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boygirlmeetsworld · 3 years ago

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Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer: One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now. At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching.

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again.

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately.

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being.

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could.

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated.

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that.

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?”

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

* * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this.

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

* * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

#zona #zonami #zoro x nami #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #zonalove #zoro x nami fanfic

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everythingsinred · 3 years ago

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Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 6)

Last time, we talked about Natsume's growing crush on Mikan. As the festival continues, his feelings will only grow. Today we'll discuss how these new feelings will affect him, and particularly how they have the potential to create tension in his friendship with Ruka.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mikan is guilty for not having already gone to Iinchou’s haunted house in the latent ability class area. So they end up going together. Although Mikan is easily distracted and wants to try everything in the latent area, Natsume is strict on going straight to the destination with no tangents.

Iinchou lets them in right away without having to wait in the hour-long line. Mikan puts on airs about being a country girl and, just like she’s unafraid of bugs, she’s also not afraid of ghosts. Except she totally is.

Ruka and Natsume don’t seem particularly scared of the haunted house so far, but Mikan is, and she clings to Ruka, desperate not to be left behind, even if it means she hurts him with her grasp.

The person who posted these TokyoPop scans forgot a couple pages so for the longest time the beginning of the chapter was so confusing to me...

Natsume looks behind to see them and is jealous, yet again. Just like with Tsubasa, Natsume is unhappy with his fate to be the bad guy in general. He goes out of his way to look bad to protect people and as a result will not be the one clung to. It’s different from Tsubasa though, because this isn’t some nameless middle schooler that Natsume can take his anger out on: this is his best friend, somebody he’s never felt anything but affection for. Natsume doesn’t want to hurt Ruka; he’s just sad that the situation is so messed up.

Lucky for Ruka, Natsume gives up before there can even be a competition.

It’s for the best this way, after all. For Ruka to be happy, for Mikan to be with somebody kind who deserves her, and even for him, because maybe this way Mikan won’t be used against him like everybody else he cares about.

Natsume makes this decision without talking to anybody and before anyone can even figure out that there’s a choice to be made in the first place.

Then they run into a crawling hag and nobody’s immune to the terror that being chased after by that demon brings. All three of them run for it, but they end up in a new spooky room, which freaks Mikan out so much she screams and faints, foaming at the mouth, causing Natsume to fall and twist his ankle and for Ruka’s rabbit to run off. He chases after it, leaving Natsume and Mikan alone. Iinchou breaks whatever causes the electricity to run in the building and now they’re trapped alone in the dark, unable to get out.

Mikan tries to figure out a way for them to escape, but climbing the wall is out of the question since Natsume’s ankle is twisted. He suggests that he blow up the wall, but Mikan is adamantly against that idea because the latent students worked hard to make the mansion. Natsume acquiesces. That’s fine. He doesn’t mind spending more time with her. It just means she’ll have to stay in the dark for longer.

She is very clingy when she’s scared, and although he complains he doesn’t really make any moves to get her off. I mean, why would he? This is exactly what he wanted, though he did only get it because he was the only person around that she could cling to. There’s a moment where he spooks her, perhaps so she would hug him more, but then she whines for him to stop scaring her and the panels are quite sparkly. Natsume is distressed about his new crush and the effect it has on him. Really her whining and puppy-dog eyes are not any less powerful on Natsume than they are on Ruka. He’s just better at hiding it.

He looks at her softly and then has a moment where he looks almost peeved to have felt so fond at all... but it won't last. These days he has more affection for her than irritation.

Mikan tries apologizing about getting angry with him at Anna’s cafe, but he pretends like he has no idea what she’s talking about. To me, this cements that Natsume wants to look bad to her in particular. He doesn’t really want her to figure out that he’s kind deep down or that he’s selfless 99% of the time. He doesn’t want her to think he cares at all because it’s best for him to continue being the same jerk he has been for the past twenty chapters. He’s okay with her hating him, because that way she won’t become the new Ruka, used by the academy as a pawn to get him to jump through more hoops.

She tries to make him smile and that’s another big deal. Most people think Natsume is cool for being so unaffected. His fans think he’s the man, a tough guy who frowns all the time. Even Ruka’s approach to this issue was to stop smiling too.

Mikan’s approach is to tell jokes.

Of course, it doesn’t work, and the jokes aren’t any good, but Mikan is trying something nobody else has done: instead of looking up to him or going down to his level of misery, Mikan’s trying to lift him up. She wants him to smile and be happy and that sets her apart. She’s immature and childish and that brings out the childishness in him too. And like I mentioned a while ago, childishness in Natsume is a good thing. With her, he can bicker and argue and tease like he used to before he came to the academy. She has no idea what he’s going through and her mood changes so quickly she can’t even stay mad or upset. She’s just a joyful and loud girl who rubs off on everyone she meets and Natsume is far from being an exception.

He can just mess around like a kid for once. He doesn't have to be serious around her all the time.

Thus, the next important thing in regards to analyzing their relationship is that the last page of the chapter has him teasing her and then smiling at her reaction. We’ve only seen Natsume smile twice before: with Youichi for a brief moment, and then with Ruka on the cover for Chapter Sixteen (Natsume's evil smile when Mikan gets bullied by middle schoolers doesn't count as a real smile). This officially adds Mikan to the incredibly short list of people who can make Natsume smile. She’s angry with him, arguing, but being able to let go of all his darkness and just tease a girl and have her act with such strong emotions is enough to make him happy. And that’s what this is: Natsume is happy.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The musical creates some tension between Natsume and Ruka, as expected, because liking the same girl can make rifts between friends. On the other hand, this isn’t your typical love triangle. Usually in love triangles, the two guys are already positioned against each other. Though Natsume and Ruka may be opposites in many ways, they are not rivals at all. They love each other, and that love is not at all damaged by the conflict of falling for the same girl; it just becomes tense between them.

In fact, the beginning of the chapter has some Class B pals eagerly going backstage to find Ruka before the somatic ability class musical. When they find him, Natsume is the only one to not laugh at or tease him, and seems to be the only one really concerned with Ruka’s feelings about being cast as Snow White.

When the sticky ball incident occurs, there’s a lot more damage done than there is in the anime. In the anime, some cast and crew get stuck, but ultimately nobody was in any real danger of being hurt. In the manga, there were potentially catastrophic consequences for the blast and a lot of equipment got damaged in the process. A somatic child playing one of the seven dwarves is about to be hit by a stagelight when Natsume rushes to get him out of the way, resulting in them getting stuck together. If Natsume hadn’t stepped in, that kid could have gotten really injured, at least.

As a result of Natsume’s heroism, Narumi suggests that he dress up as a forest friend. When Natsume refuses, the child is to be kicked out of the play, and the seven dwarves will be changed to six. Natsume sees the kid pout and with absolutely no more need for convincing he goes to get changed into a cat outfit.

This is noteworthy because the cat outfit is humiliating (not that Natsume hasn’t worn similar things in official art… just saying) and it’s something he truly does not want to do, but he does it, even though he doesn’t even know the kid. It’s some random somatic kid, not Ruka or Youichi or even Mikan, and yet he goes out of his way to do something truly selfless so that the kid can perform what he’s practiced. Natsume is kind in quiet ways, and not just with the people he cares about. Like with Anna, Natsume puts the needs of someone he isn’t close to in front of his own reputation.

Now, Natsume is in a horrible mood, embarrassed to be seen in the costume, and Ruka is confused why he’d even bother, until he sees the smile on the little kid and everything snaps into place for him. Mikan is a very intuitive and emotional girl who can sense things about all sorts of people, but when it comes to Natsume, nobody knows him better than Ruka, who can tell right away the motives for any of his actions.

I work at a restaurant and kids Natsume's age will be like, "I don't want a kids' menu" and act all grown up and then see how big the adult portions are, so they end up eating the Cub Pancake anyway LMAO. Do you want extra whipped cream and chocolate chips, Natsume?

Onto the actual NatsuMikan portion of this analysis, at long last, Mikan is overjoyed to see how adorable he is in his costume and she is the only one who won’t hold back from saying so because she’s not scared of him. I’ve seen someone complaining that Natsume says “Don’t call men cute,” but I always found that line funny because Natsume is a literal ten-year-old boy… He is not a man at all. It’s the sort of thing you’d expect a kid to say, especially one who wants to be a grown-up as soon as possible, which makes the line endearing to me, but that’s my personal feelings about it. (Like the above caption, I find it very amusing when little kids pretend they're all grown up.)

Anyway, Natsume is as much an idiot as he is in the anime, volunteering Mikan to be the prince, even using one of his three wishes to make it happen. This is all motivated by his feelings of humiliation, and he’s taking it out on her, arguing that he doesn’t want to wear the outfit for no reason so the show has to go on no matter the cost--but this will bite him in the ass sooner rather than later.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The chapter begins and Mikan is very nervous about playing the prince, particularly about looking the part as she is very uncomfortable with her hair down.

This is actually the first time we see Natsume’s feelings about it, but he’ll only make it more clear in about ten more chapters. Here, Mikan wonders if she should put her hair back up and Natsume snaps, “No!” before walking away in a huff. It’s a small scene, and it’s even told through tiny text, but it’s enough to let any reader paying attention know that Natsume also thinks Mikan looks cute with her hair down. Yes, he’s embarrassed to have said anything, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t say it.

Don't worry about him, he's just in a bad mood.

Natsume mainly observes, and nothing noteworthy happens. He eventually goes and gives his line and his aura alone is threatening enough to discourage anyone from laughing or “aww”ing.

The next important moment is when Mikan sees the stage direction to kiss the princess directly on the lips. Narumi says it’s because he’s trying to make up for the loss of sizzle due to the accident, but knowing him, there’s probably more to it. Naru likes stirring the pot and causing drama, although I can hardly tell what his motives are half the time. Truly, I believe he is the most mysterious character in the whole story.

Natsume does not allow this to happen, so he throws something at Mikan’s head--some random box thing--and Hotaru shuts off the lights.

Natsume does something kind of selfish here. He didn’t want them to kiss, so he stopped it. The fact that he grabbed the first thing he saw meant it was a sudden choice to chuck it. I wonder if he had any intentions of just toughing it out and dealing with it, but eventually jealousy won out and he did the selfish thing.

When I say selfish, I don’t mean “bad”. I just mean that for once Natsume is acting based on what he wants, rather than what will make somebody else happy. When it comes to this kid in particular, I actually want him to do selfish things more often, because he very rarely does. He’s been selfless and heroic enough for one day, having saved a kid from getting injured and then wearing that embarrassing costume. He’s allowed to have done this one thing for selfish reasons.

It’s not like it was a bad thing to do either. It would have only benefited Narumi, and possibly the somatic class to have a spicy musical kiss, but it wouldn’t have been good for Ruka or Mikan. Having their first kiss under such conditions, especially when Mikan was just doing the class a favor by acting in the play to begin with, would have been sad. Natsume essentially saved her from the consequences of his own actions, because it would have been his fault if they’d had no choice but to go through with it.

Moreover, like I said earlier, Ruka can simply tell what Natsume’s motives are from a single look. It’s more obvious in the anime, of course, but I still think manga!Ruka is aware that Natsume intervened. He knows Natsume better than anybody, and he’s too smart to think that box came out of nowhere.

This is just the beginning of a long-standing tension between them, one that they will dance around and pretend isn’t happening for quite a while before actually addressing it properly. For now, they have undiscussed feelings and jealousies that will go unchecked and unresolved for some time, building an even deeper divide between them. After all, Natsume and Ruka have enough of a gap on account of Natsume’s missions and his general feelings of not being able to fit in with anybody. This only broadens the gap.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The dance will be very fun to analyze from Mikan’s perspective, but we’re not nearly finished with Natsume’s, so that will have to wait.

For now, we’ll discuss Natsume’s softening, which Permy points out bitterly on account of being surrounded by closet fans. Previously, she says, they were terrified of him, and why wouldn’t they be? We talked ad nauseam about Natsume’s first thirteen chapters of misery and coldness. He was a scary and unkind guy, definitely unapproachable. Even his admirers in Class B were scared of him, equal parts affection and terror. In a very short time, Natsume has softened and it’s obvious. He even dressed as a cat for the somatic musical! His reputation for being cold and dangerous is softening and the girls who used to fear him are now flocking to him to ask if he’s willing to accept their last dance proposals.

But with all this talk about romance and dancing, Mikan feels left out and can’t relate. Her frustrations only grow when some girls start gossiping about her and she ends up taking it out on Natsume, saying she would never ever wanna dance with Natsume for the last dance. He brushes this off, but he still pouts, obviously affected and a little hurt. Their relationship was on the rise, after all. They were starting to hang out more and were bickering often, something Natsume doesn’t make a habit of doing with most people. But just because Natsume is feeling more fondness for her, that doesn't mean she feels the same way.

He expects this in some way, of course, because it's partially his intention. He expects that she would only tolerate him after everything that happened with them, but that doesn't mean he likes the feeling of rejection.

They're so cute when they pout!

Having a crush is bad enough, but hearing that girl shout that she’d never wanna go out with you is even harder, even if you were maybe purposefully making her angry with you to try and protect her. It would be a tough emotion to bear, especially for a kid unversed in romance. He proceeds to be just as huffy as her.

And as twisted as it is, I’m happy for him.

Natsume was cold and mean and difficult to talk to before he fell for Mikan. Now he’s way more approachable and expressive, willing on occasion to show an emotion that isn’t rage, like hurt or grumpiness or amusement. He can now sit at his desk and pout, something he wasn’t doing before, like a kid throwing a fit.

At the actual dance, Natsume is still hurt, still pouting. It doesn’t help that Mikan glares at him upon spotting him. It’s interesting to see how much this affects him. One girl said something harsh in the heat of the moment and he is taking it so personally. Of course, he gets hurt or angered by many things. Upperclassmen bully him and call him a murderer and he simply uses his alice on them to shut them up. He keeps his face straight, moves on, and forgets it. Naturally, the hurt and resentment sit there in his gut to torment him, because he’s a kid and they’re awful things for anyone to hear, but he’s not acting like that here. Here, he’s grumpy and pouty. His feelings are hurt but they don’t come with urges to punish like being called a murderer does.

And it’s obvious he has no genuine hard feelings because Natsume then shoves Ruka onto Mikan, since Ruka was being transparent about his gaze. He goes on to dance with someone else, anyone else, because Mikan made it clear that she too would rather dance with anyone else, just as long as it wasn’t him. He’s clearly still in a bad mood, though.

He's so used to not getting what he wants that he will do all of Ruka's work for him, so that Ruka can get what he wants.

Later, when Mikan and Natsume are singletons in the middle of the dance floor, they notice each other. Here would be a perfect opportunity to dance, but she made it clear she hated the idea, and he’s not about to embarrass himself to ask. Hence, he huffs again, pouting because there’s no way he’ll ask her to dance once she’s said such harsh things. They stand in silence for just a moment, until he finds some other girl to dance with and leaves Mikan all alone.

They’re both grumpy over the way they’re being treated by the other. Natsume is being immature and petty with his feelings, almost childish (heehee it's all I want for him!). With all the dark and depressing divide between Mikan’s academy life of fun and laughs and Natsume’s life of secret missions and physical abuse, he’s somehow found a way to wedge himself into hers. He’s taking something so minor so seriously. He’s been on the front lines, used his alice to hurt enemies and been hurt by enemies and dangerous ability types alike. He is literally dying and he’s aware of it! But he’s still pouting because the girl he likes was a little mean to him.

But the dance with the girl obviously wasn’t much fun, because Mikan quickly finds him again, away from the party, along a secluded path by some trees. He’s in a pouty mood and obviously needs some time alone with his thoughts.

It shows that he’s done some thinking because he doesn’t even mention her angry words from earlier.

Instead, he just calls the whole festival stupid.

We’re reminded here of a scene from way before they liked each other, when the festival was first announced. Then, she also found him playing with a dog, all on his own, using anger to mask his feelings of hurt. He said the same thing back then, that the whole thing was stupid and it was dumb to get all worked up about it. He’s doing it again now, but it’s a little different this time. Their relationship has changed, improved. They actually care about each other now, and although Natsume starts off just talking through his anger, he eventually turns honest.

The truth is that these periods of childishness will always have to end. It’s just an extended version of the dodgeball game. No matter how much emotion he puts into these experiences, they will be overshadowed by his real life. Now matter how much fun he has, he will always have to stop smiling and go kill himself on Persona’s orders. And even more honestly, the more fun he has, the harder it will be on the people he has fun with. It’s not enough for the ESP and Persona that Natsume completes his missions and does all his work; they find pleasure and relief in his constant misery. The second he cares about something, they use it against him. His joy is never meant to last and will always have consequences for the people he loves.

I hate tumblr's 10 image limit. I hate it. I despise it. I abhor it. I cannot come up with a caption. So instead I'll say again. I hate the 10 image limit.

And so he explains, for once, that he’s simply different from everyone else. The festival is something that doesn’t belong to him. He’s merely been an observer this whole time. He’s never actually been a part of it. And then he tells her that she should stay in the light, stay out of the dark. He calls her naive, but it’s not as much an insult as it used to be.

She is childish and loud and optimistic and annoying and a little sweet and even though he hated all these things about her before, he now realizes that these traits are things to be protected. The more she mingles with him, the darker her life will be. After all, her light is not the only thing that’s contagious: his darkness rubs off on people too, and in his mind it will only hurt her to be involved with him. She should stay in the light--in the shiny, sparkly side of the manga, where everyone is concerned with sports and coming up with ideas for the festival--and keep out of the dark--where there’s murder and blackmail and danger and death. It’s bad enough he can’t keep Youichi or Ruka out of it: Youichi is already in the DA class and Ruka came running after him. He can’t distance himself from them. The most he can do is protect them and raise their star ranks or keep them off of dangerous missions. But with Mikan he has a chance to really protect her, prevent her from being used against him at all. Ideally, she’ll stay away and he won’t need to worry about her as much.

And he wants her to be safe and gone, so when she asks what he means, he changes tactics and decides to be rude and mean instead, telling her to get lost and insulting her. She gets angry and it almost seems like it’ll be another bickering match, where they will both be childish and hurl insults at each other, but he doesn’t take that path.

She is complaining about how he doesn’t seem to know that she has a name, thank you very much--and then he calls her Mikan. He concedes to her demands. He does what he perceives to be the mature, adult thing, ending the argument so she will leave for good. When she has nothing left to argue about, she will have no choice but to walk away, and she does, once he makes it clear that his last command is for her to stop complaining about what he calls her.

Natsume chooses to do the selfless thing again, and gives up the first thing in a long time that made him happy. He barely had any time with her at all, but he lets her go, because she can only continue to be sunny and cheerful away from him. He’s giving up before anyone can tell that something was around for him to give up.

He has no idea how much one word has affected her.

Conclusion

Natsume is a selfless kid. He gives up on what he wants very easily, but especially because he knows that the second he gets what he wants, those things could be destroyed, just by association with him. He just wants the people he loves to be happy, even if it means he could never be.

In the next segment, we'll talk about what Natsume is willing to do to protect Mikan, even if it means being cruel and hurting her. NatsuMikan is the living embodiment of the "break her heart to save her" trope, and I very much adore that trope with my whole heart, so we're going to be having a LOT of fun with the next essay!

Also, disclaimer: I'm not smart. I refuse to take responsibility for any mistakes I make in these essays. There also are no mistakes. I've never misspelled a word in my life.

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babaleshy · 3 years ago

Text

I'm Autistic

Because this will likely be a lengthy, wordy post about my self-diagnosis as Autistic as well as all of my experiences regarding Autistic traits, I'm going to leave a "read more" link so that you're not scrolling for ages just to catch up on your feed.

Ah, I see you've clicked "keep reading" or "read more" or whatever this site has it labeled as, now. You don't get to be mad at how long this is or how much of a waste of time reading this may be to you because you consciously clicked on the link. Therefore, I am exempt from taking responsibilities of eating up any bit of your time, including the time you've wasted reading this disclaimer.

So... Yes. I am. And it's a self-diagnosis right now.

You're probably thinking that I saw a Tik Tok clip, checked out a page on WebMD, and decided that I'm Autistic (this is in reference to a Tik Tok I saw last night that nearly made me spit out my drink because of how painfully accurate the "what people think self-diagnosis is vs reality" clip was). That is, of course, not the case.

A few years ago (likely 2018), I don't recall what it was I read online, but it made me go, "Oh wow, that makes so much sense to me," in regards to a neurodivergent trait. However, this was then I thought I had ADHD. My husband has ADHD, was diagnosed with it as a child, and because his dad forced the doctor (this was like, in the late 90s, early 2000s I think) to put him on Adderall and Ritalin, my husband does not remember 3 years of his life because he was a drooling, zombified mess. Why did his dad do this? Because his grades were bad. Did this help with his grades? No. Did his dad take him off the meds because he didn't get the desired result? Also no. My husband wasn't even informed on what ADHD was. He was simply told he had it and to take these pills. It wasn't until he (my husband) read the label saying that it could increase the risk of heart issues that he cussed his dad out and flushed all the pills down the toilet. Up until very recently, he wasn't sure if he actually had ADHD until he saw a YouTuber who was actually diagnosed with it display the exact traits he had.

But he didn't see this YouTuber when I thought I had ADHD, so my husband couldn't exactly relate, plus I didn't want to trigger anything with him on the subject.

But the more I researched, the more I realized I could be on the spectrum. It wasn't until 2019 that I was printing out articles, trait lists, etc. to highlight and put into a folder (which is thick and nearly bursting with what I've printed out to have a hardcopy of records highlighting the traits that I have, including traits my husband and my mom see in me) that I realized "I could have Asperger's."

Of course, I no longer use that term after finding out it was named after a n*zi, and I began to embrace the term "Autistic" instead.

But the thing that triggered me into going, "Wait, so it's not ADHD that I think I have, it's Asperger's?" was, like my husband, seeing a YouTuber talk about their traits and experiences. I had identical struggles, myself. (Through this same YouTuber, I also found out I'm greysexual, too! There's a name to describe my experience with sexual attraction! Yay!)

There are a lot of VERY SPECIFIC TRAITS Autistic people experience that aren't mentioned by the YouTuber or in anything that I've printed out and highlighted that I have found through various Tik Toks that I have personally experienced that simply further solidifies the fact that I'm definitely on the spectrum. When I showed the Tik Tok I mentioned earlier (I don't remember their name) to my husband last night, he was wide-eyed because the description of how that individual self-diagnosed themselves WAS EXACTLY WHAT I DID WORD FOR WORD HOLY SHIT.

I was already convinced I am Autistic, but each time I read Twitter threads of people's experiences with their Autistic traits, each time I watch Tik Toks or certain YouTubers share their experiences, it further solidifies that yep, I'm Autistic.

What's amazing is that my husband is very supportive. I'm extremely lucky to have married him. I've been a terrible masker but he loves me anyways. He never gave me shit for my meltdowns and tried to help me out, thinking I was just horribly overly stressed. Now that he knows why I've had the few outwardly noticeable meltdowns that I've had throughout our years together, he knows how to help me more, now. And while he's figured out my traits and what issues I have, knowing that I'm on the spectrum helps him make sense of why I'm like this, and he can help me accordingly whether it's to prepare for something in advance, help me calm down, etc.

(I should also add here real quick that there's a high chance I have OCD as well, but less of the compulsive actions and more of the obsessive thoughts, but I'm not entirely sure just yet if this is the case. I'm actually hoping to see someone about this but with the pandemic, I don't know when that will be.)

Now... onto the traits and experiences.

My Traits (that stand out with neon lights)(Will copy word-for-word a trait my mom or husband see in me and it will be typed in a different color.)

Having a folder that has all of my research I've obsessively looked up, printed out, highlighted what I saw in myself with one color (yellow) while highlighting what my mom and my husband see with another color (pink). I'm also using this folder to make this list as a reference because I sometimes forget certain traits I do have are because I'm Autistic. (I'm 32 as I write this, so when so much of what you think, do, and experience that you see is normal for you turns out to be an Autistic trait, it takes a while to get used to it and thus remember that because you haven't had a label for it your whole life.)

Despite being goth/punk, I dress as comfortably as I can. Textures aren't a very big issue for me, but what feels like strangulation of my body tends to be a problem. I cannot handle having the cross seams of pants feeling like I have a chopstick slowly impaling my vulva, or I can't stand how tight some shorts are that they pinch my hip joints.

I've NEVER spent much time grooming my own hair. It's either tiring, I"m impatient and want it done NOW, or both. This is why I have a Tank Girl haircut (all buzzed except for bangs), where I can basically "wash and go." (Husband does my haircuts and dyes and he's kickass at it.)

Eccentric personality; may be reflected in appearance.

Is youthful for age, in looks, dress, behavior, and tastes.

Usually a little more expressive in the face and gesture than male counterparts.

"May not have strong sense of identity and can be very chameleon like before diagnosis." (This resonates with me in the form that I never saw myself in ANY fictional character other than Tank Girl. My husband agrees with this opinion, but he also says he also sees a lot of me in Caulifla from Dragonball Super.)

I enjoy reading and films as a retreat, often sci-fi, fantasy, children's (sometimes), can have favorites which are a refuge.

Uses control as a stress management (like routines, rules, rigid certain habits, etc.)

Usually happiest at home or in other controlled environment.

I've been seen as "sensitive" by some, and mocked for crying a lot by others.

I struggled with social aspects of college and have 2 partial degrees.

Often have trouble holding a job and finds employment very daunting.

Slow at comprehending at times due to sensory and cognitive processing issues.

DOES NOT DO WELL WITH VERBAL INSTRUCTIONS; MUST BE WRITTEN DOWN

Special interests (I'll get into these later).

Emotionally immature and emotionally sensitive.

Anxiety and fear are predominant emotions (some of which might be due to possible OCD).

I do have some sensory issues such as visual processing issues at times, certain sounds, certain smells, food I think, and issues with sunlight and my goddamn retinas.

Moody and prone to bouts of depression. Both of my parents as well as my husband have described my personality as reminding them of a cat.

Mild to severe gastro-intestinal difficulties (some of which could be due to endometriosis, btw).

I stim a little such as leg-bouncing, foot-waggling, some hand-flapping, some bouncing, the "spine-shimmy," joint-cracking, or playing with my ears.

Prone to temper or crying meltdowns, sometimes over seemingly small things due to sensory or emotional overload.

Hates injustice and hates being misunderstood, which incites anger and rage.

Prone to mutism when stressed or upset, especially after a meltdown, likely to stutter and may have a raspy voice.

Words and actions often misunderstood by others.

Perceived to be cold-natured and self-centered; unfriendly.

Very outspoken at times, may get very fired up when talking about passionate/obsessive interests.

Will shutdown in social situations once overloaded but generally better at socializing in small doses. May even give the appearance of skilled, but it is a "performance."

Doesn't go out much; will prefer to go out with partner only (aka my husband).

Will not do "girly" things like shopping.

Takes relationships seriously.

There's a bit on this chart (some of you probably already know by know what chart I'm using here) that says due to sensory issues, one would either really enjoy sex or strongly dislike it. I'm in the former camp complete with a pretty high libido.

Often prefers the company of animals.

So there are the traits that REALLY stick out like a sore thumb. These come from a site regarding female Asperger traits or however it's labeled as. I have plenty more from two other articles I printed out with lots of highlighting, but the chart actually sums a lot of the definitive shit quite nicely. At some point in this list, I could tell I went "fuck it" and copied many things word for word anyways since I'll be talking about experiences later in this post.

But it was this chart that I'd discovered that I started to realize that I really am on the spectrum, and to triple check, I asked my mom and my husband if they saw any of this in me. The traits typed in green are ones I wasn't sure of and had to ask them if they saw it. I'm not always aware of how I am, who I am at times, etc. I also didn't want to lie about it, so I had to get second and third opinions.

Despite all of this, only very few people that know me IRL know about me being Autistic. This is because I was heavily bullied growing up and since I haven't exactly left my hometown, I really don't want whoever stayed in the area as well to either have more fuel and re-enter my life that way, or try really hard to relieve their guilty conscience and demand that I forgive them or some shit. I also don't want "Autism Mommies" to come at my ass either asking that I help their kid (I'm not fond of children so that's not happening, plus ableism is what fucks a lot of Autistic people over regarding of age but they won't take that for an answer) or that because they---a neurotypical person---have a child who's Autistic, then that means they know all about it and because I'm not exactly like their child then I can't possibly be Autistic. It's just a whole mountain of shit I don't wanna get into.

This next bit will be split into 2 parts. One will be my special interests, and the other will be my experiences from my past that are prime examples of being Autistic long before anyone in the common public knew what Autism actually was.

My Special Interests (Both Forever & Temporary)

The following list will have my special interests but with indicators in parentheses as to whether they are forever-interests (as in, I never lost interest in the thing) or temporary (meaning, it was short-lived be it by weeks, months, or a few years). This will be in chronological order, meaning: the order of which these have appeared throughout my life.

Barney (temporary; helped me skip preschool and become honor roll student in kindergarten though)

Halloween (forever)

the color orange (forever)

dinosaurs (forever)

Donkey Kong Country esp. for SNES (forever)

animals (forever)

Godzilla movies (forever)

monster movies (forever)

Pokemon (temporary; I still like Pokemon, but it's not as hyperfocused as it used to be)

Digimon (temporary; same situation as with Pokemon)

Dragonball Z (forever)

Sailor Moon (on-and-off)

Ultimate Muscle (Kinnikuman Nisei) (forever)

Freddy vs Jason movie (still like, but the hyperfocus was temporary)

horror movies (forever)

Transformers (temporary)

Dark Knight movie (temporary)

Harley Quinn (temporary)

Lobo (temporary)

X-Men (forever, but only certain universes, mainly the 90s cartoon, and the character is always Hank McCoy)

neon-colored stuff (temporary; kind of some sort of semi-rave/techno phase)

books (forever; this was when I discovered it's "legal" to enjoy books if you "aren't smart"; I may explain this logic I had later in the post)

sex/sexuality/sexology (forever on the first two, temporary on the last one)

BDSM (on-and-off)

feminism (temporary in regards to doing research and educating myself; I still hold the views I've developed as a result, just not obsessively researching this topic anymore)

anarchism (forever)

ecology (forever)

Pleistocene epoch (forever)

goth and punk stuff (forever after discovering what these things are all about for real compared to when I was in high school and had no idea how to ask, who to ask, or where to look this stuff up at in rural Ohio)

Hellblazer (temporary)

Serbian heritage (on-and-off)

bats (temporary)

arachnids (forever)

teratophilia (forever; finally have a word to describe this damn kink)

gardening (current; unsure)

Russian language (current; unsure)

DIY things (forever)

Towards the end, it may not be in the proper order thanks to slowly losing my damn mind being cooped up mostly in my room on this farm since moving back here in 2014. The two that are "current;unsure" are ones I have a hyperfocus in right now, but I don't know if this will be temporary or not. I certainly hope not, especially considering how useful these things will be. And while I have gardening as one of them, I haven't properly begun yet because I get empty promises from my parents where they claim they'd help me, not to worry about it, then get irritated when I ask where the help is and they suddenly can't give me the help when I told them I needed it.

I should also note that I don't exactly have an encyclopedic knowledge in a whole lot of these interests that are forever-interests because I'm normally exhausted just trying to exist with minimal trouble from people. I'm hoping this will change. The things I know I have an almost encyclopedic knowledge in would be Dragonball Z, animals/ecology, and... a-and that's it. That's really it. That's all I've got because Dragonball Z was so profoundly different compared to other cartoons I've watched in the 90s that it was a wonderful escape, and I grew up around animals, taking care of animals, and watching nature documentaries. The stress I went through growing up has caused my memory of some of that wonderful animal knowledge to be lost and what could be re-gained may be easily forgotten again, hence why I need to narrow my focus for what I'd like to be an ecologist for. While I love paleontology, I want to help the living world's ecosystems and environments, too. I'd love to go back to school for this stuff now that I'm more informed of who I am and what I want in life (as opposed to being forced to pick a college major while still in high school while I'm just trying to survive the concept of existence).

In terms of collecting things pertaining to my interests, a common pattern you'll see me have is a very slowly growing Hank McCoy collection. This is largely because there isn't too much stuff made regarding this character. (There also isn't much stuff I can find that involves Piccolo, Cyndaquil, Donkey Kong, giant ground sloths, etc. that isn't already snatched up by other fans.)

Now, I'm going to get into the list of experiences. Some of which will talk about my special interests, but I also really want to talk about my struggles, too.

Experiences That Screamed "I'm Autistic"

In gradeschool, I was friends with someone who probably wasn't actually a friend and her mom made her hang out with me since I didn't really have any friends. She has told me several times that she didn't want to be my friend anymore with some kind of hostile catty smile, but I just.. I wasn't getting it. Because there was a smile. Why say that with a smile? After all we've been through? Then she's back to being my friend the next week. She really wanted to hang out with the popular girls (yes, there were cliques in 90s American gradeschool) and has done countless things to sabotage our friendship such as telling me Barney is a fake, Donkey Kong was a real gorilla who hung himself, etc. And I believed all this shit, too, in an attempt to still be an acceptable friend. She even told me that I couldn't be a witch because I liked toads so much (toads were the only wildlife I excitedly interacted with in my back yard on a regular basis).

I love Halloween for many reasons, but one of them (aside from my favorite color being involved) was the fact that it was acceptable to wear a mask. I love (and still do) the idea of covering my face because I feel less "naked" to the world. So this pandemic had a small plus for me in the form of mask-wearing outside of Halloween has become somewhat more acceptable.

In 5th grade, another classmate who had more obvious Autistic traits and was diagnosed with Asperger's at the time was an asshole to me. They would constantly give me shit and bully me for whatever reason. When I finally took a stand, the teachers on duty at recess called me to the bottom of the hill, forcing me to look at them WITHOUT allowing me to have my hands up to block the sunlight that hurt my eyes, and were able to manipulate me into "admitting picking on so-and-so for no reason" because I chased them around the playground where a group of girls (the same cliquey assholes the former "friend" wanted to mingle with) had to group-carry me away. They're the ones who snitched and they gave me those same hostile smiles. That's when I learned that not all smiles meant good things. I was 10.

I sometimes "lose the ability" to ask for help long before the "help" I ever got in any circumstance was just me being met with frustration by whoever is trying to "help" me or I'm met with "sorry, can't help you there. (The former being with homework or school work, the latter being with going to authorities about bullies.)

Growing up, I was never girly (or girly enough) and I've tried to, but I failed miserably. My special interests would roar through and because it was too odd or different or annoying, it gave other girls fuel for bullying me with.

Regarding the lack of being girly enough, I was at a pool party with the former "friend" mentioned earlier and she started this "game" where she and the other girls would leap into the pool saying, "I love you, Leonardo!" This was in 4th grade and in reference to the Titanic movie, which at that point, I'd never heard of, because I was too pumped for the latest Land Before Time sequel. So when I leapt into the pool, I said, "I love you, Raphael." All the girls were confused, asked who that was. I then asked, "Aren't we playing Ninja Turtles?" Because the only Leonardo I knew of was a fucking Ninja Turtle, goddamnit. Who let you brats watch that shitty romance film anyways? Boring as fuck.

Aside from the occasional weekend visits or sleepovers at the former "friend's" house, I didn't get to socialize much, so I would spend most of my days (especially in the summer) watching what was on TV or watching from our very large VHS collection. During which I would make mental notes on how certain characters acted or what they said and try to remember that to mimic them in a social setting, which would be out of place because I'd be so focused on mainly the dialogue that once it prompts me to say the thing, they don't respond how I expect them to and then I'm at a loss.

I was very ignorant of music and didn't even know the concept of independent or underground bands existed. Plus, rural Ohio is a cultural wasteland. Otherwise, I would've gotten into metal, goth, and punk way earlier in life. So I thought that bands that existed were because television said so.

Speaking of an odd logic... If it was taboo or bad to talk about, I thought it was illegal. Thus, I thought any knowledge about sex was illegal and that it was supposed to happen "naturally."

I also thought that, because I wasn't considered as smart by my peers, some teachers, and even as such in the form of an insult from my parents from time to time (despite what they claim NOW), that also meant I wasn't allowed to enjoy books, because only smart people are allowed to enjoy reading. So therefore, it would be illegal for me, a not-smart person, to enjoy reading a book. So I had to focus on the pictures because if I enjoyed reading, somehow everyone would know and then I'd get into trouble.

I also thought it was illegal to talk about periods.

I socially struggled BADLY when I got to middle school because my brain was like... 4 years behind? How the fuck do people know all these bigger words? Or complex issues? This was also when I had to start suppressing ALL urges to cry because at that age, I'm not "supposed" to cry over everything. So I still, to this day, suppress it to the point of guaranteeing inducing a headache. Because I've always caught shit for crying.

Middle school was when I met an oppressive "friend" who was obsessed with me because she had a crush on me and was rather controlling of who I could and couldn't talk to and got pissy if I got close to making a new friend. Because I was desperate for a friend that wasn't like the former "friend," I allowed this abuse into my life.

High school was me just trying to survive. By the time I got home, I was too mentally exhausted to enjoy anything short of watching TV or whatever was rented from Blockbuster.

My brain was still feeling like it was years behind, and I struggled to keep up with whatever was supposed to be something I knew about, including the concept of masturbation.

Like I said earlier, anything sex-related might've been illegal to talk about, and because masturbation was still kinda taboo, I feared I'd get in trouble, but my teenage hormones compelled me to do it a LOT. It consumed my free time almost like an escape, a form of stimming, but I was shameful of it to the point of suicidal thoughts.

The former bullet was due to being raised in a christian household. My parents didn't have such views on sex like this, but I was afraid of being in trouble for asking, took to the internet, and caught some misinfo about how immoral it was. I mourned I'd be going to hell.

Speaking of religion, I thought it was illegal to change your religious beliefs, and there was only Judiasm, Muslim, and Buddhism outside of christianity (I'm Pagan, now).

While I was excited to get away from my parents presumably for good after high school, college was a new form of hell. The sudden, dramatic change in environment and lack of ANY preparation for living like an adult on my own caused me to mentally/socially/emotionally malfunction. I had outbursts I desperately tried to suppress, I felt stupid because everybody sounded smarter than me, I didn't actually want to go to art school but wasn't smart enough for anything else and never really bothered to better my artistic skills and thus felt like I shouldn't be there anyways, I struggled to fit in better, I had no idea how to function that certain habits such as neglect of my own dishes on my desk developed because I LITERALLY COULD NOT SEE MY OWN MESSES DUE TO THE STRESS I WAS EXPERIENCING. This was 3 or 4 long YEARS of this.

Attending art classes mostly run by very demanding (and demeaning) teachers while my art skills weren't up to par added to this stress on top of me not actually wanting to be THERE in the first place, just away from my parents.

I nearly ruined a friendship with a roommate because of my struggles. I'm not even sure if she is aware of my Autism because I'm afraid to approach her about it for some reason.

Plenty of times throughout my life where I'm loud and don't even realize it.

I've info-dumped on my parents, but right now they half or completely ignore me.

I've tried making eye contact, but it's like staring in the sun not in the sense of pain, but in the sense of by natural reaction looking away. When I force myself to make eye contact, I'm spending so much focus and effort into doing that to the point where I am unable to pay attention to what the person is saying. Instead, I stare at the mouth so I make sure I hear correctly the words they're telling me.

Each time someone is mad at me and gives me the silent treatment, and I inquire what I did to piss them off, they get madder because I'm somehow supposed to immediately know when I fucking don't. Then, half the time, they continue not telling me and I have to hear it from someone else. This further confuses me as to why they don't just simply fucking tell me.

I've annoyed people to listening to the same one or few songs over and over again. A lot (currently obsessed with the Sunset Overdrive and Tank Girl movie soundtracks).

I can "smell" the heat outside on a summer day.

I can smell other people's unique scents sometimes (especially when in someone's house; also experienced this in other people's dorms).

I can't remember what grade this was, but in high school, we went to some kind of space camp facility thing, and our class was split into two groups: one group was the group who was on Mars and ready to come home, the other was on Earth and can't wait to go to Mars. I was in the former group. My job in this little fun display interactive room thing was to examine the isotopes and report... uh.. I can't remember.. Report something that was off. Everyone else was dicking around with what they're supposed to do, and I was actually doing my job, and then said something, like I was supposed to, if I found something that was off (I don't remember the specifics). When the scientist who worked at the facility praised me on "saving the crew," I caught this look from the entire class a look I can't quite describe other than they didn't seem to like the fact that I did a good thing and was being praised for it instead of any of them (or they were shocked that a "dumb girl" like me could achieve this and get praise for it, I don't know.. hard to tell). This was a science class field trip, but despite this, I didn't have an interest in space, and still didn't feel I was smart. (Come to think of it, I think this was actually an 8th grade field trip, I can't remember.)

Just discovered this today: I'm actually very easily overwhelmed that could trigger a meltdown when I wake up. I don't know for how long until that point passes, either. But this could also be explained with how I've reacted to certain alarm clocks (the ones with the bells just induce pure rage in me). Either I will be on the verge of a meltdown or I'll have a fucking headache all day. Normally, I just wanna drink my coffee and either read or practice a little on Duolingo.

I don't always have enough room for a lot of info in my head for things that I like, so I have to carefully narrow shit down. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what to do about my urge to get my hands on some monster movies while making sure nothing else I've retained info for wanes. Not sure if this is due to stress or what. But apparently I have designated compartments for certain categories in my brain. If I get into monster movies, continue to work on my knwoledge on ecology and paleontology, and gain more knowledge about arachnids, that shouldn't impede on the "language" category, so whatever I learn in Russian will remain safe.

Interest "Webs."

I have what I'd like to call an "interest web." My special interests in one thing can lead me to having an interest in another. I care about nature, and I also care about paleontology. Paleoecology is something I'd like to dip my toes into. But because this all involves nature, I have an interest in botany (though it's still intimidating so I'm sticking with local native trees) and arachnids (after conquering my fears and learning more about them). So the web stops at arachnids there (no pun intended).

Back to ecology and paleoecology...

I have a major interest in the Pleistocene because it was just before we humans started writing shit down. Hints of that era echoes within our current environment, from the pronghorn being "unnecessarily" fast (due to miracynonyx, the "American cheetah," which is now an extinct cat) to avocados not seeding like they should without human assistance as well as the yucca trees (Joshua trees) going into retreat thanks to the absence of giant ground sloths.

But the planet is warming, and we could use all the help from plants that we get, especially when it comes to making sure that permafrost stays frozen. So there's this "Pleistocene Park" project taking place in Russia, and one day, if I get into the field of paleontology, I may want to chat with those involved in that project, but one can't expect every other country to know English.

There's also FROZEN PLEISTOCENE MEGAFAUNA CARCASSES BEING FOUND IN PERMAFROST, too.

On top of all of this, Russia's northern lands will become habitable for humans if shit hits the fan and the planet's mostly fucked, so it's still nice to know the language.

See how all of these interests intertwine? (It also helps that since I am of Serbian heritage but can't find accessible resources to learn the language and I wanna know a Slavic language that Russian is kind of accessible. It also seems to be the only Slavic language "commonly" found in colleges when it comes to foreign language courses.) This is why I call them "interest webs." Not sure if other Autistic people have them, but it's something that I have.

The second one could simply involve Halloween, punk, goth, monsters, and teratophilia with Halloween being the gateway because my favorite color is orange.

Just thought this would be a fun thing to touch on real quick.

My Sensory Traits

I do experience some sensory traits, but they're not intense like some people would assume (unless I'm simply not noticing how intense they can be).

I can "smell" the summer heat, which was something I thought everybody else experienced but I'm wrong.

My retinas hurt in bright sunlight despite not looking anywhere near the sun, which I also thought everybody else experienced.

Drinks taste different or off in some way if they're not in a particular mug, glass, etc. that the drink is supposed to be in. (I have certain mugs that I enjoy my coffee in, but the other mugs? They taste off. I can't explain why. I have ONLY TWO acceptable little tumbler glasses for orange juice.)

Breakfast food does not taste like breakfast food unless it's on this one specific plate from my childhood.

Dinner can be iffy on certain plates, but the safest go-to is the knock-off blue willow plates.

Lunch is acceptable on anything, but if I'm having simply a sandwich, it must be on a small plate.

I have specific forks I'd prefer to use because of how they feel in my hand, how the food-part feels in my mouth, and how the fork itself tastes.

Gotta have cinnamon in my coffee. I just do. It's not coffee without it.

I cannot fucking handle hair snippets of any size for any reason on my body. This is why there is a rigid procedure to where my husband must buzz my hair over a paper-towel-covered sink (to avoid clogging the drain) while wearing a particular tanktop Harley Quinn night shirt, and then I must shower immediately afterwards. During the haircut, my skin itches like mad like I'm being poked by the hairs directly even in places where hair snippets have never, ever gone.

I'm overly sensitive to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes.

Also cannot brush teeth with cold water because it's so painful (this was LONG before I had dental issues and persists to this day). Even my tongue hurts from it.

I'm picky as fuck with candy. Trick-or-treating was sometimes difficult because all I cared about was either orange-flavored stuff, or chocolate. Only specific chocolates, too (Krackle, Mr. Goodbar, Crunch, Butterfinger, Reese's, that was it.) Skittles were okay, but a lot of the baggies I got had a LOT the red ones and the red ones suck. Can't stand the other candies. (But my tastes have changed since then, and I opt for European chocolate from Aldi's as they are far superior, especially Moser Roth's 70% dark chocolate and Choceur's coffee and cream chocolate.)

Speaking of candy, the Whopper's Robin's Eggs tasted better than regular Whoppers and I will never be able to explain why.

Despite loving orange flavored stuff, I have trust issues when I see an unlabeled orange candy because there's the dangerous chance it could be fucking peach flavored. *gag* (I like real peaches, but the artificial flavored ones suck balls.) Due to my dental situation, I cannot enjoy very much in a way of candy, and the only artificial orange flavoring I CAN enjoy is through Vitamin D gummies... And even then, EVEN THEN I have to worry about the fucking peach flavors if I have to go with a different brand because we can't get our hands on a bottle from Simple Truth.

Artificial cherry flavoring is death.

The ONLY flavored medicine that was acceptable to me was orange (of course) and those dissolving strips that were grape-flavored that they don't fucking make anymore because fuck me that's why. Everything else was peer-pressured to do shots kiddie edition.

The different colored coatings on M&M's taste different from one another and I cannot explain why. It's very subtle, hardly noticeable, BUT I CAN TELL.

Peanutbutter is fucking amazing.

The smell of peanutbutter is fucking not.

There are these frozen meals my husband gets for days he doesn't have energy to cook and one of them (all from the same brand) smells like fucking hell.

My husband's Nissan Cup Noodle ramen overpowers my incense despite what other household members say.

I love incense, especially dragonsblood, "coffee time," pumpkin spice, raven, and rain.

All of the autumn scents or scents associated with autumn are orgasmic to me.

The smell of artificial cherry is death.

I would love to have perfume or body spray of Play-Doh.

I can compare smells of some places to others, such as the library branch I frequent smells like my gradeschool, as do SOME of their books' pages, and when my husband and I walked through this hall-like tunnel-like storefront in downtown Pittsburgh, I said it smelled like my grandma's basement, and he thought the same, so we're in aggreeance that all grandma's basements smell the same. Except for my Baba and Deda's. Their basement smelled like they actually still enjoy life and had their shit together.

Speaking of gradeschool smells, my gradeschool had two directions of classrooms, one led towards the gym, but the hall off to the side was carpeted, had some nice colors, and held 2 kindergarten classes and 2 first grade classes. That section of the building had its distinctive smells. The other direction led to the office, the cafeteria, and the hall with the 2 classes of grades 2 through 5 plus the preschool and the art/music class was. The smell was different in all classes EXCEPT for the music/art class, and I never went to preschool so I wouldn't know what that smells like.

ALL PRINCIPLE OFFICES SMELL THE SAME. HOW.

I could smell when my husband accidentally put in cinnamon when he thought he grabbed paprika in a dish that I liked. He was terrified of telling me. That was a happy accident and it became a permanent ingredient. He was mortified and shocked that I could smell his whoopsie in my dinner he made me.

I can also smell the cinnamon they use in Little Caeser's pizza crust. Yes. They use cinnamon. But I was the only one to notice.

Honey is like peanutbutter: it tastes amazing. But holy shit fuck that smell.

Gas stations smell like death, sadness, and questioning life's choices.

No two people's car interiors smell alike.

I can smell when it will rain soon, especially if it's about to storm.

I'm the one who noticed that hairy white oldfield asters smell like cake batter.

Dominant yellow filling my entire vision can be sometimes painful.

I used to be able to "hear" the color yellow in my head so much I thought yellow actually made a noise. It was a particular shade of yellow, and it made this Playskool toy-like clicking bell ringing noise, but really obnoxiously, almost painfully. I don't know how to describe the shade other than "cloudy pastel lemon?" It looked like the fucking lemon-flavored medicine I had to take as a kid.

My parents tried mixing in this cherry flavored death medicine in with my orange soda thinking I wouldn't know the difference but I did, so I dumped it down the drain and opened a new can because that can of Big K orange was fucking ruined.

Orange is wonderful to my eyes. But it's a hard color for me to find when it comes to getting things in a particular color. My back-up colors are red, green, and purple.

The sunlight hurts my retinas, even when I'm not looking at the sky at all, but the pain intensity increases the further I look up on a sunny summer day. This has been like this since childhood. Prescriptive sunglasses shouldn't be fucking expensive and should be covered by healthcare insurance.

I have to try really FUCKING hard not to stare at someone's muscles in person because ugh... Good thing I rarely see anybody who's well-built. (No really, this isn't even really a sexual thing, I'm so fucking fascinated and once I realize "oh, so that particular muscle looks like that from that angle", I get a glimmer of hope that I MIGHT be able to draw something humanoid since I suck at drawing people.)

Orange trees as so pleasing to the eye, and these are much more socially acceptable to stare at, lest I'm in person and the property owner might think I'm plotting to steal some (luckily I've never been anywhere near a place that grows orange trees).

Neon lights are amazing and I want them to come the fuck back. I swear, stores were so much more enjoyable of an environment when they were common. Such lights improve my mood in a way I cannot describe. I'm no longer in a hurry to get home if I am in the presence of neon lights.

Sunny days during winter are painful because the sunlight reflects off the snow. I'm painfully blinded if I look outside or go anywhere.

I cannot handle the sight of someone having boogers/snot hanging from their nose, not the sight of someone vomiting, nor the sight of an syringe needle piercing flesh.

I cannot handle the sound of alarm clock bells. I have woken up in a rage and been in a bad mood I try so hard to suppress for a good portion of the day. If I hear an alarm clock bell now these days, I wanna take it and chuck it across the room regardless the time of day or if I'm already awake. It's not so bad if I hear it from a video. In person? That's starting a war with me.

Children crying or screaming (especially babies) are almost painful to me and triggers my fight-or-flight response.

The reason why I was the loudest mellophone player in marching band was to drown out hearing the fucking trumpets. And I did; I was louder than the trumpets. (I quit marching band my sophomore year but for different reasons.)

Much of the music from the 80s that gave it that sound that definitely said it's from the 80s is very pleasing to my ears.

I love punk music for its messages, lyrics, and energy, but goth always puts me into a headspace where I feel like I'm at home; I'm at peace and want to cuddle the monster under my bed.

However, some punk songs can hit deep or strong and live rent-free in my head, such as Anti-Flag's "Racist," Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl," and Skarpretter's "Nazi Scum."

One particular artist's voice I cannot get over because his is the first voice of any kind that makes me wanna fan myself is Peter Steele of Type O Negative. My favorite song, however, is "All Hallow's Eve" because his voice, the subject, and the lyrical content.

I'm able to hear something off in the oscillating fan my husband likes to use before he notices it.

I'm the one who can hear coyotes at night (doesn't help my mom wants to blast westerns to drown out the world and I'm back here in my room away from that shit though).

I can hear the branches scraping against the house, gently making creepy noises before I realize what the fuck it is, BUT NOBODY ELSE HEARS IT.

I can recognize the call of a robin because we had so many at the house I grew up in, and nobody else in this family fucking noticed.

I tend to notice the sound of the rain over all the house noise first.

I don't like tight clothing, which is why I prefer bralettes because my tits hurt.

If I could, I'd go without the bra because the band can sometimes suddenly feel tighter than it actually is, but because I have large nipples, I kinda need that bra for a bit of protection.

Shorts can be tight around the crotch, hip joins, and lower belly region, and that's a big no-no for me.

I'd prefer baggy pants, honestly.

Can't have tight footwear. No.

The seam at the top of socks or tights hurt my pinky toes if the whole sock/tights shift that way.

I already covered the hair snippet thing so since this is the sense of touch, another body hair thing is I kinda don't wanna shave my pits anymore because they are extremely itchy when they grow back. HAVE to shave my crotch because if I don't it gets horribly itchy, and my thick, fast-growing hair weaves into underwear, gets caught in pads, etc.

Ah yes. Pads. I hate them, but they're far more acceptable than a tampon or a cup because I have vaginismus.

Certain fabric textures are itchy as hell. There's a black shirt I have whose collar and cuffs are gorgeous but I have to wear something underneath to avoid feeling itchy.

Winter is hell for me here in the midwest, as I am very susceptible to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes. I become very slow, too. I feel like I can't get warm enough most of the time.

Air conditioned places in the summer feel almost similar, so I don't always wear shorts if I'm expected to go into, say, a Walmart with my husband to pick up everything. I'll shiver.

(We're gonna get into TMI territory here.) Can't masturbate by hand unless I've got a nitrile glove on because my brain only focuses on what my fingers are touching more than what my cunt feels.

Can't have any sex with my husband without anything brighter than low-light because things can be visually distracting in the room, or lights can suddenly feel way too bright to me. (Halloween string lights or those LED rope lights with adjustable brightness features and colors are excellent for this situation.)

In Conclusion

This is all that I've figured out so far. None of this hit me at once as a realization when I figured out that I'm Autistic. This took a while to realize it, and the realizations were mostly at random times through examples of other people experiencing it on the internet or through me going, "Huh, is that an Autistic trait?"

There may be even more that I'm currently unaware of or have forgotten to type here.

I apologize for how extremely lengthy this was. This took all day to type because of having to get up and do other things that needed to be done. One of the reasons why I really wanted to type this is because it's much easier to organize this on a computer, and I am absolutely shit at organizing files on my computer.

Unfortunately, while my husband is wonderful in supporting me, my parents aren't exactly all that great at it. Especially my dad, who is either vaguely dismissive or outright "forgets" that I'm Autistic (he honestly just... doesn't care, and tries to make things convenient for him at the expense of others most of the time). My mom... I'm not real sure. There are times where she seems to remember and others where she doesn't. I'm honestly wondering if they don't like knowing that I'm Autistic because that means my brother would have been as his traits were far more obvious than mine.

I hope that whoever is questioning whether or not they're Autistic has found this helpful at least in the sense that it would point you in the right direction on where to go next, but I would highly recommend checking out online Autistic communities, as that's where I've discovered that I'm on the spectrum.

#autism #asperger's #adhd #special interests #sensory traits #autistic traits #sorry for how long this is

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allygodot · 4 years ago

Text

Taking Accountability

My name is Adam, but people online call me Coffee. I’m a 27 years old graduate of Chicago Law School living in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I am a heterosexual Christian, but am an ally to the LGBT community. My main interests are Ace Attorney, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. These are all things my followers should know about me, so why am I telling you this? Well... what if I told you it was all a lie? I’m sure this is coming as a shock to a lot of you, and I sincerely apologize to everyone I’ve hurt with my deception. It is my hope that this post will clear up any misconceptions that have been spread about me, whether I spread them myself or otherwise, and that in the future there will be no animosity between us. I don’t expect to be forgiven nor do I deserve it, but if there is one thing I learned from my time in the church it is that all I can do is ask for mercy and hope for the best. But first... I think an explanation is in order. If all that isn’t the truth, then what is? It all starts in college, that nebulous period of my life that everyone keeps asking about and I keep bringing up. Before I went to university, I had always been completely unremarkable. I had always had the kind of fair weather friends who enjoyed my company, but never felt to invested in me. Combined with my status as a middle child, I always felt like I had something to prove to get people to like me. I would say and think whatever I needed to for them to stick around another day, and I’m sure you are familiar with what that means for teenage boys. I acted immaturely because it was what was expected... and anything outside of that was looked down upon it even forbidden. I never thought much of it at the time, but I realize now that I wasn’t allowed much self-expression when I was always trying to conform to their standards. Everything changed when I met him. My assigned college roommate, Anton, was everything my years of conditioning had taught me to distrust. Despite his tall stature, he was emotional and sensitive... even vulnerable. Even so, he wasn’t afraid to be unabashedly himself. The first thing that struck me as unusual about him was his clothing... he almost always wore pastel pink or yellow and I hardly ever saw him without his long, checkered scarf. His nails were always painted with a clear, glittery polish, and I don’t think he ever skipped a shower in his life. His hair was always soft and smelled like strawberry even at a distance... all this to say he immediately struck me as fruity so I wanted nothing to do with him, at least initially. Despite his kindness to me, I would always respond with either the cold shoulder or open scorn, which only amplified the more I learned about him. I discovered pretty quickly that he was a furry, since one day I came home from a day of classes to find a decapitated pink cat head on our couch. He patiently explained the whole culture to me while I glared at him skeptically, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He even brought out his paws and tail and told me he was saving up for a full suit despite my open disgust. Looking back, I still have no clue why he put up with me during that time. Another curious aspect of Anton’s life was his addiction to a certain television series called “My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.” His room was filled with merchandise from stuffed animals to figurines, and I had nothing but disdain for the tacky and embarrassing decoration. I was afraid that if I ever brought a girl over to our apartment she would notice and make all sorts of incorrect assumptions... I couldn’t handle the embarrassment. I tried on multiple occasions to convince him to hide them in a secret box or something, but he always just smiled and shook his head. I even tried to sneak into his room and collect all the ponies for donation once, but he had anticipated this and hid a playful trap for me... I reached forward to grab one of his overpriced statues and immediately got a face full of multi-colored snakes. I was livid of course, despite it being my own fault for trying to pawn of his collection in the first place, but he wasn’t even phased by my tirade. I suppose he was 6’5” and I was (and still am) only 5′7″... but still, I had at least expected him to be somewhat apologetic if not fearful. Instead, he just laughed and told me I should watch the show with him sometime. I obviously had no intentions of taking him up on his ludicrous offer... until he promised that if I didn’t enjoy the show, he would move all of his ponies into a case that he would throw a big curtain on whenever I said the word. I reluctantly agreed on those conditions, positive that this was a bet I couldn’t lose. I still remember that night like it was yesterday. He lead me into the pony chamber and sat down on his bed, taking out his laptop to pull up his favorite episode. It was “The Canterlot Wedding” two part season finale, and although I initially protested that I only agreed to watch one episode, I eventually relented once he reminded me what the prize was. I was hesitant to sit beside him on his bed and lean over his shoulder to look at the small screen, but he assured me that it didn’t bother him at all. I wasn’t particularly concerned with how he felt about it... it was more so my own pride I was worried about. Nevertheless, I sat through the whole episode with him despite myself. Although I was disturbed by the tendency for his long and curly hair to gravitate into my mouth while I rested my cheek against his shoulder, I found the episode to be surprisingly enjoyable. The song in particular surprised me with it’s musicality... by the end of it I didn’t want to leave, but I was far too embarrassed to admit that to him earnestly. I told him I was interested in the show purely for the songs and that it could benefit my studies as a music major, but that he still had to uphold his end of the bargain since I was by no means enjoying it. He just smiled and put on another episode, and before I knew it the sun was rising outside his window. I realized just how tired I was and turned to tell him I would be going to bed only to discover he had fallen asleep. I began to suspect that he must have been asleep for several hours, letting the auto-play functionality do his job for him while he rested up for his exams. Although I was scandalized, I was impressed by his tactical prowess... he had managed to trap me in his room, since I couldn’t move from my spot without disturbing his slumber, and he didn’t even have to be awake to do it. Begrudgingly, I spent the rest of his room, until eventually the faint aroma of strawberries lured me into the world of dreams... This arrangement continued for quite some time. When I got home from my classes, Anton would ask me if I wanted to watch some My Little Pony with him and I only agreed so long as he put the curtain over the cabinet next time I asked. He always obliged whenever I asked him to conceal his collection, but eventually I stopped asking for him to do so and only reminded him not to break our contract before every episode out of habit. It became a ritual for the two of us to do this every night, and even once we had finished all of the episodes we would just watch them again. I found that I was becoming endeared to this eccentric man... and as much as I tried to resist it, I couldn’t help but feel my heart swell a bit in my chest whenever he would run his fingers through his hair or tighten his scarf around his neck. I told myself it was nothing... but it wouldn’t remain that way for long. I don’t know what possessed me, but one night I thought I would get to know Anton a little better. I started by asking if he was single, which to me seemed like an innocuous question, but the very fact I was asking seemed to amuse him. He told me that he was having trouble finding a guy who wasn’t immediately turned off by all the ponies, and I made sure to snidely comment that he shouldn’t be going out with guys anyway even though it made my heart skip a beat when he said that, as well as mention that if he would just give up his collection there wouldn’t be an issue in the first place. I don’t know what I was expecting, but he asked me the same thing: how was my love life going, especially considering my new hobby? I couldn’t help but get flustered and start making excuses. I told him that there was no shortage of girls lined up to date me, but that I just wasn’t ready to make a commitment yet. I spun a whole story about how a girlfriend would only hold me back... I almost forgot that the standard that Anton accepted was completely different from my old teenage friends. He wasn’t impressed that girls were apparently lining up to get a piece of me... he just seemed amused that I thought such a thing was realistic, much less desirable. He didn’t understand that compulsive need to lie at all... he thought it would be better if more guys admitted that they were vulnerable. That was the first time I’d ever heard someone say something like that... I suddenly felt extremely exposed, and before I knew it my eyes were full of tears. My first instinct was to cover my face with my sleeve and hide my shame, but he was already firmly gripping my arm and holding it in place. He told me that I didn’t need to hide anything from him. He asked me if there was anything he could do to help me... and so for what felt like the first time in my life, I told the truth. It was supposed to be just to try it. I wasn’t expecting to actually enjoy it, I just thought that if I got it out of my system all of the unnecessary feelings would finally stop tormenting me... but all they did was grow stronger. I kept telling him that I was still looking for a girlfriend and that once I got one this whole arrangement would end, but eventually I realized that there was no point in lying to myself anymore. I wasn’t ever even sleeping in my own room anymore. I hadn’t so much as glanced at any dating websites in weeks. I was committed, whether I wanted to admit it or not... and I didn’t want to admit it. I only wish that I had told him how I really felt when I had the chance... One of the many things we started to share, which seemed the most inconsequential to me at the time, was a webpage. Anton was the owner of a small subreddit dedicated to My Little Pony fursuits, and he asked me if I would be willing to help him moderate. It wasn’t something I felt qualified to speak as an authority on, since even as I became more open about my love for ponies I still didn’t really feel connected to furry culture despite accompanying him to several conventions, but I was willing to do basically anything just to please him. My job was mostly to stop people from publicly “yiffing,” and although it was a grueling line of work it wasn’t thankless. Anton was a poet with words of affirmation. Many of the compliments he paid me were certainly undeserved, but they motivated me more than anything else ever had... but I got too zealous. There was a certain user on the server who for the sake of protecting privacy, we shall call XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX. As a member of the subreddit they were of course a brony and a furry, but what made them stand out was their dedication to the Flutterdash ship. They were constantly posting couple’s cosplays of themselves dressed as Rainbow Dash, but the Fluttershy in each picture was always different. They were also exceptionally sociable and aggressively tried to make friends with everyone on the tiny subreddit... Anton and I included. I wasn’t so keen on pursuing another friendship that could very well ruin my reputation, but of course Anton was immediately taken with the idea. The two of them exchanged contacts and hit it off instantly, and I started having trouble sleeping at night because he was awake in the early hours of the morning texting his friend in another timezone. He always paid me just as much attention as always during the daytime, but once he saw that his new friend was online he would crawl out of bed to go converse with them in another room. He was trying so hard to be considerate of me, and perhaps it was selfish for me to expect that I would always be able to sense his warmth and scent beside me while I slept... but at the time I was blinded by jealousy. One fateful morning, he excitedly woke me up to tell me that XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX had gifted him tickets to a major convention, and that the two of them were planning to cosplay Flutterdash together. He apologetically explained that he would be gone for a few days since the convention was halfway across the country, but sensing the disturbance within me he assured me that he could probably convince his friend to let me tag along as Applejack... she was always my least favorite. It didn’t matter what Anton said to encourage me, because I was never going to accept any consolation until this threat to our sacred relationship was eliminated. I had to find a way to get rid of XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX by any means necessary... In a fit of rage, I whipped out the ban hammer and beat my rival to death with it, metaphorically speaking. It was a blatant abuse of my privilege as a moderator and I am ashamed to admit it now... but at the time all that mattered was covering up the evidence. I knew I had to come up with an excuse for why I had banned them, so I added a new rule to the subreddit: Flutterdash was prohibited. The news was not met with acceptance from the other members of the community. To some more in the loop with the situation, it was obvious that I had only banned XxLesbianRainbowDash69xX because of a petty personal dispute, but others saw it as nothing but an unfair rule. I was accused of being biased towards other ships like Flutterchord or Appledash and that I needed to accept other people’s ship preferences, or even that I was homophobic and couldn’t handle the thought of lesbian characters in my favorite show. Chants of “mods are gay” could be heard across the subreddit from all sides of the debate, and everyone was rallying for Anton to remove me as a tyrannical moderator. Sound familiar? I can’t help but notice some similarities between my situation and Mo the one over at Kristahlia Week... maybe that is why the drama captivated me so. Anton tried to reason with me, bless his heart, but at this point I had completely devolved back into my screaming teenager mentality to cope with all the rejection. He was obviously disappointed in me for what I had done but he had no reason to believe it would ruin us... he couldn’t have handled it better. It really was my fault that things happened the way they did, but I refused to take accountability. What I told him still haunts my conscience to this day, even six years later. I told him that I never loved him, and that I was only using his companionship to fulfill my carnal desires. I told him that I didn’t care about what he did with his life as long as he didn’t do anything that kept him away from me. I even told him that I still thought he was disgusting and embarrassing. And the worst thing is... in that moment I meant every word. I was so selfish... I genuinely forgot that I loved him and treated him like he only existed to serve me. My actions were truly despicable and I deserved to suffer for it... and I did. For the first time, I saw Anton cry. I should have been there to comfort him like he did for me on that fateful night, but instead I let him run out of the house to go suffer by himself. By the time I realized how horrible I was acting, it was too late. He had disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. I came home the next day to discover all the ponies in the apartment finally gone... isn’t that what I had wanted? My moderator status on the subreddit had been stripped away, and I had been banned by all of the members of the group on nearly every social media platform. Another classmate later informed me that Anton had transferred to a different college... and that was the end. I have no idea what happened to him after that, but I can only hope he is doing well. Instead of taking this as an omen that I should improve my behavior, I began to become even more bitter than I was before I met Anton. I acted like my relationship with him was just an experimental phase that was doomed to fail from the start, and soon I was denying that it ever even happened at all. I convinced myself that the problem in our relationship was that I wasn’t supposed to be with men, and so I began to insist that I was straight and aggressively seek out relationships with women just to prove it to myself. I also started searching for strict moral codes that could give direction to my life... which is when I found the Church. I was attracted to their beliefs because they gave a very clear outline for how someone’s life should go and promised ultimate happiness to anyone who could fulfill the requirements, so I began to obsess over meeting those requirements. I wanted a Christian wife that could bear me many children not because that is how I wanted to live my life, but because that is how other people wanted me to live my life... and all I wanted was for others to tell me I was doing something right. The congregation was distrusting if me at first, and although they never said it to my face I know it was because they were aware of my past. Hardly a woman would come near me, and looking back on it I can’t say I blame them. The ones who were desperate enough for a husband to give me a shot were quirky repulsed by my egotistical behavior, which certainly didn’t help my reputation. Throughout all this, I still somehow told myself I was the victim because I didn’t want to admit that I had become the villain again. For a long time, the only person in the parish who would willingly hold a conversation with me was Lana. She was a fellow member of the choir and a devout believer in God, but she was often judged by the rest of the congregation for being an open lesbian despite her faith. She tried to convince me on several occasions that I didn’t have to perform any sort of identity to impress anyone and that I should “just be myself,” but I insisted that I knew what I was talking about. Eventually, she decided my well-being wasn’t her responsibility and gave up on trying to reason with me, but nonetheless she still treated me more kindly then many of the other churchgoers. I believe that my “dark past” is what drew Gabriella to me in the first place. She likely hoped that we could act as covers for each other until she figured some way out of her situation, but unfortunately I was too far gone to be of any help. I convinced myself that she was really in love with me and that she would be walking down the aisle soon enough. Whether or not I was really interested in her or just interested in what she represented I’m still not sure... but she truly was a wonderful person who didn’t deserve to have to suffer through my baggage. When she left me I was truly devastated... so much so that I even began to go through another crisis of belief that I recorded on this very blog. All I have to add is that I no longer bear any resentment towards Lana or Gabriella, and only wish them the best of luck. My relationship with Krissy began almost immediately after my breakup with Gabriella. I was desperate to regain the status I supposed that I had lost along with my girlfriend, so I latched onto the first woman who showed me any sort of positive attention. Her death and my downward spiral are all well-documented on this blog. I didn’t want to blame myself for her passing as well, so I developed a conspiracy to rationalize the whole ordeal. I even tried to act like a completely different person to try to keep the blame as mentally distant from myself as possible, but that didn’t work either. In the end, this is my cross to bear alone. So that brings us to now. What will become of allygodot? The truth is, I don’t know and quite frankly I don’t think that is the most important thing right now. I realized last night when I was looking at that art of Diego and Godot as Happy Tree Friends characters that I desperately wanted to be anyone other than myself... it really opened my eyes to the level of repression that had been burdening me since the incident six years ago. I realized that if I wanted to change, sitting around and thinking about how things could hypothetically be different isn’t going to do anything. If I want to make progress and truly become a better person, I’m going to have to act better, not just tell myself that I am. From now on, I will be defining myself on my actions and not my beliefs, as wise man once said. I hope that soon, I will have become a good enough person to meet Anton face to face again... I still love him after all these years, and even though I expect that he justifiably won’t want anything to do with me anymore, I still think that it is a guilt that needs to be resolved. If I ever come back to this blog, it’ll be as a different Adam to the one you thought that you knew. It’ll be as the Adam I’m trying to become... the true Adam that I know exists deep within me... Not allygodot, but as proudgodot. My name is Adam, but people online call me Coffee or Godot. I’m a 27 years old former music student living in Green Bay, Wisconsin. I am bisexual. My main interests are Ace Attorney, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

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alarawriting · 4 years ago

Text

The Cold At The Heart of the Light: Chapter One

I’ve decided I’ll post probably the first three chapters of this as I work on it. There’s currently six chapters written and the seventh is started; I have been planning about twelve of them.

This is gonna have to be edited a lot when I finish the whole thing -- it’s too goddamn long, for one thing -- but I can’t spend too much time editing the first draft when I’m not done with it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the maid led me to the living room and I got my first look at the little girl, I could tell the child was dying. She was sitting on an overstuffed, white suede couch with brown fringy pillows all around her, at the back of a living room that looked like something out of House Beautiful, all tall wide windows and understated elegance in brown and beige and gold and white. She was maybe about seven, if her disease hadn’t undersized her, feet dangling off the couch and not moving. When children whose feet are dangling are not kicking those feet, and there is neither a book nor a TV nearby to explain the discrepancy, I can generally tell something is wrong. Her blonde curly wig was as expensive as the décor of her parents’ living room, but I’m an expert in these matters – I could tell the chemo had taken her hair. And her skin was dull and dry looking, her eyes vague and unfocused, her expression indrawn and blank, her small limbs painfully skinny. She showed all the signs of either being abused, drugged, or severely ill, and given that her father had called me in, I knew that at least it was the last. Probably the second as well. The pharmaceutical industry has never solved the problem of stopping children’s pain to my satisfaction (or, for that matter, the children’s.)

Her mother would have been an elegantly plastic politician’s wife if she hadn’t been sitting tensely at the edge of the sofa, arm around her daughter, clutching the child. Fear and anxiety make even women with $500 haircuts and botoxed foreheads seem human. I’d already forgotten the woman’s name; after checking over the daughter with a quick glance, I turned to focus on her father. Senator John Lightman, one of those politicians who manages to look “boyish” simply by being a thin dark-haired man in his prime when everyone else in the Senate is somewhere between 60 and dead, was walking toward me, reaching out a hand as if to shake it. I saw the look of puzzlement cross his face as he got a good look at me. “Are you…”

“Dr. Mystery?” I filled in the blank. “Yes, of course, I apologize. You couldn’t possibly recognize me like this.” I had arrived in a stock form, a middle-aged woman of average height, weight and appearance with blonde graying hair in a short fluffy do. I couldn’t very well drive around town in my working form, but now that I was here, it was time to shock and awe the mundanes. With a thought, I transformed.

When I first adopted this as my working form, it used to take me ten or twenty minutes in front of a mirror to get it just right, because it doesn’t look human enough for me to use DNA as a model anywhere – I have to brute-force it. But by this time I’d been doing it for so many years, it took only a few seconds. Changing doesn’t hurt – it feels like having a really good stretch, actually.

In a moment, I was six feet tall, simultaneously busty and thin, with the golden skin of an Academy award, iris-less purple eyes with cat pupils, and flame-red hair down to the small of my back. I wore a skin-tight black leather catsuit with no shoes, and modified pelvis and leg muscles so I looked like I was wearing high heels even though I was barefoot – an anatomic impossibility for other women, but there’s no point in having total control over your own flesh if you can’t use it to show off a little. To complete the costume I grew a white cotton labcoat over the catsuit; not exactly a cape, but the name is Doctor Mystery, not Ms. Mystery or Lady Mystery or Sexy Chick I’d Like To Do Mystery.

Being a supervillain’s all about the power and the respect. Back when my working form wasn’t quite so do-me hot, I actually used to get less respect as a villain, as if a woman couldn’t possibly really be all that mad, bad and dangerous to know if she doesn’t look like a supermodel. But when I do the catsuit without the lab coat, I get respect as a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, not as a biomedical genius. Not that I’m not a badass with dangerous powers and incredible fighting skills, but I’m not a teen thug for hire anymore, I’m a bona fide mad scientist and I want people to remember that, dammit.

Mrs. Lightman’s eyes went wide, and she made a tiny little yelping noise and clutched her little girl… who rather than looking frightened, actually looked mildly interested for the first time since I’d arrived. Her dad was trying to hide it, but his lips had compressed as if he were trying not to bite them and there was just the tiniest tremor in his hands. I expected Mrs. Lightman’s reaction, but the Senator could have gone one of two ways – men usually react to me with fear or lust, or a combination. I didn’t think I saw lust in Senator Lightman, and when I took his hand and shook it, I confirmed it. He was on the verge of peeing his pants. I might have believed he wasn’t reacting with any lust because he really had eyes only for his wife, if he weren’t a politician. But I’ve known very few male politicians to be faithful, and even they couldn’t avoid being lustful. Senator Lightman was terrified of me because I was a Proxima and he was a Sapien-centric bigot. Also, probably, because I was a supervillain and a killer and I could drop him dead in a second, turn him inside out, make the skin melt off his flesh or give him cancer, just from the touch of his hand in mine. But I suspected I’d have gotten the same reaction if I’d been a member of the Peace Force, or even a Girl Scout with purple eyes and gold skin trying to sell him cookies. He hated my kind, but he needed me today.

And I intended to use his need to my people’s advantage.

“Introduce me to your family, Senator,” I said.

I felt his adrenaline spike through the skin connection of our clasped hands, but he managed not to show it. He let go of me. “This is my wife, Dot, and our daughter Mindy. She’s eight.”

I walked over to Mindy and knelt down in front of her, prompting more tension and white knuckles from her mother clasping her. “Hello, Mindy,” I said.

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Do you know who I am?”

“My daddy says you’re some kind of super doctor.”

Super doctor. I liked that. “He’s right. I’m here to help you. I imagine you’ve gotten real tired of being sick.”

She smiled wanly. “Yeah.”

“Let me have your hands.”

“Will it hurt?” Her tone was tired and apathetic, as if it didn’t really matter if it was going to hurt or not. I suspected it was more resignation than apathy.

“Not at all.” I smiled at her. “I’m a super doctor, remember? It doesn’t hurt if I don’t want it to.”

She gave me her small hands and I clasped them in mine. I can’t entirely describe what I feel when I examine a living creature, not in terms that refer to the senses everyone else has. It’s like feeling a symphony or hearing a tapestry. Everything is very complex and interrelated, and I get signals from thousands of processes in the body, but it all melds together into a single big picture. The big picture here was that Mindy’s body was attacking itself. Her bone marrow was busily churning out cancerous white blood cells that didn’t work, filling her bloodstream with useless cells that crowded out and starved the working, useful ones. The pain signals were overwhelming even with the drugs trying to mask them, and the drugs themselves were dulling her mind as much as the fatigue and weakness from the disease.

Like many terminally ill children, she was quiet and accepting, which is constantly mistaken in glurgy human interest stories about terminally ill children for bravery. Children who go out with scarves on their bald heads and run lemonade stands to raise money to research and cure their own illnesses are brave. Children who are too tired to feel fear and have been living with a disease too long to cry about it are just normal human beings. Mindy was a normal human being, and her leukemia was also perfectly normal, something I’d dealt with a hundred times before.

I closed my eyes so I could focus better on Mindy’s internal world. First I triggered the release of endorphins into her bloodstream to mask any pain caused by what I was about to do. The human body rebels against my power, seeing my authority as a violation of its autonomy, and frequently reacts by tattling to the brain about it in a way that the mind perceives as agonizing, but unspecific, pain. As I told Mindy, though, no one feels pain in my hands unless I allow it. As soon as her body was saturated with endorphins and I’d shut down most of the internal sensory trunk lines to the brain, making her internally numb while leaving her ability to sense anything touching her skin, I swept my concentration through her body and killed every immature white blood cell she had. I then targeted the surviving mature white cells and forced them to rapidly replicate and mature, until she had almost a normal white blood cell count and they all worked correctly.

To finish off, I blocked the drugs that hadn’t been working so well anyway, turned the internal nerves back on, and filled Mindy with a combination of endorphin and oxytocin, and other hormones designed to make people feel good. This particular cocktail wouldn’t have sexual effects – Mindy’s brain lacked some of the structures needed to process that, yet, and I always took great care with children not to do anything inappropriate to their age. After what my own father did to me… well, I may be a supervillain, but I am not a child molester, and that makes me better than he was. What I was going for – what I always gave the children I treated – can be best described, if you remember being a kid, as the excitement from knowing you’re about to go to an amusement park, coupled with the pleasure you get from eating ice cream, and all that combined with the warm snuggly feeling you get when you’re cuddled with your parents. Mindy wouldn’t know why, in the future, she looked forward to my visits and felt very warm and positive emotions toward me. She would just know that seeing Dr. Mystery would be the coolest thing ever, and just my presence would be more fun than any doctor’s office lollipop ever was.

Combine such warm and pleasant emotions with the freakish physical appearance of an obvious Proxima, and Mindy would not grow up to share her dad’s bigotry, even if he tried to teach it to her.

“Mindy?” Dot Lightman asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Are you all right?”

Mindy lifted her head. Her skin didn’t look any better, of course – I hadn’t done any cosmetic work – but her eyes were refocusing, turning bright and engaged. “Mommy? I feel good, Mommy. I think the doctor fixed me!”

With my endorphin cocktail chasing away her fatigue temporarily, she leapt to her feet. “Thank you, Super Doctor Mystery! I feel all better!” She twirled around, perhaps to prove to all of us that she was fully healed… and stumbled. “Whoa, dizzy!”

“Slow up there, kiddo,” I said. “You’re not cured. You feel a lot better and you’re going to be a lot better, but you’ve spent a couple of years being sick and you’re not going to be back to your full strength overnight. Take it easy.”

“Is she—is she going to be cured?” her mother asked, looking at me, her lower lip trembling.

“She’s much healthier, right now. But no, as I said, I haven’t cured her yet. I triggered a temporary remission and bolstered her immune system to compensate for what the disease did to it, so she needn’t suffer while she’s waiting for a full cure.” I turned to Senator Lightman. “To cure her, I’ll need to perform three treatments, about two months apart. The cost will be $8,000 per treatment. When we’re done, not only won’t she have leukemia, but the genetic potential for cancer will be purged from her system, so it will be very, very unlikely that she ever get any cancer-like disease again. Short of living on top of a radioactive landfill, of course, but you understand what I mean.”

“Oh, God….” Mrs. Lightman started to cry. “Oh, God, thank you…”

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Mindy said, and gave her mom a hug. “It’s good news. Don’t cry.”

“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” Mrs. Lightman said.

“I—I don’t know what to say, Doctor. You have a deal. I’d pay anything to save Mindy’s life, and your prices… well, they’re much more reasonable than I was led to assume. I’d pay more than that for hospital treatments, even with the insurance.” I was pretty sure this was a fib – Senators get damn good health insurance. But of course Lightman belonged to the party that thought that health insurance was a privilege, not a right, and downplaying the high quality of his own state-sponsored insurance was probably a reflex by this point.

I smiled at him. “That’s because most of my payment is non-monetary.”

“Non-monetary?”

“Let’s go have a discussion, Senator. I imagine you must have a private office in this house somewhere?”

His wife gave me a hard-eyed look. I returned her look with an “oh, please” expression, just the slightest of eye rolls and sardonic smile. “There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say in front of my wife,” Lightman said, his voice hardening.

“Yes, there is,” I said, pleasantly. “You want to tell her all about it when we’re done talking, that’s your prerogative. But I am here to negotiate with a United States Senator, not a husband or a father.”

He stiffened. “All right,” he said slowly. “We can go downstairs to the den.”

“Is it—is it going to be all right?” Dot Lightman asked her husband.

“I don’t see that I have much choice, Dot,” he said. “She’s the only hope Mindy has. You know that.”

“Mommy? Can I play outside?”

“Sure. Sure thing,” Dot said, her voice breaking again. “I’ll play with you.”

“Don’t let her overexert herself,” I said. “As I said, she’s better, not cured, and even if she were cured she’d still need time to recover her energy. She wants to run around and play now because she’s not in pain, but she actually still does need to save her strength.”

“We’ll go for a walk,” Dot said. “How’s that sound, Mindy?”

“Sure, Mommy. We can do that.”

“The den is this way,” Senator Lightman said.

It was a typical suburban finished basement, not nearly as fancy looking as the living room, if you didn’t count the huge projection television. I perched on the still-nice-but-obviously-worn couch, sitting on the back of it. “Let’s get down to it, Senator,” I said. “You’re a member of the Committee to Analyze Parahuman Activity. You’re aware as well as I am that the United States government has been investigating or implementing various techniques to control or eliminate the Proxima population, including laws to create a registry for us as if we’re sex offenders, black ops soldiers with power suits to hunt us down, attempting to find cures for us like we’re a disease, secret databases being maintained in an attempt to identify us in the absence of a registry law… so on and so forth.” I didn’t mention the biowarfare; people who didn’t live through being imprisoned in a government research facility and watching others being injected with various tailored viruses have a tendency to assume that government biowarfare is the stuff of paranoid conspiracy theories, and I doubted anyone had actually let Congress know what was going on there. The others, I was pretty sure he’d been briefed on, if not actively involved with. “And you’re an active supporter of the Human Definition Amendment, which would deprive us of any human rights whatsoever on the basis of junk science.”

The faintest beading of sweat broke out on his forehead. “The United States government hasn’t taken any illegal actions to ‘control’ the Proxima population, as you put it, and certainly not to eliminate you. You must understand, however, that we do have the right and the duty to protect normal humans from people like…”

He hesitated just a moment too long. “Me?”

“I was going to say, people like Caesar Primus or Optometron. But if the rumors about your activities are true, then yes, you. Weren’t you some sort of assassin? An enforcer for a drug lord?”

While technically the description was almost true, the idea of describing David as a “drug lord” almost made me laugh. Almost. I don’t actually have a lot of a sense of humor when it comes to David. “And I was rehabilitated by the Peace Force and today I’m a fine, upstanding citizen who cures little girls of leukemia,” I said.

“That isn’t a lot of comfort to the families of the people you killed.”

“Maybe not. But if I’d been killed by American soldiers in power suits then, your daughter would be out of luck now, wouldn’t she?” I slid off the back of the couch and paced around him. “And this isn’t about me. How many people were saved when the Irregulars stopped that second plane from crashing into the Trade Towers? When they held up the collapsing building so the firefighters could get out? When the Peace Force shored up the levees in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina so the city didn’t flood, or when Maui’s volcano went active and they shut it down again?” The Senator didn’t actually need to know that was a plot of Professor Octohedron’s, if he didn’t already. The Peace Force hadn’t actually broadcast the fact that the disaster had been caused by a Proxima in the first place; I only knew about it because Octohedron continued to believe that he could get into my pants if only he could impress me enough, and he hadn’t actually ever managed to figure out that I wasn’t impressed by grandiose plots to take over the world by threatening to activate volcanoes. “You might owe your life to a Proxima. You are about to owe your daughter’s life. So I want your support for our basic human rights. Oppose the Parahuman Registry, oppose the research to kill us or break us of our powers, and oppose the Human Definition Amendment.”

“The Human Definition Amendment isn’t designed to take away your human rights,” he said. “It’s designed to clarify the rights you do have. I mean, there have to be different ways to handle you people vs. the rest of us. Remember when the ACLU sued on behalf of the Heat Miser? They said that it was cruel and unusual punishment to keep him continuously drugged in prison. And as soon as they won and the drugs were withdrawn, his powers came back and he burned the prison down. 700 people were killed, over 100 guards and the rest of them human inmates, who’d been sentenced to serve time in jail for their crimes, not to burn to death.”

“Then you redefine cruel and unusual punishment to state that methods intended to block Proximas from using superhuman powers to escape from prison are not cruel and are perfectly usual. Passing an amendment to the Constitution that declares that Proximas aren’t human is overkill.”

“It actually declares that humans belong to the subspecies Homo sapiens sapiens, and that the law should not be automatically extended to grant human rights to people who can destroy our entire planet with a thought just because some bleeding heart doesn’t think they deserve to go to jail for killing hundreds of people.”

“Yes, and by declaring that Homo sapiens promixus does not automatically count as human, it effectively says that we’re not, and we can be shot on sight with no one but the ASPCA to worry about our murders, let alone suffer discrimination in every part of our lives. You do not live with the reality of what being defined as non-human means, Senator. I do.”

“And you, Doctor, don’t live with the reality of inhabiting a world filled with creatures who can kill you with a thought, steal everything you own, destroy your home without even touching it, or make you believe that up is down and black is white.”

I could argue that last point, if I wanted to be a smartass – I lived in the world where there was conservative talk radio, and it had convinced any number of people that up was down and black was white. But that would be sidetracking. “True. But you’re so focused on perceiving yourself as a victim of the existence of Proximas that you’ve given no thought to what it would be like to be one of us. And you really should. Because you have a child, Senator, and she is too young to be confirmed as Sapien or Proxima. You don’t know what she is, and you’re just assuming she’s Sapien. What if she’s Proxima?”

He blinked. “Well, of course I—but she doesn’t have anything in her background – I mean neither her mother nor I have anything unusual, genetically—“

“No one knows what’s causing the sudden explosion in powered humans, Senator, but we do know that it’s some type of mutation. 90% of Proximas have parents who were Sapien. And the number is that low only because some of us have started having kids. If your daughter was a Proxima with two fully Sapien parents, she’d be in the same boat as most Proximas. Including me. So you really need to think about it.”

“Well, I – I certainly wouldn’t treat Mindy any differently if she were – but if she were, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t check for it. But I could, yes.”

“Well, if she turned out to be, you could just fix it, right? As part of the treatment?”

I stared at him as if I’d just found him on my shoe. “Of course I could. And if she was black, I could make her white and blonde and blue-eyed. And I could change her into a boy if you decided you really wanted a son. Have you any idea how offensive what you just said is?”

“I – I didn’t mean to give offense. I just want Mindy to have a normal life.”

“Most Proximas do. I don't look like this all the time, Senator. When I'm not treating hopeless cases, I live in a nice little townhouse, with two cats and a cockatiel. I go dancing with men friends on weekends, I buy groceries, I do my laundry. I choose to look like this when I'm treating people like your daughter, because I have no desire to be kidnapped and pressed into the service of crime lords or the government."

"Why would the government kidnap you? Proximas have rights. If you’ve served your time for your previous crimes, and committed no new ones--"

"--I would still have the power to make old men young, cure impotence and infertility, heal disease and scarring, change people's appearances... come on now, Senator, don't be naive. If you had a way to make me heal your daughter without paying my price, you'd do it. And I think you're basically a good man, who’s concerned for the child he loves. Can you say none of your colleagues would want me to heal them? To restore lost youth, or whatever they had lost?" I thought of the white room then, the snipers with guns outside ready to blow my head off if the important old men screaming under my hands didn’t get up and walk free completely healed when I was done. Never again.

"I... suppose power corrupts. There are some bad elements in any system, but that doesn't mean the system is evil."

"I didn’t say the system was evil. I said it’s not designed to protect people like me. And if you and your fellows have their way, it’ll be even harder for me to live a normal, safe life.” I shook my head. "We're sidetracking. If Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, she could still have an entirely normal and happy life, so long as you didn't reject her for it and the government didn't kill her for it."

"I would never reject Mindy. No matter what. If-- if she was a parahuman--"

"Then your opinions on appropriate treatment of Proximas would be rather different, wouldn't they?"

He sighed. “Look, I have a constituency, Doctor Mystery. They elected me into office to protect them and serve them, and they have ideas as to what constitutes doing that. If I do something that they don’t approve of, I won’t have the power they’ve given me for very long.”

I flopped down on his couch again. “Oh, baloney. You mean that if you can’t fearmonger about hidden Proximas living among us and the draconian measures the Daddy State will take under your watch to protect the poor scared soccer moms and NASCAR dads, you can’t get elected.” I sat up and leaned forward. “It’s all bullshit. The tide of history always favors greater human rights, greater freedoms, greater protections for minorities vs. mobs. And it always works out better in the end that way. I understand that you have to protect yourself from lunatics who shoot death rays out of their elbows, but you know, you also have to protect yourself from lunatics who break into the McDonalds’ with a gun and start shooting people, and somehow it was your party who decided it was an unacceptable infringement on your freedom to hunt, shoot intruders, and generally feel like manly men to make people undergo background checks to get assault weapons.”

“The Constitution guarantees the right to bear arms.”

“The Constitution wouldn’t say that if you passed an amendment redefining a ‘well-regulated militia’ as the National Guard. Which I’m not saying you should. I’m in favor of your right to protect yourself with a gun. I’m in favor of your right to shoot animals for fun if you feel like it; I’m a Darwinist and you’re a predator. It’s in your genes. Go shoot deer if you want. But the Constitution currently states that I am a human being, because it doesn’t say that I’m not, and I was born in the United States to two human beings, share 99.9% of my DNA with you, speak your language, look like you, and have sex with you. Well, not you personally, but Sapiens men. So if it’s so vitally important to preserve the right to bear arms, because it’s in the Constitution, that it’s okay to let sociopaths get guns and shoot up college campuses, then it is vastly more important to make sure that every child born in this country to human parents is defined as human.

“If you pass this Definition of Humanity amendment in order to protect your constituency, and Mindy turns out to be a Proxima, then she can be raped and her rapist could be charged with bestiality at best, because she wouldn’t be legally a child who can be molested, she’d be legally an animal. She could be killed, and the most her killer could be charged with is animal cruelty. No school would have to take her, no hospital would have to treat her diseases, no restaurant would have to let her in to eat with you. You would have to fight a battle to get her treated in a way that you humans take for granted, every time. Want her to die in a car accident because the paramedics didn’t want to treat a Proxima? Want her to die in a fire because the firefighters didn’t want to risk themselves going into a burning building for someone who isn’t even human? There are better ways to defend Sapiens than making it legally open season on us.”

“But you’re against those too. The Parahuman Registry would allow us to track dangerous people without having to deprive any of you of basic civil rights.”

“Except I’ve never heard of a version of it suggesting that only parahuman criminals be added to the registry.”

“Well, dangerous parahumans haven’t necessarily committed crimes yet. But for instance, if your next door neighbor turns up dead of a heart attack and everyone knows you were fighting with him, isn’t it important that the police know you have the power to stop people’s hearts by touching them?”

“If your next door neighbor has a gun, isn’t it important that you know about it so you can keep your daughter from playing in his yard?”

“Most gun owners are law abiding citizens, and if someone is killed with a gun we already have laws on the books to help the police track down the killer. If someone is killed with a superpower, we wouldn’t even necessarily know to look for a superpower.”

“So educate the cops better on superpowers. Most Proximas are law abiding citizens. If you kill your neighbor by hitting him over the head with a frying pan, does that mean you needed to be on some sort of registry of frying pan owners?” I started pacing again. “It’s irrelevant in any case. I don’t care what your personal beliefs are. I care that you love your daughter and want her to be healthy.”

“So you’re blackmailing me.”

“Blackmail? I’m demanding payment. When your campaign contributors give you money for re-election, they’re not blackmailing you to expect that you’re going to show them some quid pro quo. I’m offering you something far, far more valuable than a few dollars in your re-election coffers; I’m offering you your daughter’s life and health. I think expecting a little quid pro quo is not unreasonable.”

“And what if I refused? Would you let her die?”

At one point that would have been a tough one; in this line of work you have to appear to be compassionate, but you also have to be tough or the patients will walk all over you. I had had plenty of experience dealing with this particular conundrum, though. “Do you know what I did for Mindy today? Do you understand her disease at all?”

“I don’t know what you did, no. You keep saying you made her better but you didn’t cure her. But I do know something about her disease. The doctors tell me that she’s making too many white blood cells, and it’s crowding out and killing the rest of her blood.”

“Close. They’re immature, cancerous blood cells, so they don’t work to protect her from disease the way mature white blood cells would. This lowers her general immunity, and yes, it clogs up her bloodstream and takes resource away from working cells. What I did today was to kill all the immature cells and regenerate some of the mature ones. She still has leukemia; she’s still making too many immature cells. Without a full treatment that will never stop. What I’ve done is to ease her symptoms. Until she builds up too many immature cells again, she’ll feel better.” I leaned on the wall, arms folded. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this every six months and never actually curing her. She’ll feel better, and she’ll have a happy, normal life, as long as she gets her treatments on time. The one time she misses a treatment, though – maybe because the government kidnapped me, arrested me, killed me or took my powers away – she’ll have full-blown leukemia again, and within a year or two she’ll die.” I pushed off the wall. “So you can support me up front because it’s the right thing to do for the person who gave you back your daughter’s life, or you can hedge and haw and refuse to get with my program, and if so your daughter will be well for exactly as long as I am able to continue treating her. The very laws you want to pass that will harm me, will block my ability to heal her sooner or later, and then she’ll die, and it’ll be your fault.”

“And how do I know that if I promise to do as you ask, you really will heal Mindy and you won’t just do what you just said?”

“How do I know that if I really heal Mindy, you won’t go back on your word and start pushing for the Human Definition Amendment again? It’s a matter of trust, Senator. You trust me, I trust you. Or you don’t trust me, I don’t trust you. Tit for tat. What’s it going to be?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m not going to just rubber stamp your suggestions. Even if that was the right thing to do for my constituency, and it’s not. I’m going to study the situation and try to do the best thing to protect my people and yours. You can accept that or not.”

“All right, I’ll accept that, with one caveat. The Human Definition Amendment is totally off-limits. You can switch your support to the Inclusive Humanity Amendment, or just drop your support of Human Definition, but if you don’t publicly do one or the other within the month Mindy does not get fully cured. The other stuff, do the studies you want to do, but I think you’ll find that when you look at Proximas as if we are people and not weird animal things with superpowers, you’ll find it a lot easier to come up with ways to help protect your kind without harming mine.”

Lightman nodded. “All right, Doctor. Then we have a deal. When do you want to perform the first treatment?”

“If you’ve got $8,000 lying around in a checking account, we can do it today.”

“I do. Who do I make the check out to? I don’t imagine you can cash a check made out to Doctor Mystery.”

“Make it out to Miracle of Life, LLC.” I had about twenty-seven of these shell companies I used to funnel my various payments through, since even Senators typically had a hard time coming up with $8,000 in small unmarked bills on short notice, and a girl’s gotta eat. Playing politics is all well and good, but I needed to cover the mortgage and the gas money for my various trips to clients, plus the funds for my various Activities of Mad Science. Just because you can manipulate any organic tissue with a touch, doesn’t mean you get your beakers and retorts and Petri dishes for free. “Let’s go upstairs. I’m sure Mindy is eager to begin freeing herself from this disease.”

“Of course.”

At the top of the stairs, I reached out for his hand. Too afraid of giving offense to refuse me, he took it, and I shook with him. “Pleasure doing business with you, Senator. Go call your daughter in, give me a check and we’ll do this thing.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mystery. I may not entirely approve of your politics, but thank you for giving my daughter back her life.”

He wouldn’t be thanking me so much if he had known I’d just planted a tiny clump of slow-growing cancerous cells deep in his brain. It’d be a year from now before he started feeling any symptoms, and that would land in the middle of his re-election campaign. If he did what I wanted after I finished healing his daughter and we were on good terms, I’d find some excuse to come by and heal him or prune it down again. If not… there was a reason I was a feared supervillain even though most people knew me, if they knew me at all, as some kind of uber-doctor. You didn’t double-cross Dr. Mystery and survive it. Ever.

Well, unless you were Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar. Then you got any number of free passes.

***

The truth was, I was being something of a hypocrite.

I was offended at Lightman’s suggestion that I make his daughter a Sapiens if she turned out to be a Proxima, but not for the reason I told him. The difference between a Proxima becoming a Sapien and a Sapien becoming Proxima isn’t the difference between black changing to white or male changing to female. The difference was described by Plato as a man raised in the darkness leaving the cave to see the light of the sun, vs. a man raised in the sunlight doomed to spend the rest of his life in a cave. Making a Proxima a Sapiens is like giving someone a lobotomy, or a clitoridectomy, or binding her feet until she can’t walk. It’s an obscenity, a Harrison Bergeron nightmare of breaking the best down to the level of the mediocre, taking away a birthright one was born with.

Making a Sapien a Proxima is, on the other hand, one of my great callings in life.

Mindy Lightman wasn’t a Proxima before I touched her. But she would be, before I was done. I did a preliminary assessment of her DNA while I was performing the first treatment, and I stored a small amount of her cellular matter in a pocket under the skin of my hand, to study at length later. I’d determine how much energy her mitochondria could supply her and which latent powers-complex genes she had, and which powers they were likely to ignite into. If she had something distressing, like death touch or world-shattering TK or the gene for turning blue, I’d edit the complex over the next two sessions into something more palatable for the child of a public figure, something frilly and unthreatening. Maybe the ability to make pretty light shows, or fly. Most flyers loved it, and it didn’t seem to frighten Sapiens as much as some other powers did.

When I left the Lightmans’, now back in my middle-aged lady persona, I headed first to the bank to deposit the check. Senators whose daughter’s lives are on the line don’t give me checks that bounce, but they do take time to clear, so the sooner I got it in, the better. And then I dumped the rental car at the airport, changed form in the bathroom, and got on the Metro to head back home.

****

Science fact: There is only one gene that determines the difference between a Sapiens and a Proxima.

To most people this seems insane. Proximas come in an entire extra range of colors besides the human norm, have powers ordinary humans can only dream of, and get energy to fuel these powers from a source that is frankly incomprehensible. We just have to be a separate species, in most people’s minds. When Proximas were first discovered, there was a huge push to label us a fully separate species – Homo superior (thankfully, that one got shot down real fast) or Homo proximus, “the man who comes next.” Scientists – not me at the time, since I was too young, but reputable geneticists and biologists – had to constantly point out that the definition of a species is that they cannot viably interbreed. The children of superpowered and ordinary humans were themselves perfectly fertile. Ergo, we cannot be a separate species.

But we hadn’t mapped the genome then, and we didn’t know exactly why Proximas had powers. So scientists made, in my opinion, a mistake. They agreed to classify us as a separate sub-species.

You’ve grown up being told that you are Homo sapiens. What you might not know is that technically, if you’re not a parahuman, you are actually Homo sapiens sapiens. There were several other subspecies of humans, all extinct, such as Homo sapiens idaltu (elderly wise man). It is still scientific nonsense to call us a subspecies, when we’re only different by one gene – to put this in perspective, parents and children differ by many, many more than one gene – and in fact the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature keeps debating changing it to Homo sapiens sapiens proximus or dropping the designate proximus entirely. But the scientific evidence that we aren’t even a separate subspecies gets even less play in the media than studies that show that men and women are alike, if such a thing is possible. And at least the Homo sapiens proximus nomenclature reinforces that we are of the human species.

The trouble is, most people don’t know that the true name of Homo sapiens is actually Homo sapiens sapiens. So when they hear the short designators – Sapiens vs. Proxima – they assume that our species is Homo proximus. We’re widely believed to be an entirely separate species, and it doesn’t help that high-profile supervillains like Caesar Primus (who is 2,000 years old and knows as much as any Roman gladiator about science, which is to say, diddly jack), or Professor Octohedron (a brilliant physicist and inventor, but he knows about as much biology as I know about fixing my car, and let me put it this way, the last time I ended up dead on the side of the road I needed a friendly dude passing by to tell me I’d run out of oil) are constantly spouting off about how we are a new, superior species. Informed laypeople and doctors usually know better, but the truth – that we are different by only one gene – is so appallingly counterintuitive that you almost need to be a geneticist or an evolutionary biologist to get it.

But here’s the truth.

The human genome is packed with genes that don’t do anything. Most come from our evolutionary history. You may have heard that we are less than 1% genetically different from chimpanzees. That 1% consists mostly of control genes, which govern when, how and if the other genes turn on.

It turns out that some of those genes generate superpowers, under the right conditions. One of them turns melanin, the brown pigment of humans, blue in the presence of a hormone called catalysine. Others use catalysine to activate superhuman abilities. All humans carry some of these genes. But only a very, very tiny number – about 1 in 10,000 – have the gene that codes for the creation of catalysine.

Like testosterone, catalysine has two surges in a person’s life cycle. One is pre-natally. The amount generated is small and doesn’t pass the placental barrier, so no, pregnant women do not manifest superpowers when carrying a Proxima baby. That’s an urban myth. The surge pre-natally does little, usually, except to prepare the brain to control superpowers someday, creating a brain nucleus and appropriate wiring. In cases where the child has two Proxima genes – for example, the child of two Proxima parents-- the amount of catalysine created pre-natally might be enough to distort the child’s appearance, begin converting melanin into azurin, or awaken a low level of superpower.

When the child hits puberty, the same genes that turn on sex hormones turn on catalysine production. The superpowers appear, and wire up to the brain structures created in utero. If the child has the gene for azurin conversion, their pigment changes from brown to blue – so pale red-haired and blonde white children suddenly develop purple, green or blue hair, while brown-skinned children turn blue all over. (Azurin is also rare. Only about 5% of all people carry the gene for azurin production, and only Proximas ever display it. Non-Proximas with the azurin mutation never express it, and end up creating perfectly normal melanin, because they are never exposed to catalysine.)

The “power mitochondria” are another pan-human phenomenon that only expresses itself in Proximas. All living cells on Earth contain tiny organelles called mitochondria – practically separate living things, with their own DNA, they use oxygen and sugar to generate the chemical that powers all life, ATP. Power mitochondria vastly overproduce ATP, and no one knows where they get the energy to do it – it’s like they suck potential energy out of the universe and convert it to life force. But they do this only when activated by catalysine within the cell. About 1/3rd of humans have power mitochondria. In the presence of the Proxima gene, these people generate energy above and beyond what they take in from food and air, which is then consumed by their superpowers. Without power mitochondria, a Proxima must draw from their own life force to fuel their superpower, which makes their powers pretty weak. The exact same genes for telekinesis can code for a person that can lift 70 lbs with their mind with effort vs. a person who can lift an aircraft carrier out of the water and break it in half, depending on the presence and output of the power mitochondria. Since mitochondria are passed by the mother, Proximas who inherit their power from a powerful mother will always be very powerful themselves, whereas Proximas who inherit from a powerful Proxima father depend entirely on the hidden status of their mother for their own strength.

(Funny fact, here: when Proximas were first discovered, male Proximas freely dated, married and fathered children on human women, because our entire society says it’s okay for men to have wives who are weaker than they are. Proxima women, on the other hand, mostly stuck to their own kind. In the seven years since we discovered the role of the power mitochondria, we have seen a dramatic reversal in which powerful Proxima men will not marry or get serious with human women unless they consider themselves “childfree” or have had the human woman’s mitochondria analyzed for power status, and more and more Proxima women are dating Sapiens men.)

So most of what goes into making a Proxima is actually in a vast percentage of the human population – 30% have power mitochondria, pretty much all of them have powers-complex. It’s the presence of the single gene that codes for catalysine production that makes a person Proxima as opposed to Sapiens. My belief was that Proximas would not be safe from the fear and envy of Sapiens unless we were normalized. The more Proximas there were, the more the law would adapt to and accommodate us and our needs and the less we’d need to fear the mob of Sapiens out to kill or control us. So my primary work, since I became Dr. Mystery, had been to increase the number of Proximas by giving as many Sapiens the Proxima gene as I can.

In my early experiments, when I used uncontrolled methods like retroviruses to mutate people, there were high casualty rates. Sapiens adults whose brains have not been exposed to catalysine in utero can’t control whatever superpowers they develop if they suddenly start making catalysine. So I started working primarily with children, usually terminally or chronically ill children that I could get direct access to. My power can create new brain pathways, and in a child or teen, with a developing brain, I can do it transparently, with no one noticing. Adults cannot experience sudden brain growth and change without noticing that something’s wrong – memories suddenly becoming lost, well-developed skills becoming weaker, mood swings, etc—so I only alter adults into Proximas if they request it. I often modify women of child-bearing age so that all their eggs carry the Proxima gene, ensuring that they’ll give birth to Proximas if they ever have kids. It’s harder with men, because men are generating new sperm all the time – I’d have to alter the spermatogonia, and since they’re part of the body, the body’s immune system might notice that they are genetically different from the other cells and attack them, making the man infertile. So I only make men into Proxima-fathers if I have plenty of time to work with them and tweak their immune systems, if necessary – and if they’re likely to have kids. Gay men coming to me to save them from AIDS and 70-year-olds who don’t want to get Alzheimer’s are usually not worth modifying reproductively.

The Peace Force were aware of my work, and opposed it. They believed it was wrong of me to change people’s genes without their consent. Technically, maybe they were right, but come on, what sane person would object to having superpowers? The only reason anyone would not want to be a Proxima is the prejudice against us, and I was working on that too. So I had to maintain a low profile because every so often the Peace Force would take it into their heads to try to capture me. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t fully legal – I was pardoned for my activities as Megamorph by Bill Clinton (did you know that Hillary Clinton once had breast cancer? No? Well, neither does anyone else), and nothing illegal I’d done as Dr. Mystery could be proven in a court of law. But the law hadn’t caught up with Proxima abilities, so the Peace Force never overly concerned themselves with whether they could prove wrongdoing or not. Their mentor and leader, Dr. Suryabati Chandrasekhar, aka Doctor Sun, was a telepath, and if she said, “Bad guy! Go fetch!” they would jump like puppydogs after a thrown stick.

So I lived in Baltimore, in a townhome in the Woodberry neighborhood, on Television Hill, because living directly under the broadcast tower generated enough interference that Suri couldn’t find me telepathically. I’d have preferred Little Italy, or better yet, a real city like New York or Philly (and I’d come way down in the world, admitting that Philly is a real city), but New York was far too close to Suri, whose base of operations was in Manhattan, and a lot of my work was done with politicians, making Baltimore or DC more convenient than Philly. And DC had the Special Service, human police in power suits who patrolled to protect the Capitol from parahuman attack. I never felt safe in DC. My Woodberry home had civilians living on both sides and a children’s day care across the street, ensuring that the Peace Force couldn’t attack me in force – they’d know the threat to civilians from a power battle would be too great to risk it politically for my sake (and to be fair, most of them are goody-two-shoes hero types who wouldn’t risk civilians, especially preschool children, even if they had perfect political cover for the operation.) So I figured that if Suri ever found me, she’d still think twice about siccing her dogs on me.

Also, the Light Rail, Baltimore’s sad and pathetic substitute for a subway, had a stop near my home. I didn’t learn to drive until I was 28, and I still hated it with a passion. I was a Brooklyn girl – give me a city with buses and subways and railways, so I wouldn’t have to dodge hurtling chunks of death metal just to get where I was going. From DC’s Metro, after I dropped my rental car at the airport, I changed at Union Station to the Camden line, took it to the baseball stadium in Baltimore, and changed there for the Light Rail. This took far longer than a car would have, but didn’t involve me being isolated in a tiny box with no source of living organic matter other than my own flesh and facing careening metal boxes coming right for me. It also didn’t involve traffic jams, which are brutal on the DC Beltway. A short walk from my stop later, and I was home.

As I unlocked my front door, Brian the cockatiel chirped at me wildly, flapping his wings in his cage. I’m really proud of Brian – in some ways he’s my greatest work. He used to be a man, or the head of a man, who attempted to rape me once. The truly pathetic thing was that Brian had been a good-looking guy, wiry and blond, the way I like them, and if he’d been willing to wait half an hour I would happily have had sex with him. But he hadn’t wanted sex, he’d wanted rape – the only reason he dated women and went back to their houses with them, rather than jumping out of the bushes with a knife, was that he was a lawyer and knew that a handsome man with money who date rapes a woman will basically never, ever be convicted. People think rapists have to be hard up for sex, or have to somehow look evil – the idea that a handsome, charming guy who could get any woman he wanted would actually prefer to hold screaming women down and force them when he could get consensual sex with the exact same woman instead breaks people’s brains. They assume the woman must be lying, because what man who could get mutual fun would prefer to commit rape? No one wants to admit how common misogynistic sadists actually are or how normal they look.

I found out from Brian that he’d date-raped ten women before me, that only two had tried to press charges, and the cops had refused to take the charges in one case and upset the other one so badly with their disbelief that she’d dropped the charges. I found this out while I had him paralyzed but still able to feel sensation, his voice made too hoarse to do more than whisper no matter how much he suffered, on a cot in the basement. Over the course of the two weeks that I used him in experiments, he told me his entire life story, amidst lots of self-justifications, begging, pleading and promising to change his ways. Then I started turning his body parts into animals, bit by bit. The rats and mice I made of his arms and legs didn’t come out right, and they died. The cockroaches who used to be his testicles were actually very robust, but after the cat knocked over the terrarium I was keeping them in, I had to get an exterminator to kill them because who wants cockroaches in their house? I was actually quite sad when the puppy I made out of his guts wouldn’t wake up and live – sometimes they just won’t come alive no matter what I do. Living things are very complex, and it’s more an art than a science to do things like make life into different life.

Since at that point, Brian had no way to digest food or ingest water, and he was therefore only a day or two away from death, I finally put him out of his misery by turning his head into a cockatiel and his torso into an iguana, a gecko, and a handful of tropical fish. Nothing lived longer than a week except the cockatiel, which so far had lasted three years. I often wondered, since I’d used some of the original brain tissue in making Brian’s new cockatiel brain, if he had any dim sense that he used to be human.

I fed Brian a cracker, re-absorbed my shoes into my flesh, and took back my original human form before plopping down on the couch to relax and await my cats. My actual body was permanently frozen at about age 22 or so; I changed it so often, I’d never really had the opportunity to let it naturally age. I could have forced it up to 36, where I really was, if I had to, but why bother? No one was going to see me and think less of me for looking too childish. My natural form is about 5’4” and built like a gymnast – tiny breasts, thickly muscled legs and arms, a rounded and balanced body with a low center of gravity and nothing sticking way out of line with the rest of it. For gymnastics – my childhood passion – and for combat, it was a fantastic body, and I used it for years as Megamorph before it occurred to me that maybe I should hide my true face if I was going to be a criminal. For instantly commanding respect, making men drool and women envy, or sending the signal “I AM A SERIOUS CRIMINAL MASTERMIND”, it wasn’t so good. It was short, the face looked too young and soft (and too much like a young, soft Gillian Anderson – people in med school actually used to call me “Scully”), and a body perfectly proportioned for gymnastics or martial arts isn’t all that attractive by the psycho standards of our culture. But it was my body, and in my home, with the shades drawn and the security system on, I went back to it because it was me.

As I wiggled my toes on my shag carpet and then propped my feet up on my coffee table, I wondered where my cats were. They were well-fed cats, but their heightened metabolisms made them constantly hungry, and they knew I was a sucker for giving them treats when I’d first come home. Normally, they’d be leaping on me minutes after my arrival. This worried me. If I had accidentally shut them in the bedroom, Angelkitty would probably pee on my ceiling to express her displeasure and Pikachu might have destroyed my furniture with a few good lightning blasts by now.

My cats were also experiments. I’d been curious to see if the genetic structures I’d observed in other mammals that seemed related to the human powers-complex were in fact superpowers, so I got myself a pair of abandoned newborn kittens and in between the droppers of kitten formula (I really drew the line at making cat milk in my own breasts; those little things have teeth very early), I modified them to generate catalysine. The female promptly grew bird wings (which didn’t attach to the right spot on her back and were too small; she’d never have flown if I hadn’t heavily modified them for her), and the male developed the ability to shoot lightning out of his paws, so I named them Angelkitty and Pikachu. (Technically, if you have seen the Pokemon cartoon, which I admit I have, Pikachu is a mouse that shoots electricity, or something rodentlike anyway, but come on, there aren’t exactly any mythological figures of cats that shoot electricity.) Angelkitty’s a Siamese and Pikachu is mostly white with some orange. They don’t have power mitochondria – that does appear to be a human thing – so they eat like pigs. I could feed six ordinary cats off what my two eat, but they remain extraordinarily svelte, almost feral in their slimness. And so if they weren’t here to pester me for fish treats, something was wrong.

I got up and went out to the kitchen. To my relief, my cats were still noshing on their tuna fish, which amazingly it looked like they had barely touched before I came home. (I always fed them human food. Why not? I had the money to keep them in canned tuna rather than cat food, and they loved the stuff.) Pikachu looked up at me, gave me a meow that I interpreted as “Oh, you’re home, good,” and then went back to his meal.

Wait a minute. There was more food in the bowl than there had been when I said good-bye to them this morning. And it was beyond the realm of possibility that they’d left so much food untouched for so long, anyway. And the tuna looked fresh out of the can. So how—

“I was wondering when you were going to get home,” a woman’s voice said behind me. I was already spinning to face her, preparing to leap at her, but as soon as I saw her I realized it was hopeless. “Don’t you ever feed these cats? They look like they’re starving.”

Ciana Kim, aka Sapphire, my once-classmate and current dire nemesis, was standing – well, floating—above my stairs in her traditional blue bubble, her features slightly obscured by the blue distortion and concealed behind her mask. The combat leader of the Peace Force was in my house.

I backed up. I couldn’t take Sapphire directly. Her power was to generate spherical or toroid magnetic fields, which glowed blue due to the way they bent light, hence her name. I needed organic channels to send my power through—behind her force field, Sapphire was totally safe from me, because I couldn’t touch her. I wasn’t safe from her, though. She could generate a force field around me, trapping me, any time she wanted.

There was a switch by the door to my basement, labeled “FURNACE – DO NOT TOUCH,” that would actually activate an EMP. All the computer and electronic equipment I had in my house outside the Faraday cage of the basement would fry, but Sapphire’s power would fail as well, and I could leap on her before she could reset her power. Or, if I didn’t really want to replace my MP3 player, phones, and the laptop in the bedroom, perhaps I could grab Pikachu and throw him at her. He’d be startled enough to discharge a bolt, and the electrical surge should pop her field like a soap bubble. I knew I had a faster reaction time than Sapphire – after years of modifying and tuning up my nervous system, I’m faster than anyone who doesn’t have super-speed as a specific power – so I should be able to grab her and neutralize her power or knock her out before she could get a force field back up again. I was reluctant to do that because Pikachu was my kitty and throwing him at superheroes seemed kind of mean, even though I knew he wouldn’t be hurt, but the EMP generator could theoretically blow out TV Hill, and then I’d have to dodge swarms of reporters trying to find out why they suddenly couldn’t get on the air anymore.

I stalled for time. “They’ve got very fast metabolisms. I feed them all the time, but they’ll pester anyone they meet for more.”

Sapphire rolled her eyes. “Oh, stand down, Meg. If I was here to capture you or beat you up, I’d have done it before you knew I was here.”

She had a point. Sapphire wasn’t stupid, and she had completely gotten the drop on me, to the point that I was actually really embarrassed about it. “So what do you want? Cooking advice? I always prefer to replace the generic vegetable oil with olive or canola, it’s easier on the heart.” The last time I’d been in the same household as her, Ciana Kim had refused to learn to cook, for very similar reasons to her refusal to learn hand-to-hand combat.

She ignored my jab. “Doctor Sun sent me. She needs your help and she asked me to ask you.”

I blinked. Doctor Sun wanted my help? Cold day in hell. But it’d have to get a lot colder before I’d say yes. “She wants my help? And she actually thinks I might agree? Excuse me, but the last time I interacted with any of you people you wrecked my lab, ruined four years of work and set me back half a million dollars.”

“You were infecting children’s vaccines with a retrovirus. Did you seriously think we’d let you just get away with it?”

“All it would have done was make them into Proximas. What do you think I am?”

“Someone who mutates people against their will. And how do you know that’s all it would have done? Retroviruses mutate. Besides, it’s still wrong to change people without their consent. How do you know those kids would even have wanted superpowers?”

“Oh, be real. Who wouldn’t want superpowers?”

“If I wasn’t a Proxima, I might have been an Olympic gold medalist.”

She was telling the truth. One of the things that annoyed me so much about Ciana was how close her life had been to mine, minus the dysfunctional family. I, too, had had Olympic dreams once, and my coach had told me when I was 11 that I might seriously make it as a contender. But no matter how good I’d been, I’d never really had a chance; if my parents hadn’t died when I was 13, some other aspect of my family’s screwed-up-ness would have ruined it for me.

Ciana Kim, however, had had a good and loving family who’d pushed her hard in the belief that she could achieve anything. She was a third-generation Korean American from California and her parents were doctors or something like that, and they’d stood behind her every step of the way. Even after everything had fallen apart in my life and I’d basically become a thug for hire, I had followed the Olympic gymnastic news, so I’d known all about this as it was happening.

Ciana was originally to be the USA’s representative to the Olympics in Seoul for women’s artistic gymnastics. Much was made in the media of a Korean American going to Seoul to represent America, but Ciana had been very photogenic and full of great soundbites about how she was as American as apple pie and she was honored to represent our great country and she was so looking forward to bringing a medal home for the US and she was following in Mary Lou Retton’s footsteps and blah blah blah. And then, a week before the Olympics, it had come out that she was a Proxima. They’d finally figured out that doing a blood test for catalysine would find any Proxima with an active power.

The truth is that even now, twenty years later, as an experienced superhero who uses her powers all the time, Ciana still can’t use her powers invisibly. There’s always a shiny blue blob there. And she had no training with her powers when she was 16, so it would have been even more implausible that she could have somehow used her powers to secretly cheat. I would be disqualified from a Sapiens competition in gymnastics in any sane world because of what my powers actually are, but Ciana was disqualified solely from anti-Proxima prejudice (and, to be fair, probably some anti-Asian prejudice from the Americans whose job it would have been to advocate for her). The Americans paid for their prejudices when Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union took home all the women’s gymnastics medals (I don’t like Ciana, but I’m pretty sure she would have won at least a silver in something, if not a gold.) Ciana was recruited by Dr. Chandrasekhar to learn how to use her powers and eventually join the Peace Force, Dr. Chandrasekhar’s UN-supported superhero team.

So it wasn’t that I had no respect for Ciana’s loss, but it irritated me that she saw the problem as being that she was a Proxima rather than that the Olympic committee was scared of Proximas. And also, that being an Olympic medalist was better than being a superhero. “Yeah yeah, you could have had your moment of glory, and nowadays you’d be selling sneakers and breakfast cereal to pay the bills, assuming anyone even remembered you at all. What’s Mary Lou Retton doing with her life?”

“She’s been an Olympics commentator, and she’s a motivational speaker who supports physical fitness.”

Trust Ciana to actually know this. “And that’s better than being a superhero how? You save lives, you have an action figure, millions of little girls look up to you—“

“—I wear a mask when I save lives because otherwise supervillains or stalkers might hunt me down, no one knows my real name, my family aren’t allowed to tell anyone what I do for a living, I’ll probably never have a normal life with a husband and kids—“

“--You could marry some guy and quit the superhero business any time you wanted to, it’s just your overblown sense of responsibility that says you can’t quit your job to have babies until your powers give out on you, because you think the world needs you, and if that’s the case where would they have been if you hadn’t been a Proxima?”

“Someone else would have taken my place if I hadn’t been a Proxima. And all of this is besides the point; no matter how great you or even I might think it is to have superpowers, the fact is that you were planning to infect helpless babies with a retrovirus that would have mutated them. Some of them might have died of it. Some might have been killed by their families for being Proximas once they manifested. You don’t have the right to play God that way.”

“Nobody would have died of my virus,” I retorted. “I tested it thoroughly ahead of time. But you also notice, I haven’t done it again.”

“Because you know we’ll stop you.”

“Because I listened to your arguments that retroviruses are unstable and highly prone to mutation, and I decided that maybe you have a point.”

“Then why did you bring it up?”

“You didn’t even try to just persuade me. You just blew up my lab! Do you know how many vials of vaccine I hadn’t modified yet you destroyed?”

“All of this is pointless,” Sapphire snapped. “I’m wasting time arguing with you when Doctor Sun is dying. Are you coming or not?”

Wait, what? Dying?

I had been a half-crazed killer with no self-esteem, no sense of myself being able to be or do anything good, no belief that anyone could ever care about me – at least not without dying for it – after David died. Dr. Chandrasekhar had taken me in and taught me that I could have a better destiny than being a tool for monsters to use to kill each other with; that I didn’t have to be a monster myself. I could use my powers for good. I could help people. I could be a decent person.

Viewed from her perspective, I suppose, it didn’t last – I freely admit I am a supervillain and I do highly unethical things, up to and including killing people. But I do it for a cause I believe in. I do it to save my people from the bio-engineered diseases I was forced to participate in creating at Sonnebend. I do it so girls with superpowers who are going to medical school to learn how to save lives will not be kidnapped, stripped of their powers except when convenient for their captors, raped, tortured and forced to use their powers to heal enemies and kill their own kind, by agents of their own government. I do it so my people can enjoy the same rights and privileges as every other human on this planet. And the fact that I can fight for a cause, that I can see myself as a person with a noble goal of my own… I owe that entirely to Doctor Sun.

No matter what she does to me, no matter what she orders her Peace Force to do, I can’t ever get away from that.

“Dying of what?”

“She was kidnapped and raped by Caesar Primus. When she escaped, she was two months’ pregnant, but the doctors say it seems more like six months. The child is growing too rapidly for her to handle it, and it’ll kill her.”

Oh, God.

My heart started pounding, my throat went dry. I could feel the adrenaline surging, my sympathetic nervous system revving up for a totally inappropriate fight-or-flight response. I couldn’t stop imagining the reality behind Sapphire’s words. It didn’t help that I’d once had sex with Primus myself – consensual, sort of, but I could entirely too easily imagine what it’d be like to be raped by him, without powers to protect you. And Primus was immune to telepathy, so effectively Suri would have been helpless. God, no. I didn’t want to think about that.

So I was flippant, and cold. “Doctor Sun’s a woman of the world. You’re telling me she’s never heard of an abortion?”

“She doesn’t want an abortion. She says she won’t compound Primus’ act by taking an innocent life.”

“When did Doctor Sun turn into a pro-lifer?”

“She says the baby has a mind and she won’t kill it.” Sapphire floated herself down onto my dining room floor, still surrounded by a protective bubble but no longer on my stairs. “Are you going to help, or not?”

“I’m a feminist Darwinist. I’m morally opposed to letting a fetus conceived in rape live. It lets dangerous genes persist in the population. Suri knows that.”

Sapphire sighed explosively. “Fine. I knew you weren’t going to be any help, but Doctor Sun believed in you. I’ll just go tell her I was right and she was wrong.”

“What is this supposed to be, reverse psychology?”

“Nothing reverse about it. I knew before I got here that I would be wasting my time. You’re a killer with no conscience; why Doctor Sun ever thought you might help, I have no idea.”

“Because she knows me better than you.” I stepped forward. “If this is reverse psychology bullshit, it isn’t necessary. I’ve known I was going to agree to help you since you told me she was dying. And if you really believe what you’re saying, then nyaah nyaah nyaah. I’m a doctor; everything I do, I do to save lives. And at least I have to try to persuade Doctor Sun to abort the thing. Besides, if she was raped by Primus she might have injuries she could need my help with.” Primus had hammered at me like he was trying to break my pelvis, and without my powers he might actually have done so. And I’d voluntarily gone to bed with him. What he’d do to a woman he was raping, I really really didn’t want to imagine.

I didn’t mention to Sapphire that this was partly my fault anyway. When I’d met her, Suri (Dr. Suri to me in those days, but I feel I have the right to call her by her first name now) had been dying slowly of multiple sclerosis. She had met me on a good day; she’d only needed crutches and braces to move. On bad days she’d been confined to a wheelchair, and on really bad days she’d had to stay in bed. I’d healed her, and in the process I’d turned her from a forty-something woman approaching menopause back to a woman in her prime, young and healthy, physically in her 20’s. It had been almost 20 years since I’d done that; Suri would be approaching menopause again, but obviously wasn’t there yet. By now she’d be well past childbearing if I hadn’t de-aged her when I’d healed her disease.

I didn’t know whether Primus had raped her to torture her, to express domination over her, to really make the Peace Force mad at him, or to impregnate her, but I knew he had enough control over his body that if he hadn’t wanted to impregnate her, it wouldn’t have happened. It was entirely possible that the goal of the whole thing had been to force her to carry his child; Suri was an enormously powerful Proxima with high output power mitochondria, and most women with such energy-full mitochondria would have had a power they could use to fight back against Primus. Blocking a Proxima woman’s powers while she was pregnant carried high risk to the fetus if it too was a Proxima; it could prevent the fetus from developing the ability to control its powers as an adult. Suri was rare in that she was incredibly powerful but only telepathic, with no telekinetic abilities, and with Primus’ immunity to telepathy, she’d have had no way to fight back against him even at her full power. If Primus had wanted a powerful woman to pass her mitochondria to his child, and he hadn’t cared about her consent, there were few Proximas who’d make a better target for him. And if that was the case, then the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t made her younger, sixteen years ago.

Sapphire blinked. “Wait. You are coming?”

“I just said so. But we have to bring my cats. They need to eat more than the average cat – they’d starve if I left them without food for three or four days, and obviously I can’t ask the neighbors to come feed them.”

“Fine. Sedate them; I don’t need a cat flying all over my car, or meowing and moaning in his carrier the whole time. We’ll put them in one of the suites and make sure they get fed.”

I took my cell phone – it had all of my appointments and contacts in it, and I’d have to call them all to reschedule once I knew how long this was going to take. If I could talk Suri into aborting the fetus, this could probably go very quickly, but I knew how stubborn she was. If I had to save the baby too, I could possibly have to take a few weeks.

Damn Suri. Why the hell was I taking time off my work and spending four hours in a car with one of the people who most annoyed me in the entire world to go save my greatest opponent anyway? From a problem she could just fix herself if she wasn’t so damn stubborn?

But I already knew. I couldn’t let Suryabati Chandrasekhar die; not under any circumstances, and most especially not if she’d asked for me specifically. Our differences were ideological; what she’d done for me went beyond ideology. I would fight her and her people when I had to, but if she was dying and she needed me, I had to go.

#nanowrimo #cold light #wip #supervillains #tw: csa #tw: rape #the trigger warnings are for things being talked about not things we see

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years ago

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Famous Poems and Memoirs

So, Emily posted these in her IG story…um, I’m not even sure exactly when. More than a week ago. They’ve just been sitting on my phone because I’ve been too busy to write new theories the past week.

Anyway, this one caught my eyes especially. First, there’s the picture.

As always, yes I know this is a musical group, but look at all the Beth-ish symbols in this pic she decided to post: alcohol, apple, matches, cat figurine (or is that a frog?) cross, apple, license plate with an X in it.

And then there’s the name: Annabel Lee, which is the title of Edgar Allen Poe’s most famous poem. Again, yes, I know it’s the name of the group. But they obviously named their group after the poem.

I’ll put the text below, but just know that the poem is from the point of view of a man reminiscing about his long lost love. Which took place in a “kingdom by the sea,” no less. The poem talks about how they loved one another as children. So, they were one another’s first love, in other words. And that’s not literally true of Bethyl, but I think it plays into the theme of the fact that it happened years ago, when both characters, especially Daryl, were more emotionally immature.

In the poem, she seems to have died from a fever or something. (It speaks of a “chill.”) Which could correspond with the fever brought on by walker bites. And then it talks about putting her in a sepulcher, which just reminds me of the White Church theory.

Very interesting that Emily is posting this now, not long before we get the finale. (Okay, still a few months, but you know what I mean.)

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe:

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

This second thing, by comparison, is gonna feel like small potatoes, but she posted the cover and a page of the book she was reading. Stray, by Stephanie Danler. In this case, it’s a memoir about a woman whose childhood was riddled with abuse and discord due to alcoholism.

I feel like that could go for Beth (Hershel’s alcoholism) or Daryl (cuz obviously). And the page Emily specifically took a screen shot of was about a little cabin in the woods. And it mentions ashes. Just saying. ;D

So yeah. That’s what I have for you today. Not a smoking gun or anything, but just some social media intrigue. Thoughts?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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ifeveristoday · 4 years ago

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well, that escalated quickly

The first card of the Major Arcana, The Fool is generally a positive card indicating new beginnings. If it appears in your readings it could mean that you are on the verge of an exciting, unexpected new adventure. Your new adventure will bring you along a path which may require you to make a leap of faith but you will grow as a result of this new experience. This new adventure could be a literal new adventure, like travelling to a place you’ve never been before. The change this card can bring will usually be a welcome one. While the Fool is generally a positive card, its appearance in a reading can also indicate that you need to take the time to look before you leap. [x]

Even when reversed, the Fool is an indicator of newness; as well as the purity and open-hearted energy of a child. This is generally considered a positive card, with the caveat that it's important to take time to be sure that you are "looking where you're going." In reversal, The Fool can show that there is a need for a new beginning, but that there is some hesitancy about making it happen. [x]

When the Fool card is reversed, you are encountering an unfinished side of yourself, a part still caught in the shadows of ignorance or immaturity. An emotional reflex or psychological attitude could be holding you back from responding authentically and naturally.

Release yourself from any dogmas or taboos so your natural truthfulness and instinct for right action can be restored. [x]

Light some incense and find a crushed velvet vest and let’s get to issue 16 of Buffy.

Spoilers, as always underneath the cut. Also long and semi-rambly so if you’re new to this tumblr...yeah.

Short version: There’s a thing I’m not sure I like yet, the usual layer cake of THEMES and how it all ties together, and good character stuff.

Wow. So they’re really going there with Buffy and Evil! Xander. But it’s not like the comic hasn’t left crumbs of a potential -- something happening between them. Vamp! Xander’s first confrontation with Buffy was a crude sexual come-on, which she rebuffed very quickly, and then when he had his soul, there was an ambiguous hug between them in Hellmouth. Xander’s feelings about Buffy have always been pretty clear.

And while I’m not thrilled that in the year 2020 we still can’t have a platonic relationship between Buffy and Xander (like, I joke about this being a Point to the reboot that Joss insisted on, but of course that’s just speculation. But come on. He totally would), it’s not like the comic was not giving clues, clunky though some of them may be. Buffy’s Slayer dream of Vamp! Xander and Vamp! Her, Robin’s oddly insistent interrogation of Buffy’s feelings for Xander, the dinosaur gift of Zeppo, and Buffy’s own ambivalence toward Robin as a real potential boyfriend.

Issue 14 (which I still haven’t written a thorough post about) showcases (not explicitly written as such, but the characteristics are there) a PTSD-afflicted Buffy, who has lost both of her best friends in a matter of weeks. She’s not on good terms with her mother, Giles is still weird after his descent into magically induced MRA-ness and not exactly comforting her, and having to accept the reality of Kendra being a Slayer as well. There’s a lot of anxiety, jealousy, and survivor’s guilt thrown in there as well, and we all know Buffy’s favorite thing to do when she’s going through a lot of pain: ISOLATE HERSELF.

And then here’s Robin, telling her he’s on her side and is a friendly face and Buffy seizes that emotional life line and decides, well if I can’t like myself (this is referenced in Issue 15), Robin will do it for me. It’s a lonely, but understandable grasp at something normal and not...the reality of her present life.

Except Robin realizes he can’t be Buffy’s emotional support almost-boyfriend, and that Buffy has a martyr complex where she can’t be just the hero but also the villain in her own story - she takes on all of the fault but none of the help and love that does exist in her life.

He tells her that one of her problems is that she just doesn’t like herself.

And it’s a hard truth for Buffy to bear but she admits it.

Issue 16 dips into Buffy’s mixed up feelings re: love and connection and the thread that ties it together is the tarot card Jenny pulls from her spread to read to Dolly, her cat.

Best reveal of the reboot so far, no I won’t take any objections. Her cat! Is named Dolly! Possibly after Dolly Parton, stealth producer of BtVS!

Jenny, lone human adult voice of Reason, pulls the upside down Fool and I’ve included three meanings of it up above. The reason why I think it’s a common thread for this issue is because in Buffy’s slayer dream where she’s riding Zeppo the Symbolism? What Symbolism Dinosaur with Xander (with some terrible punning), Buffy says that they can’t let Zeppo drive, he’s too young and doesn’t know how to get to where they’re going. Xander replies, “Do you even remember where we’re going?”

And prior to this Buffy worries that they’re going too fast and to slow down.

This could signify a number of things - definitely new beginnings with Evil! Xander and the changed nature of his relationship to Buffy, Buffy’s personal fear that she doesn’t know what’s happening, only that it is too fast, and the fact they’re both so young. And for the moment, Xander will forever be this young. And with his reputation as being the ‘funny’ one, Xander could also be considered a Fool.

He’s in a state of being unfinished - he’s never going to experience the trials of regular adulthood, the personal milestones a human being has. And Buffy is unfinished in that she’s not done growing up, but she is also the Slayer, which requires a level of sacrifice that other girls her age wouldn’t experience.

Jenny pulling this card - well, there’s the unfinished nature of her relationship with Giles, they’re broken up but still pining over each other, and the fact that she doesn’t seem to have stayed in touch with anyone in the Scoobies? And her only confidante seems to be her cat. Which, no judgement, cats are good listeners.

Dolly is also a good detector of Ye Olde Supernatural Bullshit, as she senses something bad behind Jenny’s all of a sudden visitor, and Hulk! Giles a few issues back.

It is of course, Xander, who is gleefully pleased that it was that easy to trick Jenny into inviting him in.

Fade into black- sort of, as the next step is Xander playing mind games via text.

Right after Buffy has her weird dinosaur dream, she tries to google meanings of it, as well as sending Willow texts in a long chain of non replied thread, updating her about what’s been happening in Sunnydale in her absence. I noticed she used a similar - “I’ll be here for you” in her message to Rose, and I think that’s Buffy’s way of changing. She wants to be there for her people, instead of avoiding them.

And she gets a text (Miss me?) from Xander, which prompts her to run to Giles and Kendra.

This is a neat(?) reference to how Xander got catfished by Drusilla when she texted him from Buffy’s phone. God, the way this sentence sounds out of context to an TV canon fan.

ANYWAY.

Buffy states that Xander died the night the Hellmouth closed, and they had a candlelight vigil and his parents barely leave the house - which makes me think while Hank Summers is a bastard in every ‘verse, Boom! has a good dad for Robin, Joyce and Eric for Buffy, and apparently good parents for Willow and Xander as well. Yay.

Kendra, who is more objective than Buffy and Giles can be regarding Xander, theorizes that Xander’s disappearance might not be death in a final sense, but rather his soul disappearing. Which causes the question, where has his body been this whole time? Also, I see that I Robot, You Jane easter egg, Jordie.

Setting Jenny’s house on fire, that’s what. Giles gets a similarly upsetting text on his phone, and they run to her house. Buffy and Kendra immediately throw themselves into save the cat (and Jenny!) mode and run into Evil! Xander. Quite literally - Xander grabs Kendra by the neck and throws her out of the window from the second floor - don’t worry, she survives.

We can’t be fridging the POC this early, after all.

Then it’s Xander and Buffy’s first glimpse of each other since Hellmouth, and standard enemy banter ensues - Xander says it’s just them and Buffy snaps that it’s only in his dreams. Then the staircase starts cracking due to the fire’s heat and Buffy’s thisclose to falling off when Xander grabs her, and in his human mask tells her that it could just be them together, if she wants it. Buffy takes Kendra’s advice to stop feeling and just think, and kicks Xander in a jump with both her feet aimed at his chest. Also she says she’d rather die than let that happen, which...I really hope aren’t famous last words.

The fool card flutters down and lands on Buffy’s forehead, reminding her that she’s on a rescue mission for Jenny. Who is nowhere to be found, but Dolly leaps into Buffy’s arms, and she carries her out.

Giles, Kendra and Buffy reconvene at Giles’s and try to figure out why Xander targeted Jenny.

Giles, who started the issue being a concerned mentor has grown smaller and less confident toward the end as he asks Buffy and Kendra to find Jenny. Buffy vows that they’re going to make Xander pay. Giles sadly agrees and then leaves to show Dolly the garden.

Let me pause a moment to cry about the fact that Giles is showing Jenny’s cat the garden.

Kendra and Buffy bond, sincerely, for the first time since Kendra made her appearance. Sister slayers, fuck yeah! Also, I love Kendra’s characterization and I hope she stays for a long time. And not die.

There’s a thawing there as each switch positions - Kendra tells Buffy it’s okay that she feels the way she feels, as Buffy tells her, no, she’s right, Xander isn’t the boy she knew, and to treat him like he’s just a regular vampire.

Then she admits she’s not sure if she misses Xander, or if it’s something else, to which Kendra replies, “I think when you know, you know.”

And Buffy asks her like her and Rose - and Kendra confirms it.

Just as Kendra’s words end the issue, Willow - who could be OG timeline Willow, or an Alternate Verse Willow, comes into the light and holds Rose’s hand.

DRAAAAMA.

So. Xander and Buffy heading toward something, Kendra/Rose confirmed, Giles has now adopted Dolly, Jenny’s status: Currently Unknown.

And Willow?

Though with the Fool, there’s that meaning of new adventures and travelling to a place you’ve never been before. That sums up Willow’s current journey so far.

#buffy comics #boom! studios #boom! verse #thoughts and reactions #spoilers #also i knew all those past tarot card covers and just the symbolism in the cards had to come back #unless it was all a neat coincidence

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leaveharmony · 5 years ago

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Cut for humdrum childhood trauma, probably emotional abuse cw? But maybe that’s too strong a term

I went past something the other day RE ‘friendship is allowing a certain amount of ghosting to go unmentioned,’ which I mean...hard agree, obviously & I’d never expect within-a-half-hour responses to every little note I ever sent or for anyone to drop everything they’re doing at any point in time just to Validate Me; people get busy, people have their own lives, sometimes people just forget. Sometimes I’m largely out of contact w/ friends for a week or so at a time, it happens.

But even understanding the meaning of the post, my dumb doormat ass was still like “But four months or so or near total silence is unusual, right? Probably over half a year since the last real conversation is a little odd? If someone largely ceases replying to you or directly speaking to you anything like the normal amount, seemingly concurrent to when you pointed out the blatantly obvious trajectory of a wrestling storyline, it’s probably not a misinterpretation to consider it deliberate? Am I just overreacting and being paranoid & selfish? I am aren’t I, I think I’m the center of the whole universe don’t I?”

Part of me just thinks, ‘Ah, this again, it was only a matter of time.’

I mean...at home, 24/7 I'd get silence beaten into me, even on christmas morning, to prove his kids were better behaved than his brother’s kids my father made us open presents at grandma’s house quietly and slowly, one tape seam at a time while my cousins tore around like...children...ripping their wrapping paper and being excited. I wasn’t permitted to be excited, it’s why I always feel like I’m performing gratitude rather than expressing it because I have a complex about irritating people with my happiness. He threw out my wood soled clogs when I was at school because he didn’t like the noise they made. One time he bellowed at me to “GO LAY DOWN,” which was what he used to yell at the cats and the dogs left in our care. Didn’t matter if it was an animal or his literal firstborn child, if it was making more noise than he considered acceptable it had to be shut up. I got yelled at for screaming in terror and pain when he shut my wrist in the car door, bc it was making people look at us.

Like when you take that level of constant attempts to stamp out a certain behaviour and then that exact behaviour is expected of you OUTSIDE the house...christ.

I remember one of the few times I went to the movies "with friends," here in quotes because the only friend in the group was really Kristen and the rest just kinda tolerated me, we saw The Birdcage. And when we were walking out discussing it before I even had a chance to open my mouth in response to something, how Alanna immediately said in the coldest imaginable voice that she hadn't heard me laughing and thus I must have thought it wasn't funny / I was too good for it / whatever else she was projecting on me at the time.

And it was just.

I thought it was hilarious, but bc of the constant drumbeat in my head, be quiet or else, be quiet or else, laughing (or doing anything else) loudly in public is something I constantly police myself about in case it's Bothering People.

WHICH I GUESS! Made me seem cold and stuck up or something! Who the fuck knows? To this day I don't know what I did or said that made them all hate me so much.

I quit our small choir after one practice because again...after one song Jenny (Jenny being the one who tried to drown me once & then acted like it was my fault) decided I was faking it and not actually singing, everybody looking daggers at me. So then I stopped singing and left and never went back. Sixth grade.

'Course seventh grade was when Kristen spontaneously decided we were no longer friends and would not tell me why, or even if there was a why, just that we weren't. I’d try to talk to her about it and she’d shut me down and walk away every time...she even looked like she regretted it a bit, which was the worst thing because it MUST have been my fault right? And I was upsetting her by even trying to find out what I’d done. So I stopped trying & shoved away that part of myself that wanted to.

That lasted about half a year, and after summer vacation she acted as though nothing had ever happened and we were fine; I was so grateful it was over & done with that I have never once asked her about it subsequently, even though we're still in touch.

And if I'm honest, the why is because, I don't know that she'd even remember it happening. This torturous thing that left me with a permanent paranoia about abandonment / making The Mistake that would drive people away, that was so formative and damaging, I've got no idea if it made any impression on her at all...and I don't really want to know. Because I suspect, and that’s enough.

So on the one side I’d get STOP SPEAKING YOU’RE BEING TOO LOUD NOBODY CARES and on the other side I’d get WHY AREN’T YOU CONTRIBUTING TO THE CONVERSATION DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR US GOD WHAT A STUCK UP BITCH and somewhere in the middle would be GOD WHY WOULD YOU SAY SOMETHING SO STUPID THOUGH followed by the inevitable cutting off.

Like I’m trying to work around to the point where accepting shitty immature I'm-not-talking-to-you-but-I'm-not-telling-you-why grade school behaviour where I'm pretty sure???? things are unrecoverable but I'm kicked-dog scared of confrontation so I don't dare say anything and just sit instead in a holding pattern waiting for Master to wave me over & toss down a few scraps of attention is not actually something I’m willing to put up with anymore. But I’m constantly undercut by all the times ppl have just stomped all over me & used me and thrown me away like trash only to dust me back off all buddy-buddy when they decide I’m suddenly worth something to them again. And this is not! Something I should be hoping for! Like even I can see that ‘hahaha anyway what were we talking about a year ago when I last returned any of your timid attempts at communication, friend?’ is not an ideal outcome when the ppl that do it will just feel even more at liberty to do it again when they see I just sorta jello myself back into the form they expect of me & am always, always too scared to say “Ok first of all, what the fuck?”

It doesn’t seem to matter if there’s a small voice going ‘Yes but you’re maybe worth a little more than that and maybe people shouldn’t treat you that way?’ if the whole rest if the world is going ‘lol no you’re not and it’s what you deserve.’

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obviousvirgo · 5 years ago

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Quarantine + thoughts on Cohabitating and

TV Sharing (or not sharing)

Formally titled “Is my boyfriend a culture snob?”

I’m used to sharing space. I grew up in a household of 5 + 2 cats, + the occasional uncle or cousin or grandparent living with us every few years. My home was loud. It was frustrating. And it was crowded. 2 weeks from today marks a whole year of my boyfriend and I living together. I’m really proud of us. We’ve learn so much about each other during this time. It’s been intimate, and gross, and beautiful, and infuriating. So many things. Mostly good things. For context, Jonathan is an only child. No shade whatsover towards only children, we just grew up differently. Anyway, due to my years of experience with sharing, I imagined living with Jonathan would be so easy, natural, and uncomplicated. Lord knows I was naive! 😂 LOUD arguments. Tears. Embarrassment. The warmest hugs. The sweetest quiet moments in our living room. I think we challenge each other in the best ways.

Which bring me to today’s challenge. We have an ongoing debate about our taste in movies/TV probably once every 3 months. Some of these debates have gotten pretty heated in the past, mostly on my end. Admittedly it was hard not to raise my voice when I was feeling so defensive. The debates turned into unproductive arguments real fast. We’ve since learned to call it quits before it got disrespectful. This time I thought I’d write (or type) my thoughts and feelings about it. More therapeutic venting than a confrontational call out . After all, with this whole COVID-19 thing happening, we’re going to be spending a lot more time together in the apartment. Sharing the TV. So this morning, like most mornings, I called Jonathan during his commute to work. I mentioned in passing that Frozen 2 was on Disney+ and that I shared our password so my Goddaughter could enjoy it. He told me he didn’t care because it’s “my” Disney+ account and that he doesn’t really watch anything on it. Then he tells me, in his “I’m just joking” voice, that I have bad taste in movies. I took the bait, and inquired (again) about what makes his taste in movies is so superior... Direct Quote: “I watch the movies you’re suppose to watch”

Kind of a pretentious thing to say, but I allow it. To be honest I think his taste is rather average for a college educated 28 year old male but, to each their own. Jonathan’s movie tastes: Marvel and DC Movies, Mind bending movies like Inception, Interstellar, Dunkirk (basically most Christopher Nolan films), Schindler’s List, Daniel Craig bond movies, critically acclaimed documentaries...you get the idea? Cool. No problem. For me the rub is that he looks down on me and my preferences. At worst, he thinks I’m shallow.

At best he just thinks that I’m immature and need to be introduced to more films that access my deeper emotions or challenge my philosophies on life. Which I find really fascinating because he conveniently doesn’t keep that same energy about content quality when it comes to music, but that’s a conversation for another day lol

To be quite honest, prior to living together I felt no shame or embarrassment about my preferences in TV or movies. I still don’t, but I have realized that now that we share the TV, I mostly watch movies and shows on my phone or iPad, just to avoid the “teasing” that comes with watching anything he doesn’t want to watch in our living room. It’s just easier to enjoy my content from bed or while I’m cooking in the kitchen. Passive aggressive, yes, I know.

My taste: I’m a romantic. I love the classics, Carmen Jones, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Pride & Prejudice. Give me all the Julie Andrews, Julia Roberts, Meg Ryan, Molly Ringwald, Drew Barrymore, etc. Romantic dramas and corny Rom-Coms. The heart-wrenching and dramatic, the light-hearted and sexy. I love ‘em all. My list of favorites is long.

I’m also a proud Disney enthusiast. I could spend all day defending this because I have many reasons, but in short: Children’s movies are filled with lessons about how to be a better human being. After all, their main function is in teaching morals and respect. (Child Psych and Children’s Lit gave me a fresh perspective on this)

I also find re-watching my favorite movies or shows from when I was a kid relaxing. Did you know that Nostalgia has been shown to counteract loneliness, boredom, and anxiety?For some people it’s really powerful and FREE emotional support.

Another escape for me is......Reality TV.

Now before I go on, let me just say, I do have standards. I also think Reality TV has evolved over the years. Indeed, "reality TV" has become a shorthand for everything wrong with America: shallow, artificial, attention-craving phonies looking for their 15 minutes of fame. It’s not wrong, you DO have to weed through about 2 decades worth of trash to find the gold. But honestly I could write an entire thesis on how today we have some of the best unscripted television the world has ever seen. Unscripted Television that is smart and compelling, and both competing with and outperforming some really great scripted television too. Take a look at Discovery Channel and Netflix to name a few networks that are doing reality TV right. There are certainly levels.

I’m also not too proud to say, I enjoyed The Real World Austin, Flavor of Love, and I Love New York.

The social media interactions that come from discussing social experiment shows like “The Circle” and “Love is Blind” on Netflix are also so much fun. It’s so human. Again, light-hearted escapism, but I don’t think it’s a crime. Right?

There are also plenty of critically acclaimed, thoughtful, smart films and TV shows that I love. I just don’t want to watch them after a long days work. Or right before bed. Because energy transfers are a thing. All that being said, I don’t think this makes me an immature adult. Is my taste really that “trash”?

So yeah...these days the only way I get to enjoy watching movies and tv, free of verbal and non-verbal judgement, is by watching it alone.

I don’t even know if he notices. I DO know that he doesn’t ever mean to hurt my feelings. I wouldn’t even say that I’m hurt, I just wish he wouldn’t share his every thought and opinion WHILE I’m watching something I enjoy. It’s just rude. It’s really annoying + there are plenty of things he watches that I’m not interested in. Normally I just sit next to him and listen while he tries to sell me on whatever movie or show it is. Sometimes I enjoy it. He put me onto The Walking Dead. But sometimes I’m just not into it. I STILL sit on our couch, quietly curled up next to him, scrolling IG. That’s really all I want him to do. Just let me enjoy my things. But is that just me? Am I being too sensitive? Do I need a tougher skin? I’m a believer in the Kindergarten rule: “If you have nothing nice to say...” you know the rest. But like I said, maybe he’s clueless. Maybe I’ll share this with him and not post it at all.

And so, I really cherish the times when we find a show or movie that we both like/want to watch at the same time.

Maybe quarantine will be good for us.

#quarintine #covid19 #covid2020 #virgo #virgo zodiac #sensitive #it me #netflix #netflixandchill #blacklove #romance #personal shit

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marsreadsthings-blog · 6 years ago

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“Great Expectations” by Charles Dickens

Did you miss me? Did all 2 of my followers think I was dead, kidnapped, or on hiatus? I wasn’t, I was just slowly plugging away at this novel whilst keeping up with my studies, fitness stuff, creative outlets, blah blah blah. Life, right? I’m not here to bore you, I’m here to review and rate this book.

Preface: It has come to my understanding that many high schoolers were as well as are currently made to read this for curriculum. I am happy that I did not have to, because reading it for pleasure instead of homework made my reading a lot more thorough and appreciated than it would have been otherwise, since everybody knows that you tend to dislike the books you are “forced” to read. (Though this isn’t the case for me. While others drooled and squinted sleepy, drowsy eyes over “The Old Man and the Sea”, I quite enjoyed it. Same goes for Pride and Prejudice. I chose to write a research paper on that book so, I must have liked it to some degree.. pst, the review is on here somewhere, in fact it may have been the last one I posted! Don’t quote me on that, just go read it if you haven't!)

So, let us jump right in.

Charles Dickens is an impeccable storyteller. This novel and to my knowledge, most of his written work came out in monthly installments. This was the equivalent to the movies for people in the 1800s. Absolutely marvelous this man is at crafting characters, their motives and a story that is enriching for the reader and enjoyable. I love how it spreads across many years, so you feel like you are watching Pip grow up and go through his childhood, his teenage phase and so on. If you don’t fancy longer novels, I wouldn’t say to stray away from this one on account of it being very well written, but I’m also not not saying that... how’s that for an algebra problem? Anyway, I’ll recount an interaction I had with a peer while we were, no joke, peer reviewing each other’s papers. We’ll call her Mary.

Mary: Ooo, whatcha readin’? I love to read. My mom’s like, an English teacher and shoved books into my face since I popped out the womb.

Me: That is... weird imagery to disclose to me, Mary. It’s Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

And then, her face morphed into a look of horror, like she was remembering some car accident of long ago where her younger bother flew out of the windshield.

Okay okay, take it back a few notches. It was not that bad. At the very least, she did look sorry for me. Like my cat had just contracted feline aids, or something.

Mary: Oh, yeah. I had to read that in Highschool.

Me: It’s taking a very long time for me to get through, it feels like.

(A required interruption: It DID take me a very long time. Four months of a long time, which is virtually unacceptable under normal conditions, but my life is pretty busy during the college months. Apologies, resume.)

Mary: Charles Dickens tends to be very verbose. Didn’t you know he got paid by the word?

Mary, Mary, Mary. This statement was clearly a joke, a sort of bibliophile jest that I was supposed to laugh at and immediately understand as such.

I thought she was, under no doubt, serious. Not only did I think she was serious, no. I thought what she said was a fact.

I’m embarrassed to admit this. Being paid by the word is not a conceivable way of paying a writer because there is no doubt they would start to value quantity over quality in a lucrative driven state. But you don’t understand. When I was immersed in the loquacious qualities of our Dear Dickens, I took this to be a perfectly viable truth. Dickens writes a lot, and very long winded sentences that I sometimes had to reread and decode since the intelligent part of my brain was left behind 2 paragraphs ago. It did not seem impossible that he was paid by the word to me. In the back of the mind I did think, well, maybe people just say that since he can be a bit.. wordy. Maybe it’s just a saying. At least initially, I did think it was the truth. And that will haunt me to the grave.

About our dear Pip, I liked him in the beginning as much as I could like a child character. He was a down-trodden, his elders not really giving him much credit. His sister raised him under the circumstances that children are not to be shown affection or congratulation for their progress, which led to Pip seeking solace where he could find it with Joe. Don’t even get me started on Joe. Joe is by far the most likable character in this whole novel, save for Magwitch towards the end. He was the only character that I consistently liked, and I use the word “consistent” because there were times when Pip fell upon his Great Expectations that I really did not care for him. I thought he was far too entitled with no merit, and I found it annoying that he chased after Estella when she seemed to me to be such an obvious lost cause. Dickens no doubt meant for this reaction to be spurred, because when Pip falls out of his Great Expectations and has to once again become more humble, he is very apologetic and admits his faults to Joe and Biddy. This redeemed him, and I suppose you can't expect a 21 year old guy to not get a little.. immature, with his money, when he just has so much of it.

Here’s what my personal opinion of the character’s are.

Joe Gargery: A very gentle man who prizes character, pride in ones work no matter what it is, and kindness above brains. In turn, he is very lovely and kind, extremely likable. The way he looks out for Little Pip and older, ill Pip warms the coldest of hearts no doubt. @Estella.

Georgiana: Mean?? Sort of likable, in an odd way though? Her argument with Orlick made me laugh so hard. And I couldn’t help but feel awful for her and the accident. She may have been mean to Pip when he was younger, but I think that has to due with how young boys were treated in the 1800s. She always boasted of “bringing him up by hand,” so I think she thought it was sort of her responsibility to not make him into a loser.

Orlick: Annoying and the worst, thinks he’s really cool but deserves to be in prison like the GARBAGE he is. Also, why does he call Pip a wolf so much in that one scene? He’s trying to equate him to a beast so he can make it easier to hurt him, I know but. He’s just loitering trash, he really gets my frogs a leapin.’

Herbert: Bad at fighting but good at friendship :D

Pip: I do like Pip, and I feel like he’s a good one. Sometimes he’s a bit unsure of himself and his place in the World, but I think that’s due to his coming into such a large sum of money unexpectedly. In the middle of the book, he did annoy me, because he made his problems seem awful. “Oh Estella, why won’t you look at me, oh god, this pain, I can’t possibly bare it in my nice pressed suit from Drummle’s, how can I go ON like this, also Biddy, I try to make myself like you but it just won’t work! Any advice?” Pip.. Shut up.

Ms. Havisham: I love her and everything about her character. She was the eccentric oddity of the bunch. The clock that was set at the same time that Compeyson left her, the old wedding dress, her walks with Pip around the room, the fire scene.. I see her as an interesting character because in trying to prevent her misfortune concerning love from reoccurring with a girl of her own, she made Estella’s heart pretty much non-existent. But I think she wanting revenge, she wanted to feel the satisfaction of seeing a Man love hard and get his heart broken.. but when she got just that, she realized very quickly what she had done. I really like her character.

Magwitch: In the beginning, obviously I found him sort of humorous and very prison-escapee in the animal like sort of way, desperate and mean. When he comes to Pip and reveals all of the Great Expectation stuff, the twist was enough for me to like him right there, but I really loved Magwitch at the end. He got such an unfair treatment out of life, and all he wanted was to make someone better than him, to set him up with these “great expectations” to lead him into success. I think he thought of Pip like a son, and likely felt bad for how he treated him when he was 7 years old. I think he wanted to make a wrong right, and I actually surprised myself when I shed tears at his death scene. It was so beautifully written, and you could feel that fragility of himself and the circumstances surrounding his demise and the connection between Pip and him. I was so glad that Pip came to be with him everyday. He deserved that much.

Estella: Did not like her, but it’s *technically* not her fault, I guess? I mean, she is a very hard character to really like. She’s not funny, she’s entitled and far too proud, has no emotion, yes, all of that, but that can be credited to Ms. Havisham and how she brought her up. So, I think she served her purpose well in the context of the novel, I just am not particularly fond of her. I liked the first ending, though, the one where Pip and her grab hands.

This is the last line, and it’s awesome.

“I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so, the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw the shadow of no parting from her.”

Isn’t that just kickass? The connection from when he first left the forge and the mists were rising to the present time was very enjoyable.

Wemmick: I picture him as a sneaky, short guy with a top hat and a mustache and a monocle. Wait, a monocle? Surely not. Oh gosh, do I picture Wemmick as the monopoly man? He’s great. I love his double life, the idea of this strict businessman who never lets his “personal affairs” known to anybody but Pip and Aged P is a great concept. His house sounds lovely and interesting as well, and I hope his marriage went very well for him. Everything he did for Pip and all of the information he gave him led the novel along nicely, so we have him to thank for that.

Mr. Jaggers: I always picture him as the tap-dancing lawyer from Chicago. Like, he’d be the one to flip out and have a mini tantrum in a trial about the “erroneous facts” being spread. I liked his character, he held himself to a certain standard and never let anyone see past that wall really. Maybe it would have been interesting to see the flip side of that, like what he did at home and such. Also, did he rape Estella’s mother? I don’t mean, like, got her pregnant with Estella, clearly that was Abel, but like.. he says he tamed her “the old way” and that just sounded fishy to me. That aside, he was aight.

Aged P: An angel. His happiness with Wemmick and how the simple things bring him pleasure would just bring me the most relief. Aw, he loves being nodded at and acknowledgment, aw, how cuuute.

Drummle: Death by horse?? Oh no

Pumblechook: Needs to sit down, chill out and shut up pretty much every time he makes an appearance.

And with that, I think it’s time to try to wrap up this very lengthy review. I would give this novel 5/5. There is a reason it is taught in schools, it is great for discussion and the story is almost delectable. I very much enjoyed it, and yes, it is a long book, however; if you can muster up the (in today’s world) seemingly impossible strength to read it, I think it’s a classic that definitely deserves to be remembered and talked about.

I leave you with a quote from Pip that really just touched me to the core.

“Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have the face to talk thus to mine.”

#great expectations #charles dickens #book review #bookworm #library #books #books and libraries #pip #estella #book blog

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 5 years ago

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Bullied by Sun Myung Moon

I think I was 16, because there was talk of a surprise matching. I don’t think I could have been younger than that. Anyway, it was Christmas, and Father had declared that he wanted to see all the 2nd gen who could come. The urgency of the request had us all loading into vans to flock to New York from several states away on Christmas Eve. When we got there, I don’t remember him having any special message, and I was somewhat disappointed that it was just the usual. He gave us all watches from Christian Bernard, and had us promise to start Christian Bernard clubs at our schools. I remember, even as I promised with all the kids around me, that I had no intention of starting or participating in such a club. My family could barely afford new shoes. I knew that life was expensive. The idea of asking other high schoolers to join me in an elite and obscure watch club was unthinkable. I couldn’t afford the watch I held, and I certainly didn’t think excluding others from my club because they couldn’t afford one was fair.

Anyway, that’s not really what was most impressed upon me during this particular speech. Like all the D.C. blessed children, I’d been to many, many speeches, and to be honest, I mostly thought that they were boring and long, and didn’t really question their truth. But one girl did. He had been talking for a couple hours, and he was making an analogy about tigers and lions. I don’t even remember what the point of it was, but I remember that he said he was one and he would beat the other (representing Satan, or individualism, or whatever), because of some innate quality of his. And one girl dared to raise her hand and say that it would be switched, based on what she knew about the animals. I knew the prowess of the big cats was not his point, and I expected him to bypass the comment like a mature adult, and explain “the analogy is not the point – what I’m saying is yada yada.” But he didn’t. Instead, he argued his analogy, and became hostile. It was weird to watch the Messiah become so defensive over nothing. She said something about having seen a program about it on National Geographic, supporting her assertion. And then it happened: True Father became every bully in high school I have ever known. The perfect man, the Messiah, and second coming of Jesus said, “Well if you’d stop watching National Geographic all day, maybe you wouldn’t be so fat.”

Later in the speech, another kid had a question, this time a boy. And I don’t remember what his question was, but I do remember when True Father told him to stand up, and then said “Are you a boy or a girl? You’re so fat I can’t tell.” He was chubby, but obviously a boy. There was no call for that. The kid’s question wasn’t disrespectful. We sat there in stunned silence.

No matter what else I knew about True Father, I knew him to be a bully from that day on. He was petty and superficial, and unfortunately, that colored my view of God, and my perception of my own body. I have waited on writing up this account because I never wanted the victims of his attacks to ever read this and re-live that humiliation. And so, I wanted to say to them, and to all of us who were there, that what happened was wrong. It’s wrong to attack a teenage girl’s weight because she has questions. It’s wrong to embarrass a teenage boy because he’s had the audacity to raise his hand. True Father was wrong and acting completely immature.

A child or adolescent bully attacking their peers is bad enough, but a full grown man picking on children for their appearance is a pathetic human being.

_________________________________________

Comment:

I had read that post in the past. I think it’s very revealing of what reality was; a reality most of us didn’t want to face.

Reading the comments below the post I saw that someone seems to think that any “old Asian teacher” would respond that way to “American kids” who don’t want to listen.

I suspect, first, the commenter may be Asian. Second I suspect he or she may not be fond of American kids. Was it mentioned that the two individuals were American? After all only American kids would be bored by the litany of nonsense that the “Messiah” used to pour on us for hours, right? Third, we’re not talking about an old Asian teacher. Like the poster very well expressed, we’re talking about a person who’s supposed to be bigger than a teacher; a broader and deeper human being, not a constipated Confucianist character who can’t get past someone that they consider inferior challenging in any way anything he says. No real teacher would do that, because teachers as a rule of thumb are concerned for the psychological well being of their students. Being Asian wouldn’t be considered an excuse in my book. I find absolutely no excuse, NONE, for that behavior.

It reminded me how Mr. Moon got so offended at Belvedere when someone who had been addressed by him, in English, had the audacity to say that he couldn’t understand the Reverend’s accent! OMG! Hell broke loose! How dared he! That was brought up by Moon week after week after the incident! And we members nodded in agreement. How dared he! Poor, spineless creatures we were… You’re not supposed to be honest; you’re not supposed to be unafraid, and much less have an opinion contrary to his. As a western person I grew up with a loving father who allowed me to disagree with him, giving me room to think on my own. What a tragic mistake to transfer that understanding of what a father is to the “True” Father! Oh, no! You have to fear him, you have to accept and take notes of whatever crap he says and never question it. That is what the loving “True" Father of all mankind and the cosmos expected of you. (Scoff.) “True” my ass. Excuse me.

Y.R.

If Adam and Eve didn’t exist, then there was no fall and therefore no need for a savior.

Faced with the acutely disturbing reality of the Unification Movement…

Reflections on the significance of lineage and of Jesus

Liberation of ancestors by a third party?

_________________________________________

Sun Myung Moon May 17, 1973

“Good morning! Sit down! I am going to speak about the significance of a training session like this….

In your own way, you can organize your lecture. In order for you to be a dynamic lecturer, you must know the knack of holding and possessing the listeners’ hearts. If there appears a crack in the man’s personality, you wedge in a chisel, and split the person apart. For the first few lectures, you will just memorize. But after that, you will study the character of your audience, and adapt your lecture. If he is a scientist, you will approach him differently than a commercial man, artist, etc. The audience as a whole will have a nature, and you must be flexible.” LINK

_________________________________________

Sun-gil Choi asked her husband, Sun Myung Moon, to stop pikareum sex with many women.

Sun Myung Moon’s mission to womb-cleanse many women confirmed by Sean Moon

Moon neglected and beat his own children. How did it affect them?

The ‘True Father’ who could not forgive: “I haven’t been able to release my grudge towards Japanese people yet.” November 2011

The Incident at the New Yorker Hotel: Hyun Jin stopped talking – there was a familiar uncomfortable silence…

Hyun Jin Moon’s assault on Tim Folzenlogen

Kook Jin Moon and Hyung Jin Moon plan to “Arrest and Execute” their mother, Hak Ja Han, leader of the FFWPU

#Sun Myung Moon #bully #abuse

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years ago

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Do you own any Funko Pop! figurines? Yeah, I have an I Love Lucy one and a Baby Yoda one.

How many cats and dogs have you had as pets in your lifetime? I’ve had 4 dogs, 0 cats.

Can your mom and/or dad play any instruments, or how about anyone else in your family? No. My dad tried dabbling with the guitar at one point, but didn’t keep up with it.

Have you ever colored in an adult coloring book as a stress reliever? Yes, I have several coloring books.

Can you crack crab legs without a tool? I don’t eat crab, so I’ve never tried.

How many light sources are in the room you’re in? My floor lamp is the main one, but you could count my TV and laptop as well.

What’s your favorite thing to put on bagels? Cream cheese.

Who’s your favorite director? Hmm.

Bats: cute or gross? Creepy.

What was the last really intense pain you felt? The chest pressure the other day from the panic attack I was having.

Would you rather vacation by a beach or a lake? Beach, please.

How would you feel about traveling abroad alone? I would be too afraid to go alone, honestly. Plus, I’d want to experience something like that with someone.

What is your father's middle name? I’m not sharing that.

Where did your last kiss take place? I think it was in his car. This was almost 10 years ago, so I’m not entirely sure anymore.

Which movie villain do you find the most terrifying? Michael Myers and Pennywise are pretty scary. Love ‘em, though.

If you married your favorite celebrity what would your last name be?Skarsgard. Do you stick your tongue out often in pictures? I never do that.

Which one of your family members are you closest to? My mom and younger brother.

Would you rather have name brand shoes or name brand clothes? Shoes. Like my Adidas.

Are you a good liar? No.

Are you proud of your parents? Yes.

If you could get backstage tickets to ANY concert - which would you pick? Hmm.

Which is better: orange or grape soda? Not a fan of either one.

Was the last thing you ate hot or cold? The chips weren’t hot or cold, but the dip I had with them was cold.

Who was the last person in your house who isn’t family? It’s been a long time since we’ve had a non-family member over.

What color was the last swimsuit you wore? *shrug* I haven’t worn an actual swimsuit since I was a kid.

Can you remember the last song you listened to? No. I don’t listen to music much nowadays for some reason.

Have you ever been dumped really harshly? Yes.

Can you do a back flip, or anything else of that sort? Nope.

Do you have any exes you can’t stand anymore? No. I don’t even have any interaction with either of them anymore; it’s been years.

What happened to cause you to feel that way about them? --.

Are you more of a phone or a computer person? Computer.

Do you have a job, and if so, where do you work? No.

If not, do you want one? Not at this time.

Do any medical afflictions run in your family? Diabetes and cancer.

What’s your favorite Mexican dish? Chicken quesadillas and burritos with beans, rice, cheese, sour cream, guacamole, and cilantro.

Have you ever been to a professional sports game? Yes.

Have you ever ordered a specially made cake from a cake shop? Yeah, many times.

What months were you and your siblings born in? July, February, and November.

What did you have for dinner last night? My left over pizza from lunch. It was so good.

Have you ever had sex in/on a vehicle? No.

Do you do anything to groom your eyebrows? I keep it unibrow free, but that’s about it.

Has your town ever flooded? No, thankfully.

Have you ever played at the McDonald’s play place? Yeah. Ew, can’t believe that was such a popular thing cause when you realize how disgusting those actually were... yikes.

Have you ever taken a picture of snow? Yeah.

Do you cry easily? Nowadays I definitely do. I feel like I’m always crying.

Are you happy with where you live? My family and I want to move.

Do people ever mistake you for being a different race? It has happened.

Do you hate the last person you kissed? No.

What genre is your favorite movie? Horror, psychological thriller, drama, superhero, romcoms, scifi, adventure, fantasy... I like variety.

Who was the last person you were in a car with? My mom.

Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? No.

When was the last time somebody hit on you? I have no idea. It’s been a very long time.

Was the last person you met a male or female? I haven’t met anyone new in quite awhile.

What brand is your underwear? I don’t remember.

What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? I love the turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, stuffing, rolls, and my brother’s homemade baked mac and cheese. Ooh, and the appetizers, too.

Do you have a TV in your room? I do.

Are any of your electronics charging right now? My laptop is constantly plugged in, so yes That’s it as of now.

What was the last video game you played? Animal Crossing.

What’s the biggest promise someone’s ever made to you? Did they keep it? Hmm.

Google, Bing, or Yahoo? Google is the only acceptable answer.

What was the last song you had on repeat? I don’t typically play songs on repeat.

Who is your favorite person to watch on YouTube? Oh, I have several.

How many college degrees do you want? I have one and that’s not even being used, I don’t need more. I have no idea what else I would even do. I also have ZERO desire to go back to school.

Can you wink? Yeah.

Do you own any jerseys? Nope.

Have you ever tried to snort Pixie Stix as a child, or even an adult? No.

Do you like going to baby showers? Do you go only for the cake? They can be fun.

Has there ever been a time in your life, you felt sexually undecided? No.

Do you think tattoos and piercings are sexy on the opposite sex? I wouldn’t say that, but I don’t care if someone has some. Although, I’m sorry but I do not like face tattoos at all.

Do people ever ask you to do things they’re too short to accomplish? No, I wouldn’t be of any help either.

What color are the headphones you have at this moment in time? Yellow.

Ever choked severely on something during lunch at your school? Yes, actuallly. I remember getting a Dorito stuck in my throat in elementary school.

Do you eat more vegetables or fruits? What’s your favorite fruit/veggie? Vegetables.

What would you say is the color of your favorite bra? I prefer black ones.

Is anyone in your family a firefighter? Who is it anyway? No.

What do you usually buy when you go to the dollar store? Snacks or decorations.

Ever peed in the pool? Be honest! Nooo.

When you’re older, what kind of house do you want to live in? A house near the beach is the dream.

Where do you want to get married? I don’t want to get married.

Do you plan on having both your parents at your wedding? Of course I would, but like I said I don’t plan on getting married.

What is your favorite childhood TV show? Think 90s Nickelodeon and Disney and there ya go. Oh, and I was obsessed with Barney when I was really little.

Honestly, do you like school? I liked some of it.

Last thing that made you cry? I don’t want to get into it.

Honestly, are you keeping a big secret right now? Nah.

Last person you took a walk with? My mom. We attempted to get into this routine a couple months ago where we’d take a short walk in the morning a couple times at least a week and go to the Denny’s nearby for breakfast, but I think we ended up going only like 3 times? haha.

Have you ever liked someone who didn’t like you back? Yes.

Who was the last person to actually pick you up in the air? My mom.

Does any part of your body hurt? Of course.

If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to change a regret what would you do? The money is very tempting, but changing one of my regrets would vastly improve my situation now and I gotta say that sounds even better right now.

Can you keep a secret? Yes.

Your favorite romantic movie? I have several. I’m a sucker for the romcoms.

How do you feel about Valentine’s Day? Just another day for me. I’ve never experienced it with a significant other.

Who was the last person you took a picture with? My brother.

Do your jeans have rips, tears, and holes in them? No.

Do you celebrate 420? Nope.

Have you ever kicked a vending machine? No.

How do you eat Oreos? I twist ‘em and like to dip them in coffee or warm milk (vanilla almond milk to be exact).

Do you wear your shoes in the house? No.

Ever been to Georgia? I have, actually.

Do you get your hair cut every month? No.

Current relationship in detail. I’m single.

If you were kicked out of your house, who would you call/go to? My aunt.

List things you spend money on in an average week. Food and food delivery.

Rate each of your sexual partners (if any) from 1-10. I’m a virgin.

Post the last FB group/page that you joined. It’s a group for a Bibe study.

Would you parents be mad if you were in a relationship? No? I’m 32 years old.

Think of the last person you had sex with. Do you think they’ve slept with anyone else since they last slept with you? --

Is there someone that you believe you will always be attached to? My loved ones. What board games are you good at? *shrug* I just love board games.

Is there a sport/hobby you keep thinking about taking up, but that you’ve never quite gotten around to starting? Not that I can think of at the moment.

Do you think pranks like egging/toilet-papering someone's house are funny or immature? Immature and stupid. And just a shitty thing to do.

Do you think “sleeve tattoos” are a good idea? Not my thing, but I don’t care if other people want to do it.

Do you ever actually read the “Terms and Services” when you sign up for websites and such? No. :X

If you have a handheld games console (a DS or GameBoy, for example), how often do you use it? I have a Switch, but I haven’t used it since earlier this year.

Your phone is ringing. It’s the person you fell hardest for, what do you say? I wouldn’t even answer to be honest.

If your best friend was kicked out, would your parents let him/her live with you? My best friend is my mom, whom I live with.

Are you afraid of falling in love? Yes. Didn’t go well the couple times I did.

Is there anybody you wish you could be with right now? No.

Have you ever kissed someone & wished yu didn’t? No.

Did you get kissed last night? Nope. It’s been several years since I’ve last kissed someone.

Do you enjoy going through a carwash? Not especially. When I was a kid I was actually scared of them. They still creep me out, honestly.

How did you get most of your scars? Surgeries.

Ever had to take an inkblot test? No.

Have you ever been in trouble for something you honestly didn’t do? Hmm, I don’t think so.

Have you ever seriously slapped someone in anger? No. I’ve never slapped or hit anyone.

What/who woke you up this morning? I haven’t gone to sleep, yet.

Who was the last person to be in your bedroom besides you? My brother.

What’s one of your locked text messages? I don’t have any. Does the iPhone even do that?

Have you ever finished a game of Monopoly? I think so.

Is there anyone you know who’s in any way paralyzed? Yes, me.

The truth all comes out when someone is drunk, true? It can.

When was the last time you felt disappointed in yourself? I’ve been feeling that way the past few years. Just continuous disappointment.

How about feeling disappointed in someone else? A couple days ago.

For you, do you commonly feel more jealousy or envy? Envy.

Do you rely on the heads/tails flipping of a coin sometimes for decisions? No.

Do you have any specific chores you do around the house? I haven’t been much help the past few years. Especially not now.

For you, does comfort or fashion come first in dressing? Comfort, hands down. That doesn’t mean it can’t be cute, though. Like, I love my oversized graphic tees. They’re cute/cool and comfy.

Have you had two friends that absolutely hated each other? No.

Do you like Laffy Taffy? I liked the banana ones. I couldn’t tell ya the last time I had one, though.

Do you prefer electric or manual pencil sharpeners? The little manual ones I have are fine.

Are your biceps at all noticeable? I have no muscle anymore. I used to. My arms are stick thin now.

Have you ever seen a walrus? Yeah.

Did you ever have one of those Easy Bake ovens as a kid? I did.

Does your bathroom have a theme to it? No.

From inside of your house, how many doors lead outside? Three.

Are there a lot of trees in your yard? No, just one.

Have you ever liked someone that treated you like crap? Yes.

Have a best friend? Yes.

Does it bother you when your best friend does stuff without you? Only when she goes on a vacation without me haha. That’s just my envy and bitterness about not being able to do much right now due to health reasons. She absolutely deserves to go and I of course want her to go. She goes like less than a handful of times, if that, so it’s not even much. I wish she could take more trips for herself. The past 3 years one of those trips was one she went on with her sisters and she’s planning another this year, but isn’t sure if she’ll be able to because I’ve needed more help these past few months due to health reasons and some things only she can help me with because she knows how and I only feel comfortable with her doing. I feel really bad because I don’t want her to have to cancel, she’s really been looking forward to it and I know it’s something she needs for her own wellbeing because she’s been stressed and spread thin having to deal with a lot of things.

Is there a secret you’ve never told your parents? Yes.

Does anyone hate you? Possibly.

What’s the one thing you regret more than anything? Not taking better care of myself.

Do you remember important dates? I’m pretty good about that usually, but I like to use the reminder or calendar app on my phone as well sometimes.

What’s some lyrics from a song that means a lot to you? There’s a lot.

Who gives the best advice? My mom.

Who do you usually see in your dreams? :) My dreams are so random.

What type of cake did you last eat? White cake with buttercream frosting.

How many of your friends are gay or bisexual? I don’t have any friends.

What’s your favorite type of sandwich? Turkey or bologna with cheese, mayo, mustard, and oil. I like to buy this sandwich oil that’s just olive oil with a few seasonings in it like oregano and basil. Oh, and I like to add spinach as well sometimes.

When was the last time someone asked you out? Did you accept or decline? It’s been years. I accepted.

Do you like The Offspring? I liked a couple songs.

One pillow or two? Two.

Do you like Mad Libs? Yeah.

Where do your grandparents live? Arizona.

What is your pet’s name? Princess Leia.

Have you ever been to Canada? No, but I'd love to visit. < Same! <<< Me, tooooo.

Aren’t babies overrated? lol aww I wouldn’t say that.

Have a built-in pool in your backyard? No.

Ever won yourself a stuffed animal? No.

Ever had someone else win you a stuffed animal? My cousin did once from one of those claw machines, shockingly. I feel like no ever wins those. My dad won the stuffed animal giraffe for me from an amusement park that started my collection several years ago.

Ever been to a circus? Yes, once when I was a kid.

Ever shot animals? No.

Do you consider yourself intelligent? No.

Have you ever run away from home? No.

Do you put family first, friends, relationships, school, or something else? Family.

What’s something you worked extremely hard to get? Hm.

Are you satisfied with your body image? No. I’m very self-conscious about it.

Have you ever been labeled negatively or otherwise been called something extremely derogatory? Not to my face.

Have you ever seriously taken advantage of someone or been taken advantage of? I’ve been taken advantage of in the past.

Have you ever been seriously ill? Yes.

Have you ever befriended a former enemy? I’ve never had any enemies. If you’re not religious, would you ever pray as a last resort? If you are religious, do you often pray for other people? I did sometimes in the past before my relationship with God began a few years ago.

Have you ever dated someone, then after you dated they came out of the closet or switched (for lack of a better word) sexual orientation? No.

Has a boy/girl ever walked a ridiculous distance just to see you? How about vice versa? No.

When was the last time you felt really uncomfortable? Now because it’s so hotttt D:

Is there anything that your mom is really known for as to how she is as a person? Everyone loves and wants to befriend my mom. She’s funny and sarcastic and people just think she’s cool and fun to be around.

Who have you been talking to the most today? It’s 4:30AM, I haven’t talked to anyone so far.

Are you nosy? I can be sometimes lol.

What’s the meanest thing you have done to a friend? Push them away. :/

If your ex called you crying, what would it most likely be about? I have absolutely no idea why they would be crying or why they’d be calling me. It’s been almost 5 years since we’ve seen or talked, so that would be completely out of the blue.

Who was the best kisser out of all the people you have kissed? Joseph.

Have you ever been told that you have an annoying laugh? No.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

0 notes

bonbrizzle · 7 years ago

Photo

Here you Rise, Furiously and Fearlessly

Log Line: Labeling in Tattooing: Seemingly Disastrous or Actually Misconstrued?

For my lovely Tumblr followers, this piece is written especially for you.

To give a bit of info about myself to those who are new or aren’t familiar with the writer of this blog, I’m Bonnie, an undergrad at UC Davis. If you’re an OG here, you’ve seen me experience tremendous changes throughout the years I’ve maintained this blog. Due to a mish-mash of circumstances I’m unfortunately not as keen about writing long feel-fests as as often as I did in high school. Back then, days were slower, school meant less, and we all had so much more much needed free-time. As many of you may or may not know, I’m a first generation Vietnamese-American girl born and raised in the most ecstatically eccentric part of the country, the (San Francisco) Bay Area. While I was able to grow up in one of the most progressive areas in the world, my parents weren’t given this luxury we take for granted here. The rift between our two cultures forced me to grapple with a singular sense of “identity” throughout the majority (or entirety? actually) of my life. Many of you fellow Asian Americans are aware of the difficulty in regards to finding a comfortable medium between the lifestyles of both your parents and yourself.

Any-who, I am writing to my fellow tattooed folk in zealous hopes. I have a willful and fire-y desire to push you all to keep on fighting. Fight the stereotypes burdened upon us as a people. Fight to change the way we, society (as a whole), interpret labeling. If you haven’t already noticed, our culture is bizarrely infatuated with the need for identification. Let’s try to undermine this idea with a grand plan.

While I usually materialize just my subjective POV in this diary-like blog of mine, at this instant I’ll be tacking on a little something extra. This piece has the familiar anecdotal experiences that one is familiar with in reading my style, (mixed with subjective thoughts, etc) AND will have some interlaced informative/factual bits to provide you with some background info. If you are compelled, you’re more than welcome to investigate further...and or skim as you wish! I mainly chose to write about resistance and tattooing’s marriage with labeling because I’m enamored about tattoo as a culture. Don’t be alarmed! It is not a research paper. It is a branch of anthropology that requires me to provide some sort of anecdotal recollection of my experience(s) with resistance. In actuality, I haven’t updated in so long, I’m not even sure if anyone’s listening. “Posting into your Tumblr is like talking to your cat. You’re not sure if anyone is listening, but it feels good anyway.” To those who will continue to be loyal to my musings, I hope this piece leaves you with a sprinkle of new insight or a refreshed perspective.

You may or may not be familiar with the newfound anxiety that tags along with getting your first piece. Going into the shop on the day of, I was like anyone else...ridden with anxiety and feverishly wondering if this life-changing decision would alter the way I fit into the world. Would the modified version of me be rejected and outcasted by society? My cocktail of feelings was mixed with a variation of things. Some of it dismal, because maybe my parents would disown me. Others were optimistic, I finally was getting one step closer to the way I only dreamed to look. As I was being escorted onto the tattooing chair, I discovered my circumstances were changing everso quickly. Was I leaving my previous identity behind? Yes, this does seems dramatic, but to be frank, I didn’t fully realize the intensity of this horrifying possibility until the days to started to dwindle. Imagining my future around my family and wanting their acceptance seemed grim, but I stayed positive because I knew this was exactly what I wanted.

Maturing through the lessons of traditional Vietnamese folks meant I was constantly torn between accepting the traditional aspects of being a Vietnamese daughter, while also trying to navigate myself around what being American means to me. Pressure to fill the image of a traditional Vietnamese woman in the eyes of my parents surrounded many reasons behind my actions and plagued my subconscious. I feared they would judge their ability to raise a child by watching me grow into what they dreamed, while evaluating me by my qualities of submissiveness, obedience, and "normality,” But I didn’t want to blend into the rest of the colors and become a muddled brown, being arbitrarily mixed with everybody else. I am not only Vietnamese, but American. Being American means a plethora of things. To me, it is mainly founded upon the notion that you should always allow yourself to have an opinion. Not only in America should you be informed and form opinions from what you’re surrounded by, you need be unabashedly outspoken. In my specific case, being an American in the bay meant even moreso using these exclusive opportunities to fight courageously both for your rights and for what’s right. In an overall sense, this meant acceptance. Let yourself thrive, be who you want to be––without a care in the world––and bloom wherever you are planted.

Let’s take at a comparison between my brother and I. To someone like him, the identity route resembles straight line. My brother seems to lie on the side of the scale that’s on the complete opposite end of what I’m on. He is undoubtedly a gifted child. With that being said, he became simply a breeze for my parents to teach. Never to stray to committing anything outlandish, my brother willfully blended into the cloak of “normality.” I want to note that there is nothing wrong with the desire to be normal. So for my parents, he was a prize, a gifted student with not a single note of resistance; a child who was everso far from the idea of “troubled.” On the other end of the spectrum however, was little ‘ol me, a small Asian girl who started out as a little bit obnoxious and is still honking and tonking with confliction to this day.

It originated early on in my life but came to show it’s face in high school. The amount of worrying about my future my parents were plagued with increased every time I dyed my hair abnormal and kooky color. In high school I died my hair more than 30 times. Throughout the process of maturing, gnawing teenage angst hindered me from communicating the way I needed to with my folks. Because of this, my parents didn’t understand me at all, and thought even moreso that I was trying to erase my identity as a Vietnamese woman after dyeing my hair bright blond for the first time. “Are you trying to be white?!” My dad roared at me as he stared at my bright, freshly bleached blond hair in disbelief. This idea of me that I was running away from the idea of being normal was devastating to my parents. “Will she be okay? Will the kids at school make fun of her?” The idea of me being bizarre to hasn’t stopped there though, unfortunately. However, it’s started to take a change in direction.

After adding several new piercings to my ensemble of body modifications, I eventually broadened myself to a new and considerably “outlandish” form of self expression, the tattoo. Writing this now, I just wanted to say that luckily for me, my parents were able to find a a new meaning for my eccentric taste and childlike imagination. Going out of my way to receive this tattoo, a completely unfamiliar form of body modification meant I was changing myself drastically. This fear only translated to one thought: I would never be the same. Being tattooed meant permanent “disfiguration,” to my parents, and that frightened them immensely. With their somber fear riding on my shoulder, in moved in my old pal anxiety. Would I regret this? Would my family be ashamed to be seen with me, or even worse, reject me fully? Making this conscious decision to permanently alter myself opened a new door of unfamiliarity, something so scary but something I wanted so badly at the same time. I argued with this little voice in my head, the voice that kept telling me that I wasn’t making a bad decision, and would still of course, be a respected member in society. This dream of mine, looking and feeling the way I wanted to unapologetically and fearlessly, gave me the the courage to make the decision to finally make the change. This new drive to bravely make conscious decisions for myself gave me a sense of empowerment and even security. My skin was my own, and I can bravely defend that idea. In getting tattoos, I am forever altering my identity and resisting the labels primarily associated with being an Asian female in today’s world.

So first, what is it about tattooing that’s so special to this project about resistance?

The tattoo on my arm in Davis is a nouveau form of self expression. To the myriads of people around me, it might be perceived in many different ways, depending on the individual is who’s looking at it. Those of you who are familiar with me know that in me is an immense appreciation for art. So tremendous that I even applied to UCLA as an art major 3 years ago. This blossomed into the supreme desire to be inked, having a permanent form of art to adorn on my body forever. I dealt with bullying in the past for dyeing my hair the range of the rainbow, but nothing felt like what I was about to do to my skin. Hair is always able to grow out and revert back to the way it was. Skin, however, was not. But the possibility of bullying didn’t scare me. It never scared me because it always came from doing something I wanted, and loved. In this case, it was the same, but not...the new audience was my parents, my respected relatives, my extended family...not my immature classmates from school.

Tattoos can have a lot of stigmas behind them. Stigmas come from a variety of individuals who interpret something in a certain light. Here in reality there obviously is a plethora of different perspectives one can interpret the tattoo as. Because of this diversity, I must connect what I learned in my anthropology class this fall, to the idea trying to be expressed in this blog post, that there is a multiplicity of ways we as a people can digest the things around us, depending on who we are as people, whether be in groups like socio-economical or individually, like “Asian American,” for example.

On a personal scale, the tattoo on my arm to me is a beloved form of self-expression. It is an area of my body that represents, or shows some indication about who I am and the things I love. It is a form of my identity that gives me confidence and comfort in my own skin, it makes me feel more beautiful, special, etc. But to others, it can be taken in a completely different light.

To authoritarians, like my future employers, it may look entirely different. These authoritarians, based on the previous history of tattoos, may believe that I may be harboring some criminal tendencies, may not take school or my education seriously, or am frankly––even a “good for nothing,” individual. This all depends on many different things, however, like what environment the authoritarian grew up in, what kind of environment they are surrounded by now, what their personal views on “x” and “y” are, etc. Because of this dangerous tendency, individuals like me who like to wear tattoos may be slightly more secretive, and get pieces done that are easily hidden. In places like Portland, in Oregon, however, tattoos are very common and popularized by the rising modernity scene. You can easily see a bunch of tattoos individuals hanging out at multiple joints in the city, all without a care in the world. This is because the city of Portland is open to this form of art, and has gotten moreso used to it by now. In other places, say maybe more conservative states where tattoos are less popularized, like Philadelphia as a friend once told me, tattooed individuals can be shunned, stared at viciously, and even treated with disrespect.

To older-generations, tattooing comes off as taboo and an indicator of poor-morals. Because tattoos are constantly shown off on criminals, adorned by gang-members, etc. These stigmas in tattooing have been constantly perpetuated by tattoo culture in criminalized areas, or jails and prisons. Those who spend some of their time in these institutions typically get tattooed by non-professional “friends,” who don’t use cleanly measures like sterilization. Those who get these “homemade tattoos,” can give tattooing a bad rep, because the public views these individuals as a whole image, a criminal with tattoos, so a person with tattoos will most likely have some tendency to do immoral things. Because of this constantly breathed idea, the tattoo to the public can give a lot of citizens anxiety. They can be immediately threatened by this individual who looks like they’re up to no good, and if they were to assume who the tattooed individual is, they would probably not reach for the guess of say, a doctor or a lawyer.

Likewise to the Japanese, tattoos are an indicator of a troublesome individual who is associated with some type of Yakuza group, or “gang,” in Japanese. Those who are dedicated to the lifestyle of their respective gangs in Japanese culture prove their loyalty by getting big tattoos spread all over their body, because obviously if you weren’t a dedicated member why would you A) subject yourself to that type of pain B) be committed to permanent body art for the rest of your life? Because of this traditional idea, Japanese people, although conservative already, are not able to be comfortable around tattooed individuals, and even go as far as banning tattooed individuals at public bath-houses, the “onsen,” they call it.

To give an even more extreme example, take tattooing during WWII. Jews who were captured and wrongfully imprisoned by Nazi concentration camps during the war were not only cruelly mistreated and tortured, but were also branded like caged animals. Jewish prisoners had numbers etched into their wrists in order to mark them as prisoners but also label them so they were easier to keep track of. This marking gave them a huge sense of shame and misery, and was forever a reminder to them of a nightmare so horrible they wish it didn’t really unfold. Because of this, Jewish people, as I noted when browsing on Quora this one day, are not at all interested in getting tattoos. They may not be so critical of others getting ink done, but for themselves, would never because of the terrible past and memories associated behind it.

To tattoo artists, on another note, tattoos are a form of art that they create, but also prosper from. The tattoo on my arm may look like a mark of criminalization on me to naysayers, but to these artists, the creation of the tattoo on my arm meant they were able to eat dinner or have a roof over their heads for another day. After meeting a couple artists while searching for the perfect artist for me, I learned a little bit more about the tattooing scene in their perspective. Lianna deFleur, a floral specialized artist in San Francisco, noted to me that tattooing to her is a form of valuable and beautiful expression. Every time one of her clients leaves with a new piece, she feels like she is giving the world another beautiful piece of artwork to be loved and cherished, and that all those who are marked by her all share a beautiful piece of herself, that she worked so long and dutifully to create. Likewise, because of those who want tattoos, the industry has grown so large and normalized that you can now see cities like San Francisco, Berkeley, and Portland full of tattooed individuals. The rising scene has given birth to an abundance of careers, whether giving ink or tool shops more business, or giving an artist more fame. These artists give rise to individuals who are selling certain materials: ink, tattoo needles, sterilization tools, spaces for rent, etc. Such a new industry has also gifted communities with more openness and awareness to the trueness of tattooing, that it is an art-form that shouldn’t be feared. While I usually don’t support capitalism and the monetization of everything, the monetization of the process of tattooing has gifted certain individuals with a new way of life, while blessing others in the process.

To other tattooed individuals, my tattoo may be a source of common ground, another way to connect to a stranger that they’ve never met before, even without ever speaking to them. I know that when I go out and I see a fellow tattooed person, I feel a little more connected and comfortable with them, because they understand the way it feels to be marked and forever changed by ink. There’s a quote that I heard that I believe is exceptionally true. It is as follows, “The only difference between tattooed people and non tattooed people is tattooed people don’t care if you are not tattooed.” I think this quote represents our population pretty well. When hearing the quote for the first time, I am reminded of American politics. This is because a lot of individuals who fight against something sometimes fight for things that don’t relate to them. For example, I can speak about the issue of marriage equality when talking about gay marriage. A lot of conservatives who voted against gay marriage argue that it is to protect the purity of marriage between a man and a woman, and to allow marriage to be in a different form would be allowing the sanctity of marriage to be at risk. Although allowing gay marriage to exist may not apply to the person directly who is voting against it, it hurts those that want it. Similarly to how people who aren’t tattooed despise tattoos and don’t want others to get them, although it doesn’t directly affect them. I say if it’s not hurting anyone to let it be. However, in this case I am no way trying to equate tattoo culture to the need for marriage equality, for those who feel like I am being insensitive, I apologize, and wanted to use a simple example, although not perfectly appropriate.

There is a great deal of types of tattoo in the community. Because of this, many different genres of tattoos have developed over time. From the homemade, branding types that scare people away, to other more recognizable types like “Old American,” tattooing. I think all the people who get the same genre of tattoo also feel a strong sense of connection towards each other, the connection through mutual appreciation of the same artform. In my case, I especially love blackwork tattoos, a tattooing style that places special appreciation and priority for black and grey ink only, without color at all. This style of tattooing to me, as a form of art, looks very crisp and clean cut. Other styles I especially love are florals. The different genres in tattooing allow smaller groups to form from the overall larger group, and allows individuals like me to seek out other people who also enjoy the same art form, again a part of tattooing that specializes individuality but also the seeking of mutual common ground.

After announcing to my housemate about the subject on my final project, he asked what about tattooing am I trying to write about? I told him that tattooing has so many different genres, and sub-genres, and subgenres of those sub-genres, for example. He noted to me, “Actually, I was just going to mention that. That tattoos can have so many different meanings. A tattoo can represent a positive, happy thing, but also a terrible negative thing. Like if someone has an anti-semitic tattoo sprawled largely across their backside.” I think this is true. While I for one try to always see the positive side of tattooing, there is a stigma for a reason. I have to admit that this is true. The problem of the stigma arises because some individuals choose to get tattoos that are hurtful, and are negative, and this hurts the community in a general sense.

Likewise, you could get a tattoo that is both sad and positive. Some individuals get the date of their loved ones deaths tattooed. This is both to commemorative in the best, loving way, but also melancholic and can be opening up to a sad memory, a bad thing. Tattoos can be viewed in so many different ways, but to me I want to try to alter it to be more accepted as less of a bad thing and more of an individual thing, like dyeing your hair for example.

The enormous stigma behind tattoos have created a rift between people who understand and perpetuate the culture and those who resent and fight against the culture. Let me talk to you about how tattoos fit in our world and how we fit in the world of the tattoo.

My tattoo was produced by an artist at Black and Blue Tattoo named Michael DeMatty. He first drew up a drawing and presented it to me, asking me how I wanted it tweaked, trying to adhere to my taste as much as possible. This is a time-consuming process that he needs to get right perfectly in order for the tattoo to exist in the most positive light. The drawing may take a long time, need a considerable amount of retouching, and may have many opportunities to change into something else. Most often busy artists charge a fee for a drawing that they use as a deposit to the tattoo, because they only want committed clients who will not back out and waste their time. After my initial consultation with him, DeMatty drew up my design, then stenciled it onto special tracing paper. On the day of it was his responsibility to adhere the stencil precisely and accurately onto my bicep so all the lines would match up as accordingly. This was a tiring process because the horizontal lines wouldn’t line up much of the time, and the stencil had to be redone time and time again. Afterwards, when everything was stenciled on and placed correctly, DeMatty started tattooing me, a process that took multiple tattooing needles of different sizes, widths, and amounts. All these needles were stabbed a gazillion times into the skin on my bicep.

The ink involved in my tattoo is from a laborer that DeMatty has sought out himself, the ink supplier is a trusted laborer and that creates ink that went from their own production line to now inside my skin, for the rest of my life.

Tattooing history has come a significantly long way. It went from being a practice in villages in Southeast Asia and even the earliest Native Americans to being a common form of self-expression in many countries and the beyond, in this case, the US. Villages used tattooing as a form of marking, status, and symbol. In the past it has been traditionally done with needles tied around sticks, dipped in ink that was made from mashed up flowers. It has it’s dark history, however, as a means to mark Jews during WWII, in concentration camps.

Nowadays, tattooing has evolved, because mine was made through the effort of a tattooing needle machine, which is automatic, and electric. The creation of the tattoo happens primarily in the shop, it sometimes originates from the ideas of the individual getting tattooed, but after the action has been completed at the shop, the tattoo is generally maintained on the person.

After I got my tattoo, I healed it with special burn victim ointments, like bacitracin. I kept it covered for the first weeks, and now I maintain the color with sunscreen, everyday.

The tattoo originated and inked into my arm in San Francisco, California, but it’s traveled to a plethora of places. It’s traveled to my hometown in San Jose, the cities on the way to Davis, California where I go to University. It has even traveled to Los Angeles and all the cities on I-5 N and I-5, so the cities in between.

Here is a picture of myself, staring at the Seattle sky during a great weekend in May. I wasn’t reluctant to wear a tank-top here because Seattle is more progressive than other places, and I happily and gratefully noticed that there were other tattooed individuals scattered across this city as well! I think my tattoo is simple enough that people won’t judge it very much, and if they do, I wouldn’t know what they would really say about it anyway. The three band tattoo sitting on my right bicep pays homage to Native American styles of tattooing. One that places special emphasis on lines. The three lines represent each member of my family: mom, dad, and brother. I would assume no one would really know this by looking at it, which is nice. I think it also looks really aesthetically pleasing, which is a good reason to get a tattoo too if you like it!

A Wide Angle View

Tattoos are generally scrutinized as a categorization, one that links criminal or suspicious looking citizens into a group as a whole, unfavored by most of society. However, tattoos also can mean a plethora of different things. In this case, tattoos as a form of historical art are a form of self-expression, and continue to act as a visual culture to all those who love and adorn them.

Tattoos, in a historical sense, were meant to mark tribe members with important symbols to shine light upon them as special group members. This could mean adorning the leader of the tribe with the most detailed and beautiful ink, or even to brand criminals as those who need to be taken note of and feared.

The economy behind tattoos as a form of art has grown tremendously throughout the past decade, from being labeled as an illegal act in the state of Massachusetts previously to be a bustering new business in the city of San Francisco, where tattoo shops are in full demand. While tattoos before looked simply like a way to brand those who broke the law, there now is a whole new meaning to the act of tattooing itself, one could look at it in a whole sense as a form of resistance against society, but on a more personal sense––as a form of belonging, one that allows us to express ourselves, but also be a sort of rite-of-passage to those who are old enough to get it done legally.

I for one, felt like I was breaking the stereotype culture of Asian women as submissive and obedient when I went into Black & Blue Tattoo in San Francisco to adorn myself with new ink. I got 3 bands done around the bicep of my right arm, in thus paying homage to the Native American tribal style of tattooing, one dating back to as far as 2000 BCE. This style of tattooing was prominent when the natives were tattooed, becoming a religious ritual, usually during war-time. The band style of tattooing was usually present to distinguish different tribes from each other.

To me, it meant personally to rid myself of the submissive stereotype but also be there to remind me of my family’s permanent impact on me, with 3 bands being for 3 family members––my mother, father, and brother. My parents at first, were not crazy about me getting tattooed. I thought to myself, that this was a choice for me to make. I loved the artistic side of tattooing, and wanted to be a collector, but was also afraid of all the prejudices society already has set up for me. Tattooed individuals are not looked at with the most equal and honest eye by society due to the general criminal stereotype. I think personally, with the general introduction of good-mannered, kind-hearted individuals with tattoos being present in society, there will be at least a small shift in the perspective of those who still view tattooing as a negative categorization of criminals, with my existence being as useful as possible.

So what does this all have to do with labeling and resistance?

I feel as though these two aspects of tattooing go hand in hand with each other. Tattoos, on one side are a form of categorization. Those who are tattooed are lumped together as a group, judged collectively in a lot of time bad ways, and are stereotyped as a group accordingly. At the same time, the idea that tattooed individuals are looked as a group has its perks as well. I mentioned earlier that when I meet a fellow tattooed individual, I feel a little more connected to this person, even if I don’t know them personally. This is because I feel as though the person also experiences the same judgements placed upon them by society as me, and because of that we can be empathetic towards each other. Likewise, when we are grouped together as a collective, I feel as though we can resist the stereotype together, not while acting as a group, but changing people’s of tattoos on an individual scale, making it better for the group in general.

Tattooing as a group can be seen as a special thing to help individuals relate and understand each other. While we can be judged harshly as a group, the same group is able to help each other feel and understand each other’s feelings and experiences, which I deeply appreciate. Knowing the stereotype for tattooed individuals and then taking heed this information and changing it by not being the stereotypical “criminal,” or “suspicious,” person will make our group look less daunting as a community. These little steps to resist the stereotype together are what I think can be considered as a new way to interpret the verb, “tattooing,” and “labeling,” Labeling our group as a whole may mean categorization, but it also is a means to help our group come together and resist together.

There is this mutual experience with tattooed individuals about the dilemma about openly showcasing your tattoos. We bond as a group when we know the annoyingness of people who intrusively come up to you to touch your skin or ask you what your tattoo means. We have this silent agreement in the tattooing community that those who come up to you musn’t be intrusive, disruptive, or too invasive to you as they see you. If they do, it’s fine for you to ignore their interaction if you wish. I feel that this is true, and some people don’t have respect for others space when they try to inquire knowledge about another person’s body modifications. This is a way for the group of tattooed individuals to understand each other.

The visual culture surrounding tattoos gives a whole new meaning to the practice now, than it did before. Before, labeling could be seen as a harsh way to judge a tattooed person, instilling upon them stereotypes that they didn’t ask for that may not accurately depict them. Nowadays, tattooed individuals are now in a community that expresses new principles. The tattooed community focuses on the sharing of visual culture through self expression. Tattoos are meant to portray an artist’s best work that also physically symbolizes something a person values, loves, or wants to remember, all in the form of ink.

In tattooed culture, it is wrong to copy another artist’s work, stroke for stroke. There is however, welcoming attitudes to inspiration from another artist, but it is the new artist’s responsibility to make the new piece unique and in a style individually connected to them, therefore keeping the work’s integrity. It is also a very important point to remember that “tattoos are not for today, they are for forever.” This rings true to those individuals who knock down a couple of drinks in a sitting and want to get inked. Artists refuse to ink these people, one because they are making a decision without being sober and therefore have impaired judgement, and two because alcohol thins the blood, making the individual bleed more during the tattooing process, which is dangerous.

There are a couple of conflicts in the community, however, about certain things. A lot of artists scoff at trendy tattoos, while others don’t really care enough for them to reject them outright. This is true for trendy tattoos like: native American dreamcatchers, feather tattoos, infinity signs, Chinese characters, etc. These trendy tattoos can sometimes be harshly judged in the community when an artist refuses to do them, a lot of the reason because society doesn’t respect tattoos that are cultural appropriation, which they shouldn’t be anyway. Those who get tattoos that appropriate another individual’s culture usually make fools of themselves, this is because they usually don’t get the right word they were trying to communicate tattooed. I remember watching a YouTube video on Chinese character tattoos where one individual thought it mean, “bravery,” but when they showed it to their Chinese friend they soon learned that it meant “refrigerator,” which I thought was both humorous and tragic...humorously tragic. On this kind plane, it is easy to see why some people don’t respect tattooing. If you are going to get another culture’s language permanently etched into your body, why not go through some research to get the write meaning instead of making yourself look like a fool? This creates a negative image on those who get tattoos in general.

There is also a firm understanding in the culture that novices should not tattoo professionally. This is because homemade tattoos give professionally done tattoos a bad rep, and make tattoos look bad, or “trashy,” and not respectable. Novices are supposed to learn from professionals by being “apprentices,” and must be recommended and backed by a professional typically to get a permanent position in a tattooing group. There is a special gripe in the community about “tattooing schools,” that artist are insulted by. Tattooing schools serve to simply turn tattooing into a monetized means of production. That is, those who want to start tattooing others to make money can just apply for some generalized class to start their new career. This is dangerous to those who perfected their art and have taken special time to develop their own sense of style, go through hoops to secure a shop, and have learned through the help of fellow tattooed artists. Going to a school for tattooing that doesn’t really care about your work or you individually as a person is a joke to the tattooing community. You can see this easily by reading up posts about “tattooing schools,” on your own.

The fact that there is rules in this new community makes the whole thing so much more special. You can easily see the form of resistance to the stereotypical ideas of tattooing and strip away the previous label placed upon it. The tattooing culture has grown so large that those who love the culture have made strong rules to live by to practice integrity, respect, and mutual understanding of each other. To follow these rules means that you are giving tattoos a new label, one that can connote respect, sensibility, and cultural awareness.

Tattoos as a form of art, contrary to the belief of group categorization, are obviously a way to promote individuality. Many of us individuals who choose to get tattooed look for unique artforms to get adorned onto our bodies. Because of this, you can see in the tattooing world that often tattoos are not repeated exactly as they are, not only because copying another artist’s work is wrong in tattooing culture, but because you usually want a unique piece.

Snake tattoos are common in tattooing culture. Why would anyone get a tattoo of a snake, you might ask? This is a time for me to give you some cultural awareness of tattooing culture. Snakes can be interpreted as vile beings to be feared, but to some, they are beautiful. One point is that snakes have to do with religious texts, such like the inclusion of the snake in the story of Adam and Eve. Secondly, in some cultures, snakes represent healing and rebirth. When a snake sheds its skin and grows into something new, it is like it is being reborn, and healed again into something new. You wouldn’t have really thought about this if you didn’t get an explanation right? It does make sense.

Likewise, when people get tattoos of say, scary symbols such as skulls, this is sometimes an expression of their lack of fear to death. People who are not moved by death sometimes get skull tattoos because they accept that life has it’s unexpected turns and you should live it to its fullest potential. I see that skulls get a bad rep in tattooing culture because some people think it’s a tacky symbol, but it’s there in the traditions of tattooing for a reason.

People are nowadays also placing special emphasis on floral tattoo designs. I see that many individuals think that flowers are beautiful, so why not let them wear them in the form of permanent art? I too stand behind flowers being a beautiful thing to tattoo, and support this movement completely. I love it. The image of a flower is also less scary to people who don’t understand tattoo culture, and therefore can help resist the stereotype of scary tattooed people, one step at a time. I think this movement of including tattoos that aren’t super traditional helps us relabel the idea of tattoos as less of a way to label someone in a negative way, but allow people to think that some people just like the way things look and want to wear them permananently.

So how does this affect me on a more personal scale?

For instance, I noticed you wrote at length about 'labeling' - how others label you, how you sought to relabel yourself, how tattoos can be a way of (re)-labeling, and also how you seek to escape labels entirely.

When I started growing up and noticing the realities of life, I noticed that everyone around me will judge me without my consent, no matter if I like it or not. This is not necessarily a reflection of who they are as people, although it can be, but I think is a simple and integral part of what makes us human. With this being said, I remember in high school sulking and being hurt over the bullying I incurred do to my taste in hair color. I routinely mocked by constant whispers around me when I came into class, and I especially remember those who called me names such as, “Crayola,” and “carrot-head.” While my classmates at school chose to judge me on that part of myself I chose to reveal, I noticed that some individuals who judged me prior decided to still try to be my friend and therefore try to get to know me. My best friend to this day was one of the individuals who thought my hair made me “odd,” and somewhat unapproachable even, but she chose to disregard that for the most part to get to know me personally. Through this, she was able to understand who am as a person and discard her previous idea of me. I want to work this way continuously to escape labels entirely, person by person.

To convert my parents to my side, I first started to warm them up to the idea of me getting a tattoo by slowly hinting at it, and showing them designs that I liked. They didn’t believe me at first, because to them, it was such a preposterous idea. No one in my family has a single tattoo. It is not spoken about, ever, and no one has dared or desired to get one either. I think in Vietnam at least, tattoos are not popular at all, and are simply a part of the idea of a typical street-gang member or institutionally jailed individual. Because of this, my parents weren’t keen on me also “branding” myself and making a choice that I could possibly regret my entire life. Sure enough, I realized that they were going to react this way, and chose to try to educate them instead of permanently resist and do what I want. I started out by telling them how common tattoos are nowadays and noting what percentage of my classmates had big and small tattoos, and also showing them multiple Instagram pages of tattoos, so that they would see how wildly common they are. I also let them know that employers nowadays are more understanding of body art, if it is in moderation. At the end of the day, they just wanted me to be comfortable in my own skin and not bullied or mistreated for being a certain way. I understood this and assured them that this was my dream, and if it would help, I’d get it in an easily hidden place, just in case.

Sure enough, everything ended up alright. I guess my parents are more understanding than others, but I’m glad I was able to convince them from downright rejecting it and saying no, to giving me their blessing, as long as I do my research and get it done at a reputable shop. My extended family however, is a different story. I haven’t gone out of my way to show my tattoo to other family members, who I don’t know as personally, and who I feel won’t choose to accept me in a positive way. I am still taking my chances with these people, and choose to hide it, at least until I’ve gotten a secure job in the outside world. I know that I cannot convince everyone to see my side of the field, but I will continuously try to change people’s ideas of me personally by acting in a different way than they expect me to be.

I admit, to get to know people on a personal scale is extremely difficult. If I were to try to befriend everyone who judged me and get close enough to them where they would learn that I am not “weird,” in a bad way or odd, is too time-consuming, difficult, and honestly, just unrealistic. However, I do want to make it a point to come across to every individual I have an interaction with to change their opinion of me just a little bit, just enough to make me seem like less of a stereotypical person. I go about this in my everyday life, when I’m getting coffee, when I meet a classmate for the first time, etc. At the beginning of a relationship, I usually try to escape from labels by firstly, covering my tattoo. This may seem backwards because I shouldn’t be hiding it, but I find that it is a strength of mine if I can allow myself to be known first, as a non-tattooed individual, and then later, reveal it, to not make it as big of a deal as it usually would be if they just met me for the first time and saw it.

I have this dream that someday people who are tattooed will slowly change the minds of others who think tattoos are are indicator of a person with low morals, etc. I honestly think that this can be accomplished on a small scale, one step at a time. I know that it may take years and years to get to this point, but I feel that if we slowly show others that we are normal, loving, caring, understanding, feeling people like themselves, people will slowly understand

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