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thebisexualwreckoning · 1 year ago

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Assorted thoughts on culture, generational trauma, racism, queerness and where they intersect for me

My family is from Bangladesh. Or they used to be. All of my great-grandparents were born there. At least 3 of my grandparents were born there as well. My mother travelled there on the back of trucks transporting hay. The town, practically the village, my father grew up in, is in Bangladesh.

There's this story my mother tells me. When I was around three years old, we were in a Bengali restaurant in New York and I was so happy to meet fellow Bengalis that I immediately started to speak Sylheti. They gave us a discount for that. called me Khuki and told my parents how nice it was to speak in the language of their home with someone once again.

Another time, another restaurant. This one is in London. I'm not three anymore. I don't speak Sylheti anymore either. They say I forgot because I had no one to speak it with. I don't even speak proper Bangla. It's now Bengali with a dash of Hindi. This time when we enter the restaurant, I don't approach the servers. They approach us and say how nice it is to find a fellow Bengali in the wild. We complain about how we're tired of white people food. My mother wishes she had macher jhol. The servers tell her to wait and bring out a plate of their own dinner. She cries as she eats it. Tears of joy and solidarity.

I'm twelve years old and for the first time, I decide to relearn my culture. I join a summer class, pencil in hand, ready to learn how to read and write all over again. I want to read my mother's magazines, the Feluda comics that she read out loud to me as a child. It paid off, but not in the way I expected, my mother fighting with my father, grabbing hold of my hand two days later as we boarded the aeroplane back to her father's house.

I'm 13 years old, on anti-depressants that I forgot to take some days, neurodivergence diagnosed, and learning more about myself each and every day. I come out as bisexual to my mom but do not tell her about my genderfluidity. Afraid of what she'll think when the daughter she always desired turns out to not be her daughter at all. We call my brother in Canada. He tells us about the people who shout slurs at him in the metro. We do not tell him that we are afraid that someday the slurs will turn into bullet wounds.

I'm fourteen years old, and my father's come to visit. It's his birthday so we travel to his parents' house. more than 4 hours away from ours. They greet us with barbed wire words on my grades, my brother's weight, my mother's inability to be a good wife. We smile through it all. I wonder how they can be so cruel. The people who cared for me when I was a child. The woman who named me now my worst enemy.

I'm fifteen years old now. My Bangla is clearer. Sharp vowels and clear consonants. It will never be rounded syllables of my childhood ever again. I learn of the Bengal partition in school. Learn how people killed each other in the name of freedom. I want to scream, "Amra shobai ek." We are all the same. We share the same culture, the same language but in different dialects, the same history. Stop killing, please. I'm tired of the violence and hatred, I say. This war started before I was born, will it continue after I'm dead as well?

I gathered the courage to google LGBTQ+ laws in Bangladesh today. And I realised something. I love my culture. I love my roots. I love this language, my ancestors, and every family member, even though sometimes I feel like there are too many to count. But I do not love what they have made of it. I saw the words splashed across the newspaper headlines, Anti - Queer laws still in place, Being gay is punishable with a life sentence in prison, a gay man is stoned to death in public and no one does anything to stop it. I do not cry. I've been doing nothing but crying for too long now.

Instead, I'm writing this. I'm writing this to tell everyone that it isn't over. I'm writing this to tell everyone that if I'd been born 413 km to the west exactly, I wouldn't be alive to write this post right now. I'm writing this because I am tired of our stories going untold, buried under layers of propaganda and zealotry. I'm writing this because people think my being Hindu, my being Indian, my being Bengali means that I cannot be queer.

Well sorry to prove you wrong. Because I'm still here. And I'm still kicking. And as long as I'm alive, I'm not going to stop. Neither will the thousands of others like me, telling their stories in a thousand different ways, fighting for their people in a thousand different ways.

So this one is for those still kicking.

We're Here

We're Queer

And we're ready to fucking fight.

#listen I was angry #so i made this #it probably makes no sense to anyone but me #but like that's fine #if i'm the only perosn who needs this #then at least I have it #but if you needed it to #that's fine as well #even if you don't relate to everything #because im probably the only person who'll ever relate to everything here #because im the only person who lived them #writers of tumblr #personal essay #writerblr #spilled ink #kismet ki kahaniya

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alloftheimaginess · 4 years ago

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Wired Autocomplete

Other parts

Jared Padalecki

Alexander Calvert

Jensen Ackles

Ys = Your sign aka your zodiac sign

Bd = Birthday

Ht = Hometown

Sn = Sister’s name

Yh = Your height

"Hi I'm Yn Collins and this is my Wired autocomplete interview" I say smiling and I get thrown a card and I hold it up.

"Is Yn Collins" I say pausing.

"Dumb?" I say laughing and I pull the first one back.

"Is Yn Collins going to comic con" I read and I look up.

"Actually yes I am you can catch me there everyday, I'll be at the Supernatural panel when I'm not at my own so if you weren't able to meet me at mine you might be lucky and meet me at my husbands" I say looking back at the board.

"Is Yn Collins" I read pulling it back "adopted" I say looking up and I nod.

"I get this a lot so I'll explain here so people can continue to ask later down the road" I say laughing

"So my parents split up when I was 4 and my dad remarried my stepmom and she adopted me like made me legally hers and then my dad divorced her and went to jail so then I stayed with her and she remarried and she's legally my mom because she adopted me and her husband who I consider my only father is her husband" I say laughing explaining it the best I can.

"Is Yn Collins a" I say and I pull it back "a Ys" I read.

"Yes I am. I was born Bd" I say moving on, making it the shortest response.

"Is Yn Collins" I read and I start laughing "these make me nervous" I say laughing "Volt. Oh yeah, it's a character that I play in the marvel franchise. She started off bad but not really bad just misunderstood" I say nodding and I pull back the last one.

"Why is Yn Collins famous" I read "It all happened when I decided to audition when I was 7 and my husband" I say smirking "I'm just kidding not because of him" I say throwing the card getting another one.

"Where did Yn Collins" I read pulling it back "grow up" I read "I grew up in a million places lol, my dad was in the military so we moved often. I can name 9 places I lived. But before all that I grew up in H/t" I say.

"Who are Yn Collins siblings" I read. "I know you guys only googled this to see if Lily Collins would pop up which she didn't, we played adopted siblings in a movie and because of our chemistry and names everyone assumed we were actually siblings. But to answer this question I'm the oldest of four who's last names aren't Collins because that's my husbands last name" I say laughing, pulling the last one.

"Was Yn Collins" I read pulling it back "on glee" I read laughing.

"I also get this question often. That was my little sister Sn, we look super similar so at one point everyone struggled to tell us apart but yes she was the one on glee not me" I say.

"Does Yn Collins sing" I read "yes all the time. Who doesn't sing" I say laughing.

"Honestly at this point in my life I never stop singing" I say looking up at the camera.

"Misha tells me to shut up all time, I'm a nervous singer so when I'm anxious or nervous I hum, sing all of that" I say laughing.

"Did Yn Collins and Chris Evans date" I read "no, we just hang out like a lot. We've been making movies together since I was like 14 so he's just my best friend" I say laughing playing with the last cover.

"Did Yn Collins get married" I read laughing. "Yes that's why I'm called Collins" I answer. "Is this actually a question people google enough for it to pop up?" I ask shaking my head. "But yes I did my husband is Misha Collins. He's this really hot guy who plays an angel named Castiel on supernatural" I say pointing to the camera.

I throw the card and I catch the one that gets thrown to me and the first one has my avengers character name on it and I laugh. "Who is Audrey Patterson aka volt" I read "Aubrey Patterson is a woman who grew up in the south until she got her powers when she was just a wee tween and she was shipped away to live with her grandparents in New York" I say looking at the card.

"Is Aubrey Patterson and Sam Wilson friends in real life" I read "Mackie is my guy, when I first came onto the Captain America scene he was the first person who I hadn't met before to welcome me with opened arms" I say.

"Is Aubrey Patterson" I read and when I pull the tab back it pulls off the words "I guess we'll never know" I say laughing.

"Is Aubrey Patterson the youngest in the Captain America movies" I read "yes I am" I say laughing and I toss the board to the side.

"I'm almost done and I'm sad, I never want this to end I want to answer google questions all day" I say grabbing the board "can Yn Collins speak any other languages" I read.

"Three and a half" I say.

"Can you say something in all of the languages you know?"

"Yeah of course" I say nodding.

"Bonjour je suis avec câblé aujourd'hui" I say.

"Ik zal je vragen beantwoorden" I say raising a brow trying to see if I said that right.

"Don't come after me Dutch fans I'm sorry I'm still learning it's the half language I know" I say.

"Ich bin buchstäblich ein offenes Buch" I say smiling at the camera.

"Začnime" I say.

"What did you just say?" He asks.

"I said hello I'm with wired today and I will answer all of your questions, I'm an open book so let's begin" I say holding the bird back up.

"Is Yn Collins one of the best actresses of our generation" I read "literally I don't even know if I can properly answer that because naturally I'm going to say no because I work with a lot of amazing women so no" I say moving on.

"Who does Yn Collins look like?" I read "hmm, my sister like I said, my ten year old but she looks more like Misha than she looks like me but that counts. But definitely my eight year old son, he looks dead on me and my twins" I say smiling at the camera.

"What are Yn and Misha Collins" I read pulling it back. "kids names" I say.

"My oldest is Elodie, my second oldest is named after his dad so Dmitri, then the twins Maren and Mavis and then my youngest Farren" I say smiling at the camera because any time I can talk about my kids I'm in heaven.

"Is Yn Collins an alumna" I read "yes I am, I graduated from New York school of arts" I say.

"How tall is Yn Collins" I read "good question" I say laughing "I want to say about Y/H, in that area, just about" I say looking at the next one.

"How did Yn meet Misha" I read "aww" I say smiling "I love talking it about this a lot more than I actually should" I say.

"The year was 2009 and I was at comic con for Avatar" I say.

"He was there for his first comic con ever and we were next door neighbors and I got locked out of my room and my purse and everything were in there and I couldn't get a copy of my room key without my identification so I knocked on his door and the most attractive man I've ever seen opens the door in just a towel and I'm like lost for words at first and then he let's me in and enter through his room and we talked and hung out that whole weekend and 9 months I had Elodie" I say giggling.

"How long have Yn and Misha Collins been married" I read "nine years, we got married after Elodie turned one. Almost ten years" I say smiling at the camera.

"Is Alex Calvert Yn and Misha's kid?" I read laughing.

"How old do you guys think I am?" I ask laughing even harder.

"Also that would make no sense for obvious reasons but to answer your question no Alex is not either of our kid, separate, together, adopted" I say giggling.

"His wife is actually one of Misha and I's best friends, we've known her since she was like 14" I say.

"She actually named their first kid after Misha and he let's that go to his head because he has two people named after him" I say laughing.

"Is Yn Collins closer to Jared or Jensen's wife" I read.

"I'm super close to both and I love them to pieces but I do hang out with Jensen's wife more, we always go to lunch whenever we're together, and we always ride with each other to the airport when Jensen and Misha fly in together so I guess I'll just say her because we hang out more" I say shrugging.

"But like I said I love them both so much and equally" I say.

"Is Yn Collins pregnant" I read and I start laughing "you guys are good. But yes I am, 20 weeks today. We just announced it before I came in today so" I say throwing the card.

"I'm Yn Collins and this has been my Wired autocomplete Interview" I say smiling at the camera and blowing a kiss.

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scotianostra · 4 years ago

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The Scottish actor Russell Hunter was born 18th February 1925 in Glasgow.

Born Russel Ellis, his childhood was spent with his maternal grandparents in Lanarkshire, until returning to his unemployed father and cleaner mother when he was 12. He went from school to an apprenticeship in a Clydebank shipyard. During this time, he did some amateur acting for the Young Communist League before turning professional in 1946.

He was with the left wing Unity theatre, and due to appear in The Plough And The Stars at the first Edinburgh Festival in 1947. At the last moment, the Arts Council withdrew funding - but the show had to go on. It therefore became part of the inaugural Edinburgh Festival Fringe, and the posters were altered from "Sponsored by the Scottish committee of the Arts Council" to read "Eliminated by ... "

Hunter worked in repertory theatre and Scottish variety before making his film debut in Lilli Marlene (1950). He appeared with Archie Duncan in The Gorbals Story, which was a major London success the same year. Rarely without work, he was particularly thrilled to join Peter Hall's Royal Shakespeare Company, and loved working with Peggy Ashcroft and Dame Edith Evans. Particularly suited to clown roles, he treasured a review by the Sunday Times's Harold Hobson, who wrote that he had "never seen such a lovely little Bottom".

Of course with his comic style Russell was well suited to the Panto circuit and appeared in numerous performances, many with his wife, the Scottish actress Una MacLean, herself a great actor and comedian.

The role of Lonely - the dirty, unkempt character in Callan made Hunter a household name, and he would remain recognised by the public for that part for the rest of his life, the show ran for five years from 1967 till 1972, and I have a vague memory of the show, but only the opening titles, which if I recall was a swaying naked light bulb, I was only 5 when it ended and would normally have been in my bed by the time it was aired, which I guess would have been 9pm.

Russell’s bread and butter was Scottish Theatre and he was rarely without work and though in the advanced stages of cancer, Hunter's last theatrical stint was in the Reginald Rose play 12 Angry Men back where it all started at The Edinburgh Fringe in 2003, he also appeared in the romantic comedy, American Cousins that year, playing an Italian grandfather in a Glasgow chip shop.

Hunter passed away in Edinburgh's Western General Hospital on February 26th 2004.

A wee bit trivia to wrap up this post up, Peter Jackson is said to have remembered the series Callan from his youth and used Hunter's portrayal of Lonely as the model for the look of Gollum, with the bug eyes, the thin wavering lips, and the snivelling personality, I don't know how much credence to give this but they do look similar!

#Scotland #scottish #actor #history

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ask-the-childhood-friends · 4 years ago

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Hello and welcome to Ask The Childhood Friends. This is an AU created around my oc Yuna Miyamoto. This is made purely for the fun of having an ask blog. I have a few rules about the ask blog, but I’ll post them below. I will also post some info below about Yuna so there is some backstory on her. I just want to state that I do not own My Hero Academia, the only thing I own is my oc Yuna and the art I create. This is not a comic, just an ask blog. I will make some art with asks, but not always since it does take me some time to make the art.

Now for the rules. These are some simple rules to follow and if you don’t follow them I will delete your ask. I am lenient with some rules, but not all.

1. Be respectful of me. I’m just one person and I’m only human.

2. Be patient with me. Like I said I’m the only one running this ask blog so please don’t rush me with things. If I don’t immediately answer your ask don’t think I’ve deleted or something, especially if I’m doing art for the ask.

3. Don’t ask spoiler type questions. Since this AU ask blog will be starting at the beginning of the show I don’t want questions about later stuff to come up. Also I don’t read the manga so my knowledge will be limited what’s been seen in the anime, if I get any fact wrong then just let me know. This also includes stuff about Yuna.

4. Keep questions to PG13 level, PG14 is fine but nothing 18+ or anything inappropriate. After all these characters are still underage so don’t ask things would be inappropriate for young teens to be asked.

5. Fanart of Yuna is fine as long as you credit her as my character.

6. Magical asks are okay, but nothing too extreme. Like you could magically give someone a cookie, but no forcing them to do things they’re uncomfortable with. They may be fictional characters, but treat them as if they were real people.

7. No rp asks. I only rp with certain people, they know who they are, and this isn’t an rp blog. So please don’t send in any rp asks.

8. Asking questions that’ll cause some angst is okay, but don’t just cause trauma to the characters. It’s no fun when there’s only angst.

9. Cursing is allowed, but don’t go overboard with it.

Those are all the rules for now, but I will add on if I have to. Now for some info on Yuna and how she fits into Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo’s lives.

Her name is Yuna Miyamoto. I actually had trouble figuring out a last name for her, but I eventually settled on Miyamoto.

She is older than Izuku, but younger than Katsuki.

She was born May 16th.

She is 5’6”.

Her quirk is called drain. It allows her to temporarily drain living things of life energy and the quirks of people, but she has to make skin contact for her quirk to work. There are some things she can do that she’s unaware that she can do.

The things she can do with her quirk is drain her own life energy and transfer it to someone else, she can release the energy or quirk she’s drained before the time it with naturally go back, and she can use the drained energy as a sort of like a sonar to locate other sources of energy (usually people) after releasing it into the ground.

Her quirk is also tied into her emotions.

Her quirk causes her body to reject healing quirks unless the healing quirks are healing minor injuries.

Both of her parents died when she was young and doesn’t know anything about them except for that they’re quirkless.

Her grandparents raised her until the age of 3, they were killed in front of Yuna.

After her grandparents death Yuna was put into foster care.

She developed her quirk at the age of 5.

She nearly killed a kid when her quirk developed, which developed while protecting some quirkless kids.

She ran away from her foster home after the incident.

She lived on the streets until she was 10, that’s when she was taken in by Hana Akomina (another Oc) and adopted by her.

She fears her own quirk and what it could potentially do.

Because she fears her quirk she has let her hair grow out as a way to keep people from making skin contact. She also wears gloves because of her quirk.

Originally was put in class 1b, but was transferred to 1a as a precaution and to keep an eye on her because of her quirk.

Here’s what she looks like her hair is flatter in this drawing than I usually draw it, but it’s whatever

Currently open for asks:

Yuna Miyamoto

Izuku Midoriya

Katsuki Bakugo

Mod Art

#my oc character #my oc #my hero academia #my hero academia au #asks open #my hero academia ask blog #au ask blog #mod art #my hero academia oc

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Back to the Future: The Real Johnny B. Goode Rocked Long Before Marty McFly

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Back to the Future is a classic comedy, one of the most popular films in motion picture history. Almost every laugh line lands with a perfectly executed punch. Every skateboard flip is a motion picture wonder. It’s one of those films which is broadly silly yet still has heart, and it’s a treasure of commercial cinema. But when Michael J. Fox’s Marty McFly straps on a cherry red Gibson ES-345 he plunders the golden oldies right out of the fingers of the true original. Ignore the bit where “Marvin Berry” calls his cousin on the phone. Chuck Berry didn’t just write “Johnny B. Goode,” he was Johnny B. Goode.

The song about the country boy who could play guitar like ringing a bell could have referred to any number of musicians, from Buddy Holly to Bo Diddley or Ricky Nelson. But the singer-songwriting guitarist who penned the line was born at 2520 Goode Avenue, in St. Louis.

Berry had already made his concession to white commercialism by changing the line “that little colored boy could play” to “that little country boy.” Oh my. But then for years, the Father of Rock and Roll watched the self-styled King of Rock and Roll, Elvis Presley, put his stamp on Berry’s signature. The royalties were sweet though for Berry, and the respect was mutual.

But the backhanded homage in the time-traveling 1985 comedy is really a cheap gag, and the joke is at the expense of Berry’s legacy.

“Long Distance information? Get Me Memphis, Tennesse”

“Chuck! Chuck, it’s Marvin, your cousin, Marvin Berry. You know that new sound you’re looking for?” the fictional bandleader yells into a pay phone at the 1955 Enchantment Under the Sea dance in Hill Valley, California. “Listen to this!”

We then hear the subtle sound of casual racial invalidation. Not only does the line denigrate Berry’s contribution to the architecture of rock and roll; it completely sidelines guitarist Carl Hogan who initiated the opening guitar phrasing on Louis Jordan’s 1946 pre-rock and roll song “Ain’t That Just Like a Woman.” Think, McFly. Think!

Michael J. Fox already has a perfectly winning comic ending to the now-iconic scene: when his fingers stretch back to the future, and he channels Eddie Van Halen on the guitar, even the kids at the 1950s dance think he should act his age. So why does director and co-screenwriter Robert Zemeckis feel the need to shit on Chuck Berry with such a disposable throw-away gag? It is even more insulting when you take into consideration who Berry had to sue over the course of his career for stealing his riffs.

Indicative of a long-standing music industry tradition, the two biggest names in white rock and roll, the Beatles and the Beach Boys, had to cough up to the pioneering artist after infringing on his copyrights. Berry sued to get his name on the Beach Boys’ hit “Surfin’ USA” while John Lennon agreed to cover two songs owned by Berry’s publisher in exchange for copping lines from “You Can’t Catch Me” for the song “Come Together.”

But Lennon still declared “If you tried to give rock and roll another name, you might call it ‘Chuck Berry,’” when he introduced him on The Mike Douglas Show in 1972. “In the 1950s, a whole generation worshipped his music, and when you see him today, past and present all come together, and the message is Hail, Hail Rock and Roll.’”

He Could Play a Guitar Just Like a-Ringin’ a Bell

Berry was the first-ever Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee, and in the same class as James Brown, Ray Charles, Fats Domino, the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Presley. With songs like “Maybellene,” “Roll Over Beethoven,” “Little Queenie,” “Havana Moon,” “Wee Wee Hours,” “Rock and Roll Music,” and “Sweet Little 16,” Berry scored the soundtrack to the 1950s.

Berry didn’t invent rock and roll. Ike Turner is credited with that for his 1951 song, “Rocket 88.” Berry recorded his first hit “Maybellene” in 1955 at Chicago’s Chess Studios, the home of the blues. Berry sped up the blues to a country thump and let his fingers do to guitar strings what lips did to horns.

Berry made rock and roll fun, funny, and subtly rebellious. The teenager in “You Can’t Catch Me” is motorvating away from the cops. His “Brown Eyed Handsome Man” hit a home run with color coded racial pride. The artist who was glad, so glad, he was “living in the U.S.A.” (in the song “Back in the U.S.A.”) was barred from many of the things he found so wondrous in this country to sing about.

Almost Grown

Charles Edward Anderson Berry was born on Oct. 18, 1926. His St. Louis neighborhood, “The Ville,” was segregated. His great-grandparents were slaves. In 1944, Berry was arrested for driving along in an automobile he carjacked at gunpoint after robbing three stores in Kansas City. He did a three-year stint in reform school.

Berry began playing music professionally when he was in his mid-20s, sitting in with local bands like piano player Johnnie Johnson’s group, Sir John’s Trio. Blues icon Muddy Waters suggested Berry bring his songs to Chess Records where Howlin’ Wolf, the Moonglows, and Big Bill Broonzy were recording sides. Label owner Leonard Chess had a good feeling about the song “Ida Red.”

Movies

The History of Back to the Future Began With a High School Yearbook

By Chris Cummins

Movies

The United States vs. Billie Holiday: The Federal Bureau of Narcotics Was Formed to Kill Jazz

By Tony Sokol

Berry renamed the song “Maybellene” when he recorded it on May 21, 1955. It was Berry’s first nationwide hit. He was 28. Willie Dixon was on bass, Johnnie Johnson played piano, Jerome Green shook maracas, and Ebby Hardy beat the drums. Alan Freed and Russ Fratto didn’t do anything for the song, but their names are on the credits as co-songwriters. They effectively collected royalties for teaching Berry a valuable lesson.

Chuck Berry wrote all the songs on his first album, After School Session, which was released in May 1957. It was the same for his next two albums. Berry didn’t include any covers on his albums at all until his fourth album, Rockin’ at the Hops, released in July 1960. Berry starred in some of Alan Freed’s jukebox movies like Rock Rock Rock!, Mister Rock and Roll, and Go, Johnny, Go! He also appeared in Jazz on a Summer’s Day, a 1959 documentary about the Newport Jazz Festival.

“No Need to Be Complainin’, My Objections Overruled”

Berry was arrested in St. Louis, Missouri, in December 1959 for transporting Janice Norine Escalan, a 14-year-old hatcheck girl at Club Bandstand in Juarez, Mexico, across state lines for “immoral purposes.” He was charged under the Mann Act. Berry argued he was offering legitimate employment. An all-male, all-white jury found him guilty on March 11, 1960. Berry appealed, but the conviction was upheld at a 1961 trial. Berry was sentenced to three years. He served 18 months and was released from prison in 1964.

Berry’s career never quite took off again. He had some hits in 1964 and 1965, “Nadine,” “No Particular Place to Go,” “You Never Can Tell,” and “Promised Land.” He was one of the artists in the 1964 concert film The TAMI Show. Berry’s last number 1 hit, “My Ding-a-Ling,” was recorded live in London in 1972 for The London Chuck Berry Sessions album.

Berry never stopped playing live. He traveled with only his guitar and a briefcase for his money, and would grab local bar bands to back him when he hit town. Everyone knew Chuck Berry songs. Simple, three-chord pangs to teenage love, cars and safety belts. Bandleaders like Bruce Springsteen and Steve Miller eagerly lent their fingers and bands to the light traveling guitar player. Most groups were thrilled to get the chance to play for a legend when they weren’t harangued for bending a string too far on an intro. Not even Keith Richards got away with that, just watch the rehearsal portion of the 1987 documentary Hail! Rock ‘n’ Roll.

The Rolling Stones’ guitarist had already been brought in as a surprise backing player for a 1972 Los Angeles show where he was kicked off the stage for setting his amp too loud. Berry would also give Richards a black eye for touching his guitar after a New York City show a decade later. Richards’ early guitar work is modeled on Berry’s style. The Stones covered “Carol,” “Around and Around” and “You Can’t Catch Me.” Richards inducted Berry into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1986.

Back to the Future is really just a light, inoffensive, time-bending screwball comedy, and Berry has been the butt of far worse jokes. Spy magazine alleged Berry secretly filmed women in bathrooms. In January 1990, High Society claimed to be “the only magazine with the balls to show Chuck’s berries,” when it published photos of him posing nude with different women.

So when you read an article about Berry recalling the incident where the white kid played “Johnny B. Goode,” remember: it ran in The Onion. Chuck Berry could be accused of a lot of things, but he was an original.

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The post Back to the Future: The Real Johnny B. Goode Rocked Long Before Marty McFly appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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nightcityhqs · 4 years ago

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case file ; Maddox Kingsley

nicknames ; None.

associations ; The Entertainers

occupation ; Host of the Sunset Frequency, Owner of Persephone's Den.

birthdate ; November 22th, 1980

hometown ; London, England

current location ; Downtown

pronouns ; She/Her

mirror image ; Charlize Theron

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW

the record stops, the player tape states, and the radio static is replaced with voices;

— And our dear listeners are eager to know, how long have you been in Sunset Port? — Most importantly, why do you stay?

"You know, I'm normally the one doing the questions," Maddox says, accent heavy on her tongue, blowing the smoke from her cigarette away as she watches her assistant tug on the collar of his shirt, visibly uncomfortable. She sighs, "I've been in Sunset Port for twelve years. Stuck in this studio for what? Eight years?" her accent is thick, and Maddox shifts on her seat, clearing her throat. "Why don't I leave? I think about doing it, often. But I made a home for myself here, despite how dull the city can be. And if I leave, who will be the joyful company for our dear listeners every night?"

Of course! We can all identify with the sentiment. Well, at least some of us. [LAUGHTER] What do you do in Sunset Port?

A brow is raised, and Maddox groans, half annoyed and half offended. "Is that how I sound when reading those questions? This script is badly made, you know! Who is responsible for this? They should — What? I wrote it?" There's silence, before a tongue is clicking against the roof of her mouth. "Ah. Well, I should rewrite it, then. Well — Isn't it quite obvious?" She leans forward, mouth close to the microphone and voice low and dark, full of mysteries as she repeats the well known quote, "Good evening, Sunset Port. You've tuned in the Sunset Frequency, 66.6. And I will be your company for the night. Here all night, every night."

Admirable! Now, I’d have left this question last to finish with a bang, but our listener is impatient, oh my! Have you heard of our little organization?

Nothing but silence can be heard through the radio, long and uncomfortable. The cigarette burns as the fingers holding it tremble slightly, and Maddox sighs after some time, clearing her throat once more and taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Who hasn't?" The question escapes her lips with no emotion, no surprise. It's cold, and sharp as knives. "Why is that an important question?"

Oh my! — And if Isabella Castello came knocking at your door, what would you do?

Maddox chuckles, the absurdity of the questions finally catching up to her. "Well, darling, I would tell her to go fuck herself." Her assistant goes pale as a ghost, his next words barely leaving his lips.

Interesting. Well, I think I’ve kept you here long enough! Thank you for speaking with our public! Which song would you like me to play for you, now?

"Let’s put something inspiring for our dear listeners, huh? How about The Other Side, by Woodkid."

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warnings; Violence, Murder, Guns, Drugs, Serial Killers Mention

Maddox Kingsley understands enough of human nature to perceive her morals; nor black nor white, but shades of grey. Most are darker than others, more prominent. Some are hardly noticeable, but the danger is still unmistakable. In hindsight, it should be said her morals are questionable, simply put. There is no wrong or right, for Maddox. Sides are of little importance, as the only side she cares for is her own. A selfish little thing, with only her well-being in mind; she doesn't partake in any activities if she is not gaining something out of it. Maddox is easily buyable, and that's where the trouble resides; her loyalty is not worth a penny, at the end of the day — Not if someone pays better for it. Betrayal is part of Maddox's nature; it's in her blood, her instinct. Not born with her, but shoved in her bones, carved into the space where her heart should've been. Survival had been the first thing Maddox Kingsley learned, forced into her veins by unpredictable events and painfully drastic circumstances —

You see, Maddox Kingsley had not been planned by loving parents intending to start a family. She had not been imagined, had no one who had longed for her — who had dreamed of her. No. Maddox is the outcome of a series of unpredictable events and terribly, comical if not painfully drastic, exaggerated misunderstandings. A tale so entangled in lies and achingly raw sorrow it is hardly possible to determine the truth. Few things were undoubtedly accurate, facts people embraced without question or suspicion. But the truth, not in its entirety for many pieces of the puzzle were in possession of wrathful and indignant people who would not abide Maddox's questioning, laid dormant and guarded within the confines of her mother's broken heart, hidden from those who found fondness in rumors. Her mother bore the harshness of words in a selfishly selfless act to shield her daughter, and herself. A deed meant to reassure Maddox of her devotion, and thus devotion would be given in return.

So Maddox knew she was not unloved, her mother’s love had been her only certainty amidst the turmoil, but she wasn't awaited.

At eighteen, Lucrecia Kingsley found herself aggravating her family's situation — once prominent but now sunk in a sea of disrepute and misery. Pregnant. Surprisingly, unseemly and in her father's perspective, undesired. To further his despair, orchestrating a marriage with the father would be improbable, as the man was to be engaged. Not to his daughter, thus saving the family from bankruptcy, but to a society lady. Maddox's mother was adamant about keeping her child, despite that her father threatened to disown her. Thankfully, the man she had slept with during a moment of intoxication and hurt provided accommodations, given she allowed him to share the child with her, and she willingly accepted in a moment of desperation.

The first few years weren't cruel to Maddox. They were not particularly kind, by any means, but the child was shielded from harshness and ruthlessness during most of her first years. Her mother was young, inexperienced, fighting to overcome an essentially empty bank account — but the woman was loving, in a way her own mother had never been before. Maddox was attached to her, clinging to her mother's dresses whenever the woman had to leave for work or when Maddox's father arrived to pick her up for weekends each Friday night. Maddox's mother gave her as much care and comfort as she could, but the woman couldn't preserve her from the distant home her father dared take Maddox to every weekend.

A psychiatry student, Bertrand was a man none dared challenge in fear of his influence and authority. Rumors of Bertrand fabled cruelty were shared in hushed whispers by those brave enough to speak words considered blasphemy, but no eyes had ever witnessed such evil coming from the man's hand. Cold, yes, but not brutal. The man adored Maddox, pampering, and doting on her whenever they spent weekends together, but his family did not share the sentiment. Maddox never met her paternal grandparents, before.

She was young, barely 5, but her first memory is of that night.

Sat in the back of an ambulance, the police lights bright and vibrant amidst the darkness, Maddox hardly paid mind to the yells of an elder woman she had never met before, who was daring to disturb the ghostly silence plaguing the night. Her attention was solely on her father, his calm eyes staring at her through the car window. To this day, Maddox remembers the strangest feeling creating roots in her lungs at the sight of her father in the back of a police car, officers and agents crowding their house and invading their space.

Your father killed a bunch of people, the agent with kind eyes had informed her, and Maddox remembers how she struggled to speak the words - had to force each syllable and consonant out, her brain surely wondering how to best tell a young girl her beloved father was a killer — and that her mother would not be returning. Her blood continued to stain the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her father’s eyes never showed any sign of emotions — Maddox knows, now, if she was in the agent's shoes, she would’ve been struggling too.

When Maddox had been discharged from the hospital — an extraordinary child having survived the impossible — it was to the stern hands of nuns with kindness in their eyes, faintly. Taken to a countryside orphanage, Maddox Kingsley turned out to be a difficult case for the nuns and caretakers to restrain. It was to be expected, of course, with her father in jail and her mother murdered. But Maddox's refusal of cooperating, accepting the affections of candidate parents, and simply not speaking whatsoever — proved to be rather complicated. She went and came, a family never settling with her or accepting her into their folds, wishing for an easier child to love and support instead, and returning Maddox to the hands of desperate nuns had been Maddox growing years. Coupled with fights she would often get into with the other children, well — They couldn't do much for her.

It wasn't until Maddox turned twelve that a man with a prominent glare on his face and few words on his lip finally sealed the deal, taking Maddox in and signing the adoption papers when they were ready. Unusually quickly, but the orphanage was thankful for the money the man provided and to see Maddox finally with a 'family'. Little did they know the man was nothing of a father, but a mentor of sorts; an assassin, one with quick hands and light feet. Maddox kicked and screamed, but soon she fell into her new routine. The man did not care about the fights she picked in school, as long as she kept her head down and the attention on her to a minimum — and every day they trained. Trained until Maddox bones were sore and heavy, until her lungs ached in her ribcage, her ears ringing from the gunshot noises, and her arms burned from the weight of guns.

Maddox and the men held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. Maddox and the man held no affection for each other, traded few words, but he shaped her to be a merciless killer, one who could survive the dangers of this world and would not be bound to the grieves and disturbances a heart might cause. By then, she did not remember her mother by face, and tried not to think of the woman — choosing to guard the good memories in a dark place of her heart, a place where the sun doesn't shine and her blood-stained hands couldn't cause such joyful things to root. By eighteen, Maddox started taking her own jobs, and proved to be quite adept at it. She was never caught, and never left witness behind. Fighting came as easy to her as breathing, and Maddox paid no heed to pain. She was a machine, good as they come. By twenty-five, she was running in with a partner, a man she met during a job who was paid to kill another target in the same party she had a target. It wasn't a life she was proud of; running credit card scams, killing for money, and never settling down in one place — but it was the life she knew. The only thing she had been good at. Perhaps it is genetics. Perhaps she is as rotten as her father. Thoughts that kept her awake at night, knowing them to be true. Everything she touched died, just like him.

With her story and her past, it didn't take long for the Organization to contact her. They promised her the world for her skills, but it came with a price. She had to leave her partner behind, and kill a target that had been escaping the Organization grasps for some time. Maddox faked her own death, leaving London, and following the trail, she was given up to Bulgaria, where she found herself face to face with the man that had raised her, taught her. It wasn't an easy fight. But she came out victorious, and at first thing in the morning, was leaving on a plane to Sunset Port.

After that, guilt began to settle in her bones. She continued to do her job, but the taste of blood now left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, and when she turned 32, Maddox decided to leave this life behind. She couldn't, not fully, of course — one does not simply leave the Organization. But they offered her a retirement plan; take charge of the radio station, and be free to do as she wishes in her free time. She accepted it with no questions asked, and has been the radio host for the Sunset Frequency since then.

#nightcityhqs.characters #nightcityhqs.entertainers

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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IN-DEPTH: How The God of High School Revealed the True, Weird History of Taekwondo

If, like me, you found yourself yearning for some physical activity and breaks from the tedium of schoolwork as a kid, you might have found yourself wanting to learn some martial arts. Watching action stars like Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee, as well as anime, playing fighting games and more, left me with an interest in learning a martial art myself. I found myself at the door of a local Taekwondo school and was instantly hooked. Sadly, like many things, time and obligations got in the way and I had to give up my pursuit of martial arts, but I always found the subject interesting. When I started reading The God of High School, I was instantly hooked by the idea that Jin Mori used Taekwondo, but suddenly, I found myself questioning things: What did they mean, that there were multiple types of Taekwondo? Wasn’t all Taekwondo the same? What was “Renewal Taekwondo” and was it a real thing? The answer to that question is... sort of. Also: There are some light spoilers here! Be warned!

In The God of High School, the revelation that Jin practices “Renewal Taekwondo” serves as a shock to the cast, particularly the Judges and Park Mujin, as it reveals the fact that Jin’s grandfather, Jin Taejin, was not only still alive, but that he had passed on the incredibly powerful skills of Renewal Taekwondo to someone else. At this point in the anime, the reveal has played out far differently, although there’s no telling whether this might change as the anime progresses. We do know that Jin uses Renewal Taekwondo, but we don’t get the same backstory and discussion revolving around Jin’s grandfather, and the past regarding Taekwondo itself. In the WEBTOON series, Park Mujin reveals that “Renewal Taekwondo” was created by South Korean leaders following a defeat at the hands of North Korean “ITF” Taekwondo. And, suddenly, my childhood came back to me: I had learned “WT” Taekwondo, so what was “ITF?” Was it just something the web comic made up, like “Renewal Taekwondo?” As it turns out, this particular rabbit hole went a whole lot deeper, and weirder, than I ever imagined.

Perhaps the first, and most shocking, fact regarding Taekwondo is that it is less than 100 years old. Many historians agree there is some fluidity to a solid date, but as 4th Dan David Lo notes, Taekwondo likely began formally in 1955, when General Choi Hong-Hi named it after developing the first basic forms of the martial art. While many other popular martial arts, such as Karate, Tai Chi, or Kung-Fu often discuss their proud, long lineages, Taekwondo is often mistakenly assumed to be ancient; in fact, it is only perhaps somewhat related to Taekkyeon, which was nearly wiped out during Japanese occupation. After World War II, the Japanese occupation of Korea came to an end. During the occupation, Japan was particularly cruel to Koreans, suppressing their language, culture, and identity — extending this treatment to martial arts practitioners were forced to quit or go into hiding while Japanese Karate was taught instead. Taekwondo would come from the confluence of various martial arts, having more in common with Karate, mostly due to the violent banning of Korean culture.

Combining their knowledge with new techniques in Shotokan karate, Kung-Fu, and others, would begin to create schools, or “Kwans,” which would give rise to what we today recognize as Taekwondo. Scott Shaw, one of the eminent English authors and students of Taekwondo, explains the genealogy of the first 5, and subsequent 4, Kwans; these Kwans were fairly diverse, with nine divergent approaches and teachers developing their own takes on martial arts. In many cases, historians consider Song Moo Kwan the Kwan most responsible for eventual Taekwondo, with Byung Jik Ro called by some as the “father” of “modern” Taekwondo (more on that later) the original five Kwans — Song Moo Kwan, Chung Do Kwan, Moo Duk Kwan, Ji Do Kwan, and Chang Moo Kwan — were the birthplace of Taekwondo, but it would take another war, and social and cultural upheaval for Taekwondo to really emerge.

Song Moo Kwan and Chung Do Kwan were founded in 1944, with the other 5 founding Kwans appearing in the following 2 years. If we start Taekwondo’s timeline there, that means Taekwondo is only 76 years old (meaning there’s a good chance your grandparents might actually be older than Taekwondo!), but the “real” birth of Taekwondo would come a fair bit after these Kwans were founded. For that to happen, Korea would be forced into another protracted battle that would decide the course of its modern fate, and the dispersal of Taekwondo to the rest of the world: The Korean War.

Separating the country along the 38th parallel into what are today known as North Korea and South Korea, this civil war shaped Korea’s modern history in cataclysmic ways, separating family members, friends, and cultural identity. Like many aspects of Korean life, Taekwondo found itself straddling an uncomfortable and unclear line: The original Kwans were spread out across the Korean peninsula, with Song Moo Kwan being in what would now be North Korea. Following the Korean war, this would lead perhaps the most controversial figure in Taekwondo history to emerge: General Choi Hong Hi, the true “father” of Taekwondo.

Alex Gillis' A Killing Art reveals the life, warts and all, of General Choi. Born in 1918 in Hwa Dae (located in now North Korea), General Choi Hong Hi was sent to Japan by his father to study, ending up in the tutelage of Han Il Dong, a master of Taekkyeon, one of Korea’s oldest martial arts. Forced into military service by the Japanese, Choi would eventually find himself continuing to serve in the Korean military following the end of World War II and Japanese occupation, earning the title of major general in 1954 (and thus earning him both his title and nickname, “The general”).

Choi’s mastery of Taekkyeon and Shotokan karate led him to develop what he titled “Taekwon-Do,” or “foot, fist, art.” Choi is, as far as historians can tell, the first person to use the word “Taekwondo,” and rightfully seems to deserve the title. The controversy, however, comes from the disagreements between Choi (who, some authors note, was somewhat disagreeable and even deceptive) and other Kwan leaders and Taekwondo practitioners. This would lead to the eventual creation, and split, of Taekwondo into ITF and WT schools, among many other offshoots.

Whether Choi was or wasn’t a deceptive and deceitful person seems to be based on who you ask, and the most common perception of him was that he was complicated (as are we all). What authors and historians such as Lo, Gillis, Shaw, and others agree on is that without General Choi, there would be no Taekwondo, and the subsequent power struggle nearly destroyed, as Lo calls it, the “family” of Taekwondo. While it is perhaps more palatable to consider martial arts as monastic and scholarly, the reality is that they are practiced, created, and influenced by people, and Taekwondo’s somewhat ugly and public schism is a great reminder of this. Choi originally founded the ITF, or International Taekwon-Do Federation, in 1966; however, Choi’s attempts to control all aspects of Taekwon-Do, and the South Korean government’s insistence on “owning” Taekwondo, would create the split that saw Choi flee from Korea to Canada and South Korea creating the KTA (Korean Taekwondo Association), which would eventually give way to the World Taekwondo Federation (WTF, now known as WT), under the governing body of the Kukkiwon.

In the ITF version of this story, Choi simply decided to go “on tour” in 1959, before eventually creating the ITF in 1966. The WT version of the story is just as revisionist, claiming that Taekwondo has roots that supposedly go back 2000 years and that the WT was created in 1973 as the first governing body of Taekwondo. No mention of Choi or the ITF exists in the WT version of Taekwondo. Udo Moening, author of numerous papers about Taekwondo’s cultural and social significance, helps explain the disparity between these two stories by noting that Taekwondo is as much an object of political importance to the identity of Korea as it is a form of martial skill and discipline. Simply put, Moening argues, Taekwondo became a piece of the struggle for identity between South Korea and North Korea, and the eventual race to Olympic recognition would become a major victory in this battle for the WT and South Korea.

The schism in Taekwondo (or Taekwon-Do, in ITF’s usage) is perhaps even more interesting in the sense that one did not immediately replace the other; instead of the WT supplanting the ITF, the two schools of Taekwondo went about their own paths. Yet, Kukkiwon managed to obtain a significant victory over Choi and ITF Taekwondo: inclusion in the Olympics. In 1982, Kukkiwon was able to arrange a demonstration of Taekwondo for the IOC in 1988 and became an official event during the Asian Games in 1986. In 1994, Kukkiwon “won” the competition for Taekwondo legitimacy by being selected by the IOC as an official sport of the Olympics, joining Judo as the only other Asian martial art in the Olympic games, and debuting in the 2000 games in Australia.

Choi, however, had won in another way: his ITF Taekwondo spread across the world, and his somewhat ingenious method of sending Taekwondo “acolytes” to various places to form their own schools helped make Taekwondo popular and profitable. There are other forms of Taekwondo out there, including ATA (American Taekwondo Association), Jhoon Rhee Style, and the GTF (Global Taekwondo Federation), a split from ITF. Chuck Norris, during the height of his popularity in the '90s, even formed his own school that blended Tang Soo Do and Taekwondo called Chun Kuk Do!

While Choi was successful in spreading Taekwondo around the globe, and South Korea was able to claim “ownership” of the sport through political engineering and historical revision, Taekwondo in the United States would owe much of its growth and popularity to a different individual: Jhoon Rhee. Rhee, learning Taekwondo at the Chung Do Kwan in his childhood, came to America in the '60s to study engineering. Needing some extra money, Rhee began teaching Taekwondo, and through luck and hard work, launched the popularity of the martial art in the United States via television and Hollywood. Like all good and weird success stories, Rhee gained fame from his “viral” '70s commercial jingle, written by Nils Lofgren, guitarist for Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band!

Rhee’s unconventional approach to success worked, taking his Taekwondo to both of America’s hearts: Hollywood and Washington DC. Rhee would go on to teach and demonstrate Taekwondo to various celebrities including Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee — even writing a book, Bruce Lee and I, in 2011. He also met with President Reagan and famously demonstrated Taekwondo to the United States Congress in 1965. There was even a sparring match between Republicans and Democrats!

But what do all of these different types of Taekwondo actually mean? When I was practicing, did I learn “the wrong” type? Well, the answer is… no! The major difference in schools seems to come down to forms, ranks, and some other small administrative differences — such as who can spar, and why, or what types of focus there is in learning Taekwondo in general. Perhaps due to the odd nature of Taekwondo’s spread outside of Korea, the sport is also highly “commercial;” the ATA and Jhoon Rhee schools, for example, were founded on the idea of both teaching the sport and also establishing chain schools that would funnel profits back to the original founders, essentially creating a business instead of the somewhat monastic idea of a martial art like the Kung-Fu or Karate that appear in movies and media.

As noted by Doug Cook, the forms, of Poomsae, are constantly changing, due in part to the various types and hybrids of Taekwondo, but also due to the somewhat infant nature of the sport compared to other forms. It would be hard, as many authors point out, to find a “true” strain of Taekwondo these days. Instead, the various approaches, forms, and inherent teachings all help create different, unique ideas of the original created by Choi in the '50s — itself a hybrid of various types of martial arts.

It's fairly common in martial arts stories to hear epic tales of the history and longevity of a martial art, but Taekwondo provides us with the unique and interesting experience of seeing that historical mythology evolve in real time. From the controversial Choi to the roots of the Korean search for identity following Japanese occupation and later civil war, Taekwondo serves as a mirror for Korea’s own evolution. While Taekwondo may not be an “ancient” form of martial arts, it is a uniquely Korean one, and one that has a complex history and personality, and thanks to The God of High School, I found myself falling into the rabbit hole of its story. “Reclamation” Taekwondo may not actually exist, but in many ways, Taekwondo was a form of reclamation for Korea: an attempt to create something new and unique in the face of years of brutal occupational rule and civil strife.

Did you know about the history of Taekwondo? What's your favorite style to practice? Let us know, and while you're at it, tell us your current fave WEBTOON series in the comments!

➡️ Watch The God of High School today! ⬅️

Nicole is a frequent wordsmith for Crunchyroll. Known for punching dudes in Yakuza games on her Twitch channel while professing her love for Majima. She also has a blog, Figuratively Speaking. Follow her on Twitter: @ellyberries. Here's that serotonin you ordered.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

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jaqfms · 5 years ago

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there's jacques ‘jaq’ daingerfield ! though on their socials they go by @thedangerousq . i heard he is originally from paris , france , but made the big move to los angeles to join TWENTIES . you haven't heard about it ? well , apparently their dream is to design his own video game , but they have no chance unless they quit being so cocky & lazy . that said , those behind the scenes have said they can be witty & charismatic too. guess we'll have to watch and find out ! ━ & laughing until you cry , a cartoon theme song paired with a hip hop beat , a juul behind your ear , vines quoted in a thick french accent . ( timothee chalamet , cis male , he/him ) ( pepper , she/her + they/them , est , twenty four )

ABOUT THE MUN. are ya in a relationship? you think i can convince someone to do that?

hello, it’s me again. i tired myself out with haisley’s so jaq’s if going to be considerably shorter. let’s go.

BIO. aaaahhhhhhhhhh shhiiittttt *begins understanding things*

jacques daingerfield was born in france to two very average parents. like his mother was a teacher and his father was a financial analyst. nothing wild or crazy going on there, and to top it off he was the middle child, and well, you can tell.

he has four siblings. he was the third kid, and well, he spent most of his childhood fighting for any kind of attention, usually by making inappropriate little jokes or you know, fart noises. yes his parents were generally exasperated with him, but that behavior made sure they paid attention to him. and honestly that was all jacques wanted.

again, jacques had a pretty average upbringing. he went to school, he was actually pretty popular among his peers despite being so annoying (definitely very unpopular amongst his teachers for generally that class clown that sat in the back and always interrupted), and he excelled academically without really trying too much. well, in every subject but english funnily enough. jaq always struggled in english, which is why it was incredibly ironic that when his parents separated they decided to move to uk with his father. jacques was ten at the time, and he still doesn’t understand the decision.

so yes, jacques was the kid in class with the weird name and weirder accent who could barely communicate with his classmates. it didn’t take long for them to stop really trying to pronounce ‘jacques’ properly. jacques became jack without much input on his part, and by the time jacques had got enough of a handle on the english language to correct them the americanized name had already stuck. even at nine jacques was smart enough to know that insisting on the correct french pronunciation of his name just kind of made him sound like a pretentious french asshole, so instead he spun it. he embraced it. started signing all of his papers and assignments with ‘jaq’ with a q like it was his brand or something. even as a child jaq will give himself credit for being clever af.

it actually worked pretty well honestly. the older jaq got the more he grew into himself, and the more comfortable he got with the english language. honestly a lot of how jaq learned english was through video games and youtube videos and cartoons, like those were some of his go to resources. spent a lot of time playing games with strangers and tested his english out with colourful trash talk. actually started his first ever youtube channel was basically that as just a way to practice his english a bit. all he did on there was play video games, and honesty he didn’t even show his face. the channel wasn’t that popular, but he had fun making it.

jaq on the other hand had gained popularity by the time he was in middle school. granted, that popularity was mostly due to the fact that he had a popular older brother and sister, was french and therefore ‘cute’ (jaq didn’t pretend to understand how girls brains worked then, and he still doesn’t now) and his family always had the newest gaming system at their household, and even then it wasn’t wild popularity. but it was enough that barely anyone teased him for his thick french accent anymore, and yk what jaq would take it. he weirdly got even more popular with the guys in his grade when they found out about his youtube channel. they found it funny, and they would generally watch his videos and come tell him about their favourite parts later, ask him about how he got past a certain level or learned a certain cheat. jaq soaked up their admiration like a sponge, right into his ego. they were the beginning of jaq getting the big head he proudly sports today.

that said for most second form jaq’s youtube channel was just a hobby. something he did for fun. like i said earlier, jaq actually did really well in school and his parents always expected him to follow in his father’s footsteps and go into something in business. after all, it would be an easy transition with both french and english under his belt. they knew he would excel.

but then he met madi. and somehow the two started doing videos together for fun, and it quickly expanded into something a lot bigger. something that jaq wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing before. suddenly the picture perfect future he had planned for himself just seemed boring in comparison to what he and madi had going on, and so jaq easily picked that instead. his parents weren’t all that happy about it, of course, after all jaq had full scholarships to some schools just waiting for him to accept and he ignored all of them in favour of making videos of him playing games online. they still don’t understand, but jaq doesn’t really need them too. he’s happy with what he’s doing and he figures he can always go into business when he’s old and boring.

he moved out of his parents house straight into an apartment with madi when things between them started getting really tough. they can’t really speak without the whole ‘we’re so disappointed in you’ conversation coming up so jaq doesn’t really speak to them unless he has to. both of his older siblings went into business like their parents wanted, and his younger siblings are on the same path. his little sister wants to be just like him though, and that warms his heart tbh.

has come to TWENTIES to have a good time! wants to break into the acting industry like dylan o’brien and maybe show his parents that a ‘real’ career can come from something like this. his parents begged him not to come on this show and embarrass them so that is definitely what he’s about to do.

HEADCANNONS. there are a lot of people who need to shut up. not me though

thinks he’s funny! sometimes he is

will answer to jacques, jaq, jaqi, or q! you can call him daingerfield if you want but not many people do

fun fact, made his instagram handle as a joke, much like awkwafina. was just supposed to a little dig about how many times he has to say ‘jack with a q’ whenever someone spells his name. but now the dangerous q is his brand, and just finds it really dumb and funny.

a bit of a kleptomaniac. will swipe something he thinks is cool mostly just to do it. has very little impulse control. loves to pull pranks and generally make trouble, but not in a way that will ever actually hurt anybody because he’s not a whole idiot. not the biggest fan of cops.

is an artist. will spray paint your walls and probably has spray painted the walls of his apartment. will doodle weird things all over napkins or receipts or whatever he can get his hands on. has drawn out little video game characters he wants to be in his future games, and actually is considering going to school for a video game programming degree just for that. the funny thing is with his grades he could probably do it. is teaching himself coding in the mean time.

the type of person to start drumming on the counter or desk with his hands or like pencils or pens when he’s bored. will make up fun little raps on the spot.

incredibly intelligent but doesn’t like to talk about it. would much rather act dumb than act like he has any braincells. he doesn’t want to give anyone expectations.

all the youtube success has definitely gone to his head in the way that?? he just thinks they’re untouchable like he cannot compute the concept of their channel failing or their future endeavors failing. definitely thinks that TWENTIES will lead to much bigger things for them. will walk into his future acting auditions like he’s the shit.

an introvert with extrovert tendencies. needs to be by himself to chill out and recharge but can like work a room honestly. can make friends pretty much everywhere he goes. a bit of a charmer when he wants to be.

a smoker unfortunately. also a bit of a stoner. definitely has a juul on him at all times, like i said he tends to keep it behind his ear and then be like ???? where’s my juul.

needs glasses but refuses to wear them. is very stubborn about it tbh. does not want to get contacts because he hates the idea of putting something into his eye. so you can catch him squinting sometimes like a fool.

one of the first things he treated himself to with his first big youtube check like outside of rent was a tattoo! it’s on his ribs and it’s just a drawing he did himself but he loves it and it was the start of an addiction. he has about five. also has a few helix and orbital piercings on his left ear.

another muse of mine with a tiktok, but jaq just uses his to make music for the most part. will turn the mickey mouse club house theme song into bars! (if you’ve seen that tiktok,,,, ily)

a big nerd. reads comic books. watches anime. will get very reasonably upset about the avatar the last airbender movie whenever it’s brought up.

can cook really well, but whenever he does it it’s pure chaos. like julian/brad leone in the kitchen for sure. but the food comes out tasting really good, so???

is jewish af. knows a bit of hebrew and a bit of yiddish because of his grandparents mostly. is kind of ??? a lot more lenient with things now that he’s not around his parents as often i’m ngl.

brings his ds everywhere and you can literally catch him on the bus vaping and playing animal crossing because he hasn’t bothered to get a american license yet

is always willing to take a picture with a subscribers and they’re always the weirdest thing. there are pictures of subscribers like pretending to stab him in the eye. prom pose pictures with subscribers. the weirder the better tbh

has gone to vidcon a few years in a row, always has the wildest time. there is video footage of him waking up in some strangers bathtub with a feather boa around his neck. it’s probably on instagram.

is also bi af.

WANTED CONNECTIONS. very proud to announce that i am officially a lost cause!

BEST FRIENDS.

A BROMANCE.

FWB/EWB.

EXES.

FANS OF HIS YOUTUBE VIDEOS.

and here’s his wanted tag, i forgot to do the same for haisley so here is her wanted tag.

and many more, y’all this took so long and i’m so tired but like this and i will slide into your dms for plots!

#twenties:intro #i have completely exhausted myself omg #rip #( intro. )#any typos in this can stay idec anymore

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betratyal · 5 years ago

Text

the first clear thought in years: I REFUSE TO DIE.

JACOB BATALON? No, that’s actually PETER PETTIGREW from the MARAUDERS ERA. You know, the child of AMBROSIA PETTIGREW and ALISTER MCALISTER? Only 20 years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as a DISH WASHER and is sided with HIMSELF. HE/THEY identifies as AGENDER and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be CUNNING, HUMOROUS and ALLOCENTRIC but also OBSESSIVE, PASSIVE and COWARDLY.

LINKS – pinboard, stats, app. CHARACTER PARALLELS – winston bishop ( new girl ), sid jenkins ( skins ), charles boyle ( b99 ), edmund pevensie ( narnia ), eric forman ( that 70s show ), bunny corcoran ( the secret history ) AESTHETIC – ketchup stains on band shirts, an incomprehensible minute long string of curses, tracing the veins in your wrist, the smell of breakfast and fresh coffee, card tricks at three in the morning, freddie mercury impersonations, lying on the floor of the kitchen staring a the ceiling for three hours, trembling hands holding a joint, a guilty grin. HEADS UP – this intro contains mentions of bullying, death, mental illness (eating disorders (bed & bulimia) and depression and anxiety), self destructive tendencies and weed. ive trigger warned each bullet point where it comes up.

history ( 1960 - 1978 )

peter was born to ambrosia pettigrew, a halfblooded scottish-filipino witch. his father -- a muggle -- was not in the picture and hadn’t been ever since he’d learned of ambrosia’s pregnancy; he would sent her money every now and then, in the first years of peter’s life, but was never in the picture. ( and that was for the best, thought ambrosia; she didn’t love him, and he was a muggle, but still --- she was heartbroken and wished that she could give more to her son ).

peter grew up living with his mother in a small flat in glasgow. his grandparents lived nearby, and he spent a lot of time with them. peter learned how to be alone from a young age, with his mother working a lot and he himself lacking friends and peers to waste the days with --- as a child, he delved into fictional worlds ( superhero comics, roald dahl novels, animated tv shows ) and found friends there.

bullying tw / went to muggle elementary as well, but never felt at home there. he was the odd one out: his clothes didn’t fit well, his nervous habits were annoying to his classmates, his words were too clumsy and his eyes too shifty. he didn’t mind not having friends ( or so he thought, until he did have them ) but he did mind being picked on and teased. end of tw

death tw / his grandmother died when he was seven and it was devastating; peter’s family was so small and compact, his social world so limited, that it had a huge impact. his relationship with his grandfather did grow much stronger through it. end of tw

and then peter finally went to hogwarts! and peter made friends for the FIRST TIME. and he found a second home! ah, my god --- peter was so happy, he was really so hyped and in awe of his life and his friends. it all felt a bit surreal; especially because he looked up to james and sirius and remus so much --- james, mainly, but all of them were so amazing, and he was so amazed that they liked him, too.

peter always loved heroes. he loves comic books and people who save the day and get the girl and do it all. i think he kind of … projected that onto james and sirius especially? did not know how to do this friendship thing as an 11 year old tbh, was a mess, was blinded by their amazingness damn, and thus kind of hero worshipped them, didn’t see their flaws and faults.

re: peter being a gryffindor; peter admires heroism and bravery and chivalry, and it’s your values that get you sorted some place. and he always did try to be brave, and he WAS in a lot of moments, because he became a damn animagus for his bud! i mean! he was not a hatstall btw — i choose to ignore that stupid bit of post canon. it took a while for the hat, sure, but no more than two minutes.

peter was a pretty bad student, to be honest. not because he was stupid, but because he’s just not build for school. deadlines? exams? homework? no thank you --- those were both sources of stress and horribly tedious things and peter was much too occupied with shenanigans and having fun. peter learned better in different settings: he got very good at certain charms because they allowed him to be lazy ( hello, accio! ) and was able to put his mind to becoming an animagus because there was a necessity and a proper motivation, and became better at potions because of all the hangover potions he brew.

becoming an animagus for remus was ! important ! to peter ! he did it for remus, not because of peer pressure, or anything else — he did it because it was right, and his friend deserved it and ! he did it, too, because he could. sure, his transfig grades may have been more than poor, but the kid did have some skill. he just needed motivation, which mcgonagall didn’t give (bc. she scared him.) and this situation? motivated the hell out of him.

peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t taken a bit aback when he learned about remus’ lycanthropy — not because he was scared of him, to be honest, but he was just ? shocked ? he was more scared for remus, and so sad? so fucking sad for him? : ( he cried

he also loved spending his time at hogwarts playing games; from muggle card games to chess to gobstones. collected chocolate frogs Very Seriously as well, and still does tbh.

weed & anxiety tw / peter started smoking pot in the summer between his fourth and fifth year, and never really stopped. it made him slack more at school, but also eased his anxiety, which had started to develop in his fourth year. as months passed, peter became more and more of a stoner, which made him both more relaxed and funnier, but also … a whole of a lot lazier. end of weed tw

peter had always been a bit … fidgety, easily on edge, a bit nervous, but he’d never really known anxiety until around fourteen years old. his insecurities grew, as he started comparing himself more to his friends and finding nothing but things he lacked in comparison to them, and questions as to why they put up with him. end of anxiety tw

so his schooldays mostly looked like … doing nothing, playing games, having fun with his mates, getting high, forgetting his homework, stressing about homework, and somewhere, in a tiny corner of his being, worrying about the war. whenever those worries started coming up, though, he was able to push them away, because the war was not yet there, not for him at least. there was graduation to worry about first, and once that was done, then he could worry about the war.

post graduation - now ( 1978 - 1980 )

peter joins the order along with his friends, because it was what was right. peter believes in their cause, hates the death eaters, hates discrimination and racism and terrorism --- of course he fucking does, and so he joins, even though he feels incompetent. i have written a lot about this in his app too, which is linked above!

he starts working as a dishwasher in muggle glasgow, preferring a bit of a break from the wizarding world every now and then. peter’s not unambitious, per se, but he doesn’t have enough faith in himself to try and pursue a career ( and besides, what’s the point in the midst of a war? ). plus, peter doesnt need any more stress on his plate, and dish washing is laidback and at least kind of fun.

depression & weed & eating disorder (bed/bulimia) tw | peter feels useless in the order, though. he seems to lack the skills, the guts, the everything that the people around him have. before, their heroics mightve inspired him; now they just make him feel like a shitty person, like a burden. peter starts secluding himself a little, hiding in his mother’s home. he smokes more pot. he sometimes goes almost week without seeing someone besides his mum and his coworkers. he watches too much telly and reads comics and drowns in fictional worlds and he becomes depressed. he sinks into it without noticing and can’t come back from it. his eating habits ( which have always bordered on unhealthy ) turn worse; peter binges, and then restricts, falls into a cycle. it’s the only routine he has.

when he’s around his friends, he lives up a little. he cracks jokes and wants to play games and laughs and feels a bit more alive, but he always craves his time on his own. that’s his new way to feel safe: to stick to his newly found routine, hidden in his room, away from reality. | end of tw

the idea to join the death eaters comes out of fear. peter feels like the order is losing, and feels like death is inevitable. i dont know how true this is, but the fact is that the death eaters are ruthless and that his life is on the line because of his position. i wrote a Lot about this in his app too, so if u want a more comprehensive explanation i’d def read it here, its the second hc!

he joins, because he thinks it will give him a saver position. play both sides, play for the winning side --- he’s always had a bit of an opportunistic streak, which definitely helps sway his decision. in the end he’s just afraid of dying, and that’s why he joins; he’s twenty, his life has hardly started --- he doesn’t want to die, no cause is worth that, none at all. ( he should have just ran )

he joins in may 1978, for timeline reasons, so he’s been a death eater for only a few months. it’s been a lot different than he imagined ----- peter thought he’d blend in the background quietly, that he’d have to do shitty jobs ( which is true ) and that he’d be left alone. he underestimated it, because well --- he was desperate when he joined, and he didn’t think about the consequences, and he didn’t think about how voldemort’s cruelty wasn’t just reserved for his enemies but for his followers, too. there’s no stepping out of line with the death eaters; mistakes are not treated lightly and peter --- afraid, a bit of a bumbling idiot, learns this quite soon.

his function is mostly just to be a spy; relay information and share plans, name members, etcetera. he’s not very active because he’s a spy, but i imagine that he is present at the bigger meetings. AND FML HE’S GOOD AT IT! he’s good at lying and sneaking and being a sly bastard --- he used those skills for pranks, once. now he uses it to betray his fellow prankers : D

peter, at that point, hates himself. he’s always had a bit of self loathing, but it’s gained the upper hand now and he’s drowning in it; it does allow for him to ignore his conscience, though, for him to ignore the reality and just stew in his negativity. he’s got a woe is me mentality, for sure, and he’s so god damn passive about his situation.

timeclash reaction.

peter’s reaction to the timeclash was ... a lot. i wrote about it in his app, so if u want to read my whole ass rambling, i rec that. but tldr: he’s shocked, at what he becomes. the peter he is now is a traitor, yes, but he’s not yet the person who ends up betraying james and lily and harry, who frames sirius --- and it’s ground shattering to find out that he’s on the road to become such a person.

self destructiveness, weed, alcohol tw / his self loathing grows more. peter wasn’t doing very well before, but the timeclash makes something snap inside him --- he abandons his needs, punishes himself in small ways, loses sight of himself. he drinks and smokes too much. he’s so scared of himself. he’s in hiding, when he first finds out, scared of his friends and the death eaters and the order members and the people from the future who have met a worse version of him end of tws

part of peter is also like “i havent done any of these things yet, i know i am not the BEST person but i am still . not That Bad! stop being mad for something i havent done yet!”

around this time, he’s realising that he can either keep hiding, that he can completely destroy himself and all the ties he has, or he can take this opportunity to change his course. to not become the person all these people from the future know, to change change change, to make up for the wrongs he has committed and the wrongs he will commit if he keeps on going the way he is --- and that’s where he’s at now.

on another hand, he definitely watched all the star wars movies that came out over the past 50 yrs and hates kylo ren and cried when han died!!! he is in awe of the mcu movies but also thinks they did the comics dirty. i wish someone would introduce him to video games bc he would cry from happiness.

personality & details

OKAY onto the fun stuff, that was way too depressing and peter is usually a comedic icon

peter parker is his favourite superhero just because … they share a first name and because peter parker is a bit of an underdog too and peter is just like! amazing! he named his owl parker.

he hates cats. used to love them — he was allowed to take the cat from home with him to hogwarts when he was eleven, but he brought him back home after an unfortunate incident where his cat nearly ate him while he was in his animagus form. “sorry ma, i don’t love him any more. here. have him.”

peter is actually a solid cook. this is because he learned to make some basic food when he was still a kid, first with his grandma, and later on his own. he liked doing it for his mother and he was. .. good at it? peter is also just passionate about food and finds comfort in cooking. breakfast food and baked goods are Prime Food Categories.

he is asexual af, panromantic. has kissed both guys and gals and nb pals but did not like it??? confused. does not understand sexuality and all that jazz but tries not to think abt it because like! he’s got enough stress! doesnt need to think abt this!

peter is also agender, but i think he’s a lot less aware about this, because it’s confusing and so he just tries not to think about it. he does feel okay with he/him pronouns, but just doesn’t feel connected at all to being a boy/man

peter has abandonment issues because his dad, well, never even bothered to be there. not even for a second. he’s just constantly scared that people will leave and it’s funny, because he will probably end up abandoning all of his loved ones KDJFHSDF.

peter is quite non confrontational but also not … meek? he just avoids it, either by physically staying out of people’s way or by dismissing most of the things said and getting out of there. a Passive Kid.

he’s such a fucking dork i swear to god. but he’s funny! peter is really funny. i deeply believe in this. he makes great puns and is able to just come out of nowhere and make a comment that just. hits the nail right on its head.

peter curses a lot and has a scottish accent and sometimes he will have a minute long cursing session that no one rly understands.

#quantum intro #this is . long ig

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tialightwood-blog · 5 years ago

Text

18+ Rough Waves -One-

Four Days Earlier.

May 6, 2017.

My alarm kept making repeated noise. I hit it hard and opened my eyes. As I stretched my body, I sat up and looked at myself in the mirror in front of my bed right next to the bedroom door, next to it was a picture of my mother. I look just like her; same gray almond eyes, thick curved eyelashes, same freckles across the nose and cheeks, same features and height. The only obvious difference was my black wavy hair that I got from my dad, she had a beautiful silky red hair just like grandma.

I don’t know her at all; I don’t know if my life would be different if she hadn’t died while giving birth to me. I can’t really complain about my life; My grandma Delilah was the one that raised me. I vividly remember the day my dad left me here to live with her in Mykonos. I was about four years old; I was living with my dad in London; we went back and forth between London and Mykonos. My dad noticed how much I loved being with grandma and decided to leave me live with her.

My grandma told me years later that she begged my dad to leave me right after my birth, but dad refused. She said that he loved my mom so much that he couldn’t let go of me especially that I indeed look like her. On the day he left me here; he told me how much he loved me, and it was for the best to leave me be raised by my grandma. Despite that, I don’t see my dad that often, I know he loves me enough to let me be away from him.

I got up and walked towards the mirror; I put my hair in high tied pun then looked at a picture of me and grandma on my tenth birthday. Grandma looks so young for her age; she doesn’t have a single white hair and her skin is always glowing as if she is in her twenties. Many people mistake us as mother and daughter. She once told me that women in our family are fortunate with beauty and luck. I believe her; I consider myself very lucky to have her by my side.

“Bunny!” my grandma shouted from outside. I went to the Balcony railing and looked at her.

“Good morning,” I said and blew a kiss to her.

“Breakfast is ready sweetheart.” I looked at the table next to her, it was filled with freshly made pastries in different kinds. it smelled so good my mouth was already watering. I went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. After seven minutes I was already half dressed but stopped when my phone ranged; it was my childhood friend Lara. I answered her and put the call on speaker and continued putting on my clothes.

“T,” she sounded weird, she only calls me T when she is in a bad mood or serious.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m coming back.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand living here any longer.”

“Why? What happened?”

“My mother and her husband are unbearable,” she said firmly. I didn’t get surprised by that; it’s simply Lara; she is a moody type of person. She is a master in drawing and she likes to live her life freely. Both her mother and her stepfather are in fact super nice, her stepfather loved her as if she is his own daughter. She never denied his caring and good-hearted nature yet simply she doesn’t like people controlling her in any sort of way.

“What happened?” I asked and put a blue t-shirt on.

“They are so annoying; Both wanted me to work with them at the hotel and I told them like a million times before I am free spirited; I can’t do their work and dress in a certain way and talk politely, Fuck normality you know!”

I laughed.

“I’m serious! I got my stuff and left! I can’t be around them any longer!”

“You know it’s not that bad to work with them; just give a try, you may like it.”

“T, come one! I’m an artist for god’s sake! And I do have a job, it’s not like I’m setting on my ass the whole day doing nothing!”

Lara is very stubborn, she doesn’t even want to try to meet them halfway, but I can’t really blame her; she was working for years on her online comics and she is very good at it and kind of famous too. Her mother can’t see her job as an actual career; she wanted her to work with them to know everything about their business. Lara is her only daughter and she will inherit the hotels even if she doesn’t want to.

“I know you have a great job and I fully support your dream, but you know my opinion; it won’t hurt you to try,” I said and took the phone and put it on my right ear then went outside heading to the garden.

“I don’t want to. End of discussion,” she said firmly.

“Okay, when are you coming?”

“In like two hours.”

“Okay, take care.”

“Bye,” she said then ended the call.

I went to the backyard garden to find my grandma reading the newspaper and drinking her tea right next to the pool.

“Lara is coming,” I said and sat next to her.

“What happened this time?”

“They told her about the hotels again.”

“I see,” grandma said and flipped the newspaper.

I started eating my breakfast while my grandma read the newspaper quietly. The weather was sunny and warm as usual. I was enjoying the pastries and looking at the view of the sea. My grandparents’ house laid in Mykonos town limits near the windmills. The house was painted in white like all houses in the city. The main colors of it were shades of blue and gray. It was surrounded with olive and lemon trees, several crete flora, poppies flora and one full grown peach tree. The house was in a private area where both my grandparents preferred to live in rather than in the area where their restaurant is.

One hour Later

I was at the restaurant checking everything out before people starting to come. The restaurant is enormous. It was built as a house, but my grandparents turned it into a restaurant where both enjoy cooking together. My grandpa opened several restaurants in Greece and Italy, he enjoyed making people happy with his food. I didn’t get the chance to meet him; he died five years before I was born. I walked to the second floor where I found grandma sitting with the head of the waiters. I always wondered why my grandma never considered marrying after grandpa’s death despite that she was in her late twenties at the time; one day I got the chance and asked her. What she said changed my view of love and loyalty.

Two years ago.

“The love I have for your grandpa will never die, it’s like this tree,” she pointed at the only peach tree in the house which she always cares for more than any other plant in the house. I looked at the peach tree not understanding what she meant.

“When we built this house your grandpa wanted to plant one tree only,” she said and smiled remembering that day and then continued, “He knew how much I love this fruit, he told me that our love would never die unless we let it…we made a promise to each other to keep the tree save and let it grow stronger just like our love” she said and wiped one tear ran on her cheek and looked at me deeply.

“Sweetheart, true love can’t be stopped by anything…it will forever live inside of you…” she said and moved my hair and embraced both of her hand on my face. She laid a kiss on my forehead and her loud fun spirit came right back to her.

I smiled remembering her words. She suddenly noticed me and waved for me to come to sit with them.

Three hours later.

The restaurant was already crowded. I was walking back and forth between the sitting areas and the kitchen to make sure everything was on the right track. At that time of the year, it’s very normal to be full all day by tourists. I checked my watch to notice that Lara was one hour late. I went to a quieter corner and called her. “Tia,” she shouted from far and sounded a bit tired.

“Where are you?”

“In my house.”

“Why?”

“Huh?” she didn’t hear me.

I heard a dropped sound. “What was that? What are you doing there?”

“I’m cleaning,” she said and coughed.

I rolled my eyes and said. “You idiot! why bother cleaning the house, you’re staying with me.”

“No, thank you, I want to be alone.”

“I’m not letting you! Head to the house now!”

“T, No.”

“Lara, don’t get me mad, your house was closed for more than a year, you can’t clean it by yourself in one day.”

I heard her sigh from the other side. “I will tell grandma!”

“NO! Okay… okay, I’m coming,” she said and ended the call. My grandma has this twisted personality; she is very fun and outgoing yet when she gets angry it looks like as if you had awakened a monster that is ready to eat you alive. Lara knows what could really happen if grandma knew she wanted to live alone, she gave up fast and agreed to come over.

Ten minutes later.

Lara parked her car outside the restaurant and went inside looking for me. Grandma noticed her and walked toward her.

“Hello darling,” she said and opened her arms to give Lara a hug.

“Hey,” Lara said and hugged her back.

“What with that sad face?” grandma said and pinched her right cheek.

“Well… I left the house,” Lara said and looked at the floor.

“I see…why?”

“I can’t be there any longer.”

“Then you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“Thanks, grandma,” Lara said and smiled softly.

“That doesn’t mean you are a guest, you’re going to work here just like Tia and smile more Lara you’re wasting your beauty in sadness,” grandma said and walked away.

“I know!” Lara shouted and laughed.

Lara looked the opposite to me. She has hazel hooded eyes, fair skin tone. She is 5’8 and her body fits the measures of a supermodel. She has a silky light blonde hair with bangs. On the other hand, I am 5’4 and my body is much curved. My skin tone is much tanner than her; sun-kissed to be exact. Not only our appearance are different; also, our personalities are much different from one another.

Lara is very free-spirited while I like to be organized and thoughtful of my action, she was into drawing since I could remember. She has a bohemian artistry type of style and while I enjoy the causal-sporty type. She is very outgoing and love adventure but for me, I like to take the safest path, I have a very small circle of people that I enjoy being around. I loved writing so much that when I was choosing what to study in university I choose journalism. Most of our arguments were revolving around convincing me to work with her and create a graphic novel. I refused every time; I thought about it but couldn’t think of a good story to create. I’m used to write about day to day news. I know I’m good with words but not to the point of writing a story out of my imagination.

I was upstairs when Lara arrived at the restaurant. I was talking to one of the waiters while she was talking to grandma. When they finished I walked down the stairs heading to her. “Hey, you,” I said and hugged her.

“Hi.” she sounded tired.

“You look awful.”

“Thanks!” We both laughed.

“You don’t know how to clean your room and wanted to clean a whole house,” I said sarcastically.

“Yeah…It was a bad idea,” she said and tapped on her shirt and some of the dust which was still visible on her flew in the air.

We both laughed and went to the bathroom to get her cleaned up.

Midnight.

The whole day was tiring. I was relieved that were heading home already. Grandma left two hours earlier where Lara and I stayed and closed the restaurant. We rode her car and head to the house. The ride was about ten minutes, we talked about her new comic she was working on and I told her about the new online magazine I was currently working with.

“What the magazine about?”

“Fashion.”

“You, Fashion no way,” Lara gasped.

“Yeah I know, I couldn’t believe it either, but they were like wanted me to write some pieces about old fashion in Greece.”

“Old fashion?”

“It’s a London-based magazine and they want to write about the history of fashion and I’m sure I got to write this piece just because I’m Greek.”

Lara smirked.

“When they told me, I was like people please look at the resume; I have experience in tabloid journalism, but they were like we only care that your Greek and a woman,” I said and took a deep breath.

“You know it’s not that bad to write about fashion,” Lara said.

“I know,” I said and smiled at her. We arrived at the house, Lara parked her car then I helped her with her luggage and we went inside. Grandma was holding her iPad and drinking calming herbs. “Hi grandma,” I said and sat next to her while Lara was putting her bags on the room she always stays in when she sleeps over. I noticed grandma was reading something; I get closer and saw that she was reading my latest article.“You like it?” I asked her with a little smirk on my face.

“It’s good sweetheart; you’re great with words,” she said and looked proudly at me.

“I know,” I sounded cocky. She laughed and then stood up. She shouted goodnight to me and Lara then went to her room to sleep.

I went to my room to change and when I get back I found Lara organized the setting outside. I went out and saw that she brought a big bowl of mixed chips and two cold soda cans. She was sitting on one of the big white chairs across from the pool. I sat on the chair next to hers and took a couple of chips to eat. “Lara,” I said and chewed some chips.

She didn’t respond, she was looking at her phone without blinking. I get little closer to her, she was watching a video of a masked person singing. I didn’t notice at first that she was wearing her earphone; it was covered by her long hair. Her hair was covering most of her face. She didn’t see me nor hear me. I grabbed the chips bowl and opened my phone to check my email.

Ten minutes later.

I finished half of the bowl. I put my phone down and looked at her. She didn’t move a muscle only watching the video on repeat and not blinking. I felt a little bored; I took a small pillow beside me and throw it at her. She startled and her phone flew and fell on the ground between the two chairs. “What!” her eyes were wide open in shock.

“Hi,” I said and smiled softly at her.

She noticed that I ate half of the chips and looked at me in shock. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“Like ten minutes,” I said and continue eating.

“Really!” she reached her hand to the floor and grabbed her phone.

“What was that important in the video? You didn’t even blink.”

“Oh god, Tia; His voice is just…amazing!” she said and reached to open one of the soda cans.

“Whose voice?”

“Jungkook! It’s like an angel singing! It was a song from last year in a show, but man! He was killing it,” she said and took a sip.

I didn’t respond; I had no idea what she was talking about. “His cover is like better than the original but if you ask me my favorite voice of all of them it’s definitely Taehyung, his raspy voice is everything,” she looked at me with a big smile.

“What are you talking about?” I looked completely bewildered.

“What? You don’t know Jungkook and Taehyung?”

“Should I?” clearly my answer made her angry, she frowned so hard I couldn’t help but giggle.

“You know BTS right?” she said suspiciously.

“Behind the scene?”

“OH MY GOD!” she screamed hard that made me jump a little.

“You don’t know who BTS are!!?”

“No,” I said calmly, I wasn’t really following what she was saying.

“Bangtan Sonyeondan? Bangtan Boys?” she sounded as if she’s trying to make me remember something I know.

“No.”

“Tia! BTS, the Korean band! They are like taking over the music industry by storm!”

“Never heard of them before.”

“Oh my god! You’re basically living under a rock!” she looked at me as if she seeing a stupid little kid talking.

I don’t know what the big deal was of not knowing about them. “So, who are they?” I asked causally without realizing what I was stepping myself into.

The little I know; my life was about to change forever. Literally change forever.

#bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts jungkook #bts v #bts jungkook x reader #bts v x reader #bts taehyung #jungkook #taehyung #greek mythology #magic #fantasy

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gianttrashcroatiantree · 6 years ago

Text

Sunday kind of love - Chapter II

Read on Ao3 here

Big thanks to @fay-with-a-scar for beta-reading

Having a crush on someone was one thing, having a crush on someone you live with, that’s a whole different kind of thing. Flynn was not really good with the first one, but he could honestly say that he sucked with the second one. To be fair he didn’t mean to have a crush on Lucy, but he was in the middle before he knew that he begun. Which is an amazing Jane Austen quote to use as a comparison. The only other person he had a crush on in his entire life was Lorena, and let’s be real, he did nothing with it. Lorena literally had to ask him out with the words ‘' Garcia, you’re an idiot, I’ve waited for you to ask me out, but fuck it. If I’m going to wait for you to do it I might as well do it myself”. And that’s how it started. She was always too good for him and he was grateful for every damn day with her. Then Iris was born and he couldn’t be happier. Then the accident happened. He was working for NSA, but he wasn’t a field operative so he thought that nothing could endanger his girls. But he had forgotten that even if you do every step to ensure your family is safe, you can’t predict everything. Lorena was picking up Iris from preschool and Flynn was making dinner. Happy family. But when Lorena was driving home with Iris, drunk driver hit them. They died on the spot. Fynn was waiting thirty minutes with dinner for them until he got a call. The call that changed his life. His girls were dead.

After that he sold his house, quitted his job, and moved to a different city. New life, new quiet life. He was used to being surrounded by people his whole life. First, as a kid he lived with his parents and grandparents, then he joined the army, then he lived with Lorena, then he had a child. In every part of his life there was noise and people. But now he had to get used to the silence. And he tried, he really did. But he couldn’t, because every time he was alone he thought about his family and it broke his heart. So he had decided to find a roommate, he didn’t need one for financial reasons, he earned more than he needed, but the empty apartment was slowly killing him. He rented a room two years after Lorena and Iris’s death. His first roommate was his coworker Rufus.

Garcia liked Rufus, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. Rufus was kind of scared of Flynn, but with enough time, movie marathons and Flynn’s help with winning over Jiya (Flynn literally locked Rufus and Jiya in the closet until Rufus finally said to her what he felt), he grown quite fond of him. But after living with him for two years he and Jiya had decided to rent their own apartment, next to the Flynn’s one. That’s why Flynn was forced to once again find a roommate. And that’s how he met Lucy Preston.

She was intelligent, funny, beautiful, definitely out of his league. She filled his silence with her laughter, with her witt and obscure history facts. And he didn’t mind it at all. He loved it. He was really happy that he had someone to come back to, to talk after work, to cook for. When he was feeling down she never pushed him to talk about his feelings, which was amazing, because he was really shitty at Emotional Vulnerability. She just sat with him and watched Old Hollywood movies. Goals. But he didn’t know how to tell her that he had a crush on her. He was scared that she would reject him and that he would destroy the relationship they’ve build.

When he came home after work and found Lucy lying face down on the couch, he knew something was wrong, very wrong. Even in her bad days she would just sit in the living room and watch Discovery Channel. She lied to him when he asked her if she needed help. But she couldn’t blame her. She was always trying to be strong and independent, and that’s really brave of her, because not many people do that. But he wanted to help her, he hated that she was suffering. When she rolled off the couch and slipped into his arms he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. But he had the feeling that this would not improve her current situation, so he just moved to the counter to make some tea. When she told him what’s the problem he got angry, not on her, but on Wyatt. He could see that he had left her with so many groundless insecurities that Flynn if he could would beat the shit out of Wyatt. But then Lucy started crying, so he did the only rational thing and hugged her. He never wanted to let go. She was so happy, when he agreed to go to the reunion and that made him happy.

-So what’s the theme of the reunion? - Flynn asked.

-Well, the theme is the only good thing in this entire mess - Lucy’s eyes lighted up.

-What is it? - now he was curious.

-Nineteenth century - she squealed - and that means clothes, decoration and food based on nineteenth century. I’m so glad we have a nice theme. Amy had a reunion last year, and her theme was Sea World. You wouldn’t believe how many couples wore Ariel and Prince Eric costumes. That was crazy.

-I can only imagine - he said amused.

-Amy is making my dress and I’m suppose to pick it up tomorrow. But wait. What about you? I’m sure Amy would be able to patch up something for you.

-Oh, I don’t think it will be necessary.

-How so?

-This question suggest that Jyia and Rufus never shown you photos from Comic Con 2017? - Flynn’s face was unreadable.

-No, why? - Lucy couldn’t hide her curiosity.

-They have managed to trick me into going with them and do cosplay - he said slightly embarrassed.

-And who were you cosplaying as? - Lucy could barely hide her amusement.

-Sherlock Holmes. And I regret nothing. I had so much fun and now I will go kill Rufus and Jiya so they will never show you these photos - he laughed dramatically.

-Don’t you dare. I’m sure Jiya did back up copies that will be released after her death - Lucy giggled.

-I really hope she didn’t. But now lima let’s make some dinner hmm?

-Sure thing Tall One.

#garcia flynn #Garcy FF #garcy fanfiction #garcy weekend #lucy preston #timeless #timeless ff #sunday kind of love #own #fluff #angst #fanfiction #timeless fanfiction #Rufus Carlin #jiya marri

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brevoorthistoryofcomics · 6 years ago

Photo

The arrival of this issue of DC SPECIAL was the second part of a one-two origin punch that began with the origin of the Justice League about a month earlier in JLA 144. I loved these two comics, their sense of history, their primal secrets revealed for the first time. It doesn’t hurt that both of them are great stories, well told. The Neal Adams cover sets the mood and the tone here.

The Origin of the Justice Society was the work of the regular ALL-STAR COMICS creative team of Paul Levitz and Joe Staton. Levitz would have a long career with the publisher, ultimately becoming DC’s President and Publisher, but that this point he was a tyro writer and editor who was just starting to get his feet under him creatively. Artist Joe Staton likewise was at the early part of his career, one that would go on to include a long stretch on GREEN LANTERN, his favorite character. His work was always a shade cartoonish, but in an appealing way. Here, inker Bob Layton helps to shift his work a bit more towards the super hero mainstream for this important story.

It had to be a challenging story to work out, both for the size of its core cast (ten super heroes) to say nothing of the spread of their abilities. Whatever brought the Justice Society together for the first time, it needed to be a menace that would be functional for both grounded Mystery-Men heroes such as the Atom and the Sandman and also the cosmic world-beaters like Dr Fate and the Spectre. Researching the period, Levitz relates in a text feature that he came upon references to an abandoned invasion of England by Nazi Germany at around the right time frame for this story, and all of the pieces fell into place for him.

The story opens with a prologue set in Washington DC, and a meeting between President Franklin Delano Roosevelt and an envoy from the British spy mastermind, “Intrepid”, a real historical figure. FDR is given evidence that the Nazi war machine plans an invasion of the United Kingdom that winter. And while FDR’s hands are tied–his countrymen still believe in a largely isolationist stance on America’s involvement in what would become World War II, he does suggest to the envoy that perhaps this new breed of mystery-men crimefighters might be the answer to his needs.

So it is that, a few days later, Batman answers the Bat-Signal from Commissioner Gordon only to find two other costumed crusaders already in his office–the Flash and Green Lantern. The envoy has asked Gordon to summon them all, and after he recounts his information, the trio is swiftly on board a transport, carrying them to far-off Scotland. There, they attack a Nazi spy stronghold attempting to get more information about the upcoming invasion. (There’s a goof at this point, where Green Lantern uses his powerless-against-wood Power Ring to battering ram their way through some wooden gates–oops!) The trio is whipping the hell out of the Nazi spies until they unleash their ultimate weapon, a crude robot that turns the tables on our heroes.

Fortunately for our heroes, as they are transported back to Berlin for trial, their plight is discovered by Doctor Fate, scanning the world with his crystal ball. Fate stops only to scoop up a very surprised Hourman before heading into enemy territory to rescue the other heroes, turning up just in time to prevent Adolf Hitler himself from unmasking the Batman. Unfortunately, while the appearance of Dr Fate would seem to have brought this story to a premature conclusion, such was not to be. For Adolf Hitler has the Spear of Destiny in his hands–a mystic artifact previously showcased in an issue of WEIRD WAR TALES that once pierced the side of Jesus Christ himself. Using the Spear, Hitler summons up a horde of Teutonic Valkyries, the sword-maidens of myth, to carry his attack to victory.

Even Fate is hard-pressed to hold his own against the Valkyrie hordes. More urgently, the signal has been given to begin the invasion of far-off England. In desperation, Dr Fate casts a spell designed to bring other heroes into the fight. And so, back in America, the Sandman, the Atom and Hawkman find themselves snatched up by mystic tendrils and carried to the beaches of Dover,where the invasion is under way. The Hawk, Atom and Sandman give a good accounting of themselves, but it’s clear that they’re no match for the Nazi war machine and all of the troops massed for the invasion. Fortunately, though, Fate sent four summonses–and it is the all-powerful Spectre who answers the last one, arriving like the cavalry to help rout the foe.

Back in Berlin, the beleaguered heroes get their second wind, and with Dr Fate leading the charge, begin to push the Valkyries back. Hitler cant believe what is happening here. In anger, he orders his bomber squadrons to take off, setting a course for Washington DC, to bomb the America capitol in retaliation for the attack of the mystery men heroes. It’s fortunately an experimental long-range bomber, one capable of making a flight from Germany to the United States without refueling, or once again this would be a much shorter story. The Valkyrie take up positions around the bomber, intending to shepherd it to its ultimate target.

Back in Dover, the invasion of England has hit a permanent snag in the undead person of the Spectre, who makes short and fatal work of the invading forces.At this point, the nine heroes involved in this adventure so far gather on the beaches and make introductions, taking the first steps towards the camaraderie they will exhibit in years to come. But there’s still work to do: even with England secure, the experimental bomber is still on its way to Washington DC, guarded by a Valkyrie honor guard.

The assembled Justice Society battles on for literally hours, but they are unable to halt the flight of the Valkyries and their deadly charge from continuing towards the USA. Eventually, the coastline appears over the horizon and all seems lost, the heroes’ spirits sag. And then, in the best stand-up-and-cheer moment in the book, Green Lantern spies a figure leaping up from the press building–it’s Superman, who destroys the bomber and catches its huge payload single-handedly.

But even with the bomber destroyed, the Valkyrie will not relent, intending to carry out the mission given to them by Hitler–the assassination of FDR. Green Lantern is knocked unconscious, and without his Power Ring to keep them aloft, the Sandman, the Atom and Hourman plummet to the Earth. Despite being rocked by the fall, a clinging-to-consciousness Atom manages to pull himself to the Oval Office just in time to take the shot aimed at Roosevelt himself, a true act of heroism.

From there, it’s all clean-up, as the Valkyrie, their mission a failure, disappear. The Atom is wounded, but not fatally. A grateful FDR suggests to the assembled heroes that they remain together a s a sort of Super-Battalion–but Superman rejects the notion of them becoming a military unit, saying that they’ll only fight in the cause of justice. And so, the Justice Society of America is born. It’s a hell of a story.

A two=page text piece in the back not only described the germination of the story I had just read, but it went through the entire roster of the Justice Society through all of the issues of the golden age ALL-STAR COMICS as a bonus. Using this text feature as eh basis of my research, I created my own illustrated guidebook to the Justice Society, showcasing drawings of all of the different members and a rundown of what stories they were active in. I can remember no doubt boring my Uncle Jerry to tears during a visit to the home he and my Aunt shared with my Grandparents as we pored over the work I had done. Sadly, that hand-made Justice Society roster book that I made has disappeared over the intervening years.

#DC Special #Justice Society of America #Neal Adams #Paul Levitz #Joe Staton #Bob Layton #DC

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minhoinator · 6 years ago

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By My Side, A Hogwarts AU (22/75)

troublesome tea - Several long minutes passed, and when the last cup was down Trelawney opened her eyes. “When you are sure the tea is drained, pass it to your chosen partner and open your Unfogging the Future to pages five and six, and begin your readings.”

“You think it’s ready?” Kibum whispered, peeking under his overturned teacup with Minho turned to the right pages.

“Sure.”

master list // AO3 // AFF // first year - muggle-born, sorted, first day, homesick, hallowe’en, deck the halls, possibilities, belonging, exceedingly acceptable, return to king’s cross - second year - diagonally, taking flight, ten points, all that glitters, holly jolly, push and pull, shooting stars, special treat, sleepover, promises made - third year - promises kept

@lockandminkey @minhosbowties @sapphicshawol @artfulkey @shinyexo @posygal @bumkeyko @usuallydreamin @taespoon-of-sugar (if anyone else wants to be tagged in this, just let me know!)

* - * - *

Excitement thrummed through the Great Hall, even before the owls made their appearance. The first couple days of school were always charged with such enthusiasm – with the first years eager to see if Hogwarts lived up to their expectations, the seventh years anticipating the end of the term, even at the beginning of the year, and everyone in between ready and waiting to prove themselves in this new term.

It was always fun, while it lasted.

Kibum poured himself a second bowl of Pixie Puffs as he listened to Analecia talk about her family trip over the summer to visit her grandparents in Spain. Based on her descriptions alone, the Gràcia Festival in Barcelona was something that he wanted to see for himself someday, if possible.

“Third years, right?” They both looked up, as did Callum and Aaron across from them. Marjory Phillips, Slytherin’s new Head Girl, looked at them over the huge stack of papers in her arms.

“Yeah, we are,” Aaron said.

Marjory licked the forefinger of her free hand and sifted through the papers, her green and silver nail polish glittering in the light of the hovering candles. She passed one to each of them, moving on to the next cluster of students before they could thank her.

Kibum scanned his copy quickly to see which classes he shared with Minho this year. Divination, History of Magic, and Astronomy were all a given, but… “Charms and Herbology, okay.”

“Hmm?” He glanced over at Analecia, who was still studying her schedule.

“Nothing.”

He took one last bite of his cereal before he got up and started for the door. Footsteps pounded behind him, and Kibum smiled, knowing exactly who it was without having to turn around. Minho’s arm slung over his shoulder, holding him close for a second before letting him go.

“Hey, buddy. How’s your morning?” he asked as they started down the steps to the basement.

“Okay, so far. Getting settled into your new room?”

“Yeah.” They both stopped in the corner of the basement hallway, deciding whether to head to Hufflepuff or Slytherin first. Kibum nodded toward Slytherin, and Minho followed him down the darker hallway. “I’m a little sad – “

“Oh, no. Why?”

“ – because they finally ripped out that Christmas tree we planted in first year.”

Minho pouted for a second. “Probably Filch.”

“Probably, yeah.” They stopped before the empty brick wall, and Kibum fished his wand out of his pocket. “Argenti anguis,” he said, tapping the right brick three times. Both of them took a step back as the wall took itself apart to let them inside. Kibum stepped through, glancing back at the darkened hallway where Minho still stood. “You coming?”

“Is…that okay?”

Kibum scoffed. “Yeah, why not?”

Tentatively, Minho stepped inside, looking around the common room. It had been almost two years since he had been inside Slytherin. It wasn’t a huge deal to have students from other houses come into Slytherin, although, they were usually guests of the older students.

Both of them kicked off their shoes, leaving them on the rug of four intertwining serpents as Kibum lead him to his new room. It wasn’t much different than the other two, though the beds seemed slightly bigger, if possible. He flipped up his bed skirt, revealing his textbooks – both old and new.

“How much time do we have?” Minho asked as he slipped Kibum’s schedule out of his robe pocket.

Aaron’s alarm clock read 8:50. “I’ve got five minutes. You’ve got ten.”

Minho nodded, pulling out The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and dropping it on Kibum’s bed. “Today is Friday, right?”

“Yeah.”

Unfogging the Future joined The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection on Kibum’s bed. “Divination on the first day…are we ready for that?”

“Not sure,” Kibum pulled A History of Magic and the third volume of The Standard Book of Spells out and placed them on his lap before he grabbed the other two textbooks. “You tell me…What are you doing?”

Minho’s face morphed into this mock-serious expression, his eyebrows scrunching almost comically. He placed his fingertips on Kibum’s temples and hummed quietly as he struggled not to smile. “Hmmm…my mind’s eye is telling me…the vision is a little foggy but…it’s telling me…” he dropped his hands and opened his eyes, grinning as he tried not to laugh. “…nothing. It’s telling me nothing. I got it removed in ‘96.”

Kibum coughed back a laugh. “Oh, did you.”

“Yes. It was traumatizing.”

Both burst into giggles, Kibum shoving Minho away before he collapsed against his shoulder until he could catch his breath. After a second of calmness, Kibum looked up at the clock again. 8:56. “Oh, shit, I’ve gotta go to class.” He helped Minho up and they hurried to the door. “Meet me by the stairs after class?” Kibum asked as he shoved his feet into his already-tied shoes.

“Sure.”

“Good luck!” He called out as he started for the stairs once again.

* - * - *

Panted breaths and heavy footfalls echoed in the stairwell up to the third floor. Once they reached the top, Minho stopped and rested against the banister with Travis and Rhesa for a second. After a moment, they continued on, but Minho remained.

“Aren’t you coming?” Rhesa asked.

Minho turned from where he was leaning on the curled end of the banister on the third floor, looking up at them. “No,” Travis answered her before Minho could. “He’s waiting for Kibum.”

“Yeah, we’ll be up there soon. It’s in the North Tower, right?”

Rhesa nodded, and they resumed their trek up the stairs, followed by several other Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. When the first of the Ravenclaws passed him, Minho perked up, watching the stream of third-year students coming out of Classroom 3C for Kibum. Soon, however, the stream became a trickle until there were no more students coming down the hall.

But still, no Kibum.

Minho adjusted his backpack and started down the corridor, his pace picking up once Classroom 3C was in sight. As soon as he reached the open doorway, Kibum was coming out. Both jumped, Kibum clutching his armful of parchment rolls and textbooks to his chest as he let out a deep breath.

“What took you so long?” Minho asked, turning around so Kibum could get into his backpack.”

“Sorry.” He stuffed one of his books inside. “I accidentally spilled ink all over my notes.“

“Oh no!”

“It’s okay. O’Neely helped me.”

“Oh.” Minho looked down the empty hall. “Ready?”

Kibum zipped Minho’s backpack back up, patting it. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

They started down the corridor, hurrying to catch up to their classmates, who were nowhere to be found. The journey to the North Tower was quite the trek, even from where they were on the third floor. It took far longer than it should to get there, with the changing staircases and the misdirection from the well-meaning paintings. After another seemingly wrong turn, Minho spotted Peeves throwing buttons at a hissing Mrs. Norris in an abandoned classroom.

Sighing heavily, he looked over at Kibum. “Should we ask Pe -- “

“Minho,” he said, his voice laced with exasperation. “I know we’re lost as hell but are we really at our last resort?” There was a flicker of movement in their peripheral and Minho glanced up. Oh, no...he spotted them. Kibum grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the doorway and they took off down the hall. “We don’t talk to him! Remember what happened last time?”

“Shh!” Minho pulled his hand back, glancing around. “Someone could hear you.”

“Who? Who the f -- “

“Beware!” Kibum froze, his gaze flicking to Minho as both of their eyes widened. “Beware, young comrade, as a foul slip of the tongue when fair maidens are present is unchivalrous!”

Minho peeked over Kibum’s head and stared at the painted knight who stood in a windy, grassy field, leaning against a rather fat and dappled pony. Two Ravenclaw girls were standing at the foot of the painting, amused as they watched he and Kibum approach them.

“We were just asking Cadogan -- “

“SIR!” the knight bellowed, Minho flinching as his voice rang through the landing.

“-- right, yeah, Sir Cadogan how to get to the classroom.”

Sir Cadogan lifted his visor and cleared his throat. "It is quite simple. All one needs to do is -- "

“Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first time. Come on, guys,” one of the girls said, the other waving for Kibum and Minho to follow them into a room with a narrow, spiral staircase. The girls stopped and glanced at each other, one of them stepping up on the first step while the other moved aside. “You two can go first.”

“No, really, you two go,” Minho said. The one on the steps gulped and smoothed her skirt as she averted her eyes. Kibum let out a small little oh before he started to climb the stairs, motioning for Minho to follow him. “What was that about?” Minho whispered when they reached the second flight of stairs.

“I think they didn’t want to risk us looking up their skirts, even if it was an accident.”

“Ohhh...”

“Come on.” There were another couple flights of stairs, each one narrower than the last. Now feeling a little dizzy, Minho and Kibum staggered into the small, circular room at the top where all the other students were waiting.

“Took you long enough,” someone muttered when the Ravenclaw girls joined them.

A sharp creaking from above stopped any conversation, and everyone looked up to see what was causing it. An elaborate trapdoor in the ceiling was opened, a warm crimson light seeping out from the circular opening. There was a flash of silver, and the crowd parted as a thin rope ladder descended in the midst of them.

“I guess...we’re supposed to climb it?” Someone on the opposite side of the room said.

“Yeah, no shit.” Several people laughed, Minho and Kibum included.

“Ladies first,” Damien said with a deceptively kind smile -- Minho knew better than to believe it.

When Chelsea stepped up to the rope, Minho surged forward and swiped it out of her hands. “No, we will,” he said, looking directly at Damien, who’s smile faltered slightly. He hoped no one noticed how his hand was shaking on the ladder when he looked back at Chelsea and the girls behind her. “Do...do you guys mind?”

A relieved not at all seemed to be the consensus from the girls, so Minho handed Damien the ladder and stepped back as he started to climb it. He glanced over at Kibum, who gave him a quick nod before Minho followed Damien up. Minho was preparing himself on the climb up for a probable confrontation with Damien, only to find him standing there with his mouth slightly agape.

The air itself was a dusty pink, permeated by the crimson light shining through the draperies and the smoke from the incense that perfumed the room with the scent of jasmine and rose. Minho struggled not to sneeze as he climbed into the room. The professor, Trelawney, he thought her name was, sat in a plush armchair by the roaring fire. Her eyes were closed, but she followed their movement into the room.

“Just take a seat wherever you feel is best, my children,” she said, her voice a soothing whisper. “Ah, not there, Mr. Brent, there is some lingering chocolate that will stain your pants.” Damien shot out of the seat he was about to take and moved to another.

More boys filed into the classroom, Minho keeping a close watch for Kibum from his seat closest to the wall of teacups. When he finally appeared, Minho waved him over through the perfumed haze. “What took you so long?” he asked as Kibum sat cross-legged on the ottoman across from him.

“I was the last guy.”

One by one, the girls came through the trap door, and once Analecia closed the door behind her and was in her seat, Trelawney opened her eyes, her voice floating to them through the haze, almost like they were underwater and she was speaking to them from the shore.

“Welcome, one and all, to Divination. I am Professor Trelawney, and I will be your spiritual mentor and guide for the rest of your years spent on these hallowed grounds.”

“Is she referring to the classroom, or...” Kibum let his whispered thought trail off when her wide, glasses-magnified eyes glanced their way.

“Perhaps I am not as familiar to you as the other professors.” Which was true. Minho only remembered seeing her at the opening and closing feasts of the year. “As it is, I find it exceeding difficult to traverse the halls. It fogs the mind’s eye to always be immersed in society.

“I almost regret to inform you, my dears, that not everyone will be gifted in this, the most difficult of all the magical arts. If you do not have the Sight, there’s only so much I can teach you, as your spiritual mentor. Do not think that if you are talented in the violent or abrasive magic of waving your wand about that your skills will carry over to this, the gentler and mysterious magic of looking into the beyond and gaining insight on the future.

“Sadly, for most, the gift of sight is granted to but a few. You, my child,” she pointed to the opposite side of the room to Rhesa. “Your familiar, how does she fair?”

“...Fine?”

Trelawney's expression pursed to one of great sorrow and concern. Minho thought he could see tears fogging up her thick glasses. “I hope I am wrong, then, for your sake.”

She turned back to the class, continuing as though nothing had happened.

“For those gifted few, as well as the rest of you, I will be guiding you through the most basic methods of Divination -- my dear, please stop tapping the table with your toe, or else you’ll break my favorite piece of china, “ she said as she glided past Travis, who scoffed when he glanced down at his and Rhesa’s empty table. “ -- which include the art of reading tea leaves, then palmistry, followed by fire omens, and, if we have indeed recovered from his -- “ she gestured to Millicent across the room, “ -- tragic mishap with his wand, then we’ll be able to return to this classroom and continue our study of crystal balls.”

Trelawney sat back against the table before her chair, the firelight tracing her in a glowing orange aura. “Now, if you would, Mr. Choi,” Minho froze in his seat, dreading what pronouncement might follow his name. “Please bring me the largest teapot you can find, and the rest of you, divide yourselves into pairs.”

He gulped as he stood up, and searched the wall of shelves full of teapots, teacups, and saucers on the other side of Kibum. When he spotted the largest one, a silver one, he stepped down onto the bright red shag carpet and cautiously made his way over to where Trelawney was. She gave him a solemn nod before he hurried back to Kibum.

“Now, if you would all make your way to the wall and choose the teacup and saucer that speaks to you. They do not have to match!” she added as they all started to get up from their seats. “And Mr. Reed, be sure to take two and set one to the side.” Travis frowned at her as they all got up to find a teacup for themselves.

“Once you have your tea, go ahead and drink it, leaving but a thimbleful in the bottom. With your left hand, swirl your teacup three times and place it rim-side down on your chosen saucer to allow it to drain.”

Minho picked one with delicate red roses painted on the rim, a thin gold line tracing the brim and the handle and the base. He blew a thin layer of dust out of the cup and started to clean it with the sleeve of his robe. “What’d you get?” he asked Kibum when he stood behind him in line. He held his up, showing Minho the cluster of blue violets painted on the side as he also wiped his clean.

Once they reached Trelawney, she filled their cups half full and sent them on their way with a wave of her hand. Out of sync slurps were heard all around the room as they struggled to drink their too-hot tea quickly. “Can we ask for sugar?” someone asked behind him, but Trelawney didn’t hear them, as she seemed to be meditating in her seat.

Or, she was just ignoring the question.

Several long minutes passed, and when the last cup was down Trelawney opened her eyes. “When you are sure the tea is drained, pass it to your chosen partner and open your Unfogging the Future to pages five and six, and begin your readings.”

“You think it’s ready?” Kibum whispered, peeking under his overturned teacup with Minho turned to the right pages.

“Sure.” Minho turned his over, not even daring to look inside as he passed it to Kibum. “Okay, so it says here that we’re supposed to read counter-clockwise starting at the handle.” He stared at the leaves in Kibum’s cup, trying to find the symbols in them.

“So, this one sorta looks like a ladder,” Kibum glanced back and forth between the textbook and his cup. “Yeah, a ladder, which means...you’re gonna travel? Oh, or wait,” he studied the book again before he squinted at the teacup. “Okay so that was talking about the past, because the bottom half is the past and the top is the future.”

Minho nodded, scanning the book himself now. “And the left is negative and the right is positive.”

“Right, okay, so you traveled, which is obviously referring to your move here. And...a horseshoe,” he said, turning the cup, “which means success or luck when choosing a partner or friend.”

“That must mean you!”

“Yes, you were incredibly lucky that you met me.” Minho cracked up and Kibum grinned, both sobering when the watchful eye of Trelawney focused on them for a moment. Clearing his throat, Kibum turned the cup again. “I think this one is a hammer, or...or an axe, which means that you’ll overcome some problems you’ve been having.”

“Huh, I wonder what that means.” He set Kibum’s cup down and leaned onto the table. “What’s next?”

He turned the cup some more. “Well, there’s not much. They look kinda like undefined blobs, see?” He tipped the cup toward Minho. It was true, they did look like blobs. “Maybe they’re mountains, which means either powerful friends or enemies. Or maybe they’re clouds? I don’t know, it’s really hard to tell.”

Across the room came a tinkling crash, and both of them looked to see Travis staring open-mouthed at the broken cup on the floor. “Mr. Reed, if you would bring up your second cup,” Trelawney said without looking up from her palm.

“What about mine?” Kibum asked when everyone went back to their readings.

“Oh, right!” Minho picked up his cup. “So, there’s these squiggly lines just below the handle. That means...that means difficult journey, but since it’s in the bottom that means it’s in the past,” he added when Kibum gulped. “And this one, well, two kinda look like the mashup of a heart and a butterfly, which means you’ll be successful?”

“Well, that’s good.”

“Mmhm.” Minho hummed, turning the cup. “Most of it drained on the right side, which is good.”

“What...about the left?”

“Well, there’s definitely an arrow, which means bad news is coming. I don’t know how serious that is.”

“It can’t be good,” Kibum said with a nervous laugh. “Anything else?”

“Uh...” Minho stared at the symbol -- a coffin, he was sure about that. He didn’t want to tell Kibum, especially after the arrow, but it was in the bottom left, so it was most likely referring to his dad. Still, he didn’t really want to bring it up, especially since it seemed that Kibum was taking this very seriously. “Nope, there’s a couple of specks, but I don’t think they mean anything.”

Kibum let out a long sigh before lacing his fingers together in his lap. “I wonder what the bad news will be.”

“Probably nothing. You heard her, there’s probably only a few of us that are gifted with sight,” he said, mimicking her airy tone and grinning when Kibum chuckled. “And that’s probably not me, so...”

“I guess.”

It wasn’t too long after they finished their readings that Trelawney dismissed them. Minho took a huge breath of fresh air when they were free from the trapdoor, Kibum coughing roughly behind him. “Charms is next, right?” Minho asked as they started back down the narrow, winding staircase.

“Yeah!” Minho groaned, and Kibum pulled him along down the hall. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. You’ve been doing so well!”

“But -- “

“Nope, you’re gonna do great again this year, right?” They stopped walking when the staircase started to move. “Right?” Minho nodded, trying not to sigh. “Of course, you will.” They started walking again when the staircase connected to the landing. “You really don’t think the reading was accurate?”

He shook his head. “Of course not,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

Kibum took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay.”

A/N: If you haven't already, check out my Inktober project! I'm writing short scenes from this AU for every week of this month ^^

#minkey #shinee au #shinee fic #shinee fics #shineefic #ff: by my side #mine #my writing #hogwarts!minkey au #was gonna include the datda lesson but i think i'll save that for later this year #we're just getting started #but i am planning on putting it in there #actually this year will be datda heavy...ish #with boggarts and shit #anyways #what happened with peeves? you might be wondering?#if i were writing this on my phone i'd put in an eye emoji #it may be a story for another time #;)#also....are they finally old enough to start cussing? i think so #the reason i included dialogue about boys looking up girl's skirts is...well because that's a thing that happens #and we all know it does #it was actually my first thought when i was reading how they get up to the Divination classroom #because the girls wear skirts for their uniform and I used to do that #i rarely (if ever) wear skirts now but as a girl you totally know you carry yourself differently because of it #I still do tbh #I think Kibum would recognize that first because he was brought up mainly by his Grandma and mom and i think that they would be sure to #impart basic respect for women/girls on him and teach him what's right/wrong #he's absolutely a feminist ally...as is Minho ofc #idk it's just important to me i guess

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splintersfeelings · 6 years ago

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Carefully step over the gap of my open heart and show me where I came from / 擔心，小心，開心

Family trees are defined by absences.

My father and I were talking as he drove. He wondered aloud if he was like his own father, my Ye Ye. My paternal grandfather passed away when my dad was still a teenager.

"I'm surprised you notice and remember all the stories I tell you," he says to me, when I write about them. I always remember. How could I forget? I'm haunted by the stories. I burn them into my memory in the only way that I can to light up the dark spaces in my consciousness that are haunted by ghosts.

My dad doesn't speak much to his family anymore.

His mom, my Maa Maa, tried to control my father's life and groom him to become an eldest son who could serve as the head of the household, where he was needed to fill the vacancy left behind by my grandfather’s death when my father was a teenager. It was a burden that no one that young should have to bear.

My father's younger brother, my Suk Suk, told me about the Wong progenitor 7 generations before me (my father's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather).

This Wong left his Guangdong hometown to come to the United States and make his fortune. He returned home with the fruits of his labor only to be warned of an assassination plot waiting for him. So instead of returning to his home village, he took a detour to Macau to retire with his Gold Mountain windfall. He eventually accumulated 4 wives (including an American wife) and left behind many descendants in the Macau/Hong Kong area. This story was authored by at least 4 or 5 people, stories relayed across generations, until my Suk Suk was able to compile them all and then convey it to me.

Does this make the story less true? Or does it make it more true, the accumulated sweat and tears of generations distilled into a single, elegant fairy tale, an origin story of a man heading east on his Journey to the West?

This was it's own kind of pilgrimage.

There's a difference in how Eastern and Western cultures view justice, and it's a complicated question that I'm bound to oversimplify here, but I think the idea is visible in the difference between Buddhism and the Abrahamic (Judeo-Christian and Islamic) traditions.

In the Abrahamic, justice is something that happens in the afterlife. Justice is the promise of reward and punishment for mortal sins. Life is allowed to be just, because God will ensure that sinners pay the price and that the good are granted the salvation they deserve.

In Buddhism, there's no punishment and reward in the afterlife. Life itself is the system of punishment and reward for past lives. It has a retroactive temporal orientation towards justice instead of the future orientation of the Abrahamic. In Buddhism, heaven and hell would be confusing, because the goal of religious practice is to escape from life and reincarnation, not to live a post-mortem afterlife. For the Buddhist, everyone always deserves what they get, what goes around comes around. Somewhere out there is a cosmic Karmic ledger that balances the accounts. Justice is built into the present instead of constantly deferred.

The Abrahamic fears oblivion, fears the unknown, fears the cessation of the senses. Buddhism, by forgoing the afterlife, embracing oblivion and does something different.

I'm neither a Buddhist or a Christian. I don’t self-identify as an atheist or an agnostic. In my own words, I would prefer to say that I think metaphysical statements have no truth values. But this is all neither here nor there.

In Hong Kong there was only one real god.

Its name was money.

Getting up at night to use the restroom, I trip over a pile of books I had forgotten. "Pukgaai…" I mutter to myself as I nearly fall, stumbling for my phone. Groping through the darkness with my cold hands, searching for familiar shapes and sensations to remind me who I am.

In Cantonese (and in Mandarin), "he," "she," and "it" all correspond to the same spoken word. Gender is only marked in the written form. My sister and I used to make fun of our parents for always slipping up on pronouns, calling he's she's and she's he's. I realize now how special it is to not have gender linguistically and ontologically bound into our consciousness, instantly and immediately assigned to bodies. Of course, Chinese culture still contains uncomfortable Confucian attitudes toward gender, sex, reproduction. But there's something remarkably progressive and profound about not needing to assign gendered pronouns to people. Romance and Germanic languages are so strongly gendered. Who felt like they needed to assign gender to chairs, stars, doors, cups, hats, and boats, anyways? Why should a feminine verb, a neuter verb, and a masculine verb be linguistically differentiated?

Trauma is a form of omission.

My maternal grandfather, Gung Gung, was a gambling addict. But I wouldn't say he was addicted to chance. He was a surprisingly risk-averse man in other aspects of his life. He turned down a job offer from his family because he didn't want to move away from the racetrack in Happy Valley, where he'd calculate the optimal horse to bet on, studying and researching all the details that might distinguish him from the crowd. He was a man who found comfort in games, the consistency and dependability, the clear and precise conditions of defeat and victory that are absent from the tedium of everyday life. In games there is nothing left but expression of skill. The chess pieces don't care who you are, where you were born, or how much money you make. There is only the elegant simplicity of victory or defeat and whether or not you’re willing to pick yourself up afterwards from the burning wreckage to try your hand again.

Gung Gung was a chain smoker, such an addict that long flights from Hong Kong to the United States were troublesome for him. He passed away watching a game of chess under a bridge on Hong Kong island. But just months before he passed away he visited Seattle to see my sister and I. My sister was less than a year old and I was only a toddler.

I wonder if Gung Gung would have appreciated my childhood chess tournament trophies and my passion for real-time strategy games. I wonder if he would have taught me to flank using chariots, pin down with cannons, connect my elephants.

I was too young to remember him, so I can't say that I really met him. But I'm glad that he got to meet me before he died.

The single greatest gift that Cantonese has given me is a slur for white people. If I didn't have it, I would only ever think of myself as a failed national subject. Because of just one word, a word that now comes easily and quickly to my mind, I know otherwise. I was robbed of something, long ago, before I was even born, and every time I say "gweilo" I reclaim just a little bit of that history back.

Peace by piece. Plowshares for swords. An eye for a tongue.

Complicity is the price of silence.

To this day, the sound of Cantonese music puts me at ease. I barely understand the language. But hearing the rising and falling tones of the prestige Yue dialect, the language of Guangdong, always brings close a warm part of my childhood.

When I young, not yet in grade school, I had a hard time falling asleep by myself. My parents recognized I was a creature of ritual. My dad would sit close and would play Cantopop as I fell asleep.

One day, he turned on some music to listen to during the day, just for himself, and I complained to him that I wasn't ready to sleep yet.

Assimilation is death.

"Transgenerational trauma," my professor said during our seminar. We were discussing Lacanian psychoanalysis, and the displacement of trauma through unspoken linguistic signs. The idea is that trauma is displaced along generations by overdetermining the language that the parent uses to talk to the child, and the child to grandchild, and so on. And thus, a life time of scars is tucked into the limits of our speech. A child can choose to become like their parents or become unlike their parents. But the shadow of the parent is still there either way.

What an abyss then it must be for a grandparent and a grandchild to not even share a common language. What kind of trauma is belied by the fact that everything goes unspoken?

I grew up reading through my Ye Ye's comic books. Wong Si Ma was a famous cartoonist in Hong Kong when he was alive, and his characters are still remembered fondly. The first time I read them, they gripped my imagination. Over time, I realized that my love for those cartoons was bound into the fact that my father had taught me the same sense of humor as these comics, the same love for puns and physical comedy and light-hearted pranks.

Wong Si Ma had time for everyone in his life, but not enough time for his family before he passed away.

Even though I'm not religious, Hong Kong for me is a site of pilgrimage. And that saddens me, because I know that the Hong Kong that I want and need will never exist ever again. Hong Kong’s place in the world changed. Hong Kong has been transferred back to China, and Cantonese language and politics and culture will have to be fought for to be preserved.

I feel regret, as if I have failed in a duty, by not properly learning the language. But now is as good a time as any to start.

Whenever I commute around Seattle or Irvine, I think back to riding the MTR in Hong Kong and the sonorous British-inflected English voice warning me: "Careful, please mind the gap." In Cantonese, to be careful is "siusum," literally translated as "small heart." To step with caution. I try my best to step with caution, remembering all the sacrifices people have made to put me here walking these grounds and living this life. I don't think I can be grateful for receiving something I never asked for.

But I keep trying to dream for the two grandfathers I never really met, who persisted as a memory of a memory, ghosts who guide my heavy heart, as I sleep and slowly learn how…

…to open my heart and be happy.

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101percentindia · 6 years ago

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To Be ‘Amar’ Is To Be Immortal; Will Amar Chitra Katha Stand The Test Of Our Critical Times?

Remembering ACK, Tinkle comics and Chandamama.

Once upon a time, there was magic hidden between the pages of a comic book. They came under the common branding of Amar Chitra Katha and opened a window to a world most of us didn’t know existed – stories drawn from Indian history, mythology, folk lore and legend. Stories we had perhaps heard about but forgotten under the burden of academic pursuits and the struggles of our day-to-day existence. As illustrated books with thought and speech bubbles for the dialogues exchanged between them, all captured within 31 pages. There were tiny footnotes to explain typically Indian words, rituals, Gods, customs and so on. Each comic made a dent in our hard-saved pocket money – a dent of Rs.2.50 to begin, which was later raised by 0.50 paisa.

One man was responsible for this comic book revolution - Anant Pai. Story has it that he was on an official trip from Mumbai to Delhi in 1967, intrigued by the television set that had entered the capital through Doordarshan. Wanting to have a dekko of what lay behind that box, he watched a television programme through the display window of a shop. He was shocked to discover that in the quiz show, children could give correct answers to questions around Socrates and Winston Churchill, but did not know the name of Rama’s mother!

This chemical engineer orphaned as a young boy, realised that children loved comic book heroes like The Phantom. Leisure reading of children studying in English medium schools was also confined to Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Enid Blyton’s and a few comics like Richie Rich and Tintin.

Phantom made ‘politically correct’ for the Indian reader. Image source: thephantomhead.com

He wanted to bring Indian kids back to their roots and joined India Book House, one of the leading publishers in Bombay that was largely into printing, publishing, distribution and selling of books. Pai had already introduced the Phantom series as the first cartoon strip in The Times of India and wanted to use this form of visual reading to entertain and educate through Indian stories. And so the first Indian comic book was born under the brand name of Amar Chitra Katha. It went on to become one of the most popular and high selling series of Indian comics.

Slowly, sales picked up. ACK classics initially used primary colours - blue, green and yellow but graduated to full colours as it’s popularity began to rise. Pai and his team extended the parameters to bring in regional languages - beginning with translations in Hindi, Kannada, Marathi, and Telugu and further into Bengali, Assamese, Malayalam, Punjabi, Tamil, Urdu and even Sanskrit. It reached beyond its initial target of a middle-class readership to transcend class barriers and reach the upper class children. As ACK reached its 20th birthday in 1986, sales reached a peak of 5 crore copies, and then only two years later, a whopping 7 crores.

Related: Walking BookFairs: A Unique Initiative For Bibliophiles

Frequency also went from one classic every month to to one every fortnight around 1980. This was when IBH also launched its comic magazine Tinkle, that caught the reading fancy of all children at the time. The language used was simple, straightforward, and easy to understand by children not studying in English medium schools.

An entire generation isn’t even aware of this. Image source: amarchitrakatha.com

Amar Chitra Katha opened doors to an alternative visual culture that strived to adhere to its Indian roots. Yet, like all mothers everywhere, I would not allow my daughter to devour the comic books she was slowly getting addicted to. “It will take you away from your studies,” was my boring refrain. Scared of being stopped from reading what she had grown to love, she handed me an issue of Tinkle and asked me to read it. Tinkle was a weekly comic magazine brought out by the same publication – India Book House and the same man. I was bowled over. It was informative, funny, entertaining and carried a message and amusing adventures of the characters. It took me to one story from the ACK series, Ganga and I became a child all over again. I bought my daughter an annual subscription for Tinkle and, separated by a generation, we enjoyed the stories that could be read over and over again.

A position adopted by politicians today? Image source: wishberry.com

Chandamama, another magazine along the same lines, began to create and publish stories adapted from the Indian mythologies such as Ramayana and Mahabharata in 1947, just before Independence. In publication to this day, the magazine and its illustrations are known for its unique storytelling, reminiscent of grandparents' bedtime stories conveyed in print format. This was backed very innovatively with promotional strategies organized by IBH of fancy dress contests, displays in petrol pumps and book stores across every Indian city, launching new titles with press conferences graced by eminent personalities. By 1992, ACK classics were published and sold in 38 Indian and non-Indian languages by which time, Anant Pai had evolved into the children’s icon “Uncle Pai.”

Related: An Afternoon With An Author: Stephen Alter

Not surprisingly, these books started facing a lot of flak from sociologists, cultural historians, comic specialists and so on. This critique is an on-going process of sometimes making mincemeat of the series or questioning its authenticity or pointing out its pro-Hindu, anti-minority and extremely patriarchal bias as far as the representation of women characters go. There has been a lot of research both by Indian and foreign scholars on ACK’s representation of women.

Moot points were, women are conspicuous by their complete absence from the story and the illustrations such as Chandragupta Maurya or many of the Birbal stories. However, there were women protagonists in classics featuring Ganga, Draupadi, Shakuntala, Savitri, Vasavdatta, Mirabai, Padmini, Tarabai, Rani of Jhansi, Uloopi, Chand Bibi, Urvashi, Sukanya and many others. Another noticeable absence was in the Makers of Modern India series of 13 personalities that does not feature a single woman, though India has had many women leaders who should have found place among these makers. Leaders like Indira Gandhi and Sarojini Naidu are not part of this series and Kalpana Chawla was an afterthought. The same absence is noticed in the visibility of Muslim and Sikh leaders.

Rohan Islam, a Bengali literature scholar, in a detailed analysis raises questions about the ACK series that mark out sharp differences between “they” and “we”, “bad” and “good”, “us” and “them”. Islam also draws our attention to the Brahmin-Hindu-Male that takes precedence over Muslims, Christians, Sikhs and of course, women. He states quite assertively that the equations drawn between the Hindu identity and the National identity are quite sharply underlined.

Making History lessons fun. Image source: Amazon.com

Related: A Hospital For The Ageing Typewriter

This leaves us with questions. Why must we always place an entertaining comic series for children with informative stories on our culture, leadership, freedom struggle by contextualising it against the changing history and politics of changing times? Can one deny the historical significance of a classic series that has stood the test of time and space for four long decades? Can we deny ourselves the joy we got going through those stories and wonderful illustrations that took children away from their exams and more serious books? Take away the political, patriarchal and communal biases, which do not appear pronounced while we are reading purely for entertainment and information, and what we have is a harmonious ride into our cultural past.

Uncle Pai is no more. Long live uncle Pai. And with the magic between the yellowed pages of an antique Amar Chitra Katha, we can all live happily ever after. Or, can we?

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are independent views solely of the author(s) expressed in their private capacity and do not in any way represent or reflect the views of 101India.com

By Shoma A. Chatterji Cover photo credit: Amazon.com

#india 101India comics

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