her desires still rage. Her manservant Sandor (Irving Pichel) knows it too as he sees nothing but death in her eyes. Sandor is a creepy man who does the Countess’ bidding with his primary focus being hiding her hideous secret and finding available victims. Anyway, the Countess resumes her hunting, but not without suffering the effects of her uncontrollable urges. That is, until she attends a party and meets Dr. Garth (Otto Kruger), a psychiatrist who believes in mind control. Garth suggests Zaleska can learn to control her impulses. Of course, he doesn’t know what her impulses are, but Zaleska is convinced that Garth makes sense. Surely the strength of a human mind can defeat the power of darkness. If she confronts her demons, sort to speak, she can will the cravings away. Excited about the possibility of her new-found power of the mind, Zaleska asks Sandor to bring her a new model she can paint, but it takes no time at all for the Countess’ nature to get the better of her. The pretty, young vagrant named Lily (Nan Grey) doesn’t stand a chance when Zaleska turns her hypnotizing ring and all manner of urges toward her, if you know what I mean.

  The scene during which the Countess attacks Lily and a later scene where her love for the young woman is apparent are the only inklings left in the film of Zaleska’s lesbian tendencies. These work  in the context of the film, which remains effectively moody, but knowing we could have gotten a deeper understanding of the Countess’ obsessions is disappointing. The Production Code, which was in full swing in 1936, left little hope for anything “suggestive” to make it into a movie. This film’s sexual theme didn’t stand a chance and it was written and rewritten until it passed muster. Following his massive hit with The Bride of Frankenstein in 1935, James Whale was originally hired by Universal to write a treatment for Dracula’s Daughter with the likelihood that he would also direct the movie, but when Whale showed up with a plan for a serious film that would reunite the original cast of Dracula – including Lugosi – Universal balked. What the studio wanted was a cheap movie by lesser writers and a no name cast and that’s what they got. Or, did they? Dracula’s Daughter could no doubt have been great, but there is some irony in the fact that it has to settle for memorable, garnering a cult following for being a rare film of its era to even suggest homosexuality by what was eventually left in the movie.

And yes, you guessed it. Universal’s biggest crime with that $50 budget was no Bela Lugosi in Dracula’s Daughter. How does that even make sense? It hurts to imagine how great he would have been opposite Gloria Holden who kills it in her first starring role as Countess Marya Zaleska despite word that she didn’t want to play the part. Holden manages to add a quiet dignity to the monster making Zaleska a layered character despite the lack of heft in her story. As for Lugosi, he appeared in publicity photos for the movie and the Dracula corpse that appears ever so briefly at the beginning of the movie is a waxwork in Lugosi’s likeness – and you can tell, but we never get the scene with the impressive-looking daughter lamenting the legacy to the father who relishes his damnation. Damn! And it’s not like Lugosi was done with playing vampires either. He played a Dracula-like character in the ill-conceived, but fun Mark of the Vampire in 1935 and reprised his Dracula in Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein in 1948. His appearance in Dracula’s Daughter, to my mind, was essential.

Lugosi visiting Holden on set of Dracula’s Daughter

It’s over eight decades after the fact, but I can’t help but continue to advocate for this movie to Universal as if they’d somehow agree to rerelease it with additional, extraordinary footage. By the way I saw Dracula’s Daughter for the first time as an adult unlike the other Universal horror classics I grew up watching, but I have an affection for it. Dracula’s Daughter came over to television along with a truckload of other movies in about 1957, but for some reason I don’t remember it airing. Anyway, there are a few other reasons why it would have been important for Universal to pay serious attention to Dracula’s Daughter so let me just remind them in case there’s a chance someone from eighty years ago is reading this. First, without Countess Zaleska Universal would have been sans a Dracula on the big screen for a dozen years after 1931. The next outing for the legendary character was in 1943 when Lon Chaney plays him in Son of Dracula and that was followed by John Carradine as the Count in House of Frankenstein in 1945 and House of Dracula in 1946.

The second reason this was a major misstep for Universal is the fact that it’s so darn good despite the studio’s lack of interest. For instance, they were not considered A-listers, but I enjoy the cast immensely. Aside from Holden’s memorable Zaleska, Otto Kruger is a worthy intellectual opponent to her force of evil and for good fun you get Hedda Hopper as a party guest. More importantly, how fantastic would it have been for Universal to allow a major effort be given to a female vampire to follow The Bride? But it wasn’t to be. The final blunder worth noting is that Dracula’s Daughter turned out to be the last movie the studio made under the leadership of Carl Laemmle. The man who’d built the studio was soon ousted and it would have been great for Mr. Laemmle to have had a decent final bow.

Holden, Kruger and Pichel make an unlikely trio

The ending of Dracula’s Daughter is not as compelling as the possibility of its middle as it sells out in Universal form. Or perhaps I should say in future Universal form. To this point in 1936 the studio had made a few clunkers, but nothing compared to the now beloved clunkers they’d make in the 1940s. Still, Dracula’s Daughter shines despite its flaws as Dr. Garth finds out the truth about Zaleska, but by that point the Countess is set on making the psychiatrist her mate for life. After all, if a girl has to resign herself to eternal damnation she might as well have a psychiatrist by her side. Zaleska lures Garth to Transylvania by kidnapping Garth’s love, Janet (Marguerite Churchill), but the entire thing backfires and Countess Marya Zaleska is destroyed – albeit in a manner worthy of horror royalty.

  The posters and lobby cards are stunning.

  DRACULA’S DAUGHTER (1936) Shines Despite Universal’s Failure I've been wanting to dedicate a commentary to one of the first ladies of horror since I saw her on the big screen last year at the…

[writingbeautifullyblog]

“The Ones We Love Hurt Us Most of All – The Story of My Life Spent With My Abusive & Mentally Ill Senior Mother & Drug Addict” by Lesley Patterson AKA Lady Opaque It’s ironic and incredibly depressing to think that those who are supposed to love us unconditionally, such as our family members, are so quick to flip the script on you just because things didn’t go their way. Hence, they throw a fit, and suddenly you’re the bad guy. Fuck man… So, my own mother turned on me and literally filed false police reports that caused a Detective to need to meet with my husband and me regarding supposed Debit Card Fraud charges. On top of that, she lied her ass off to get a Temporary Protection Order Against Domestic Violence. Despite telling us that it didn’t matter if we showed up to the Hearing for the Extended Protection Order, the Order has awfully affected us. It portrays my husband and me as abusers who get off on the abusive acts that she falsely stated we’ve committed. In all of its forms from physical to verbal to mental and emotional. Whatever my own mother could say and think up, she said because the Courts took her so seriously that we are a threat that they attached a Firearms Addendum to the Retraining Order. Neither my husband or I may own any firearms anymore for the whole period of a year while the Restraining Order is active and in effect. This is just because we weren’t able to get out to where she is as we don’t have our own car or a means of transportation right now to travel there. We all used to live out in the boonies in Fallon, NV., with the whole family, but the situation kept on getting worse and never let up or got any better, so I took the next logical step and did something about it. I was swift and decisive in my actions when I decided to speak with my mother on August 27th, 2019. “And why did she do this,” you may be asking. It’s quite simple, really. She’s played this game ever since the early 1980s when she claimed that I was molested by my father (of which I have no memories of having occurred ). She went the whole 9 yards with him, too. At the end of the ensuing Custody battle, my mom had everyone believing that my father was a pedophile and a deranged, evil man and drug addict. I, in fact, now actually do not think that I was ever even molested by my dad. I genuinely believe that my mom just wanted to get back at him for the issues they had in their relationship. She’s deranged, and it was quite convenient for her to lie so that she could be granted a TPO, which turned into the same thing that we were served with due to her lies, a Restraining Order Against Domestic Violence. Needless to say, I never had a relationship whatsoever with my father or with his side of the family due to my mother’s influence, and now I see why we were treated as the black sheep of the family and continuously scapegoated by family members. It’s because my mother is fucking lying, shameless and horrific bitch that no one, not even her own blood relatives, wants anything to do with. It was hard for me to understand that as a child and a young adult. I knew my mother was mentally ill and on drugs, but I never really saw all of the abuse and tactics for what they indeed were until I’d summoned up the strength and guts to finally leave her to her own devices. It’s all very simple to her. I’m sure; she wants to hurt my husband and me for no longer wishing to live with her after over 17+ years of living together with her constant drama, untreated mental illnesses, and everything else. It compounded with her incessant nit-picking and family fight, causing ways along with her daily wants, needs, and unreasonable and abusive demands. Her behavior and false allegations about and towards my own father drove him to literally insanity. The poor man went bat shit crazy and finally broke down, brought the lawnmower into the old family home, set an accelerated fire with the gasoline inside of it, and prepared to sit down and burn himself alive. I shit you not, this is 100% true! That’s what really happened to him as a result of what my mother had done, she had broken him and permanently damaged his reputation, and he felt there was no going back or moving forward left for him. I find that quite sad… Finally, I think he just wanted relief from the torture, the pain, and the relentless agony and angry depression that he suffered from. Supposedly my dad was Schizophrenic, but I’m not sure I buy that one anymore either. (Straight from the horse’s mouth, if you know what I mean…) My mother is a drug addict and a big drama Llama who enjoys picking and picking at you, slowly eroding your sanity and your calmness until she’s got everyone upset in one way or another. I hadn’t known this had happened, but my own mother tried to turn me against my very own daughter. She had manipulated me into believing that it was her who was the disruptive one and caused all of the household’s problems and fights, but the whole time it was her slithering snake ass. I even put my own daughter on probation and had gotten the law involved with police and everything due to my mother’s tricks and deceit. It wasn’t until very recently that my daughter confided in me how her own grandma used to beat the holy living shit out of her whenever my husband and I left her home with her. I feel terrible about it, and it’s something that I can’t apologize enough for having had happened to her. My mother is a hardcore pain pill addict and takes handfuls of opioids daily. (Not counting how often she runs out early due to her severe abuse and misuse of them.) She was supposed to love me and to want the best for me; to raise me to be someone who succeeds in life, but I got the short end of the stick and, lastly, blatant betrayal. I am honestly shocked that she filed false accusations against us, especially on me. Well, I was blown away at first, but then my husband and my daughter told me that they couldn’t believe that I didn’t see that bullshit coming over a mile away. I felt a bit stupid, because the more I mulled it over privately, the more I knew that they were right. Then again, who would want to believe that their own mother could be so heartless as to use the law along with her tall tales and illegal perjury to harm them in such a retaliatory fashion? No one, that’s who and neither did I. I was thinking the other night, and before my mother had gotten myself and my daughter removed from her custody and put into foster care through DCFS back in 2001. She got in trouble for meth use, pain pill abuse, and charges of blatant Child Neglect at the time. I finally came down to the quite painful and heartbreaking realization that I was so much so not a priority to my own mother that she had us living in motels ever since we moved to the Reno, NV. area in 1997. In case you didn’t know this already when you live only in motels, you are legally considered homeless. My mother made me homeless in 1997 when we left my hometown of Sacramento, CA., to move here to Northern Nevada. Back then, also due to her use of methamphetamines, she had so recklessly not planned the move at all or what we’d do once we got to Reno. This inaction on her part caused us to lose the UHaul we’d used to move, and shortly after that, all of the belongings inside of it as well. Everything I’d ever had my whole entire short life at that point, was auctioned off by the company due to her non-payment. It resulted in that because instead of being an adult and doing the right thing and working with them on payments, she fucked up badly and decided it’d be better to try and hide the Uhaul van that we’d used and parked it in secrecy. She couldn’t even do that well enough because she was so drugged out, and the Uhaul company came and picked up their van within just a few days. I was upset about it for the longest time, about losing everything that I’d ever owned. There was a bag of crank in the Uhaul van, and when my mother did have the opportunity to get a few things out, she opted instead to find the meth. She sent me to school and didn’t allow me to come to get any of my stuff out of the van. I lost literally everything I’d ever loved and many important memories like family photos and keepsakes from passed on relatives. It still makes me literally sick to think about it. My mother is the kind of woman who attracts the biggest loser in town, and it always gets exceedingly violent and then ends terribly. The man she chose was a bigger addict than she was and an awful person. He’d beat her often, even right in front of my then-boyfriend now-husband and me. He then started beating me and attempted to choke me out once, but my husband stopped him from succeeding in his attempt. In retaliation, the man threw my baby kitten out of the second story motel window resulting in what was a white kitten with Grey spots appearing like he was brown. I only found this out because I was pregnant with my daughter and searching everywhere for me kitten whom I thought had escaped somehow from the house. Turns out, Animal Control was called to pick him up because he couldn’t move from the spot where he fell and was injured so severely that he appeared brown. This gave me great heartache as it means he was hurt so badly as to bleed a great deal, and when it dried, it caused him to appear brown in color. My main point of this blog post is that no human being deserves such treatment. No one deserves this kind of abuse, yet sadly it’s committed all over the world, every single day by horrible people who enjoy harming others. It’s terribly ironic that my mother has turned her tactics of abuse onto my husband and to this extent, especially when you consider that we were the ONLY ones who were ever there for her, and this is the thanks that we get? Intimidation, harassment, threats, attempted Criminal charges, and a Restraining Order? Neither my husband nor I have ever once been in trouble with the law, and yet somehow, they believe this cunt who has a pension for pulling these stunts on people to get back at them for decades??? Breaking away from abuse is always a scary endeavor. If you stayed, at least you’d have the surety of knowing how it’s likely going to turn out, but many people really fear change, especially big ones. It took a lot of thought and courage on my behalf to decide that myself and the other members of the family no longer should be treated so abusively and taken advantage of by my mother. I did get away, finally, after many years of relentless maltreatment. Things are starting to get better for us rather quickly now, too. I have a new job, and my husband can finally get the knee surgery that he’s needed for years. My main point here is that there is hope! There are loving, kind people in the world, and you shouldn’t ever give up and stay in an abusive situation because it’s never going to get any better, only much worse. Worse yet, you’ll waste all of the days, months, or years of finding yourself and actually living and enjoying life if you stay with your abuser. It can be done, you can leave, and things can start to improve, it just takes a leap of faith and a bit of work, but you never have to stay in those circumstances, it’s unhealthy and only leads to stress, sickness, and precious time wasted. Work on yourself instead, take the first step and tell yourself right now, make a promise to yourself, that if you’re ever being abused by anyone you love, you’ll leave. The name of the game is to “love thyself” and believe me, you ARE worthy of love, and you ARE worth it! By Lesley Michelle Patterson AKA Lady Opaque of www.WritingBeautifully.com https://www.facebook.com/The.Official.Author.Lady.Opaque https://www.writingbeautifully.com/blog

#LesleyPatterson #LesleyMPatterson #LesleyMichellePatterson #LadyOpaque #TheOfficialAuthorLadyOpaque #TheWritingBeautifullyBlog #WritingBeautifully #TrueStory #True #Autobiography #MentallyIll #DrugAddict #Addiction #DrugAddiction #MentalHealth #Abuse #DomesticViolence #DomesticAbuse

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Taking Hormones and Teaching My Body a New Language at 29

https://fashion-trendin.com/taking-hormones-and-teaching-my-body-a-new-language-at-29/

Taking Hormones and Teaching My Body a New Language at 29

I

’m 29 years old and going through puberty. My goatee is humble but hopeful. A few days ago, I got carded trying to buy a lighter (which means they thought I was younger than 18). But I’m also an heir to genetics that had my parents completely silver-haired by age 40. So, while I have a pubescent mustache, I also have half-gray, long wavy locks that make me look like a late-20s Poseidon. If this feels like a riddle, apologies. A lot of my life has felt that way, so you can deal for a little bit.

I am sitting in the doctor’s office on the exam chair with my feet dangling freely. This obviously makes me think that it doesn’t matter how big or grown or serious a person might be: If they sit in a place where their feet don’t touch the floor, they look absolutely adorable. There are no exceptions to this rule: Football players, supermodels, soldiers, reverends, rappers, I don’t care. Adorable.

I sit up straight when I see the nurse approaching and the big piece of parchment paper on the exam chair crunches underneath me. Her scrubs are eggplant purple. There are tiny daisies on her shirt. A small silver cross dangles from her neck when she leans forward. I list these small, uncomplicated facts in my own head. They calm me somehow.

For the last two months, a nurse has stuck a needle in my thigh every two weeks to inject an amber syrup that soaks into my muscle then spreads. This little liquid dose of testosterone is teaching my body a new language so that it can finally tell my story. A less poetic breakdown: I am a trans-man, a FTM (female-to-male) transgender guy, at the very beginning of my physical transition.

This little liquid dose of testosterone is teaching my body a new language so that it can finally tell my story

On this particular day, two months after starting on hormones, I am supposed to give myself the shot for the first time. My nurses know that I do not want to stick a needle in my thigh because when they told me I should, I said, “Hell no I am not going to do that.” I am not stressed because of the pain. I don’t care about that. But I am incredibly squeamish: I don’t like the concept of flesh when I really think about it so piercing a huge chunk of it with a sharp metal tool makes the back of my throat itch. But I can’t go to the doctor every two weeks for the rest of my life. So from this day forward, I will do this for myself and by myself. I have to be my own nurse now.

At my last appointment, the nurse told me to practice the injection on an orange. This made me uncomfortable, picturing the amount of force sticking a needle in an orange would take. I told my friend this story and he said, “No offense, I don’t think your quads are as tough as an orange.” I was indeed slightly offended, which confused me.

Today, my nurse finishes laying out the syringes and says “Okay! It’s time! Let’s do this!” When someone is chipper while you’re distressed, it can really go either way. I decide to let this go toward the “finding comfort and inspiration in your optimism” direction. I pull down my pants, proud of my underwear selection (purple with gold triangles), and the nurse uses two index fingers to demonstrate the motion of cleaning the surface: concentric circles out and away.

The nurse asks me questions to keep my mind occupied, but I am in one of those places where a simple question from a low-investment audience still sends me into an existential spinout. I know it is just social protocol, simple space-filler fluff, but “How are you doing?” is actually a really intense question to me right now. I just say to her, “I am excited and impatient and emotionally it feels like I have to pee all the time.” She smiles but I don’t think she gets it.

The nurse hands me the syringe and she gives me a half-supportive, half-“get over it,” half-smile with a half-raised eyebrow. Everything about sticking this inch-long needle into my own thigh is counter-intuitive. Everything about what it will do for me is essential. I shake my head no, but my hand is in cahoots with my heart and stabs my leg gently. (Update: It does not feel like an orange, more like a pear.) I pull back the handle of the syringe, then push the liquid in. I pull the needle out. I feel no different.

Today I told my doctor: Let’s up the ante, rev the engine, get this show on the road! I’m talking more milligrams, baby. Hit me! She blinked slowly at me and said, “You can’t rush this. Flooding your system with testosterone will not make your body instantly match how you feel. Puberty isn’t a two-month process. Neither is this.”

I try to stop myself but still, I have to ask: “Okay I hear you, but how long are we talking until I have a full beard?”

She half smiles and says, “Think about it this way. High school boys have the most testosterone of anyone on the planet and it still takes years for most to grow a full beard.”

No matter what dose, I never get to be a high school boy. No matter how quickly I physically transition and move forward into myself, I can’t go back in time.

I feel more of a pinch from these words than the needle in my thigh. No matter what dose, I never get to be a high school boy. No matter how quickly I physically transition and move forward into myself, I can’t go back in time. I don’t get to re-do my first puberty. And while the pubescent experience is a weird thing to long for, and being jealous of the 15-year old boys I see on the train is a strange thing to feel as an adult, it’s all real. These things just remind me of what I don’t get to be.

I won’t get to be a young boy, a dumb boy, a heartthrob boy, a varsity running back boy, an artsy boy, a mysterious boy, or the rabbi’s hot son, boy. I will have to make do with my real puberty now, at age almost 30, bracing for acne, proudly sporting a goatee that looks drawn on with a pencil, and already so horny I spent my subway ride home the other day picturing making love to the (quite stunning) 60-year old woman across from me on the 3 train.

My doctor told me to settle in for a long road. I said, “Fine, whatever.” Because it’s true: What change can be so instant? (Except the terrific and tectonic shift from alive to dead, capable of being catastrophically quick. Besides that, what transformation can we really rush?) We’re not fucking muffins. We cannot use the heat to make the leap from batter that can be poured and molded to something solid, of substance, that teeth can sink into, all within minutes.

This is magic, but it is not a trick. I am the rabbit and the hat.

I call my mother to tell her I gave myself the shot today. She genuinely celebrates my accomplishment, but she has a kidney stone so I don’t know which pain her voice is wearing.

A few weeks ago, she told me she doesn’t know if she will be able to call me her son. I said, “Okay, I don’t care, just don’t call me your daughter.”

She said, “So what do I call you?”

I asked her why we are so concerned with what we are called. I guess the thinking is: If we are not called something, then how do we know we exist? If the idea of us does not find itself in the bed of another’s brain, to later rise and get dressed in that name, how do we know who we are?

I am practicing dressing myself in my own name.

My mother said she feels every single thing I feel. I told her that sounds exhausting and insane and she sighed. “So, what do I call you? Not my child, because you are grown. Not my baby, even though you are my baby. How about my bunny? Or just, my T.”

I told her, “Yeah, just tell people, ‘this is my T Bunny,’ that will really clear things up for them.”

I tell my mother she has to call me “he” even if it takes work. I tell my mother I will call her and I don’t. I tell my mother they call me a monster and she roars. I tell her they call me a freak and she cries. I tell my mother I am here, no matter what sounds we wrap around me, no matter what body I hang out in. I am here, now more than ever.

T. Wise is a writer, comedian, and lyricist. Follow him @thatlittleboyblue and visit thatboyblue.com for upcoming shows.

Photo via Getty Images.