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griffelkinn · 5 years ago

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All the Transwomen I Met

I've felt the need to write this and share it, for a few years.

About 5 years ago, I moved to San Francisco. I didn't know anyone in the entire state, so I spent a lot of time and effort meeting new people, and going to social events, and accepting invitations from most everybody who invited me to anything. I met a ton of people.

When I moved out there, I didn't really know anything at all about transgender people. I was told about that idea pretty quick once I got there. I thought it was really great that people were comfortable being themselves. The idea that men who enjoyed wearing stereotypically "women's" clothes, were becoming more comfortable doing that. And the idea that men were rejecting stereotypes of men that were forced onto them from childhood, so they could be themselves without shame. And the reverse... women rejecting uncomfortable stereotypes of women so they could be happy. It was an exciting idea that if more and more people started doing this, it would become more and more obvious that none of the stereotypes about what women are like and men are like are actually real. Sexism would be almost completely done away with!

I wish that was what happened. I was really excited to see it happen.

But that isn't what happened. Something bad happened.

In San Francisco, there were a LOT of transwomen. And so while I was meeting all of those people, and doing all that socializing, I ended up meeting and becoming acquaintances with a lot of transwomen. I have written a brief description of literally every single transwoman who I became friends with or got to know at all. I left none out. There are nine. I have felt like this was very important for me to share.

The first transwoman (man who likes to be called a woman) I knew, rubbed his penis on me when he thought I was sleeping. This was shortly after I told him I didn't return his romantic feelings for me, which I had told him many times already.

That same man had previously told me that he'd spent most of his young adult life pressuring girls to have sex with him.

The second transwoman I knew, became enraged when I casually commented on sexism in commercials. I thought what I said would be met with obvious agreement. I hadn't known many transwomen yet, and I thought that they would understand sexism and feminism a little more than men on average do. I learned that I was very wrong. I'd commented on how a string of commercials we watched featured men speaking with intelligence, confidence, and authority, and they featured women speaking in forced baby voices, sounding insecure, dumb, giggly, and weak.

This man advanced on me physically to where I was sitting, with another angry transwoman, very loud and mad, and was very upset with my comment. He said women like talking like that, and also their vocal cords physically are only able to talk like that. Then he said my comment could be compared to women who really want to wear high heels to work, but people don't let them. Which is obviously ridiculous, because that is exactly the opposite of reality... women are being forced by their workplaces to wear high heels, which most women hate and which injure feet. That is still a sexist reality in many places that women are fighting to end. He was somehow saying I was like the fantasy people who don't let these fantasy women wear high heels to work, because of my comment.

This same man told me that he was really respected in China, which is where he was born, because he's a woman and in China women are dominant and considered superior to men. That is true, isn't it. Yes, very accurate. Not at all incorrect or literally opposite of reality.

The third transwoman I knew got upset with me at Halloween season, when I commented that women should be offered normal costumes just like men are, rather than only "sexy" versions of costumes in most places. There should be the same options for girls and boys, and women and men. He immediately disagreed and would only repeat that "Women like wearing sexy costumes!" I repeated that girls and boys should both be offered normal costumes, and obviously if anyone, man or woman, wanted to wear a "sexy" version of a costume they should wear whatever they want. He still disagreed. He said that "women have very little opportunity to dress femininely and sexy, and Halloween is a chance they can do it." I explained that was the opposite of reality. Women have tons of times when they are allowed, encouraged, and pushed to dress femininely and "sexy". That includes work, after work, weekends, and... all other times I would say. I'm pretty sure he was thinking of men, for whom his comment would have been accurate.

That same man got very angry when I said women were made to feel they have to wear makeup, and that is bad. He became very angry. Not just a little. Very angry. He kept saying (angrily) "Women like wearing makeup!"

That same man told me he was a pedophile, and had to keep himself away from children.

That same man told me that "sexism is good for some women".

That same man supported Gamergate. That same man told me that the separation of women's and men's sports are not at all related to people's biological sex, and that men who want to be called women should compete in women's sports.

That same man told me that sexism doesn't exist at all in America, and people are treated exactly the same their whole lives whether they're female or male. (I know, it contradicts his other statement that "sexism is good for some women"). I said that I had a lifetime of many many instances where I experienced sexism. From when I was very little until the present. He mockingly told me to name just one. I was so horrified that he honestly thought I would be unable to think of a single experience of sexism, and that he was mocking me about it, that I told him that it would demean me to answer to his demand of one example. It would obviously be lowering myself too far.

That same man told me that sexism in countries outside America don't have any effect on me.

The fourth transwoman I knew, I saw a movie with. It was good, but I noticed some very obvious sexism in the portrayal of female characters and male characters, which I later learned most everybody noticed. And while most everybody including me agreed it was a great movie, the extreme sexism was obvious. After the movie I said so, how I loved it - but it was very sexist in these examples. And this man started insulting me and being very annoyed. He said venomously that the portrayals of female and male characters was "realistic", and then just as venomously asked me "What are you, a FEMinist?" Clearly he felt the only acceptable view of feminists is to hate them. Somehow he expected me to want to insist to him that I wasn't a feminist. Obviously I loudly said "Yeah. I am a feminist. Aren't you a feminist?"

I never saw him again. We had been casual friends for a few months, but apparently that interaction made us both lose the desire to try and meet up again.

That same man, weeks previously at a fast food joint, told me ever since he started taking estrogen that he's become extremely physically weak. He was grinning while describing to me how wonderfully weak he was, and clearly that was an idea that made him very happy. A personal fantasy. He said how now his arms are so weak, he can barely throw a frisbee! I asked him to arm wrestle and he beat me with no effort in one second. I'd assumed that would happen.

The fifth transwoman I knew, was a very nice person. He was kind, and fun, and not a misogynist, and didn't get angry if anyone criticized anything sexist. He also didn't mind going into men's public bathrooms. I really liked him. We were friends.

The sixth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall, and had a fantasy that men would rape him. He would only ever dress in cartoonishly sexual stripper-style outfits. He described multiple times to me how he was worried that men would rape him when he walked around in public. In a voice and level of description that made it obvious this was his personal sexual fantasy. He suggested that he and I are both equally in danger from sexual assault. I'm 5'1 and just trying to live my life. He was over 6 feet and that was his sexual fantasy. We were very different in our experiences of the threat of sexual assault.

The seventh transwoman I knew, I went to the movies with and he put his hand in my crotch area. I said "WHOA I am not comfortable with that." And I physically took his arm and returned it to his own seat. He immediately put his arm around my neck and shoulders and said in an annoyed whiny voice "Well can I at least do this?" And I had to say no again. We barely knew each other, and were not at all romantic. I had zero romantic thought of him. He clearly didn't care or consider if I did or not. It didn't affect his feelings that he should be allowed to do things like that for his pleasure.

The eighth transwoman I knew was over six feet tall and white. He came up to me suddenly and told me that he is twice as oppressed as me, because he has sexism, as a woman, like I do, and he also has "transmisogyny". I was so shocked that he would say he experiences sexism like women that I was speechless. Obviously he was a man and so he did not. He was also gigantic. I don't really know why he wanted to come up to me and tell me that he had "twice as much oppression as me". After he said it he just kind of looked at me waiting to see what I would say. That was the first instance I learned about the "oppression olympics". I had never used the word "oppression" before and very rarely heard it used in person. But I was disgusted by his competitive declaration of victimhood. Since then, of course the word "oppression" has become extremely popularly used in conversation, and that's usually a good thing, but there is definitely this unsavory world of people like him who build their identities around having the "most" oppression, like an impressive commodity, who have no basis in reality.

That same man, after my lack of response, then told me that he also doesn't have white privilege because he grew up poor.

That same man told me that he'd spent much of his life pressuring women to have sex with him.

The ninth transwoman I knew, told me he would only ever date women who shave their bodies. I know that men have no idea the level of pain and insecurity that teenage girls go through because of the forced shaving culture, so I gave him a break and replied with a kind of friendly comment that even though shaving their bodies for women is an extremely torturous social norm, everyone has preferences about their romantic partners and that's fine. Though I felt like that particular preference is specifically a preference for women suffering an unhealthy lifelong ritual born completely out of insecurity. I figured I'd just write this guy off, and there was no point in saying so. But I couldn't help poking the misogynist bear a little. He was trying to get me to hang out with him. So I asked if he just won't have a relationship with a woman who doesn't shave her body, or if he can't even stand to see them at all in any setting. Because it was summer and I love going to the beach in shorts, and I needed to know if I shouldn't invite him to to beach. I actually thought I was being funny and that he would know that, but he answered seriously that he "would feel grossed out if he looked at me." Imagine one person feeling comfortable telling someone that they would feel grossed out to look at you. That man sure felt comfortable saying it to me.

I have also known some transmen. They are usually very kind, thoughtful people. I have known some very closely for years before they decided to be transmen. Most of them, years after that decision, still fight internally against the feeling that they have to wear makeup every day or else be ugly and worthless. Most of them still mentally fight to nurture any sense of self-confidence to speak their opinions, or take up space in a group as a full person, who deserves as much free immediate respect as any other.

Those are things that women experience.

Almost all transwomen are now saying that they are not men breaking social expectations. They are women. And women are sexist stereotypes.

Men breaking social expectations would deserve respect and props for being themselves despite social pressure. That would be a cool move. But they are instead insulting women, supporting sexist stereotypes religiously, closing down women's shelters, women's rape trauma centers, and women's festivals. They are taking women's government positions, women's scholarships, and women's awards.

**CONTENT WARNING for below **

Transwomen have made it so now any and all men are allowed to go into women's bathrooms, women's changing rooms, and women's shelters. And MANY of them have been raping and murdering children and women. They've been kidnapping, videotaping, and sexually harassing women and children.

There are many myths that transgender activists send around social networking sites. There's one that is very popularly shared that says transwomen in America are in danger of being murdered. That is a lie. White transwomen in America are less likely to be murdered than white men who don't identify as a transwomen.

Even if they were in danger, that would be a separate issue from women completely, and they would deserve their own safe places to be and escape violence. They should not take away all resources to help women, and allow all men into women's changing rooms and bathrooms and prisons.

I'm pretty sure most people know that women are not allowed to talk about this. We are not allowed to speak our discomfort. If a woman says she is uncomfortable with any of that, transwomen (men) bombard her with rape threats, very descriptive rape threats involving their own penises. They also do this to any lesbian who says lesbians don't want to have sex with penises. Any woman who is a feminist. Any woman who wouldn't even call herself a feminist because that word takes a lot of courage to use, but who still speaks of helping women and ending sexist beliefs, or describes reality without pandering to make these men feel good.

I used to think the transgender social movement would bring us all leaps and bounds into a brighter future, but I really think it has dragged us all back far in time and rolled back women's rights and safety and respect many decades into the past. I used to think all those violent women-hating transwomen were just the rare bad apple, and most are good people who don't want to hurt women. But that list of transwomen that I described is every single one I've known in person. 8 out of 9 were extreme examples of the most misogynist of men. My experiences have made me wary now, and I can barely even picture in my imagination a transwoman saying the words "It's impossible to feel like a woman", or "Women deserve to be allowed to get together and talk about women's issues".

The misogynist slur TERF means: Dyke. Feminazi. Cunt. They all know this.

It pains me to see women being caught up in this social movement, clearly just trying to be polite and "politically correct", or seeking male approval. Most of them are insecure. I understand. But I wish they would speak up and be honest about the truth, and not just do whatever these men tell them they must do and say to avoid being called a TERF.

#terfs please interact #terf #terfs #terfs do touch #radical feminism #radfem #feminism #feminist

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millennialmoney · 4 years ago

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A Letter to my Ex: Dear Mister T...

I never thought I would be writing this, but here I am, after roughly 6-7 years of the end of the relationship to gain final closure. Don’t get me wrong, I no longer have feelings for you nor would I care about your life. However, there was always a slight inkling that bothered me, because we never got closure after ending our relationship with each other. We only ended the relationship via Facebook, and that was it. I never saw you nor spoke to you ever again. Sounds rough, am I right? So here I am, expressing my final thoughts about this past relationship.

Mister T, I want to say you are the biggest big coward I have ever met in my life for not wanting to meet up to gain final closure. How hard was that? We could have literally met for 10 minutes and say our final goodbyes. I just found that really pathetic and sad that it had to end that way between us. Considering the fact that we knew each other since we were young kids. You can say we were almost like good friends before dating each other. I had the decency to consider you as a friend even after we broke up, but that feeling was not mutual.

We had our ups and downs back then, but the connection we had was a special one. Connection, meaning we had a similar childhood and upbringing. From the beginning, we knew each other in a grade 3 Saturday math class, and fast forward a couple of years we went to the same public school in grade 8. Little did we know, both our parents bought a house in uptown Toronto and we attended the same high school there. We only became close friends and later a couple when we were in grade 12 and even attended the same university together after. Others didn’t know why I dated you since they thought you were blubbery, below average looking, and condescending. However, I saw another side of you, a softer side. You were my first boyfriend and prom date. I remembered you popping out of the bushes along a walkway that led to my house, and you scared the sh** out of me at that time. However, that was your version of your “prom-posal” to ask me to prom with a bouquet of roses. It was a very heartfelt moment for me then. I still remember we made sure to sync our university schedules to be similar so we could see each other while attending class together. Even though we were broke university students, we tried to make the best out of it. We would always commute to school together, and use our metropass to take the streetcar to Chinatown to have pho or Chinese food while exploring the city on a budget. We certainly spent a bulk of our young adult life with each other. While participating in student groups and recruiting events together. I felt like we were trying to grow professionally together back then.

As time grew, our love for each other grew apart and we wanted different things. You would always want to hang out with your friends over me, and worse, go missing in action. I still remember I texted where you were, but you did not respond me for the entire weekend, and it turned out you were partying it up with your friends in Montreal. That was another jab to the fragile heart in this tender relationship. I felt like there was no respect or communication anymore, and there was no point in continuing in this dead end relationship. We finally broke up at the end of my third year in university via Facebook, and you were no where to be found, seen or heard from. Truth be told, one my close friends informed me you had already moved on with a new partner. Even so, to be respected as a true gentlemen, it does not hurt to give each other closure to end the relationship fairly with one another. For that, you were not able to do. Which is why you will always be a coward in my eyes. Fast forward to January 2020, I saw you at a networking event, and you only looked at me and said nothing. Like the coward you are, so in return I only stared and did not say a word either.

However, I thank you for opening up my eyes about you as a person. You hurt me like no one else did, and I know I cannot be friends or acquaintances with someone like you. I have learned over the years that people like you or friends come and go, and I accept it because it is life. Not everyone can always be good friends, as our paths will always shift from one place to another. Despite this being my last expression about you, this gives me relief and final closure on this book that have ended years ago. For that, I am grateful to be the person I am today because of what had happened in the past. The future is bright I am looking forward to what lies ahead.

Regards,

#highschool #university #puppylove #2020 #quarantine #eat #pray #love #positivevibes #wanderlust #past #expression #grateful #appreciate

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naysaltysalmon · 5 years ago

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Shoutout to @tiburme for tagging me~!

Rules: Name 10 favorite characters from 10 different things and then tag 10 people.

Oh, massive spoilers below btw.

1. Gon Freecss from Hunter x Hunter: My favorite shounen protagonist by far. At first you think he’s your typical happy-go-lucky bouncy boye :D who definitely doesn’t have abandonment issues or self-destructive tendencies that literally actually almost kill him later on, and then, uwu... The amount of complexity that Gon has as a protagonist who hardly ever has stand-alone development is nothing short of astounding. How during the Chimera Ant Art his characterization totally dips off to the side to become an unknowable entity even to the audience, while still retaining amazing character development regardless -- not to mention how brilliantly daring his decision to threaten Komugi is that nearly every other author with such a happy-go-lucky protagonist would shy away from in cowardice -- is absolutely surreal to me. The more I think and write about Gon, the more I fall in love with him. If I ever meet his father, and by that I mean his real father, the creator, Togashi, I have nothing else to say but,,, well done, sir.

2. Tanjirou Kamado from Demon Slayer: I’m really hoping the Demon Slayer movie comes out soon because I absolutely love this boy and how charming he is. Unlike most protagonists, not just of shounen anime but of seemingly macho story lines that involve power-ups and training in general, Tanjirou never lets go of his kind heart. (Welp, except maybe in some cases when he’s facing the Upper Moons later on -- I haven’t caught up yet -- but WE’RE GONNA IGNORE THAT for now.) From the beginning, Tanjirou’s kindness isn’t an obstacle holding back his power, though other characters pose it that way, but rather he cultivates his empathy to grant peace to the demons he faces. He smiles in the face of anyone who treats him poorly because of his cluelessness, and that’s just so heartwarming to see, and dare I say subversive to the hardened, calculating, and cocky male protagonists we so often get. Good job, Gotouge.

3. Joseph Joestar from JoJo��s Bizarre Adventure: Giorno Giovanna was a close second, but I gotta go with Joseph. He’s the one who made me fall in love with the series, and with the later parts too. Unlike Jonathan Joestar, who was chivalrous and manly, Joseph was a riot: colorful, arrogant, funny, but also extremely clever. I absolutely loved his, “Next you’ll say...!” because at first I expected it to just be him being an overconfident asshole and eventually he’d be proven wrong at the ~Dai Pinchi Moment~ (please excuse my weeb speech, I legit didn’t know what else to call it), but then he hit the mark every time and eventually I was just waiting for when he’d pull that out and it was so hype. Also I surely can’t forget his transformation as an old dude in Part 3 -- him screaming “OOHHHH MY GAAAWDDDA!” and “HOLY SHIIIT!” murdered me every time. And of course, last but not least, the raw fucking emotion when Caeser died -- the dude actually gave a shit and wasn’t made entirely of wit and absurdity, but heart too. Joseph set the tone for what JJBA was as a whole for me (fuck off with that “but Part 3/Part 4 is the best Part” bullshit, Part 2 will always be top tier for me because of Joseph Joestar’s brilliant, bright, and beautiful absurdity -- but Part 5 was really good too). Araki really is a genius.

4. Link from The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess: My love for this series is a bit older than the series I’ve already mentioned, and TLoZ: TP was actually probably the first time I got seriously obsessed with a fandom. I love all the Links in their own ways, but Twilight Princess really drove home the “lone wolf chosen by the gods, fighting against the world” narrative for me. It made me feel important and strong at a time when no one cared about me. Seeing Link struggle silently through his quest with villagers who meant well but did nothing for him, and Midna who started out as a reluctant acquaintance and eventually became so much more, meant so much to me at the time I played the game. I will always love Twilight Princess the most because of what it did for me at one of the darkest times in my life, and because I felt completely and utterly immersed in every part of the story and gameplay through Link’s character, who was, and in many ways, still is, so relatable to me: Silent courage really is what I use to get through every day.

5. Greedling from Fullmetal Alchemist (Brotherhood): For once I’m not naming the protagonist of a series! Lissen, I still smile whenever I see the slightest reference to Edward Elric, but now he’s more of my childhood love. He’s just a part of my personality already? LOL. Anyway, FMA(B) has so many good characters that choosing just one doesn’t feel right (I mean, same with HxH tho). I say Greedling because that encompasses both Ling and Greed though, two of my favorite characters from the series! Ling’s apparent childishness in constantly running away from fights, making other people pay for his food, and failing to grasp the seriousness of the situation (until Lan Fan’s arm gets cut off lol oops) is so adorable and entertaining. He’s the best kind of idiot asshole, and I especially love how he teases Ed. After him and Greed fuse, Ling’s stout heart becomes even more apparent, as he constantly eggs Greed on to remember his past life, his friends, and become someone outside of Father/the Dwarf in the Flask. Conversely, Greed’s nonchalance and (of course) avarice are nothing short of entertaining and heartbreaking. Greed’s realization at the end, when he finally admitted to himself that what he wanted all along were “friends like these,” completely crushed me the first few times I watched FMAB. And when he’s screaming in the tunnels under Central after having killed Bido, remembering his friends, and he doesn’t understand why, and later attacks Wrath/King Bradley... that shit was so entertaining and cathartic to watch. None of his development feels like forced redemption, nor like it was too little development, since it mostly happens in the background and away from the “validating eyes” of the protagonists other than Ling. And at the end, when Ling and Greed work together to take down Bradley and all the soldiers invading Central HQ... it’s so beautiful. Many have said this before but I’ll say it again: Hiromu Arakawa wrote the perfect series.

6. Ciel Phantomhive from Black Butler: Another protagonist! And another older obsession of mine. Ciel remains in my mind to this day mainly for his heartlessness in relation to his age, and the fluidity with which Toboso tells his story. Normally when authors write younger characters into their serious stories, they make “child adults” of sorts, but Ciel feels totally realistic to the extent that he is both childish and adult to me. Obviously, Ciel is responsible and (normally) level-headed due to being the head of the Phantomhive household, but also from trauma. Yet, his cruelty at times is what sticks in my mind the most: You really feel that he’s someone who feels he’s been abandoned by the entire world, given his experiences, and that makes him disregard or use others sometimes in order to reach his own ends. Normally, authors would be too cowardly to let their protagonists, let alone child protagonists, go to such lengths to avenge their family, or carry out their duty as the dog of the military (looking at you, Arakawa -- she’s still a goddess tho). But Ciel is unforgiving. He lies to Snake and tells him his troupe is still alive. He murders the entire troupe because he’s triggered -- a childish decision, but driven with adult-like power due to trauma. It’s devastatingly riveting, and I cannot forget his unrelenting, contained rage to this day.

7. Ahsoka Tano from Star Wars: The Clone Wars: This one may come as a shock to most of you, because I hardly ever post Star Wars let alone Ahsoka content on here -- but it’s true. Other than the blatant, half-assedly inserted heteroromantic partner they gave Ahsoka in, like, idk season 3??, Ahsoka is a fucking goddess. From her origin as a wee baby in the earlier seasons who didn’t really know what she was doing and was a bit of a cocky brat, to how she matures and becomes wise, resourceful, and fierce in the later seasons, I just love Ahsoka’s design and character to this day. The episodes that stick in my mind aside from the obvious are when she’s possessed by the Dark Side of the Force on that Force balance planet and her arrogance becomes so exaggerated that she threatens and attacks Anakin, her teacher. It was so fucking cathartic. Normally female characters, let alone young protagonist female characters, are never allowed to show the ugly sides of themselves in fiction, since women are always portrayed as perfect beautiful majestic angels or some bullshit like that. (Or they’re cocky/sexy/slutty villain women. ‘Kay then.) Seeing Ahsoka devolve into her basal desires and come out of it like hardly anything happened and she’s still a perfectly valid character was so amazing to see on a meta level; it wasn’t about her learning a lesson or anything, it was a thing that happened like any other character and then they moved the fuck on. I also distinctly remember the episode where she was trapped on that island/planet and she had to take out the aliens that were after her all by herself. That was so fucking empowering to watch and god fucking dammit I need to rewatch this series now. And of course, let us not forget the fact that the entire time, we were all expecting Ahsoka to just be another domino in Anakin’s downfall -- and she was, but not through the refrigerator -- but through walking away from it all. That was so powerful and moving -- and heartbreaking. By the end of TCW, her character carried weight and agency in the narrative, and god, I only wish whoever wrote her could write more female characters in the future.

8. Tigress from Kung Fu Panda: Maybe another surprise, but I think she deserves this spot. Tigress is a female character who starts out as kind of an antagonist, given how she outright tells Po to leave the kung fu temple within the first day of him arriving. She’s even jealous of the fact that he’s chosen as the Dragon Warrior rather than her -- but that’s due to the backwash of years of trying to live up to the memory of Tai Lung in order to please Shifu (which means “master” in Chinese but ok I’ll shut up now), her master and mentor over the years. She never says this out loud in the movie, which is what makes her character more believable. Others even joke about how stoic she is (and not in bad taste). Her character development is definitely present for those who are looking -- but I put her on this list because I’m so happy the movie doesn’t make it some huge dramatic emotional thing, because so often in media women are depicted as being overly-emotional and here Tigress is just a hurt child trying to make her mentor happy. But, she gets over it, her and Po become allies, even friends to each other -- she and Po talk like equals in the second and third movies, and she even tells him to back out of the fight with Lord Shen and he listens (I mean he doesn’t stay put but he doesn’t undermine her opinion either lol, like most jokesy protagonists of Western media would -- looking at you, Marvel). I like Tigress because she’s an antagonist without being a bitch, she’s powerful without being overpowered, and she’s not sexualized despite being a well-trained, at times jealous, and even emotionally awkward kung fu master. And I almost forgot to mention the best part: There is never an indication of romance between her and Po, or any other character, for that matter. She’s perfectly capable, complex, and lovely on her own terms. And that’s that on THAT.

9. Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit: I wanted to include at least one character protagonist from a live-action movie/book, lol. I feel like Bilbo’s pretty self-explanatory. He doesn’t wanna go on an adventure because he likes his doilies and warm sheets, but then Gandalf seduces him with the call to the outside world and possible death (LOL), and he fucking goes for it, grumbling the entire time. Isn’t that what any of us would do if given such a proposition? I like to think so. Bilbo obviously has his own gradual, evil transformation with the One Ring, becomes murderous and uses it to disappear, and grows a strong bromance with the King Under the Mountain (which happens in both the movie and the book), but I think what I like about him is that he really feels... down-to-earth? Like even though the adventure changes him, it never feels like he’s been stretched in a way that makes his core character traits of grumbling and bluntness disappear. He gets better at the whole adventuring thing, for sure, but he remains Bilbo, at least, to me, throughout the journey. It was heartwrenching watching him try to save Thorin in The Battle of Five Armies, honestly, but Bilbo’s the kind of character that I feel like has his own story and mythology aside from The Hobbit, and maybe that’s just the result of J.R.R. Tolkien writing the lore for every aspect of his universe, but My Point Still Stands. He feels like his own man apart from the series he’s in, yet he’s still so much fun in his series.

10. Barley Lightfoot from Onward: And last, this one is because I saw Onward yesterday and was pleasantly surprised by the characterization in it -- and anyone who thinks differently can kiss my *ss. :) I was not expecting the movie to take the twist of fleshing out the “annoying” (more like adorable) overconfident nerdy big brother. Normally those characters are swiped to the side because God Forbid The Comic Relief Have Any Sadness In Them. I was expecting the movie to focus on Ian’s journey to meet his fatha and that the movie would pull something stupid at the end like “oh actually there’s another phoenix gem underneath the school” or “actually since only his legs appeared then you still have 24 hours with him” or some shit like that, but I guess this isn’t an anime so those absurdist explanations wouldn’t hold water anyway. But still, for a kid’s movie, I was NOT expecting this movie to go so hard with the characterization. For once, the main character doesn’t get what he wants at the end, and instead realizes it’s his big brother, Barley, who’s been looking out for him his entire life. Meeting his dad would betray that reality. What happens instead is that the lovable big brother never actually said goodbye to their dad before he died, because when their dad got sick, said brother ran away from the hospital room in fear of all the life-sustaining equipment. (Is this some meta thing about Chris Pratt and Guardians of the Galaxy? Off topic and call me stupid, but I didn’t realize Chris Pratt plays him until I saw everyone freaking out about it afterward on Tumblr laksjdflak.) So instead, the lovable big brother talks to the dad at the end, and unconfident younger brother grows confidence and thanks big bro for being with him his entire life. It was so touching, dude. I cry. But the moment that sticks in my mind the most was when Ian was crossing the invisible bridge... Ian needed to have confidence in himself to be able to cross over a chasm in their path, and Barley knew that if Ian didn’t believe in himself, he would fall and die. They tie a rope around Ian for good measure, and Barley encourages him the entire way, but halfway over, the rope comes loose and slips off. Barley sees this and starts panicking, but of course continues to encourage Ian so that Ian will get to the other side. What got to me wasn’t the fact that he faked it for Ian, but that there are actual tears running down his face as he’s encouraging Ian to get to the other side, because he knows otherwise Ian wouldn’t have the confidence and would fall to his death. Like dude, that raw, complex emotion in a kid’s movie?! DUDE?! I was fucking surprised. The clear anxiety and grief in Barley’s face as Ian’s totally clueless and even dancing around in the air was just too much, omfg. Of course, then it’s played off for laughs, but... I guess that makes sense for the annoying overconfident nerdy big bro character. :’)

Okay these are way longer than I anticipated and I’m sorry, but also I’m really not. Hope you enjoyed reading my thoughts on my favs!

Seems I don’t talk to that many people on here anymore: @stupidbluejay @mirycactusito @chronicstarlight

#Nay talks #a lot #i'm sorry but not sorry #TL;DR: Deku isn't on here because Tanjirou is a better boy sorry #Fullmetal Alchemist #Hunter x Hunter #The Legend of Zelda #The Hobbit #Onward #Kung Fu Panda #Star Wars: The Clone Wars #Black Butler #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Demon Slayer

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imababblekat · 6 years ago

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Hirl, Child of Whirl

I had a wonderful dream last night which I turned into a fic, that I’m compelled to share this with you. Warning its long and gets a bit angsty at the end.

I was the only human aboard the Lost Light. My job was a simple one, report to Earth about Megatron at least once a month. Earth wanted to know EVERYTHING about Megatron since the end of the war, from his physical and mental health to any new hobbies he’s acquired. My job was made easy thanks to Ultra Magnus, Rodimus and Megatron himself helping me which left me with a lot of time to hang out with the rest of the crew. Which is how I came to be an acquaintance to the mech named Whirl.

I hadn’t really interacted with Whirl before so it’s safe to say that I was incredibly surprised when he crashed into my hubsuite one morning. We locked eyes for a second before he scooped me up and exclaimed that I am now “Hirl”, his child. This was the day Whirl had unofficially adopted me. He then proceed to show me to the rest of the crew as his child.

From what I heard, Whirl had been binge watching Swerves family sitcoms and overheard some of the crew talking about the potential of starting families of their own. All of this must have flipped a switch in Whirl as he grow a desire to how a child of his own, but as he didn’t have a partner, adoption seemed to be the best option and being several years his junior made me the best candidate. The crew had mixed reactions when Whirl approached them with me, Skids teasingly congratulated us while Ratchet scolded him for messing around. I was generally wondering how long this would last and was starting to get annoyed with how he would tell others off if they didn’t referred to me by the new name he gave me.

The next day, Whirl crashed into my hubsuite again with breakfast. It was weird, he started helping me pack out a outfit for the day and comb my hair. It didn’t occur to me at that he was trying to be a parental figure to me until he desperately started trying to teach me the basics of the Cybertronian alphabet as if I was a sparkling. I decided to humor him, seeing how unpredictable he could be, I figured he would get bored of this idea.

After a month of Whirl parenting me, Rung asked to discuss this with me inprivate. Rung explained how Whirl was in general before I join the crew, after i joined the crew and finally, how he had be the last month. I was shocked for 2 reasons: firstly, Rung never talks about his patients to other crew members and secondly, how Whirl has changed in attitude relates to me.

Rung explained how most of the mechs literally see me as a child despite being a young adult. Rung explained how Whirl was happy that I never questioned his past, tolerated his pranks and humored his ideas. Rung explained this to me because Whirl was serious about being me sire and it would be cruel to lead him on.

I don’t know why I decided to embrace this new life but I did. I became Hirl (which Whirl explained meant ‘Human-Whirl’ as ‘Whirl Jr.’ wasn’t very original}. Everyday, Whirl would proper me breakfast, lunch and dinner. He took time teach me how to cook, how to read and write in Cybertronian. Whirl would make request to land on safe planets, simply to teach me to catch a ball or to fish. He even started to collect sketches I would absentmindedly make and pin them on hubsuite walls.

After 2 years, Whirl began to teach me how to handle weapons. I was surprised with how responsible he was being, after all this was the mech known running into a fight with reckless abandon. He sent a request to Ultra Magnus and took extra safety measures. He was a proud sire, happy that I embraced him and he’s interested. I left out that was a fully trained marksman because I was enjoying this change of life. Even without a mouth, I could tell he was smiling.

The rest of the crew was also pleased with Whirl and my decision. While Whirl was still a bit of a jerk and unpredictable, he wasn’t as violent in his attacks, he was willing to make appointments with Rung and was doing his work on time. The crew had gotten used to me being Hirl and despite being a human, accepted that I was Whirls child.

But all good things come to an end. It had been over 5 years and this was one of the many times that the ships was attacked, Whirl first tried to hide me but was was injured in the process. It pained me to see him like this, he wasn’t my father, he was may SIRE and he was risking his spark to save me.

We were corner is one of the many corridor, not knowing where anyone else was. Whirl sat me down before collapsing, he rolled over to look at me. He said he was happy that he choose to take me in and how he was proud of how I turned out. I couldn’t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks as he took the autobot insignia of his cockpit and put it on my chest before turning rigid.

Grief, sickness and anger ran through my veins. I was overwhelmed with negativity but vengeance shined through them all. I sharp feeling pierced through me spark with a scream, I looked down at my new claws and picked my sire gun. I raised on my peds and caught my reflection in hallway window, I was looking at a familiar helm but lacked paint and its single single optic shone the same colour of my original eyes.

I adjusted the insignia on my cockpit and readyed my gun.

I am Hirl, Child of Whirl. And I have a sire to avenge and a crew to save.

Submitted By Kraken

~xXx~

(A/N): This both makes me laugh, and cry! Let Whirl be a happy dad dang it!! I need him to crack dad jokes!!

#but seriously this was pretty good #i think whirl could make for either a really good parental figure #or a very bad influence parental figure!#mtmte whirl #mtmte #lost light #maccadam #submission #submitted #@ kraken #imababblekat

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katehuntington · 6 years ago

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Title: I Can See Clearly Now Fandom: Supernatural (season 1) Characters: Dean Winchester (POV), Sam Winchester, Y/N Pairing: Dean x female feader Words: ± 5550 words Description: After a falling out, the Winchester brothers are on the road trying to find Y/N, who has taken on hunts alone. Then Dean gets a disturbing phone call and he needs to move fast if he wants to save the her life. Warnings: Angst! Adult language, canon typical violence, description of blood and injury. Speeding/on the phone while driving. Panic, crying. Description of medical procedures. Possible character death. Author’s note: This is a rewrite from an earlier one shot. I changed it to Dean’s point of view and I hope it captivates you all even more! Thank you, @mrswhozeewhatsis for being my super skilled Beta and helping me with this story. Thanks to you it really came full circle.

“I just don’t understand why you can’t pick up the phone and call her.” I ignore Sam, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead, as raindrops run up the windshield, trying to find the way of least resistance. Unintentionally, I clench my jaw, after which I sigh, frustrated. It’s not the first time he brought it up. Apparently my pain in the ass little brother can’t take a hint. You would assume that ‘college boy’ is able to pick up on my annoyed glares and awkward silences, or maybe he just chooses to dismiss them. I’m not sure which one is more stupid.

Trying to come off as casual and uninterested, I stare past the window wipers, which squeak every time the blades unblurs the glass. Then I shake my head slightly, both disagreeing and as a warning. “We talked about this. I’m not calling her,” I state. “She made it clear that she needs to be alone.” “Are you that blind?! Don’t you know her by now?!” Sam exclaims. “No, I don’t, Sam! How can I if she keeps lying all the time?!” I can’t help but to raise my voice and I bite my tongue afterwards. It happens a lot these days, that I’m unable to keep my emotions in check, especially now that she ran for the hills.

Over the last couple of months, Sammy and I grew closer to the young huntress, closer than we should have. Not that she made it easy for us, because she acted like a total bitch at first. In the beginning I thought she hated my guts, with her fighting me on every decision I made. But fate would have it that when shit hit the fan, Sam and I were there to catch her. So we teamed up and hunted together. The Three Stooges, the Musketeers. The good, the bad, and the ugly, Sam being the ugly one of course. We became more than just colleagues, more than just acquaintances. We became friends; we became family.

I let that fundamental word echo through my mind as I ponder. It means a hell of a lot; I don’t go around calling anyone that. You gotta earn that title. Bobby Singer once told me, ‘Family don’t end in blood.’ I don’t think I fully understood what he meant, until Y/N became a part of our team. Sammy found a sister he never knew he wanted, a study buddy, a fellow nerd who he could get excited with over serial killer hauntings and prehistoric books.

And I... I found someone I never expected to find: someone who brings out the best in me and makes me feel things I thought I wouldn’t be capable of, not after all the literal horror I’ve witnessed in my lifetime of hunting. I found a goofy kid who laughs at my lame jokes, a girl with an appetite of a trucker and the ability to drink me under the table. I found a rock chick who loves Zep and AC/DC and adores my car as much as I do. I found the woman who puts family first, is kind and generous, and never ceases to help others in need.

You know what? I’m just gonna say it: I found the woman I’m in love with.

Things were good between us. It must have been a month ago when I first kissed her. I downed five shots before I could muster up the courage, and still I found shooting a charging werewolf the night before less scary. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve kissed plenty of girls, but she isn’t just any chick. This was Y/N, and I really didn’t want to fuck it up. We hooked up several times, and it was always either epic or awesome. Despite that we were taking it easy, I fell hard for her. Deep down, I always had this itch that she didn’t tell me the whole story. There was something she kept hidden. Little things gave her away. Short, almost unnoticeable hesitations. Starting a sentence by questioningly calling my name, and then dismissing it with a ‘never mind’. I never really pushed her, figuring that she would tell me when she was ready. It never got to that point, though. A week ago, the unthinkable happened.

After almost a year of searching, the one person who we’ve been looking for stepped into our motel room: Dad. But the air in the room changed the second he laid eyes on Y/N, who didn’t hesitate to pull her gun on him. After a heated discussion with weapons drawn like in an old spaghetti western, the truth finally surfaced. Apparently Dad was working with Y/N’s parents, when a plan backfired and killed them both. Even though Dad was her guardian, he left Y/N at an orphanage. Since then, she had made it her life-long mission to get revenge. The easiest way to find Dad was to latch on to his sons. Every hunter has a justification to sign up for this life; John Winchester was hers.

“She had a reason,” Sammy mentions, as if he could tell what was on my mind just now. “You mean Dad?” I assume with a tone. “He shouldn’t have left her like that. That’s all I’m saying.” A silence follows as we both continue to stare into the darkness beyond Baby’s headlights. “No, he shouldn’t have,” I agree, after several quiet seconds. Surprised by that conclusion, Sam frowns. I can almost hear him thinking: did Dean just admit that Dad did something wrong? “I’m not saying that what she did was a-okay. She still used us,” I correct. “I don’t think she did,” my younger brother disagrees. “Y/N desperately tried to stay away from us, remember that? She was mean, you two were clawing each other’s eyes out...” The both of us smile faintly at that. “But somehow, we still stuck together, and it’s a good thing we did, because we all would have ended up dead without each other.”

Sammy isn’t wrong there. Even two weeks ago, Y/N only just saved me from getting hanged by a poltergeist in an old hotel in Gold Canyon, Arizona. I remember waking up in the dust, noose still around my neck and her beautiful face above me, scared tears in her eyes after which she kissed me deeply.

“Y/N wants us there, Dean,” Sam snaps me from my thoughts. “We need to back her up.” “She’s the one who left, Sam,” I remind him, burdened. A semi rushes by on the other lane. Its headlights blind me and illuminate Sam’s face, after which the light fades again as the Mack passes. The wipers shoot from right to left and back, offering me some kind of visual.

“She thinks we’re still mad. She held Dad at gunpoint. I kinda get why she doesn’t think we can get back to how things were.” “Who says we can?” I bring to mind. Sam stares at me, his jaw dropped. “You’re still holding a grudge? Seriously? He left her at a fucking orphanage, Dean! She grew up in seven different foster homes!” “Does Dad sound like the kinda person who would just up and leave a kid he was responsible for?” I argue, feeling the anger starting to boil again. “He did the same to us.”

Sam eyes me coldly from his corner between the front bench and the door of the Impala. He has his arms crossed, his hair hanging before his eyes and everything about him says that he’s not going to agree with me. For a second I consider stomping the breaks and giving my brother a lecture, but instead I shoot him a glare.

“Watch your mouth, Sam,” I warn, my tone low. “Dad never left for longer than a month. He did the best he could.” “You were ten, Dean!” Sam exclaims. “And he expected you to take care of a six-year old kid!” “And it didn’t turn out so bad, now did it?!” I shut him up. “Have you considered that maybe he wanted to spare Y/N this life? That that’s the reason why he left her at the orphanage?!” “Bang up job on that,” my brother huffs.

I hate it. I hate that a part of me agrees with Sammy. And so I don’t respond and let him win this argument, if there is such a thing as winning today. Contemplating, I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, pressing my prints into the leather. I’ve always lived in a black and white world. Monsters are evil, people are innocent. Kill the evil, save the innocent. Simple rules, straight-forward orders. I do what Dad tells me to do, because he’s the leader of this pack and he’s always right, right?

That’s the thing, I don’t know anymore. Dad forbid us from hanging with Y/N, because the girl they care so much for, holds him accountable for her fucked up childhood. No matter how you look at it, it’s an shitty situation that is forcing both me and my brother to pick a side.

“Maybe creating some distance ain’t a bad idea. This business doesn’t allow us to be social. The more people we care about, the more people die,” I say, breaking the awkward silence. “So what, you wish we’d never met her? That’s what you’re saying?” my brother scoffs. “No, Sam! I’m saying that I’m worried. I’m worried that this - this, whatever this is, will split our family up!” Frustrated I accelerate, despite the slippery wet asphalt.

“Look, Dean…” Sam lets the air flow off his lips, struggling to ease it on me. “I know there’s more going on between you and Y/N--” I roll my eyes. “Oh, here we go.” “I know that Dad got in your head when he ordered us to stay away from her. I heard him say that she’s an enemy of this family… She isn’t, though. She’s a part of this family. She’s more to you, I can see it in the way you look at her. Plus, motel walls are thin.” I can’t help but to smirk at that. Seems like we woke someone up after I snuck to her room on several occasions. “All jokes aside, you love her, Dean.” I freeze, then manage to open my mouth in order to respond to that, but Sammy beats me to it. Thankfully, because I’m sure ‘I do not!’ would have gotten a good laugh. “You don’t have to say anything, I don’t need a confirmation from you to know that it’s true. But before you close that door, think about how precious that is,” he explains. “I had that kind of love with Jess and I lost it. I would do anything to get that back. Think it through before you let her go, that’s all I’m saying.”

“We’ll locate her, make sure she’s okay, then we go from there. Who knows, maybe we can work this out. But you can’t expect me to choose her over Dad, Sam,” I add, when I see a hopeful spark in my brother’s eyes. “I‘m not. But I do think that now would be the time to start having a mind of your own,” he suggests. “I’m here trying to find her, ain’t I? Dad would kill me if he knew,” I remind him.

Our father was against this little rescue mission and I knew that going down this road will put a big dent in his trust. On the flip side, letting Y/N run off in the state of mind that she was in, feels wrong too. What if something snatches her and we’re not there to back her up? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Suddenly my Metallica ringtone reverberates through the car; someone is ringing my cell. Who the hell would call at this hour? I take my phone out of my pocket and check the display, then my heart stops. An eerie sensation fills my stomach and creeps up my throat. She wouldn’t casually call, not after that clash three days ago. I pick up hastily. “Y/N?” “Dean…” It’s her all right, but a peculiar fear causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up when I hear her say my name. The fear that surfaces whenever Sammy’s in trouble, or Dad is. Hearing the sound of her voice isn’t as comforting as I hoped it would be. It’s weak, trembling, almost a whisper. I immediately know something is off.

“Are you okay?” “No – no, I’m not,” she cries. “Dean…” I close my eyes for a split second, then stare down the road again. Fuck. She just admitted that she’s not okay. It has to be bad, otherwise she wouldn’t… Fuck! I swallow down a lump in my throat and glance aside at my brother, who stares back and instantly reads that something bad has happened. “Are you hurt?” I ask, worried. She doesn’t actually answer my question, but I can hear her respiration, breaths hitching with every inhale; she’s in pain. “I need your help.” “Where are you?” I ask quickly, not wanting to waste any time. “Lincoln… 1722 Tremont, in an empty warehouse,” she answers with difficulty.

I look over my shoulder and only need a split second to read the sign beside the road; Lincoln is the other way. With my phone pressed between my shoulder and my ear, I hit the brakes hard and turn the wheel completely to the left with both hands. Baby slips and makes a 180° as Sam holds on for dear life. When we’re facing the road to Lincoln, I push the gas pedal down completely. With shrieking tires my car catches grip on the slippery asphalt again and races away, fishtailing, leaving a trail of burned rubber. I take the phone back in my hand, speeding up to a hundred miles an hour. “Listen to me, Y/N. You’re gonna keep talking to me, okay? Whatever you do, don’t close your eyes, understand?” I beg her. Whimpers from the other side; she’s crying. I’m mentally kicking myself for letting her go in the first place, my heart breaking as I listen to her despair. “Hey now, it’s okay… It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. I’ll be right there,” I hush her, trying to tone down my own anxiety to a minimum. “I’m sorry, for leaving and… and the fight with your dad.” “That doesn’t matter right now, don’t worry about it. We’ll figure this out, just like we always do,” I promise.

It’s quiet on the other side, but I can hear the blood rushing through my veins. As I push Baby to her limits, I send up a short prayer to the God I don’t believe in. Anything that helps. “Dean, if this...” she sobs. “If this is it, you need to know that I--” “- No, no, no, no, no. Don’t you dare start that goodbye shit, you hear me?” I interrupt, harshly, but regretting my tone the second I can practically hear the tears fall. “You can tell me later, alright? It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine.” My eyes have filled with tears over the course of the conversation, but I blink them away, nowhere near ready to admitting that this might be the last conversation I ever have with her. She has to be okay. There is no other option, I’m not gonna accept an outcome that is anything less. “Please hurry.” “I’m going as fast as I can, sweetheart. Only ten minutes behind you,” I tell her. “Did you call an ambulance?” “No, I can’t…” Her voice fades, getting weaker by the second, but she’s able to whisper. “They’re still here.”

It feels like someone just knocked the wind from my lungs. Holy shit, this won’t be just a rush to hospital. Is she kept hostage? Maybe they left her for dead, for bait maybe? “What are they, Y/N?” But she doesn’t answer. The only thing I can hear is the constant distortion from the phone connection. “Y/N?” Nothing. “Y/N! Answer me!” I yell into the phone. Not a word, not even the sound of respiration. Frustrated, I throw my phone in the back seat and step on the gas even harder, although Baby can’t go any faster. “FUCK!!!” I cuss out loud as I slam the steering wheel.

The Impala dangerously speeds up I55. Anxiety is jolting through every nerve, mixing with multiple feelings I can’t even begin to explain. Sam watches me, I can feel his gaze burn in the side of my head. Only for a moment, I glance at him, about to explain to him what’s going on, but I can’t. If I say it out loud, I acknowledge that this is happening.

Sammy’s eyes are wild, apparently not sure what question to ask first. “She got caught?” he asks, scared. “No, she called to make me an offer on better cable!” I snap sarcastically, going out of my mind. “Yeah, she got caught!” “You know what snatched her?” he interrogates. “I would have told you if I knew, Sam!”

From the corner of my eye I can see Sam swallow hard. It’s doesn’t happen often that I lash out like this, I hope he understands. I’m glad that he doesn’t push any further, because a lump the size of a brick obstructs my throat as my mouth runs dry.

You stupid, stupid idiot.

How could I have let her go like that? Lecturing myself won’t help her, but I can’t stop the guilt from boiling over inside of me. I need to save her. It’s the only way to make this right.

Without switching on the turn signal, I take the exit and skid through the tight corner. At the following intersection I run a red light, a station wagon swerving out of the way, but I don’t give a shit. I don’t care for a speed bump either, but when the exhaust pipe hits the asphalt as my car bounces off the damn thing and leaves a spray of sparks in our wake. I give the dashboard a pat. Sorry, Baby.

“What do we prepare for?” Sam looks at me, waiting for my lead. It’s a solid question, because I have no idea what we’ll be facing. I go over the handful of clues: cattle mutilations, several dead, bled out bodies. They are all omens, but we weren’t tracking a case, we were tracking Y/N. I didn’t study the signs well enough to judge them, so I shrug desperately. Fuck, I wish I had paid more attention. “I don’t know… uh, werewolf, demon?” I shoot, panicky, but then I remember something that she mentioned. “They are still here.” “What?” “The last thing she said; they are still here,” I repeat. “We’re talking about more than one, that gives us something. Whatever this is, they’re working as a team. Demons? Vamps?” “Holy water and dead man’s blood it is,” Sammy concludes, as I take a left, barely slowing down.

We approach a more remote section of town. Old rigs and factories tower over us, some of the buildings still in use, others empty. Tremont, it says on the corner of the narrow street; this is it. With no time to lose I reach over in the glove department to get my flask of Holy water. Sam quickly opens the door, the pouring rain hitting him as soon as gets out. My wise little brother heads to the trunk to get armored up, but I can’t wait for that. As he digs through the weapons, I bolt towards the factory. “Dean! What the hell?!” I hear Sammy exclaim. “You take everything out of the trunk that might come in handy, I’ll go find Y/N!” I tell him, without awaiting a response. “Wait! You can’t go in like that!” my brother objects. But I don’t listen. I don’t give a rat’s ass that I don’t have back up, that I’m going in blind. With my gun pulled out, I approach a door with white numbers; 1722. My own heartbeat drums in my ears, fast and restless, as I hold my weapon in front of me, finger off the trigger, but ready to point and shoot at anything that isn’t Y/N. With a fierce kick I free the door from its hinges and scan the place, holding my flashlight above my pistol. “Y/N!!” No answer, just the echo of my own voice sounding through the high empty spaces, only disturbed by the rain on the roof. In a fast, yet careful pace I move further, but then halt, startled. On the floor, only a few feet away, the light shimmers on a body, motionless, just a pile of human. The sound that erupts from my throat is one I don’t recognize to be mine. “NO!!!”

I hasten towards her and crouch down. I knew she was in trouble when I heard her fragile voice, but her state shocks me to the core. She lays face down in her own blood, and I force myself to stop shaking as I carefully turn her over. In her left hand I find a cell phone, 911 is still on the line. Quickly, I take the device and put it to my ear. “Hello? Anyone there?” “This is Ali from 9-1-1 emergency. There’s an ambulance on its way over to the Tremont intersection, sir. Can you tell me who you are?” Smart girl. She called for help, but made sure we would find her first, not wanting to lead the helpless first responders into this dangerous place. I wipe her hair out of her face, cupping it with my left hand. Fuck, she feels cold. It heightens my fear to a new degree. “I just found her, hurry up!” I tell the woman on the phone, desperately. “A medical team is on its way, sir. They are just a few minutes out.” “She doesn’t have a few minutes!” I exclaim. “Does she show any signs of life?” I check her pulse, but the outcome almost stops my own heart. “No, no, no. She’s not breathing…” I notify the dispatcher, in shock. “C’mon, Y/N… Not like this.”

I want to panic. I want to shake her, yell at her to wake up. I hear 9-1-1 emergency in the background, instructing me to perform CPR if I know how. But as I look down at her face, I notice something out of the ordinary. The operator’s static voice fades out as a beam from the streetlights outside is interrupted. I looks over my shoulder, watching Sam rush towards me. “Vampires!!” I shout, my hand blocking the blood flowing from Y/N’s main vein through a set of bite marks.

Just in time, because my younger brother can only just intercept an attack from above by one of the creatures, right before it releases its teeth on him. A second and a third appear from the dark and Sammy pulls out his machete. We both look around in disbelief while more vamps show themselves. I swallow hard; we walked right into a fucking nest!

“Get her out of here!” Sammy shouts above the noise of struggle. Not wasting time, I pick up her lifeless body from the ground and carry her to the exit, while my brother covers us. I try to ignore the blood that is dripping down my arms when I run out of the factory, the soaking rain drenching us the second we’re exposed to the elements. As fast as my legs can carry us, I hasten towards the main street. I have to get her to that ambulance. They can get her to the hospital and doctors will save her, right? I have to try.

But when I glance down at that gorgeous face under the dreary skies and cold streetlights, I stop. By the sight of the girl I lost my heart to, I know. She has turned stone cold, there’s no blood left in her body, eyes slightly opened and pupils dilated. Her head bobbles over my arm limply, her messy hair stained with blood, hanging sadly in the rain.

“Y/N?”

Honestly I don’t know why I call her name. I know she can’t hear me, I know she’s… I pull in a shuddering breath, the glint of hope I had crushed by reality. I’ve seen death from up close plenty of times before, I know its face. And right now as I’m holding her in my arms, I see it, too. I swallow apprehensively while my bottom lip trembles as I exhale. “No, no, no…” I whimper. “God, please no… Y/N, please!” I just stand there until my knees buckle, with my girl in my arms, dead weight. Helpless and broken I close my eyes and look up at the sky, hoping for a miracle, a sign from above, anything. I’m so desperate that I’m even asking God for help, the man upstairs who has never done me any favors. Nothing happens, nothing changes. And so I pull her into my chest as I let my tears run free, resting my forehead to hers.

My sweetheart, she’s gone… And I didn’t even get to say it, how much I care for her. On the phone earlier, I shouldn’t have interrupted her when I got too scared of what possibly laid ahead. Jesus, why didn’t I let her speak? Why did I let her go? This is all my fault.

I rake my fingers through her hair and pull her into my chest for the last time, when a familiar sound catches my attention. Sirens grow louder, and when I direct my attention to the road ahead, an ambulance speeds around the corner and stops in front of us with shrieking tires. Two paramedics get out. “Sir, I need you to lay her down,” one tells me, as he positions the backboard. “Did you find her?” “Yeah, she was in the middle of the street.” I lie, continuing her plan to keep the first responders away from the danger in the warehouse. The paramedics work fast, quickly hooking her up to a monitor. “No pulse. No respiratory sounds.” “Push 1 milligram of epi,” his partner responds as he starts compressions.

It hurts to watch them work her chest so hard, putting in lines and drugs to get her back. She can’t feel it, I know she can’t, but it seems wrong. The monitor shows a flat line and a continuous beep interrupts the silence on scene. I back out and let them work, although I slowly begin to grasp that it’s pointless. Then I glance over my shoulder at the warehouse, torn between Y/N and my brother. I know I need to get in there and back Sam up, there’s nothing I can do for her anymore. “Where you taking her?” I ask before I leave, my voice broken. “Lincoln Medical Center,” the paramedic answers, before I make a run for it. “Hey! Where are you going? Sir!” I don’t have the time to linger and hasten back to the warehouse. As I run, I take the bullets out of my Colt M1911, rubbing them in my bloody hands; that should teach those fuckers. With every step that I move away from Y/N, hate and anger multiplies, racing my veins like a deserted road. I’m gonna kill every single one of those bloodsuckin’ bitches, even if it’s the last thing I do.

Determined, I reload my gun and enter the large building, right in time to shoot one of the vampires from Sam’s back before it sinks its teeth into his neck. While I march in, I take out a knife, swipe the tip across the ground though the puddle of blood that Y/N left behind, and bury it in the guts of a creature who was coming at me. The thing looks me in the eye in shock, her injury stopping her mid action, choking with her mouth open and teeth visible. Driven by revenge I push the knife in deeper, fury causing my lip to twitch as I stare her down. “Dead girl’s blood, bitch,” I snarl and then pull out the knife.

The vamp falls down on the ground and tries to crawl away, but she can’t get far, completely paralyzed by the toxins running through her body. Another vampire picks her up from the floor and quickly flees. Sammy - out of breath and covered in blood splatters, caused by the messy beheadings - picks up the machete that he lost in the fight, ready to chop off heads if anything dares to come closer. Two well-armed and skilled hunters are enough reason for the rest of the nest to pull back and get the hell out of dodge. In a matter of seconds we are the only ones in the abandoned warehouse, alone in the dark.

With questioning eyes, Sammy seeks eye contact, but I avert mine in time. Instead I stare down at my bloody hands, still holding the knife. Silently I put it away as my gaze freezes on the puddle of blood left by Y/N, watching my own reflection. Her blood worked, it intoxicated the vampires and turned out to be highly effective. Only the blood of the dead can do that. The fact that it harmed our opponents means only one thing. When I finally dare to meet my brother’s gaze and let him be a witness of the devastation, Sam knows.

Staggered, shocked and unable to act, Sammy folds his hands behind his head as he turns away from me. When he has gone full circle, I can see the tears shimmer in his eyes through his brown hair. I can’t stand the sight of my little brother being so upset, so I wander a few steps away. My hands are clenched in fists of rage, but it is not just anger I feel. Guilt, helplessness, desperation, sorrow. And this gaping hole that only grows larger with every loved one I lose. I lost her... I fucking lost her!

Furious and out of control, I take my frustration out on two garbage cans. Raging, I kick them over and let out a loud tormented cry. I can feel Sam’s eyes on me, unable to respond. He’s speechless, but the sorrow in his expression tells more than words could ever say.

I calm down, but only because the outburst doesn’t help me one bit. And so I place my hands in my side and swallow with difficulty, out of breath from boiling over. I can feel my eyes glaze over, but I don’t bother to turn away from Sam. I try to be his tough brother, someone he can look up to. A grown man crying doesn’t fit into that picture. But right now, I couldn’t give a shit who sees the tears that begin to roll down my cheeks, as I stare at the crimson pool in front of me.

My younger sibling snivels, breathes in deeply and collects himself. “We - uh…” his voice fails him completely, catching him off guard. He swallows and clears his throat. “We better clean this mess up, before the police get here.” I just nod, numbed by the pain.

It takes a couple of extra seconds before either of us actually gets to work. Without saying another word we cover our tracks. A thousand questions dwell on my mind, but those questions will remain unanswered. Hundreds of ‘what if's’, even more ‘if only’s’. What if I had stayed with her? Would she be smiling opposite of me in a small booth of the local diner right now? Did she love me? That was what she tried to say over the phone, wasn’t it? Why the hell did I cut her off? Why the hell didn’t I tell her first? How could I promise her that it was gonna be okay? I didn’t say enough and yet too much, unspoken words and broken promises. Did she know how I felt?

You fucking coward, I think to myself. This is exactly what you deserve.

These are only a handful of thoughts that cross my mind as we clean up the carnage. The lack of answers will weigh on my shoulders for as long as I live. Not knowing is horrible, but the reality that is her death, makes it all so much worse. I can’t find solace in self-hatred, not in the vampire corpses as we get rid of the bodies, not in the sudden change of the weather when we exit the building.

I’ve reached my car already when I realize that the rain has stopped falling. I take a moment to look up at the stars that peek from behind the passing clouds, bright against the dark night sky. Minutes ago it was pouring, but now everything is clear. Tonight, Sammy and I lost our friend, our family. Tonight, I lost the woman I love.

There, I said it: I love you, Y/N.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

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captainderyn · 5 years ago

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OC Meme Tag (x3)

I got tagged by @a-d-u-r-o @legacystarwarred and @ofmistandrain sooo I’m going to do 3 OCS for the price of one...under a readmore of course! (thank you for the tags <3)

Tagging.... @lumielles @moonlitalien @anchanted-one and @greyias if you all would like to join!

(Muse #1)

- your muse’s name

Erabelle Torven

- one favorite picture/face claim of your muse:

(Era is the white haired gal, art done by the lovely @commander-sarahs-art)

-two headcanons you have for your muse:

-Era has 4 tattoos that she got once she was out of Intelligence; each one represents her taking back a part of herself from the traumas of being Cipher Nine and how that role changed her as a person.

-She’s painted a mural (either in a main room or Khas’s kid room) in Wren and A’trixa’s home as a big commission and it’s what really kicked off her art career post Intelligence.

- three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

-painting (whether on canvas or body painting on Noa)

-watching cheesy holo movies with Noa

-Watching the storms over Kaas City

- seven people your muse loves/likes

- @delavairesslegacy‘s Noa: she’s been with Noa really since the start in their Intel Academy days, is her soulmate and has been with her through everything. Era couldn’t imagine her life without her.

- @delavairesslegacy‘s Thea: Agent Mom, Agent Mom! No but seriously, ever since Thea and Five really took Era into their family (with Five going...this agent is now my daughter sorry not sorry) Thea has been a very steady, VERY important, motherly figure to Era. Someone she can always turn to.

-Five: Look, it started as Cipher Five idolization, then he was her field professor in the Academy, then he became her mentor when she became Nine, then partners in the field, and all around just Agent Dad. He is so important to her and she loves him like a father.

-Agent: ....Five’s cat, duh

-Noa’s little bastard seeing eye droid: Era won’t say she likes that droid but WELL she does. Even if it’s a pain in the ass.

-Five and Thea’s spawn: there’s enough of them to count for 2 remaining points, but as much as she never wants kids of her own and doesn’t love the nature of babies (too...squishy and fragile and needy for her lmao) she loves Five and Thea’s kids.

- a phobia your muse has:

Losing her autonomy again..honestly that’s the big one.

(Muse #2)

- your muse’s name

Khasir Ethril

- one favorite picture/face claim of your muse:

(my only art of him lol and it’s old AF)

-two headcanons you have for your muse:

-Khasir as a kid always wanted to keep his hair long because he wanted to be like his mama Wren. Even into his adult years he loves having his hair long and luxurious, though perhaps he adds a sideshave in...haven’t decided yet lol

-Khas goes to the smaller, reinstated, Dromund Kaas sith training academy instead of Korriban by request of Wren. Well, request is a nice way of looking at it. Wren didn’t want her baby going through the same shit she did on Korriban or getting hurt the same way she did.

- three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

-figuring out new ways he can braid his hair and generally preening his appearance. It’s relaxing to indulge in that stuff for him.

-Going out into Kaas city and really just soaking it all in. The life, the lights, the activity. Outside of all the fancy stuff he’s been raised in.

-Training with Claire. Though he himself isn’t as good at combat and doesn’t have much an interest in the sith (by career not power) lifestyle he will sure as hell help her train and keep in badass, powerful sith shape.

- seven people your muse loves/likes

- @delavairesslegacy‘s Claire: ahhh yes, a forbidden love sort of story...Khas falls for Claire when she is put under the training eye of Tarissma and thus, Wren, when she develops unexpected force sensitivity (Mirialan force sensitivity skipped Thea...Five said “ahahaha fuck no” to Tython when Thea suggested it, Thea said fuck no to Korriban) and lo and behold despite much grumbling from both the Ethrils and the Slovokos they are happily together.

-Erin: You get Claire, Erin isn’t far behind...as far as a sister’s watchful eye goes. Claire’s twin wasn’t just going to let her sister fall for a big name young Sith without vetting him extensively and I think in that process they became at least acquaintances. With the “you hurt my sister, I hurt you” sort of caveat.

-Wren: Khasir adores both his moms but has always taken a biiiit more after Wren, what can I say xD

-A’trixa: mama Sith! Khas’ mentor, mom, and biggest role model. He takes on A’trixa’s family business from her when he becomes an adult.

-Ega and Aki Thornley: Grandma and Grampa! We love good grandparents and Aki and Ega fit that bill exactly~

- a phobia your muse has:

Hmm this one is hard because he hasn’t seen the same shit that a lot of my other OCs have...I’m going to have to say he is very afraid of doing something to disappoint Claire/do something that “proves” that he’s not worthy of her.

(Muse #3)

- your muse’s name

Vitaliya Slovoko

- one favorite picture/face claim of your muse:

(my only art of him lol and it’s old AF)

(her FC: Elissa Bibaud)

-two headcanons you have for your muse:

-Vitaliya was 17 when Five graduated from the Imp Intel Academy and was chosen for the Cipher career. He went “MIA” a few months later. It affected her deeply and is why she chose to back out of pursuing a higher education and enlist in the Imperial Army instead.

-Despite now being a very accomplished woman in the military she originally struggled with her attitude and not ‘respecting’ her superiors the way she should (really she just wouldn’t keep her mouth closed at opportune times)

- three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

1. physical training; she enjoys the fitness she has to maintain for her position and enjoys pursuing it further in her free time.

2. pouring through old mission logs--she may have pulled her brother’s trait of reading but instead of history its an interest in well...the imperial military.

3. Being around her kids and Five’s kids and just, being at their whims for games and keeping their imaginations alive.

- seven people your muse loves/likes

- @delavairesslegacy‘s Luka: we love some good ol Imperial military wives kicking ass.

-Luka’s daughter from a previous relationship (whose name I STILL can’t remember ahh)

-Her and Luka’s adopted daughter, a little nautolan gal who’s name started with an S but we made her so long ago and I forgot to write it down sdjfhskh I’m a bad OC mama

-Five: always Valetyn to her, always her big brother. Despite her being pissed that he was literally gone for almost a decade with no word to her or their family saying that he was alive and horribly sad for the brother she lost (for the Valetyn who graduated from the Intel academy is far different from the Valetyn who survives being Cipher Five in some ways) she accepts that at least she has him back.

-Mama and Papa Slovoko: Could I go find their names? Yeah. Will I? No, because I can’t remember where I wrote them down and I exclusively refer to Mama Slovoko as either Mama or Grandmama Slovoko when talking to her

- a phobia your muse has:

Losing people she loves the same way she lost her brother: without warning or explanation.

#captainderyn memes #swtor #muse info meme #oc: Erabelle #oc: Khasir #oc: Vitaliya

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bloodiedskirtts · 6 years ago

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Daddy Dearest | Stark!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the darling daughter of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. Since meeting Steve Rogers, they have hit it off immediately and are super close. While, she harbours a crush for the super soldier, they are only friends.

Tony hates how close his daughter and Steve are and decides to take matters into his own hands!

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Peter x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of sex

A/N:This is an anon request hope it’s okay - I have aged up Peter because I had to

sorry this took so long x

Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading. I hope you guys like it! Gif not mine, credit to owner.

Five years, five years Steve Rogers was on the run. After the Accords and the airport he had nowhere to call home. Finally, a pardon was extended to "Team Cap" and he returned back to the compound. He clapped Tony on the back as he pulled him in for a hug. He was finally home. He was wandering around the compound, it had changed in five years. There were new Avengers, he realised this as he stood just outside the gym watching a woman take out her frustration on a punching bag.

Her back was to him, but he watched the muscles ripple under her skin. The soft curve of her hips and he hated to admit how his eyes were trained to her plump ass. The grey fabric of her leggings clung to her curves and her ass bounced as she moved. He could feel the stirring in his pants, his eyes snapping up as she turned around.

Shit! It wasn't some random new agent. It was Y/N Stark, Tony's kid. She was only a teenager when the Accords happened. She had sided with Steve but her dad shipped her off to boarding school in Europe. He hadn't seen her since then. She would hang off him before then, he liked her, as a kid sister.

But long gone was that gangly, awkward teen. In her stead was a gorgeous young woman, with curves that would send any man wild. A knowing smirk pulled on her face as she crossed the room and exited the gym to face him.

'Welcome home, Cap!' she breathed, pulling him in for a hug.

'You've grown up, kid,' he breathed as wrapped his arms around her smaller frame.

She had always had a crush on Steve Rogers. And when he became a criminal it broke her heart, she missed him so much. But now he was back and she wasn't a kid anymore. And that crush? Well, the crush hadn't gone anywhere, in fact seeing him in front of her, with his blonde hair grown out and that beard! She was getting weak at the knees just thinking about it.

'You should shower, old man. You stink!' she teased, wrinkling her nose as she pulled away.

He let out a laugh, before hitting back, 'You're not smelling too peachy either, darlin'.'

She shrugged, 'I was heading to the showers. Care to join me Cap?'

He took a step forward, his hands brushing against her waist, moving closer to her. Her heart was thumping, she didn't expect him to do that. Before he was so bashful and now...But before he could answer, Tony was walking down the hallway towards them.

‘I see you two have gotten re-acquainted!’ he said, eyeing up Steve.

Y/N giggled, kissing her dad on the cheek, ‘I’m just glad you two are friends again. I gotta shower though. See you later, Stevie.’

With that she bounced off, ponytail swinging as she made her way to the showers. Steve couldn’t help but watch her go but he was snapped out of his thoughts by Tony.

‘That’s my little girl Steve. I swear if you touch her, I’ll make you wish you were still on the run.’

‘I don’t like it Pepper,’ Tony hissed, as he got ready for bed. ‘If you’d seen the way he looked at her...like…’

Pepper shook her head as she moisturised her hands.

‘She’s an adult Tony. If she and Steve want to-’

‘Absolutely not! He’s old enough to be her grandfather. Literally! And you, you want her and him to…’

He made a face and shivered at the thought of his precious daughter and Steve Rogers...fonduing.

Pepper looked over at him, ‘I know that face, Tony. I don’t know what you’re thinking but just don’t.’

‘Too late,’ he said as he kissed her on the cheek before racing out of the room.

‘Best two out of three?’ she giggled when Steve pinned her to the mat.

‘I think you just like being under me,’ he teased, letting out a soft gasp as she rolled her hips up to meet his.

‘Maybe, Stevie…’

He jumped when the door opened, letting go of her as Tony walked in with a boy around the same age as Y/N.

‘PETER!’ she squealed, jumping up and running to hug him. ‘I missed you so much! How have you been bug boy?’

Steve watched as she flung herself into his arms and he picked her up spinning her around.

‘Queens isn’t that far!’ he teased, as he put her down.

‘Uh huh,’ she said. ‘Well, my dear, you aren’t easy to hunt down. Between swinging from webs to studying all the time. How’s Gwen by the way.’

He blushed softly, ‘We...um…’

She blinked, taking a step backwards.

‘We broke up. Trying to hide a secret identity and have a girlfriend isn’t easy...She always thinks the worst.’

She nodded, rubbing his arm.

‘I’m sorry. You should have told me, Petey.’

Tony moved to Steve, ‘Maybe we should let the kids catch up, huh?’

Steve shifted uncomfortably, Tony was right. She was just a kid and she looked so happy with the other man. Maybe he should just drop it, this other kid could make her happy. He could never give her what she needed. As he went to leave with Tony, she gripped his hand as he went to leave.

‘We’re still on for tonight, right?’ she asked, eyes wide as she watched him.

He nodded dumbfounded by her. He hadn’t felt this way since...he bit his lip.

‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he said with a smile.

Tony growled, as he noticed how Steve and Y/N looked at each other. He needed to up the ante.

‘Peter!’ she screeched, pulling her towel around her naked body.

‘Oh my God! Shit! Sorry, Mr Stark he said...shit, Y/N. Sorry. Oh my God.’

‘GET OUT AND TELL MY FATHER THAT I’M GOING TO KILL HIM!’

She stomped down the hall, her hair still wet, she was wearing a pair of booty shorts and her Captain America t-shirt. She knew how to piss off her dad. She threw open the door to her father’s office.

‘What the fuck?’ she screamed.

He blinked at his daughter, standing in front of him, a tiny ball of rage. She really was her father’s daughter.

‘Well, hello to you to, my dear,’ he simpered.

‘What are you doing? You invite Peter to stay at the compound, have him shadow me at every turn and then get him to walk in on me in the shower!’ she hissed.

‘Now, I didn’t-’

‘No daddy! What are you doing? Me and Peter didn’t work because of so many things,’ she snapped. ‘I love him. I do but not like that. And I don’t need your meddling in my love life again! You pushed me and Peter together before and it didn’t work…’

She shook her head, blinking back tears.

‘He’s good for you.’

‘He’s my friend. When we dated, we were kids. And we didn’t even…’ she shook her head.

‘So you and Steve are…?’

‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no! Me and Steve haven’t slept together. If you talked to me about it then maybe you’d know. Or maybe if you didn’t go behind my back, you’d also know that I really care about Steve. And he cares about me.’

‘Oh come on, you can’t…’

‘Steve was your friend, dad. And if he breaks my heart, he breaks my heart. But I’m not a kid anymore. This isn’t a schoolgirl crush. If it doesn’t work out, then I need to make that mistake by myself.’

A soft blush covered her cheeks, as she dropped her head.

‘But I don’t think he will…’

Tony sighed, ‘You’re going to break Peter’s heart.’

‘Ugh, take mom to Europe for the month. I can’t bare to look at you, you imbecile,’ she sighed out, a teasing smirk on her face.

‘So I can leave you alone with that fossil? Not a chance! I love you poppet.’

She hugged him, ‘I love you too, daddy.’

‘You ready?’ she said to him, turning to face her father.

He brushed her hair out of her face, fixing the veil over her hair.

‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘It’s still not too late you know.’

She slapped him across the shoulder, ‘Do you ever stop?’

He was snickering as the bridal march began to play. After five years, Steve had got down on one knee and proposed to her. And just over 12 months later, Tony Stark was giving his daughter away to Steve Rogers. And despite what he thought of Captain America, when he saw his daughter’s face light up when she came to end of the aisle, he knew that his little girl wouldn’t be happier with anyone else.

@kayleeflower , @savemesteeb , @rainbowkisses31 , @valeriae2903 , @sophiatomlinson23 , @rhiisnotawitch , @mcuimxgine , @randomstoriesofabunny , @marsnothere , @myrabbitholetoneverland , @jessxxoxx , @patzammit @ka-x-in

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #stark!reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #tony stark x reader #iron man x reader #pepper potts #iron man #tony stark #spiderman #peter parker #marvel insert #marvel fan fiction #marvel x reader #marvel one shot #request

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shmende · 6 years ago

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Growing Out Of It: Pt. 1 - The Unexpected (Shawn Mendes)

In which the reunion of old school friends stirs up some uninvited feelings

No warning, just very slow burn-ish. Also roughly 4.2k words. Enjoy!

Mary-Anne shot an expectant glance from the other side of the bar, thin brows wrinkled and mouth straight. “Kid spilled her drink at 12.”

Judging by her exasperated tone, I obviously wasn’t the only one categorically done with LLV’s Kid’s Sundays. I liked kids, I really did, but they were still a pain in the ass sometimes.

And the parents.

I sighed, remembering the run-in with a particularly nasty mother last Sunday who had insisted that her little five-year-old wouldn’t - couldn’t - consume our fatty french fries, which, by the way, were literally the food about seventy percent of LLV’s costumers came here for, and complained about how we, as a restaurant, endangered her child’s health.

Fucking tourists.

Usually I liked my job, really, it was quite fun, quite sociable, it paid the bills (the horrendously high bills in Toronto), and I couldn’t recall too many unpleasant encounters with costumers, Canadian customers, but those Americans. Sometimes Europeans, too. They could be arseholes.

Desperately wishing for a nice, peaceful family at 12, I grabbed a few napkins, a wet wash cloth and made my way over along the dark, wooden bar, through the black maple pillars and the maze of birch tables, all filled with happy families, some with only one kid, some with grandparents and some pushed together to accommodate all six children. I waved at Tina and Felix, Jonah and Tracy (I hadn’t remembered the names of the little twins yet) and nodded at Mr. and Mrs. Crubick. They made it to every Kid’s Saturday.

Today they sat at 15, meaning that I was only three tables away. And yes, I probably should’ve noticed the woman crouched on the floor a few metres down and a toddler wiggling her arms, barely reaching above the table top, a wee bit earlier. Because then I definitely wouldn’t have stepped into the wet patch on the floor, stumbled and almost lost my balance.

The woman looked up, her short blonde hair messed up and shirt battered with a few light yellow stains. She looked exhausted. “I’m so, so sorry. Little Amy was way too excited about her apple juice.”

“No, ma’am. It’s all fine, no worries. This happens all the time here.” I said, getting to work with my wash cloth.

The woman sighed. “Sorry to cause such mayhem, Miss. I’m sure you weren’t planning to wipe the-”

“Miss, Miss!” A light voice interrupted.

The woman and I turned our heads to the toddler. She was cute, wearing pigtails and ribbons and a little chain with plastic bananas around her neck. Her brown eyes were wide.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to show Mummy something. Look, I drew her a picture! It’s the big tree in our garden.”

I smiled at her. “That’s a pretty picture. Hey, Amy, right? Do you want me to tell you a secret?”

She nodded eagerly. The woman got back on her feet as I finished up the floor as well as I could. Then I turned back to the girl and started wiping the table. The woman settled back into her seat, lifting her cup and motioning at the little one to secure her drawing utensils.

“Listen, Amy, you see the tall guy over there, behind the bar? The one with the brown hair and yellow shirt, like the one I’m wearing?” The girl nodded. “His name’s Matthew. He’ll make you a new juice if you draw him a pretty picture. How’s that sound?”

The girl gave an excited squeak. Then she wriggled in her seat and got to work.

Her mother smiled broadly, relieved, and thanked me. I smiled back before returning to the bar, taking a few orders and waving at Felix and Tina again.

“You’re too nice.”

I shrugged at Mary-Anne, occupied with typing the orders into our tablet.

“Matthew’s gonna cut off your tips one day, you know.”

Mary-Anne was 48 with wild brown curls that she kept in the tightest bun and piercing black eyes. She had a son in drama school in Lethbridge and in constant disagreement with her, especially because she’d desperately wanted her son to become a doctor. Still, she was much more of a delight to be around than any other adult in my life.

“No, he won’t. He knows the importance of good customer service,” I said pointedly, before snapping my eyes to my unbelievably tall boss and catching him with a grin on his lips. “Hey, Matt, you’re gonna get a drawing from an adorable little girl in exchange for an apple juice. Please don’t disappoint her.”

Matthew shot me a thumbs-up. Mary-Anne scoffed, but a small smile lingered on her lips.

She’d been working at LLV for ages, years before I’d started and she had used to be distant at first, insisting I’d only gotten the job because my chem tutor Will was an old friend of Matt’s. Which wasn’t necessarily wrong. I’d been in desperate need for a way to keep the bills paid while studying at U of T and ever since my parents had cut the money chords, I’d been barely scraping by. But I had proved myself. I had Matt now. And Mary-Anne. And the LLV.

And life didn’t seem as pointless as it had used to.

“Hey, Teddy just came in.” Matt said suddenly, making me whip my head to the door.

“Usual spot?”

After his small nod I grabbed the little notepad and sauntered over to the round tables by the window front, right by the terrace, and spotted her familiar mop of brown hair and gesticulating arms. She was with two guys and another girl, all dark-haired and wearing light coloured shirts. I felt like a burst of spring in my yellow top.

And I wasn’t even fully at the table when Teddy waved at me frantically. “Lacey! How you been?”

I grinned. Teddy was one for the books. Always happy, always bubbly. One of my favourite customers, especially on Kid’s Sunday.

“Now that you’re here I’m fantastic. How’re you, back in your old space?”

She laughed. “My favourite space,” and tapped the birch table twice. I took the opportunity to look over her company, my gaze getting stuck at a certain face, adorned with curls and a bright smile. No way.

My grin became involuntarily bigger.

“Shawn? Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Obviously this was a blatant lie. I’d seen him everywhere. On billboards, on magazines, on TV, YouTube, Instagram...the guy was all over. But years ago, when he hadn’t been a world-famous singer, he’d just been the guy sitting next to me in Algebra, struggling on problems and having a laugh if we got it totally wrong. And English Lit. Oh, and biology. Kind of.

Shawn’s eyes lit up. “Lacey Windsor? The Lacey Windsor?”

“Yes! Oh my god, this is-” I didn’t get to finish my sentence because Shawn sprang up and pulled me into a hug, tight and friendly. I grimaced upon remembering the last time we’d hugged. Actually, the last time we’d even seen each other. Graduation. 2016.

I leant back from the hug, mind flashing to that warm night in June and how we’d danced like idiots, sneaked drinks into our gym and sat on the bleachers after the parents had left. Katherine, Ivy, Brian, Shawn and I, not my usual crowd, but Lisa and Theo had been impossible to keep trace of the whole night (ah, yes, young love) and so I’d somehow ended up with the cool music squad after Shawn had taken pity on me and called me over. Only to be sat next to my on-and-off crush of almost two years for the next something hours. It had been a great night. I still called Ivy a very good friend to this day.

“It’s so nice to see you, Lacey! How have you been?” Shawn sat down again, staring up at me expectantly. Suddenly I felt jittery.

“Yeah, I’ve been good. What about you? What are you up to nowadays, rockstar?” The nickname rolled over my lips too comfortably, considering the last time I’d called him that.

He laughed shortly, opening his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Teddy’s slow drawl of a voice, which was one of the things I liked most about her. She didn’t let anyone rush her.

“Wait, you two know each other?”

I wanted to giggle at her raised brows and dropped jaw; also, I wanted to cry at the suddenness of this situation. I’m just as surprised as you, Teddy, trust me. Her fingers dangled in the air, motioning between Shawn and I.

“Yeah, we sat next to each other in school.”

“Algebra was a bitch, wasn’t it?” Shawn immediately regressed to talking to me again, looking up through his long lashes and with his signature grin; and I was 16 all over again. Shit.

Before I could even try to answer, Teddy spoke up. “So, like, you two have been totally unaware that you’ve practically been living in the same street for what - almost a year?”

I shrugged unsurely, feeling incredibly out of place. “I guess?”

Life had a funny way of playing out sometimes. Then I gaped (How did she know where I live?), but was once again cut off by Teddy who continued with a quip in her voice, eyes glistening with mischief. Oh, she was enjoying this.

“Yeah, remember when I drove you home that night, Lacey? When you were drunk out of your mind? I even said that you live conveniently close to the guy I write songs with. Remember?” Her drawl changed into a chuckle. “You were so confused about my job...”

It clicked. Of course I remembered. Three months ago, the night Teddy had become more than a customer - a mutual, an acquaintance, a friend. In other words, an enigma with the most intriguing life I’d ever witnessed (except for, you know, the guy I went to High School with who rose to international stardom before even graduating). I shook my head at her. Unbelievable.

“Wait...so you mean to tell me that the girl you’ve been wanting me to meet is Lacey Windsor? Lacey Windsor from my High School? That’s too much of a coincidence.” Shawn stared intensely at Teddy. I kind of wanted to crawl into a hole. Had she been trying to set us up?

Sure, we’d had a heart-to-heart once, had been somewhat friends ever since then (and I might’ve told her how much I used to like Shawn Mendes when he was still my ‘dirty little secret’, by which I had actually meant High School classmate) but apart from that, I’d pretty much only been her waitress. The only thing special about me was my great sense of favouritism.

And she’d wanted Shawn to meet me?

Teddy looked between Shawn and I, visibly disappointed in the new developments. “Well, my plan to get you two laid obviously backfired.”

My jaw dropped and I sputtered for a moment, alarmed. “You - we...what do you mean get us two laid?!”

My voice got unexpectedly shrill at the end and Teddy had definitely picked up on it. She was smirking now. I felt Shawn’s gaze on the side of my face, with mouth still hanging open and I wondered if he had noticed too. I ignored him. Don’t ruin this. Shawn cannot know about your childish High School crush on him. He has millions of female admirers now. He’s a fucking teenage heartthrob.

Teddy and Shawn were suspiciously quiet. (Probably freaked out.) My face heated up. How would I get out of this without making it awkward?

I cleared my throat. “Well, thanks for your concern, Teddy,” I shot her a pointed look, “but I don’t need you to get booty calls for me. I can manage on my own just fine actually.” Then I looked at the two unknown witnesses on the table, gripping my pencil tightly and ignored Teddy’s glinting eyes. She still found this amusing.

I jotted down everyone’s orders, making contact with lingering eyes and timid voices. Maybe my outburst had been a bit, well, much. I wasn’t usually this harsh, especially not with customers, but seeing Shawn like this, completely unexpected (even though obviously kind of planned - what the fuck, Teddy?) and immediately being accused of needing to get laid in front of him and also by him, that had been a bit much, too.

To put it nicely, I was kind of pissed. I had not envisioned catching up with my crush from algebra and English and biology through a dumb booty call. And a failed one, at that.

I avoided their table for the rest of the day, even though the four had already been out the door only two hours later. Teddy holding her phone up on the way out and warning me of a call that was to ensue later while Shawn had twisted his lips into something distantly resembling a smile and had given me a short wave. I was miserable.

“You overreacted, Lacey. Teddy was just trying to be nice. How could she’ve known that you know him and that you’ve admired him from afar like a middle schooler for ages?”

Mary-Anne was huffing and puffing, scrubbing the surface of the bar that Matt had - as usual - made a mess of.

“And she was right too. You haven’t been with someone in a while. You’re twenty-one, for god’s sake, get out there more! When I was your age, let me tell you –“

Basically, she blurred the line between mum and best friend a lot. Not to mention brooding older colleague, which was a role she only seemed to play when the LLV was overflowing with customers and sometimes, that truly was my favourite.

I groaned quietly, staring past her and sorting through today’s empty glass bottles. Clear in the red basket, green in the clear, plastic in the massive IKEA bag. Yeah, maybe not indulging in Mary-Anne’s talk would make her shut up. Maybe, hopefully.

“And Lacey Windsor, he is handsome, that Shawn guy,” she continued after a short silence. My face contorted into a whine. My heart raced. Handsome. He is handsome. Was handsome. In High School. Shit.

Aren’t you supposed to grow out of childish crushes at some point?

“And he was so polite, dear. You should give him a shot! Maybe just give him a ring? Shame if not, he was so into you too. Downright sad when I brought the food and not you, he was. You should’ve seen it!”

Now I whined out loud. “Stop, Mary-Anne. Please. I can’t -”

She had the audacity to giggle. “Can’t what? Contain the butterflies?” Whistling and grinning, she focused back on wiping the bar. I pierced her with a glare, a mixture of annoyance and disgust at her giddiness. When had my life become the subject of entertainment for other people? First Teddy, now Mary-Anne?

She was about to wipe down the sink when she chirped, “Man, I wish I was young again,” and I cracked, exclaiming,

“Mary-Anne, it’s not as fun as it seems.”

She winked and my cheek twitched. On my way out, I caught sight of a drawing attached to the far left liquor cabinet: a stick-figure with a yellow shirt and brown ponytail, carrying a massive pen in its hand. It was signed with scraggly letters, crooked but genuine. A-M-Y.

Teddy didn’t call that night. She came back to LLV three days later, on a Wednesday evening as I was covering for Matt on the bar. It was getting cold already in Canada and the flu had hit last week. Which also meant that LLV was unusually (and conveniently) empty.

“Lacey, I’m so sorry about Sunday,” she said, sliding into the bar stool right across from me. “I didn’t even mean the whole getting laid thing, it was supposed to be a joke. And I absolutely didn’t mean to offend you or something, or to meddle in your love life, but I just thought it’d be nice for you to meet someone to distract you from Nate and, let’s be honest, that dry spell of yours has been going on for three fucking months and I thought-”

I staggered, taken aback, and decided I needed to step in before she went too far with her rambling, “Well, hello to you too, Teddy,” I said, clipped, and continued mixing the Cuba Libre the blonde surfer dude from 7 had ordered, torn somewhere between laughing and fuming.

When she remained silent, I brusquely added, “Didn’t know you were so familiar with my sex life,” and stared at her. She shrunk slightly.

“Listen, I know we don’t exactly know each other in a conventional way and I didn’t mean to overstep.” Then she squared her shoulders and I knew I was in for a lecture. “But honey, it’s also not exactly rocket science to figure you out.”

I raised my brows in indignation. “Sorry?”

The relationship between her and I was weird, to say the least. We were mostly business. Waitress-customer kind of thing. But then, once I had cried in front of her because of Nate and she’d taken my drunk ass home, she came by in the evenings, sat down at the bar and asked me how I was doing. Eventually, I became curious and returned the question, and so we’d been bonding over the noises of my colleagues, costumers in all kinds of moods and the sound of the cocktail shaker for about three months. As the time went by, we became mutuals who saw each other once in a while and chatted about life, nothing serious, but also not nothing.

“Lacey,” she sighed, looking at me with her big blue eyes. Sometimes I despised her for being eight years older - and probably wiser. “I’m not stupid. You obviously haven’t been with anyone since Nate. No, don’t give me that look. You reek of sexual frustration.”

I gasped. “Excuse me?!”

This was new. Discussing our sex lives when we had usually focused more on my rather embarrassing moping about past loves. I slapped her forearm. “It’s only been two months and we really shouldn’t be discussing this here.” I gestured around the business of LLV, then moved to finish the Cuba Libre and put it on my tray. And I was off, leaving Teddy alone at the bar, shuffling to 7 and back, getting stopped to take orders a few times. Where on earth was Mary-Anne when you needed her?

“So,” Teddy’s voice filled my ears as soon as I got behind the bar again, only to be interrogated. “I did the maths. Two months? Who on earth did you lure in between your thighs and didn’t even bother mentioning it to me? Remember me? The person you cried to after you and Nate broke up?”

I gave her a pointed look. Then I shrugged, done with trying to keep the secret. All my dignity was already out the window anyways. “Nate.”

Teddy’s jaw was on the ground for the next minutes that I spent recalling the events of that Thursday evening in early September where I had randomly called Nate because of a bad day, just to hear his voice. And how he’d actually been in Toronto for a few days and thinking about calling me too; how we’d somehow ended up grabbing dinner and talking about all the good times we’d had and then the bad times and how he regretted having to break up but loved his job in Vancouver. And then a good-hearted hug had led to lingering eye-contact and rough breathing led to kissing and spending the night on his friend’s couch.

Teddy regained her composure, sitting up straight. “So you’ve had your closure now?”

I nodded, reassured because she didn’t seem to judge, and then turned to the coffee machine to make her an Espresso. We bathed in the silence for a bit, not knowing what the other was thinking and also not particularly caring to disrupt, until Teddy initiated,

“Well, I had hoped you’d know by now but I gave Shawn your number.”

I whipped my head to face her. “You did what?”

She held her hands up, surrendering. “I know, I’m sorry. But he was persistent. And I really don’t get why you insisted on ignoring us that hard on Sunday. Did he do something to you in school?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Have you met Shawn?”

“Yeah, right. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Teddy rested her chin on her palms, studying my face as I concentrated on the coffee machine. I was doing a miserable job of concealing the twisty feeling in my stomach. Just thinking about what Teddy might’ve told him about me prior to coming on Sunday. Did he think lowly of me now? Working as a waitress, struggling to pay bills and apparently relying on customers to get laid? No, he wasn’t like that. I knew him. Had known him for years.

“So, what I’m guessing is this,” she was back with the drawls, “You were embarrassed.”

She radiated mischief and satisfaction, even more when I moved to shake my head. A poor attempt at dignity.

She erupted in a toothy grin. “Don’t even try denying. You are so easy to read.”

I put the hot Espresso in front of her with a huff and a red face. How dare she?

“Then again, so is Shawn; he was burning to talk to you the whole time. I’m actually really surprised he hasn’t texted you yet.”

Teddy was saying all this very nonchalantly while blowing on her Espresso, like she hadn’t just revealed that Shawn had obviously been thinking about me too. I stared at her taking a sip. Then she looked up at me. I was distressed. Shawn? Burning to talk to me?

We’d gone two years without talking to each other and graduation seemed like another lifetime already. I tensed. It felt so long ago that he’d taken my hand on the way to my house. And it felt even longer ago that his breath had fanned my face when he’d let go of the hug at my door, when he’d kept his hands around my waist and looked from my eyes to my lips.

And that final, infinite moment right before I’d leant in, all ragged breathing and beating hearts and my first real kiss.

(Now that felt like an outer body experience at this point.)

I’d never told him that he was my first kiss, of course. We’d looked at each other afterwards; him scratching the back of his neck, me fiddling with the straps of my bag. The empty glass bottles rumbled inside it and I had hesitated when I said, “That...That was nice and all, but, and don’t get me wrong, I’m drunk and this was probably a mistake. I guess, you know, you’re a rockstar and practically on a world tour in a few days.”

And he’d lingered for a second, then nodded and well, then he was gone. For two years. Gone, but never really. It had proved quite difficult to ignore his existence when he became a celebrity. So I’d done the only thing any reasonable person trying to get over a crush did: Unfollowed him every-fucking-where and changed the radio station when a song of his came on. The only real connection I still had to him was my friend Ivy, but she had understood to shut up about him in front of me. Especially when I got with Nate a year and a half ago.

Somewhere around that time, I’d also gotten a new phone and I hadn’t even bothered to text him my new number. Still, I found myself wondering if our kiss had meant anything to him like it had to me back then.

I suddenly jerked my head, willing that thought out of my mind. Which didn’t go unnoticed by Teddy.

“Windsor, why am I getting the expression that you two have history?”

Clicking my tongue, I delved into the story.

Seven hours later, I laid in bed. Phone in hand and Shawn on my mind. My tiny room had nothing but a glass laptop table from IKEA, my wooden childhood bed and a few clothes racks (also IKEA, naturally). The rest of my stuff was stored in an array of cardboard boxes beneath the window, labelled with creative tags like cheap high-tech (chargers and various cables I had no idea how to use), pics to laugh at, pics to cry at, good books, trash books or, my favourite, a massive binder that read paid bills. I was a picture perfect (broke) university student.

My room was also freezing because I had forgotten to close my window this morning and I heard the faint sound of my roommates Timothy and Charlotte respectively watching movies in their rooms. Sucks to be sandwiched.

I envisioned what Shawn’s apartment must look like. It was probably really spacious, with big windows and high-ceilings. Minimalistic in furniture and full of music stuff. My fingers hovered over the keyboard; I stared at his contact info. Shawn Mendes.

Who was I kidding? What would I even text him? And would he even bother to reply at all?

I decided not knowing was better than being disappointed. At least I could still entertain my fantasies that way.

PART TWO??

#shawnmendes #shawnmendesfic #shawnmendesfanfic #shawnmendesfluff #shawnmendesangst #fluff #angst #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes x oc #shawn mendes reader #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes text post #writing #fanfic #first post #ashtonwahs

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teacher-lavin · 5 years ago

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Waking from History’s Nightmare: Baldwin & Joyce (Part Two)

The Threat

Two weeks after school ended for summer, I had told a group of much younger teachers, “The students I teach have saved me much more than I ever saved any of them.” The next evening, the phone rang late. Muffled crying, then: “Lavin, I don’t know what to do. My mom is threatening to kill me and then to commit suicide. What should I do?” It was Candela (name changed here, another short story with a moral....). Overwhelmed, I told her to call her older sister and ask her to meet us at Burger King.

James Baldwin’s views of teaching and James Joyce’s deep encounter with language play both pertain to the tale.

First Baldwin:

“The purpose of education, finally, is to create in a person the ability to look at the world for himself, to make his own decisions,”

Baldwin delivered this claim in his Talk given in a New York City library to a group of majority white educators (October 1963). He roots his discourse within the mind and heart of the student, particularly the African American student, wishing teachers to know the student’s psyche as: her or their or his or The child’s internal struggle. Therefore, Baldwin poses the questions as if within an imaginary stream of consciousness resonating within in the student’s mind. He postulates further,

“. . . [the student will] say to himself this is black or this is white, to decide for himself whether there is a God in heaven or not. To ask questions of the universe, and then to live with those questions, is the way he achieves his identity” -- James Baldwin, Talk To Teachers (1963).

Baldwin assumed, I decided, that the child’s coming to terms with big questions is a process whose uncertainties demand companions, and that accompanying a child or a young adult who is asking these big existential questions is the teacher’s role.

Rewind Three Months Earlier: The Library Excursion

“Candela” told me about three months earlier that she was taking the bus to the Jesuit university on the other side of town after school. She was seventeen that year. Her mother signed a permission slip. Our high school had no library. Candela had complex questions about our readings: James Joyce’s fiction, James Baldwin’s essays, Gloria Anzaldua and Frantz Fanon’s writings and Adrienne Rich’s A Wild Patience Has Taken Me This Far. I wanted her to experience a library as she restlessly interrogated how and what she would write.

For that purpose, I had met Candela’s mom just the week before Candela’s library escapade at the end of her shift from midnight to 7:30 a.m. cleaning the elementary school two blocks away. Mrs. Cartagena (name changed), a small fiercely determined Cuban woman told me that she “was losing touch with her daughter” (my translation). She cried. She was exhausted. I stayed until her tears allayed, and she said she hoped the library would broaden her daughter’s horizons.

Because I’d taught for decades at night as an adjunct professor in the Jesuit English department, I knew lots of librarians there and phoned ahead to set up Candela’s visit. The University’s library is a weird mix: extensive collection of James Joyce criticism and Irish history, and a wonderful offering of contemporary poets from across the panoply of world cultures and languages. It goes deep.

The morning after her visit to “Hawk Hill” (local term for the Jesuit tower looming almost ivory over West Philadelphia), Candela had more questions than before her trip across town. “So, what is Poverty Awareness Week?” There were signs around campus advertising a week of awareness devoted to homelessness and world hunger. “I was in heaven with the books, taking them off the shelves, reading, then finding more and more and more?” She added excitedly, “Your friend, the librarian, showed me a book by Edwidge Danticat, signed by the author. Imagine that: Danticat actually must have held it in her hands. I felt like I went around the world, no lie, Mister.”

Then, Candela paused and said, “Hey, if they really want Poverty Awareness, why don’t we just invite them over here?” She laughed an ironic laugh.

The Threat,

--Fast Forward Three Months, Burger King

We met about thirty minutes after Candela’s tearful, frightened call, the three of us, Candela, her older sister (fictional name, Marisela) who had left her home twenty blocks away and her own three children with a neighbor (her husband was working nights) and me. We replayed through tears their mother’s threats and her delirium. Marisela said that we must call 911, report the incident and the troubling words kill and suicide and that their mom would be detained, by the police and placed on meds. After about ten days she would be released. This had happened before. Marisela would sign the papers.

Candela said that would be brutal, heartless and inhumane. Marisela countered that there was no alternative. Then, Candela said that she couldn’t bear thinking of her mom confined in that cold, clinical environment where no one would understand her. Marisela said that there would be Spanish-speaking nurses and assistants. Candela dissented, “But translation has to have nuance. It has to have sensitivity to the words and their meanings. It has to be dialogic.” Marisela looked perplexed. Candela explained, “I learned this all from James Joyce. Nobody gets mom’s meanings the way that I do.” Candela’s point came literally from our class. And, then, she cried and quoted her favorite line from Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, “Can't hear with the waters of. The chittering waters of. Flittering bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome?” And she added in her own words, “That’s so much more than Good Bye.” Candela said that she needed to make sure her mom understood everything that had happened before she brokedown and everything that would follow from that point. Anything less, would be “a violation of the sadness of her story and of the sadness of her life.” Again, Marisela looked perplexed. A very shaky pause ensued, “Spontaneously, Marisela hugged Candela and repeated over and over, “Candy, I’m so proud of you, baby.” Together, they decided to call 911 and to be there with their mom and to accompany her and to do the translation whenever and wherever possible, in person, the two of them.

If Baldwin’s distillation of the point of education brings teachers into a dynamic relation with the profoundly personal context within which students take risks and grow intellectually, his statement of the “paradox” of education, later in his essay, poses another problem of which we need to be aware. His terms inform the occasion,

“The Paradox of education is precisely this -- that as one begins to become conscious one begins to examine the society in which he is being educated .... The obligation of anyone who thinks of himself as responsible is to examine society and try to change it and to fight it -- at no matter what risk. This is the only hope society has. This is the only way societies change” - James Baldwin, Talk To Teachers (1963).

So much of what we do as students and teachers and family members and neighbors and co-workers is caught within the paradox that James Baldwin articulates as an admonition to “examine and try to change” society’s forms wherever our perceptions pose poignant questions and uncertainties. Candela and her sister, Marisela, revealed Baldwin’s wisdom to me as well as an assurance that bringing students literature in all of its complexity is crucial to acquainting them with complexity so that they can distinguish what they want to believe and how they want to live.

Candela came away with deep convictions about nuance and dialogic sensitivity to meaning. That’s where she felt and honored profound responsibilities to her mother. Isn’t that when words are most crucial, when we discern how they create meanings and, thus, relationships? It’s no surprise that Candela continued growing and became an extraordinary leader in her community. That will be another story.

Our work, however, as students and teachers, is to keep that conversation alive with the integrity we learn from Baldwin responding that “Joyce is right about history being a nightmare-but it may be the nightmare from which no one can awaken. People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them” James Baldwin, A Stranger in the Village, 1955.

#James Baldwin #James Joyce #Curriculum #education #Latinx

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madly-handsome · 7 years ago

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...Promise?

A/N There was a prompt ages ago about the Sides all having the same name and not being related...and I can’t find it so if someone does please link me so I can give the proper credit to the brilliant mind who thought of it first!

Word Count: 3525

Pairings: Moxiety (Romantic at the end)

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Major character death

________________________________________________________________

Shoot! He was going to be late on his first day!

The sun threatened to bake Virgil like his oven had the cookies he and Patton made last night. The fiery ball of death wasn’t as kind and sweet as his best friend though, and even if both could manage to make his skin burn with red, the sun did it out of retaliation and violence. It wasn’t his fault his skin incessantly betrayed him. It was out of his control! Fearing the irritation, he fled from his safe haven. He managed to briskly maneuver out of his dorm and into the science building before any marks could be made. Late late late! What was he thinking!? Sleeping in like that...he knew he’d be late and he went through with it anyway! Clad in all black and his purple hoodie, he followed behind one of his fellow peers. There was no way he was going to be late today, that was for sure. He hadn't been late before, and he was certain his Physics professor wouldn’t let it slide.

The man in front of him peered over his shoulder, cool earthy tones meeting his dark chocolate irises. A smirk twisted up his face, yet it was precise rather than menacing. He adjusted his large square frames. “I see you are prompt with your arrival this morning.”

“I’m trying,” Virgil chuckled, speeding up slightly so he could walk beside the one he was speaking to despite his labored breathing. He wasn’t one for conversations, but this guy seemed really...calm. That was a first.

“And you are succeeding. At this rate you will arrive early.”

Silence hung above their heads, feet tapping against the cool polished floors beneath them. Up the stairs, make a left, and at the end of the hall they arrived at their destination. Virgil could sense the other's aura as sophisticated and clear, which was quite refreshing to relish in. The man outstretched a firm hand, “Logan Sanders. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Sanders?

“I didn’t think my last name was that common.” Virgil mumbled more to himself than the other, baffled over the phenomenon. Heh. Who knew? He took his hand. “Virgil Sanders.”

The other’s pristine eyebrows shot up. “It seems we have a conundrum. There appears to be three Sanders students attending this college, with the same colored hair and eyes no less.” His fingers hooked under his chin in thought, “Our jaw structures appear to be similar as well, and we share similar freckles across our cheeks. Yet we are all ‘brothers of other mothers.’ Intriguing.”

“I didn't know you knew Patton.”

Logan’s shock amplified on his face. “Oh? There is another? I was referring to my nonsensical theater major roommate Roman Sanders.”

Virgil’s smile grew. “Oh my roommate’s Patton Sanders! Nice guy, pretty infectious with his kindness. I wouldn't be surprised if you knew him.”

“Are his energy levels...extensive? If so I believe I've heard of him, but we never held a proper conversation before.”

Virgil shivered, “Sometimes he can be a lot, but I know he means well.”

“Well, this is...quite intriguing,” Logan laughed, nodding in acknowledgement. “From one Sanders to another, I look forward to speaking with you again. Though I must warn you, I am not one for social interactions. I'm afraid I'm quite terrible at them.”

“Oh trust me, I loathe people with a passion.” A smile seeped through Virgil's persona. “But...you’re not that bad Logan.”

“Likewise, Virgil.”

Someone pinch him he was dreaming.

The professor was on paternity leave, so the college had to have another professor fill in until he returned. This guy also looked similarly to all the other Sanders in the room. Oh, Virgil couldn’t wrap his head around it. He hoped his last name wasn't Sanders too. That would be too perfect.

A-And...Patton was in this class!? Since when??!!

“Virge hey!”

Patton Sanders: cutie pie number one and most trustworthy best friend of all time. Without him, Virgil wouldn’t be the man he became, and he certainly wouldn’t be as happy. Patton was the kind of dude who’d always have your back even if times were tough, and his personality could soothe even the strictest beings on any planet. If the world was ending, Patton should be protected at all costs. Without Patton, reality would be unbearable to live in. This world's beacon...chose to sit beside Virgil of all people. Virgil!

“I tried getting you up this morning, but you wouldn't budge,” he giggled, “So I let you sleep in a bit. You really needed the rest kiddo. I'm proud of you for finally getting it! Classes can be hard but you're doing your best, and that's what matters. And you matter. The only thing that doesn't matter is energy!”

Typically he'd be upset if someone didn't wake him up, but it was impossible to have any bitter emotions towards his own definition of perfect. He allowed a chuckle to slip past his lips over the pun. “Thanks Pat.”

“Anytime!”

Virgil hated being selfish, but he'd give anything to keep Pat by his side for the rest of his life. Not because he was compassionate and breathtaking...even though those traits were quite a treat too. No, Patton was more than that. It was impossible to explain how...but he just...was. He understood Virgil better than anyone else! Sure he could do that with anyone, but he chose to invest his effort in a closeted emo jerkbag.

Virgil never imagined being cared for in such an honest way.

“Morning guys gals and non-binary pals! Settle in your seats please.”

Scraping chairs and hushed murmurs filled the room with white noise Virgil could care less about. This guy sounded like the least professional person on Earth, yet he had a firm aura about him. Virgil was intrigued. Finally, a professor who didn't seem like a total dickwad.

“I'm Professor Sanders-”

The whole class groaned immediately.

This didn't amuse the new guy whatsoever. “What seems to be the problem?”

“The whole world is literally taken over by Sanders people,” a kid groaned, earning a glare from Virgil, “And they're all in this class. I'm surprised I'm not one at this point. It's like a disease you can't get rid of.”

Virgil nearly skyrocketed from his chair at Logan's sudden outburst. “I'm sorry our last names are a hindrance to your daily entertainment, but it does not affect your education or health, therefore eradicating the ridiculous notion that the same name owned by five people in the same room can even remotely compare to a catastrophic illness of any kind! I suggest you rethink your wording before you allow such intense accusations to frivolously fly from your ignorant flapping gums again.”

“Jeez it was just a comment. Don't get so uptight.”

“Like you have any idea how it feels.” Patton growled, cheeks flushed and paired with a glare that sent tremors down Virgil's spine.

“Woah Pat,” he whispered under his breath, eyes not leaving his best friend even when he was caught red handed. But Patton just smiled like he always did, booping Virgil's nose with his index finger. That made a smile creep up his face. Way to lighten the mood buddy.

“So I take it this is your way of loathing attendance? I'll keep that in mind.” Professor Sanders chuckled, “Speaking of attendance, is Raleigh Ackles here?”

“Present!” A ginger girl cheered, arm shot up like a firework.

“Excellent energy! How about Vincent Applebottom?”

“Yo. Just call me Vin. Like Vin Diesel, but without the Diesel.”

“Noted.”

Virgil nearly fell asleep twice. It always took ages to get to the S's. And with this class, there were a lot.

The professor found this out very quickly.

“Alright. Now for the fun section.” He smiled brightly, “Logan Sanders.”

“Present and healthy as ever.” The smirk on his face made Virgil chuckle.

“Patton Sanders.”

“Yuppers!” He giggled, waving at the teacher with all the energy his body could produce.

Virgil smiled when he waved back with just as much energy. This guy seemed great, and...for once that wasn't sarcastic.

“Roman Sanders.”

“Here and queer!” A somewhat tanner and thinner version of Virgil raised an elegant hand.

“Same!” The professor laughed. “And last but not least, Virgil Sanders.”

“I'm here. Let's go to sleep.” He groaned.

There were many positive cheers. Oh the joys of constant stress and late nights. Probably the only things he related with other people. Woohoo.

“It's morning so...absolutely not.”

“Darn.”

Other students mourned their losses...of sleep. Or snickered at him. Yeah...nothing new. Cowards. Why not laugh at his face, huh?

“You tried kiddo,” Patton rubbed his back, “You can take a nap when we get back to the dorm.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Virgil smiled lazily, easily distracted with the radiant guy beside him.

Physics was physics. D=IRT stuff. More like D=IRriTation. Virgil wasn't the best at math, but he was better at it than some...at least. He wasn't really good at much...now that he thought about it. Logan seemed like a smart guy, Patton was the sweetest sunshine, and the other guy…oh shoot what was his name? Well, the extra one. You know, the one applying glitter lip gloss in the middle of class? How extra could you get? Anyway, the other Sanders seemed to be his own character. Made himself important in his own way. Even the teacher was impressive, keeping energy in a class of tired young adults. So...what was Virgil? He certainly wasn't any of that. He had nothing to offer to society...like he cared. Society can go-

“Make sure you complete this assignment by next class,” Professor Sanders said firmly, “And yes, it will be graded. You'll find out very quickly that the homework is heavy on points.”

“And th-the tests?” A girl quivered in her seat.

Oh no.

The professor's baritone voice rumbled in an inhuman...laugh? Could it be considered such? Venom seeped from his parted lips, eyes half lidded in a possessive manner that had every student trembling along with the girl who asked. Who was this guy!? Virgil froze in horror, heart beating against his chest for escape, but it was trapped in a frozen shell.

“Oh...you'll see.”

Virgil grabbed for Patton's hand on top of his desk, wide eyes finding...calm orbs of light. Ah, okay. If Pat was okay then...then it won't be bad. His fingers curled over the other's warmth, absorbing the heat and calm. Everything was okay.

“I got you,” his sunshine whispered, “I won't let go.”

“I-I'll be okay.” Virgil breathed. “This is stupid-”

“No it's not. No feelings are stupid. You will...be okay and...I'm here even when you get there and don't really need me anymore. Promise?”

“I'll always need you. You're my best friend.”

A light glimmered in his eye, uplifting Virgil's spirits.

“Let's eat those cookies after classes end.” Pat smiled, lacing their fingers in a net of warmth and comfort.

“Yeah.”

There was something eating at Virgil. Something dark.

Something unknown.

What a boring day.

Virgil barely lasted through last period. Not only were the rest of his classes without Patton, but he had to share a creative writing course with...Roman. That was his name. Good job Virge! You're finally getting the hang of it! Home was more important though, and he looked forward to taking that nap.

And hey, that Logan guy was in his algebra class. His rants were entertaining to listen to...and zone out of. His voice was so soothing and monotonous, it lulled him to sleep. If only he lived with the guy. He'd probably-

WAIT

Virgil physically stopped in his tracks as he recollected the events of last period:

“I value beauty sleep more than my own life! It comes with ease and fanciful dreams!” Roman nearly swooned over his own words.

“Do you only speak in rhymes?” Virgil scoffed.

“Not always, Moonlight.” He sighed, eyes twinkling as they locked on Virgil's. “It just comes out when you're in my sights.”

“Don't call me that.”

“You're no fun.”

A tremor shook his spine. That conversation was...uncomfortable. He was way too intense.

But yeah, go back to what Logan said earlier:

“I was referring to my nonsensical theater major roommate Roman Sanders.”

IT ALL MADE SO MUCH SENSE NOW!

Roman that bastard! No wonder he could sleep well! He was cheating!

“Natural beauty sleep my ass.” he mumbled under his breath.

But he had someone they didn't: Patton.

His best friend who stayed up with him and made sleepless nights into beautiful memories. The light of his life even in the dark...especially in the dark. The embodiment of sweetness whose hugs were angelic and holy. Patton. Patton.

Virgil reached for the kno-

…um….

The door was locked.

It was never locked when Patton was home.

He. Should. Be. Home.

WhY tHe FuCk WaS hE nOt HoMe????

“Breathe Virgil.” He gasped, clutching at his chest. “Remember to breathe. He's probably out doing some club related thing.”

That's right. Patton was the president of the K.A.B (Kind And Bright) club this year. How could he forget?

Uneasiness remained in his stomach, but he felt a little less panicked over the situation.

It lessened even more when he found the note hung on the fridge;

Hey cutie patootie~💖

Just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be out until 6pm on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The door will be locked just in case. We can share those cookies when I come home ❤. Help yourself to them without me if you want to too! If you need me for anything send me a text (I know you know that already but...just in case you need a reminder 💕).

Love you 💙💙

Patton

“You're quite the artist,” Virgil chuckled to himself, relaxing instantly as he maneuvered towards the couch. He felt much better knowing Patton wasn't in danger. But, he still deserved a nice flop. Screw the springs of the couch! They were almost as crummy as society itself.

So you know what you do with that information?

Flop!

Despite his little rebellious speech, the springs were actually durable. Huh. Interesting. For crummy college dorms this was actually a comfortable couch. His body flopped perfectly, not heavy enough to break the furniture...but also not too light to bounce back up. Virgil was very intrigued and pleased with the couch. They could be buddies if this keeps up.

And it did...for two hours.

It was in the form of a nice nap.

The door opening startled him from his peaceful slumber.

“Aww you took that nap! How cuute~!” Patton cooed, closing the door behind him. “If only I had my camera ready.”

“I'm glad you didn't.” Virgil grumbled, sitting up so he could stretch and yawn with ease. His muscles warmed from the pressure.

His other source of warmth pouted, crossing his arms. “Memories are meant to look back on. Without pictures it's difficult.”

“But then you'll remember my ugly face and trust me Pat, no one wants that. Not even you. You’re so good and perfect and I’m just-”

“That is enough out of you!”

H-Huh?

Virgil blinked, eyes wide as Patton's anger nearly blinded him into an alternate reality. He'd seen him irritated before, but...not like this.

It disappeared as soon as it had arrived.

“I uh...sorry about that,” Patton coughed, cheeks flushed. “Rough day. I didn't mean to snap at you…I swear.”

“It's okay.”

You know those people that live off of hugs? The ones that need them all the time in order to feel safe? Pat was one of those people, and Virgil thought it was a curse at first. He cared for the guy but...he hated hugs. He always felt trapped in a cage of limbs. But then he experienced one of Patton's hugs and...his world spun in a new direction.

He looked forward to each one.

The minute he opened his arms, tears streamed down Patton's cheeks.

Oh boy.

Virge wasn’t good with tears, especially Patton’s. He hated seeing him cry.

Don't cry. Don't you dare. Pat needs you. Be the constant he's always been for you. Don't let him down again.

“I missed you so much.” he sobbed, jumping in his arms. “I-I…I tried so h-hard to…”

“I missed you too.” Virgil smiled, resting his lips against the top of his head. “You did so good today. I'm proud of you Pat.”

But the tears crashed harder into his shirt. “Th-They hate me Virge! I know they do!”

“I'll physically fight them.”

A watery laugh escaped his lips, “B-But that’s my job for you.”

“You’re my best friend too.” Virgil pressed a soft kiss against his head. “An eye for an eye, ya know? And the best part? I want that. We aren’t forced to be this way.”

This was a bittersweet bliss. Holding Patton in his arms gave him so much energy, so much warmth. It invigorated him, but the moment would be sweeter had he not gotten hurt. He yearned to pummel them into next week, but if he actually beat them up...his light could go out.

“I’m sorry…” Patton whispered, puffy eyes meeting his. “You had a rough day too and...you don’t deserve all this mess.”

“You’re right, I don’t deserve this.”

He knelt in front of Patton, smiling sadly as he brushed the bangs away from his eyes. “I never deserved you, ever since the first day we met. You’re so much better than me in so many ways, and I’m...well...without you I’d be that troubled teen pent up with rage.”

He chuckled at the memory, slightly embarrassed over how brash he’d been. Young Virgil was much more rebellious and temperamental. Every little thing set him off...but then Patton bumped into him and...everything sort of fell into place. That guy was stubborn. No matter what Virgil threw at him, he always had some sunshine to give...and it managed to melt the punk into mush.

Now he was just walking mush.

And he liked it.

Loved it.

“You changed me for the better and...you deserve better. So much better and yet...you stayed.”

Don’t cry Sanders. Don’t you fucking cry.

“Aw of course I stayed! I’d be crazy not to. You’re sweeter than you give yourself credit for and...you say I saved you?” Patton giggled, “If anything you saved me. I wasn’t in a good place when we met and...well...you taught me how to be stronger. I’m much better than I was!”

“I’ll always be there for you. No matter what Pat I swear on my life. I’ll never leave you.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

Each day ticked by, unrelenting and unforgiving...but Virgil never broke his promise. Each expression exchanged was payment towards a beautiful, undeserving life. He gazed up at the moon, softly smiling at the sky above. Stars glittered the void, once deceiving...but each year gave him more understanding. Patton said they were like little nightlights the angels used to find each other whenever they got lonely. It was a comforting thought, even if Virgil didn’t understand what he meant back then. Even through the confusion and ignorance, Virgil never left...and neither did Patton. They were tied together with an invisible string.

They finally understood. Virgil could see vivid color, and Patton’s smiles could widen to their full capacities. The desperate yes that slipped past his lips with steady streams seeping through thick dark cotton. Virgil never left...never wanted to leave. And he didn’t. He never did.

It led them into a dream that could have lasted forever.

After completing their scholarly journeys, they bound themselves together with white roses and well-awaited I dos, making their promise stronger. Life was...made of purpose. Virgil’s purpose was always Patton, and they way he practically glowed as he walked down the aisle with Professor Sanders…it was something he’d never want to forget. His husband to be truly was the most beautiful man alive.

And after that?

There were times when that promise almost broke, usually due to Virgil saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, or Patton had a bad day and needed extra attention. But it was those same instances that brought about the best heart to hearts, and they relied heavily on each other until the end of time.

Yes...there was an end.

And it was in this moment that Virgil could smile with dripping nostalgia, leaning his cheek against the cool stone beside him:

Patton Sanders

The brightest Sanders of them all.

“I hope you’re able to find the other angels Pat,” he whispered, adjusting the flowers in their vase with his wrinkled hand, “The stars don’t seem bright enough. Not as bright as you. They’re so lucky to be able to be to you. I’m not too far away...so...wait for me...promise?”

Virgil greeted darkness with a wide smile and white rose in his hand.

“I promise.”

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Tags: @virgilmood @virgil-has-a-houseplant @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @valeriebevill1999 @pastel-patton123 @dragonesskunoichi @emphoenixcat @whyamihereohwell @icecoldparadise @author-trash @smokeyrutilequartz @hanramz-the-fander @toujours-fidele @sassy-in-glasses @panic-at-the-everywhere116 @roman-ciful @quietlypondering

#sanders sides #moxiety #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #thomas sanders #tw major character death #tw swearing #angst #patton #virgil #morality #anxiety #morality x anxiety #patton x virgil #sandersides #sander side #sanderssides

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donnerpartyofone · 7 years ago

Text

my pal x

for somewhere around a year now (i have trouble with chronology but that’s probably fair), i’ve had this buddy, who recently disappeared. my acquaintance with him began when i started to visit this convenient bar between the end of my work day, and the beginning of the thursday night radio show i co-host with one of my oldest friends. if i don’t get some time all by myself between these two social events, then i’m libel to lose my mind, so i appreciated the presence of this watering hole in the crumbling industrial campus where the radio station is located. i was worried, at first, when one of the bartenders started to make friends with me, just out of regular exposure, since socializing was the opposite of my reason for being there. once i got to know him, though, i was pretty glad for the company.

X was a terrific bartender who, even though he seemed to have been sober for years, could confidently walk me through the bar’s extensive beer program. besides that, he was a smart, funny guy with a lot of deep cultural cuts to share. i discovered that he had a lot in common with many of my most esteemed friends–he knew both high- and low-brow film, had an extensive awareness of rare independent and experimental music, and brandished an intimate knowledge of the scummier side of many major american cities as they existed in the 70s and 80s. we traded legitimate oddities, like recordings of punk and hardcore classics made by groups of little kids under different weird, hilarious circumstances. i still keep plenty of crusty, beer-drenched handwritten notes from him listing obscure bands i needed to check out, even though some are barely legible. i did my best to keep up with him, to give something back; i don’t have a genuinely deep knowledge of much of anything, but i keep a few cool secrets here and there.

as one might guess from some of the above, X was an old junkie. by “old” i really mean something more like “experienced” or “careworn” or something. he was in his 40s, which is not far off from my age, but he’d been through a lot more than i can imagine. we became closer when he asked me if i would read a passage from a book he was trying to write. he didn’t expect that i’d give him extremely detailed copyediting notes, and unwieldy chunks of my personal reactions to his grimy autobiography. although he was initially nervous about exposing the worst parts of his history to his new friend, he seemed pretty thrilled to get so much work and attention out of me, and i was happy to do it. i didn’t really know how to say that i didn’t think this hubert selby jr style of reportage was in style anymore–contemporary readers who are interested in this kind of underground prose are not necessarily interested in straight white male racial commentary and opinions on sex workers and trans people and such. it isn’t that his writing was so aggressively bigoted, but it was heavily colloquial and of its moment and first-person, and i don’t know if many people are interested in that specific perspective anymore. however, his writing was also engagingly florid, grim, funny, and marked by a very interesting ability to shift suddenly between differing timelines and even hallucinations. i was totally pleased to participate. i only worried that it was too stylized, that it was more focused on attention-getting than on, i don’t know, telling the truth. a lot of my direction was aimed at bringing him back to exactly how something felt or looked or smelled at the time–what literally happened–as opposed to how he thought he should sell it to the public. but, the truth, as he told me frankly was, “i’m sick of being broke.” he had a friend who had had a modicum of success selling his own self-published junkie memoir, and was hoping to supplement his rent-paying ability in the same way. personally, i just thought he should keep writing, because he could.

when i met X he was doing basically-ok, but i had a sense that i had encountered him at the midpoint of a downward spiral. shortly before we met, he had broken up with the love of his life. you got that sense from the way he spoke, in spite of whatever conversational restraint, that he knew what he was talking about, that he had really peaked with her. she was a musician in the latest arrangement fronted by a certain famous and influential lady punk, and he still seemed to admire his ex very much. while he was trying to recover from his loss, he was also constantly on the hunt for decent living quarters. he moved from a punk squat in brooklyn to a sublet situation, under some couple. one day i came in to hear that the couple had blown town. X was sitting at home relaxing, when the u.s. marshals burst in to seize the place; the couple had been just taking X’s rent for themselves, for months, and then vanished, leaving my friend basically holding the bag. suddenly he was homeless, penniless, and without a single form of ID. he was couch surfing in new jersey for a few weeks when he managed to bribe his old landlord with his last $50 to be allowed in for just a minute to get his things. he came out with two large garbage bags that he believed contained his belongings, only to discover that the bags ALSO contained a lot of straight up garbage, meaning he had to find a way to do laundry right away. he had also lost all his personal documentation. getting an ID is so incredibly difficult and anxious-making even if you already have all the qualifying papers, i had an impossible time finding an appropriate reaction to what he was telling me. in america, if you are an adult with no ID, you might as well kill yourself. but of course, you don’t say that kind of thing.

X is a survivor, though, clearly, so i had hopes. as i said, he’d been through a lot by the time i met him. one night i was trying to sell him on the astounding experimental prison drama GHOSTS…OF THE CIVIL DEAD, when he asked me if i liked prison movies. Sure, i said, Not categorically, but I like a good one. after a beat, he replied, “man, i HATE JAIL! jail fucking SUCKS! i been to rikers, i been to sing sing, i been to attica…it all SUCKS, MAN!” on the ellipse, he listed a variety of other famous prisons in other states where he’d lived. it would be putting it too strongly to say i was surprised, given his rough and tumble early years, but i was sort of impressed in some way. unfortunately it was only recently, now, that i started watching a lot of documentary material on penal facilities. at the time i ignorantly laughed to myself, “well of course prison sucks, what a hilarious thing to say…” but the reality is that jail, prison, wherever they stick you, sucks a lot more than is obvious from pure theory. besides the basic and well known problems with the very institution, there’s also the smell, the unrelenting noise, the uncompensated labor, the unique pressures of prison society, all sorts of things that a non-con can barely guess at. i wish i still had the opportunity to ask X if he wanted to talk about it some more.

all that said, it was probably too much for me to hope that X would land on his feet. i mean i still hope that, but i feel a little foolish. one night, one of the last times i saw him, i left him an envelope with a hundred bucks in it. he was naturally delighted, but also extremely embarrassed. the next time i saw him, i told him that i was sure he would have said “no” if i asked if he would accept help, and he confirmed that yeah, it was a good thing that i just forced it on him without asking. over the next few months i had my own shit going on–sickness, family death, mandatory travel, whatever–and didn’t get to see him as often as our usual weekly meet up. when i saw him again, something even worse had happened to him that, typically, wasn’t even his fault: he was out of work for a month due to the sudden emergence of a cyst in his leg that got so bad, so quickly, that he had to buy new pants to accommodate it. apparently, it was the result of a car accident he’d suffered in his 20s. at the time, they told him that he could get a plate in his leg, but he would walk with a permanent limp, and he would certainly never run again. as a young, very broke dude, he refused that extra step, and healed just fine on his own. all the while, the potentiality of this cyst was lurking, and suddenly he found himself unable to stand on his own or even wear normal clothes. it was so close to a major artery that they were unable to lance it. luckily, i thought, he reported that it was healing pretty quickly on its own; he had a good relationship with his boss, and he expected to be back to work in a month.

the last time i ever saw him was about a month after he was supposed to have returned to work. he looked sick, flu-ish, and seemed to have a hard time finding something to say. we’d been talking about The Stranger Beside Me, Ann Rule’s classic true crime novel-cum-memoir about knowing Ted Bundy before and during his career as a serial murderer. as an erstwhile criminal, X had a personal interest in other criminals, especially those who were famous for their personalities. for naive, sheltered people like myself, it’s easy to think about guys like jesse james or whoever, people who represent an archetypal struggle between law and chaos, and whose main battle has to do with money, something anyone can relate to. it isn’t as automatic for general people to relate to the charles mansons and varg vikerneses and henry lee lucases and ed geins of the world. what we law-abiding citizens miss is not really connected to the validity of the philosophies of these criminals, or even the right to life of their victims; the potential appeal of such outlaws is in their loneliness, their permanent and foregone misunderstoodness, and their petulant abuse of a society that barely even supports the people who abide by its rules. joe coleman, the “outsider artist” whose portraits of infamous crooks and perverts have made him famous, has equated his subjects with frankenstein’s monster, and while i have no interest in forgiving misogynistic narcissists like ted bundy, it is still possible for me to understand what coleman must mean. some people, by virtue of their very chemistry, are irrevocably exiled from “normal” society, and then what are they supposed to do? what are WE supposed to do? anyway, the last time i saw X, we met at the bar, and i gave him my copy of The Stranger Beside Me the moment i finished the last page.

at the time, i knew that X had been unable to pay his phone bill, so i didn’t attempt to call or text him. now, it seems that he no longer has access to email, either.

the last time we spoke, X sheepishly admitted that a minister he knew was allowing him to borrow the guy’s private quarters–a bed, a stovetop, a shower–on a temporary basis. i still had hopes. i also had a lot of guilt. i imagined that i should be able to save him. the apartment i keep with my fiance is hilariously small; the door to our bedroom, a room that just barely fits our bed and really doesn’t fit our collective clothing, doesn’t close all the way and makes a loud noise when you open it, and the bathroom door barely closes, and our couch might not even accommodate someone of X’s height. we don’t even have much of a floor to speak of. still, i thought about letting him stay in our hallway, or on our roof, and wondered how long it might be before someone called the cops or our landlord used it as an excuse to kick us out. i also wondered how long it would take for the three of us to be at each other’s throats in this tiny space, if i managed to work this out. i still wonder what i should have done, if i already missed a legitimate opportunity to save this guy’s life.

i never know what to do with people who are in dire need. i see a homeless guy on the subway, and i start thinking, WHAT IS KEEPING ME FROM TAKING THIS GUY HOME TO HAVE SOMEWHERE TO STAY? like what, am i gonna lose my dvd player? couldn’t i live with that? what the fuck is my problem? i finally set up a reoccurring donation to nyc’s coalition for the homeless, but even then i’m constantly asking myself what’s stopping me from doing more. and i mean, i know what’s stopping me from doing more; needing insurance for preexisting conditions, maintaining the private domesticity i’ve committed to with my husband-to-be, fear of being raped, fear of losing my apartment, etc. almost nothing really seems like a good reason, to the fullest extent of my angry imagination. i can’t help imagining that my friend is dead, and there might have been something i could have done about it. it might be a little bit of an overreaction at the moment, but it’s not completely irrational. i don’t know what to think.

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thisisdavidwolf · 5 years ago

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names and faces

Want to know a secret?

I'm really, really bad at remembering names.

I know, I know. You're probably laughing right now.

I get it. A Theology major/future pastor or individual involved in ministry who can't remember names? Yeah, that might be an issue. ;)

It's funny though. I can remember faces. I'll probably recognize you in a crowd. I can most likely tell you exactly how we met, what was said during that meeting, when we last saw each other, what you were wearing, and a literal ton of other small details regarding our acquaintance.

But I probably won't be able to remember your name. I’m sorry. I’m working on it.

........................................................................................

I don't remember his name either. I've tried extremely hard to remember it as I have thought about him today, but it just isn't there. Nevertheless, I remember him and I suppose that is what is important. Let me tell you about this young friend.

He's kinda short--probably right around five feet. He’s probably only nine or ten, so I guess that's a pretty normal height. His head came up just about to my left shoulder. I know because he stood right beside me most of the day.

He's a student at an elementary school in a rougher part of town. As the van carrying myself and several other college students arrived early that morning, I remember feeling slightly shocked as I gazed upon an older building surrounded by a tall, chainlink fence complete with barbwire. My eyes, which had grown accustomed to the kind and warm buildings of my university's campus, involuntarily blinked several times as they adjusted to the environment I was now in. It felt rough. Cold.

...both metaphorically and in actuality. It was actually cold. The first thing I noticed when I met my young friend was that he was dressed extremely warm. That kid had to have had on at least three layers, not including his big winter coat, and he was wearing insulated snow pants. I laughed a little bit inside. When he told me later (while shaking his head and trying fain disgust) that his mother had forced him to dress like he did, "So he wouldn't freeze to death," my internal laughter might have slipped out for a split second. I wondered if we had the same mother.

While I don't exactly remember my first words to him, they were most likely some variation of a smile and a "Wassuuup, dude!". That's kinda my standard line when I met someone new. He introduced himself, and we joked for a little bit while the older adults figured out what needed to be done around the school. When I finally selected a task, my friend had made his selection too.

"I'm with you," he said.

We talked as we picked up trash together. Eventually, our conversation moved beyond scattered small talk and became a little more personal. I was surprised that he led the majority of the conversation.

"What grade are you in?" he asked.

"I'm in college, my guy," I responded.

"College?"

"Yeah. I'm studying Theology."

"Theology?"

"Yeah, like the Bible and religion and stuff."

"Oh, so you want to be a pastor or something?"

I smiled slightly at his response.

"Yeah, something like that," I responded.

We picked up more trash for several minutes.

"You like basketball?" he asked me.

I wish I was quick enough to connect the dots between our conversations, but I wasn't. Kids can be so quick. Sometimes I wonder if the average child is actually smarter than the average adult--perhaps it’s just a matter of learning how to express that intelligence. I told him I wasn't really that big into sports, and he looked a little shocked and disappointed. I asked him about his favorite team or player, and he went on and on as he told me about them. I could tell this was something he really loved to talk about. Our conversation eventually shifted to football, and he later showed me that he had his favorite team's logo on one of the three million shirts he was wearing.

"What do you want to do when you get older?" I asked.

"I want to join the NBA!" he said.

The way his eyes lit up as he said those words made me smile. He told me that he was apart of a small team that played other teams in his neighborhood, but that they weren't very good. He admitted that with more of a tone of disgust than of shame. All of the older kids wanted to get into the NBA too, he told me. I could tell part of him was living on this dream of making it big in basketball.

As we walked outside the gate and picked up trash along the fence, my new friend shook his head in a very grown-up manner and said, "These streets are wild, man. These streets and neighborhoods are crazy. I've heard gunshots before. We had someone get killed a while back."

I paused. I’d heard gunshots before. In fact, between three or four of our neighbors, I've probably heard 20x the amount he had. I grew up in the country. Our neighbor to the west seems to have a particular affinity for blowing through copious amounts of money in the form of ammo for his semi-automatic toys. But I've never heard anyone shoot at someone else before, or heard shots echo in a small neighborhood.

Behind the mannerism that seemed to tell me that he was repeating something he had heard an adult say, I saw a kid who was probably a little scared. I think he realized that I didn't know exactly what his life was like, and it seemed he was trying to gain my respect in a way. I told him that sounded hard, rough, and a little scary. He nodded. We were both silent for a while.

"Why are you guys here? Do they pay you or something?" he asked.

"Not exactly," I laughed. "Our school lets the students take the day off in order to do some volunteering. There are a lot of community service projects happening today. I decided to come here."

"So this isn't required?"

"Not really."

"I bet lots of kids are sitting in their rooms watching Tv or playing video games. That's what I would be doing," he told me.

I just smiled.

"Do you have a TV in your room?" he asked.

...and so our conversation continued.

As I think about it now, I was a bundle of contradicting feelings as I rode away from the school that day. On the one hand, our group had been a great help to the busy teachers and staff. We had cleaned, painted, raked leaves, organized sheds, and picked up trash. But on the other hand, it seemed so cruel for us to swoop in, make friends with some of these kids, and then just leave. It seemed so wrong to make a friend just for one day.

And yet, I felt a growing conviction that my experience with my young friend was ministry. Just walking with someone--even for a short time. Being present. Sharing in his or her joys and fears.

I didn't understand or think about it then, but I realize now that this is an incredibly high calling. Lord, help me.

........................................................................................

I told you at the start that I'm not great at remembering names. I guess that's not entirely true. Tonight, I can't shake the names of several individuals.

Ahmaud Arbery

Breonna Taylor

George Floyd.

You've probably heard these names too.

Racism and police brutality are uncomfortable topics. It's tempting to turn away, dismiss the problem, play the blame game, wait for "all the facts," shift the focus to condemning the riots and looting... I know because I realize I've done it. In an attempt to not let myself feel the hurt, I've grown calloused and indifferent to the deaths I read about on the news. Any one of the above responses is easier on my heart.

But you know what's breaking my heart? I can't stop imagining my young, trash collecting friend. In some sick twist of fate, what if he was underneath the knee of that police officer? What if he was murdered while jogging? What if he was just sleeping peacefully, only to be shot?

Those questions hurt, friend. And I think that's a good thing.

I'm leaning in. I'm listening, reading, learning, and desperately seeking to approach this topic with as much empathy and love as Jesus would. It's uncomfortable--but I am carrying a growing conviction that this discomfort is a good thing.

I challenge you to join me in the discomfort.

........................................................................................

As I have thought on this issue over the past several days, I've begun to feel and absorb lots of different emotions--emotions of my own and of others. As I scrolled through social media, watched videos, and read articles to educate myself, I found that I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. So much of my personality includes helping and giving. How can I help? How can I give? A sea of voices offered many steps to take.

Educate yourself.

Sign these petitions.

Send an email.

Vote, especially in your local elections.

Donate to these organizations.

Watch this video.

Participate in peaceful protests.

Engage in difficult conversations with family and friends.

Don't mistake me, all of these are valid and great action items. I'm doing several of them. Yesterday, however, I found myself concentrating so much on these things that I lost my focus. In my quest for answers, my balance between horizontal and vertical focus began to tilt way too far in the wrong direction. Not only did I begin to lose focus, but I also began to lose peace.

Perhaps this is unnecessary, but let me clarify what I mean by "losing my peace." I don't mean that I was simply uncomfortable--I've already stated that I'm trying to intentionally lean into that feeling. Rather, I felt the world grow dark as I began to realize that I couldn't fix it all.

My voice is so small. We're fighting ideas and trying to fix messed up hearts and minds (mine included). What good is just signing a petition, writing an email, or making a phone call? Injustice will still exist. Pain will still be a real reality. Death will still occur. I can never give enough or help enough to fix the problem.

God, I can't fix it all!

You're right, David. You can't fix it all. But don't you know Someone who can? Let Me work through you.

The thought wasn't as much of a direct statement as it was a slow realization--and it instantly broke away the darkness. Oh friend, how confusing and dark it is when one forgets the vertical relationship that fuels the horizontal action.

As I sought for new answers this morning, I came upon Psalm 101. The first three verses spoke to my heart.

I will sing of mercy and justice

To You, O LORD, I will sing praises.

I will behave wisely in a perfect way

Oh, when will you come to me?

I will walk within my house

with a perfect heart.

I will set nothing wicked before my eyes

I hate the work of those who fall away

It shall not cling to me.

This Psalm is a pledge and a promise. But do you know what I find ironic? I can't possibly hope to fulfill any of these promises on my own. Behave wisely in a perfect way? Walk with a perfect heart? Set nothing wicked before my eyes? I cannot achieve this level of perfection on my own, and I think that's the point.

I need a Savior. I need Jesus.

My world needs Jesus. You and I have been given the gift of being able to represent Him to a hurting world. With His help, will I represent Him well?

I need to remember that Jesus still reigns in heaven and that this world is not my home, but I also have a work to do while I'm here. The Christianity that I claim to hold dear calls me to "do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with my God." While I point others to my Savior through action and word, I prayerfully beg the Holy Spirit to open my eyes, strip me of my selfishness and pride, and impart divine wisdom so that I can love and stand with my fellow man as Jesus would.

That's what my God asks of me. The vertical will give me purpose and strength as I wrestle with the horizontal.

Is He asking the same things of you, friend?

........................................................................................

2020 is turning out to be quite the year of growth. Lord, have mercy.

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khhunniewriting · 8 years ago

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Is That A Confession?

“Oh Nochang there you are” you ran towards him with a smile on your face. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Siyoung wants to know if you finished the beats yet. He said you knew what he was talking about so he didn’t bother to explain anything else to me.”

Nochang nodded, “I know.” He remained silent as he guided you to where his computer was. It didn’t take more than two minutes for him to hand over the flash drive that contained what Siyoung was looking for. “Tell him if he has any problems he can let me know.”

“Okay” you ran out of there knowing Siyoung was impatiently waiting for your return.

“What took you so long Y/N?” Siyoung was a childhood friend who you got along with even now as adults. You teased each other and managed to prove there could be friendship between men and women.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “What about a thanks? I’ll make you go next time lazy bum.” You handed over the flash drive to him. “Don’t act like you can boss me around. We are the same age.”

“Thank you” it took all his strength to force out those two words. When you two were in grade school he had taken your short stature to mean you were younger than him. For a long time you believed it too and listened to him attentively. Now you treat each other like siblings.

You were laughing but suddenly stopped when you realized something. “Siyoung, go ahead and start“I’ll be back.” You ran back out of the small room leaving Siyoung confused.

Nochang was startled when you burst through the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Thank you” you sighed in relief. “I forgot to thank you for giving me the flash drive.”

“That’s why you came back?”

You nodded before breaking out into a nervous giggle that caused his usually serious expression to change. Nochang smiled before suddenly chuckling a few times into the palm of his hand. He tried to cover it up but you noticed it.

It was the first time you had seen that reaction from him. Sure you saw him laughing before, he would laugh at CJAMM’s jokes, you all would. But this was different because you had incited that reaction it made you more aware of him and your actions.

You stood there in the doorway unsure of what to do with your hands and played around with them as you thought of how your actions could be interpreted as over dramatic. Usually you were a very down-to-earth girl but around Nochang you always managed to show your bad side. You on the other hand knew you did this so you could talk to him. You would find any excuse to do so.

You had recently come to terms with the fact that you might have a crush on Nochang. You two hardly talked but thanks to Siyoung you were around enough to learn a bit more about the very private No Chang Joong. “Sorry for the intrusion I hope I didn’t interrupt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Y/N! Why are you taking so long?” An upset Siyoung appeared behind you wanting to know why you had suddenly ran out of the room.

“She came to say thank you.”

“I forgot the first time” you explained further.

“Look at you forcing a thanks out of me when you can’t even do it yourself.” Siyoung playfully pulled your hair as payback.

You bit your tongue trying to withhold a loud scream and instead pulled his hair as well. You two held onto each other’s hair waiting for one to give in. “Let go Siyoung!”

“You let go!”

Nochang was having fun seeing how you got under Siyoung’s skin.

“Fine on the count of three we both let go” you suggested.

“Okay.”

In agreement you two began counting down. “1,2,3″ Siyoung let go immeditaely. You let go as well but a second later you pulled his hair once more and ran out.

“Yah!” Siyoung yelled at you but you were gone.

“Were you always this loud?”

“Y/N is just so hard to deal with.” Siyoung’s voice returned to normal.

Nochang nodded taking mental note of your name for the first time since he’s seen you.

With his hat pushed low and a mask covering the bottom half of his face Nochang didn’t quite see you when he turned the corner. You yourself weren’t paying attention, all this allowed Nochang to speak to you. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

You stumbled back onto the wall after bumping your head against his chest. Your hand instinctively held the sore spot trying to stop the pain. “Ah...” you whined slightly after hearing his voice. “Neither was I.” Normally you would probably curse the person who did this to you but the person in this case was Nochang. There was no way you would do that to him.

He placed his hand against the wall right beside your head and took a closer look at you. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes shifted to the side unable to meet his. “I’m fine” you struggled to speak noticing the close proximity he was in. You literally felt his gaze on your forehead as he examined it.

That wasn’t the only place he was looking though. As he examined your forehead he looked lower and began noticing the shape of your lips. The way they curved, their natural pink color, it all caused him to lean forward. He quickly realized what he was doing and stopped. Pushing away from the wall he tucked his hands in his pockets and gave you a quick nod before excusing himself. “See you around Y/N.”

“Yeah” you held your breath until he was out of sight. Your lungs finally started working again as the initial shock left you and a new panic settled in. “He said my name” slipped out your lips as you recalled his silky voice.

You got along well with everyone at Just Music and were glad when they invited you to hang out except when you were the only female involved. That’s when the weird questions were asked.

“Y/N, honestly does size matter?” Dae-woong had asked this question to you many times but because he thought you weren’t being honest he continued to ask it.

“How many times must I answer this” you sighed with a shake of your head.

“You no longer get to ask questions” Vasco pulled him away letting others get a turn. That’s when Swings stepped up. “In this room, who would you date? Out of all of us... who would you pick?”

“I can’t” you shook your head. They were all friends and acquaintances. There was no way you could chose one.

But they wouldn’t let you out of it. “Come on just pick” they urged you. Looking across the room you saw even Nochang and Siyoung were urging you to pick. Nochang had never asked you a question. He always laughed along to the answers you gave and made small commentary but now you saw him attentively waiting your answer.

Standing up you sighed feeling slightly annoyed. “Fine” they all became quiet as you looked around the room taping your chin. You pretended to evaluate each of them. “I would chose” you reamined silent for a moment then went to stand by Siyoung. “G...R...Boy” you spoke slowly trying to imitate Siyoung’s signature call out.

“What a surprise” they all rolled their eyes and became vocal about their disapproval with your answer. “Siyoung is a cop-out. You would never go out with him. You are just choosing him so we don’t know who you really like.”

“I would at least want to be with someone I know.” You tried explaining yourself but knew it would be enough. “What makes you think I like someone anyway?”

“The way you dress up when you come here” Siyoung quickly responded. “It’s very different from when we hang out at the coffee shop.”

You glared at him. Perhaps you had been obvious about it but you didn’t like being called out by your own friend. “Never mind I don’t want him anymore” you pushed Siyoung away.

“Then chose one more time.”

You knew you couldn’t afford to think twice about it or you would lose your confidence. “I chose Nochang.” You sat beside him even linking arms with him to show you had made up your mind.”

Nochang straightened up when he realized what was going on. He was speechless but didn’t know why. He didn’t know you enough to have romantic feelings for you... or so he thought.

“Another cop-out. Nochang is the person you know the least. You are just choosing him because he won’t say anything about it.”

“That’s no fun” Swings grumbled. “Chang Joong at least tease her a bit for us.”

Nochang licked his lips before turning to face you and with a very serious look asked, “Do you want to go out?”

Your poor heart couldn’t take it, there was a lump in your throat you couldn’t swallow, and a tingling sensation spread from your stomach all throughout your body. They didn’t know all this but what they did know was the fact that you were totally blushing. The tips of your ears were red, matching your cheeks perfectly.

Instead of laughter, silence filled the room. These guys knew Nochang well so they could tell when he was joking and this was not one of those times.

“I think he’s serious” CJAMM whispered to Vasco. “Chang Joong you have to tone it down man. You can’t play with emotions like that.”

His comment broke the awkward air around the situation as everyone laughed. They all began talking once again leaving you dumbfounded.

Noticing your arm was still linked with his made your mouth go dry that’s why he could hardly hear you when you excused yourself.

Outside you leaned against the wall sighing as you slid down to sit on the pavement below. You placed both your hands on top of your heart feeling the strong beat. As you closed your eyes it felt like your heart was literally pumping in your hand. “Oh my god, was that a heart attack?”

“You’re too young to have a heart attack.”

Your eyes opened to see Nochang standing a few inches away from you. “I just had another one.”

Nochang chuckled as he crouched down to be eye level with you, “Did I overdo it?”

“What?”

“My confession.”

“Maybe a little” you joked causing both of you to let out a bit of laughter. It lifted the mood enough for you to talk normally to him. Well as normal as you could when your crush was sitting right beside you. “Didn’t you hear Vasco? You can’t play with emotions like this. I might believe you.”

“You can believe it.”

Your eyes widened in shock once more. “You mean you were serious?”

“Was that not clear?” Nochang felt he had done it well. He didn’t know why you or the guys thought he was joking.

“Well it’s just-” you sighed “I didn’t know you had those feelings for me. It’s actually very surprising, to say the least.”

Nochang nodded in understanding. “I don’t know you very well but it looks like you made an impression on me.”

“Same” you smiled. “I didn’t want to say this but you are kind of forcing me... I chose Siyoung because he’s my friend. I know him for a long time and I’m comfortable with him but there’s no romantic feelings. I chose you because I actually like you.”

You panicked as no response came from Nochang. He starred at you in silence until he realized you were done talking. “Oh, is that a confession?”

“Y-yes”

“Then I accept it.” He smiled knowing you probably felt the same way he did back in the room. Nervous, tense, full of curiosity. “Now how about you answer mine.”

You bit your lip thinking back to his confession, it was more of a proposal or a question. Not really a confession but it was very straight forward. If you said yes then you would be going out with him. “My answer... is yes.”

Nochang smiled, “then from now on call me Chang Joong.”

-end-

A/N: Sorry I said this would be out yesterday but I got a case of the lazies. Also sorry but I just can’t refer to Vasco as Bill Stax.

#khh scenarios #genius nochang scenarios #nochang scenarios #just music scenarios #genius nochang #nochang #No Chang Joong #just music entertainment #khiphop scenarios #khh #kpop scenarios

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lovedreaming · 8 years ago

Photo

1. as you get to know me more, you will realize that the argument “it’s a children’s show” has little to no hold over me. i have ruined the cheery, innocent, uncomplicated worlds of children’s shows with my headcanons before and honestly while i don’t plan on doing that here, i’m not afraid to do it again if i feel like it. ;)

2. i think you’re confusing knowledge with wisdom and maturity. you mention liszt knows more about love, point out that beethoven had the knowledge to build a flamethrower, and schubert spewed out things the kids aren’t able to understand. sure, they know how to do all of those things--but what do they use it for? liszt’s response to lovey-dovey couples i already explained. and beethoven uses his flamethrower to blow shit up while cooking gyoza and monologuing about their symphonic flavor, which is not what mature people (children OR adults) do with flamethrowers. as for schubert? what you are looking at is a sign of intellectual maturity rather than emotional maturity, which is the basis for my headcanons. please see the below paragraphs for an explanation.

3. adding onto that, i admit saying “literally children in adult bodies” was hyperbole because making that heavy judgment would require a lot more psychoanalysis and research. sometimes i use the word ‘literally’ only when i want to exaggerate and i should really stop because it’s such a bad fucking habit of mine i s2g. i will, however, continue to compare them to children because i am a living example that one can have an adult’s INTELLIGENCE and BODY but a child’s EMOTIONS. i’m autistic. i am over 18. i am smart enough to get straight A’s at an Ivy League school, and socially functional enough to be an active and welcome participant in class discussions. my schools had darn good sex ed and i can legally consent, EVEN THOUGH psychological testing shows that i have the emotions of a YOUNG CHILD. that’s right, i can write up this big darn rebuttal while still processing the world through an eight year old’s eyes. XD just to be clear, i’m N O T saying that classicaloids are likewise autistic, especially since i haven’t done the analysis with the proper dsm-5 sheet and also since i don’t recall them displaying symptoms of autism such as stimming, repetitive behaviors, inability to interpret sarcasm, etc. i am merely telling you about myself to show that it is possible to be physically and intellectually an adult yet still have a child’s emotions, which show in the classicaloids’ outlandish personalities. 3.5. also, about mozart: he was an adult legally capable of consenting, and yet according to your own evidence (which i am very well acquainted with) he acted in childish ways. and heck, a historian could even argue he had the literal emotions of a child. so, one could refer to him figuratively OR EVEN LITERALLY (depending on psychoanalysis) as “a man-child” or “a child in an adult body.” and if this is true for mozart, i can logically continue to call the classicaloids “children” or “children in adult bodies” at least in a figurative sense excepting bach because he’s the only one of them who ever struck me as acting like an adult. this is due to their child/like emotions + child/like ways of expressing those emotions. and i mean…………come on, even if you don’t think that they have the literal emotions of children, you have to at least admit they do dumb shit that we normally associate with kids being dumb. :P 3.75. (i’m seriously debating myself on whether the classicaloids have literal child emotions--specifically the emotions of a young child as opposed to a teen--because as someone who has literal young child emotions, that’s how it seemed to me. but as said before, i need to do more psychological research + analysis to be sure.)

4. as to liszt & others being able to drink while tchaiko and bada cannot: if they were grown in labs, they could have been taken out of the test tubes at different PHYSICAL ages, some of which are above 18 and/or 20, some of which are below 18 and/or 20. their physical age would be what their IDs present when the person serving alcohol asks for them. and i say 20 because that is the drinking age of japan. so, your assumption that tchaiko is a physical child while liszt is a physical adult can be true. but, as i said before about my autism, physical age does not always equal intellectual and/or emotional age. therefore, your evidence--the ability to drink--is not sound proof for whether someone is “really” an adult. 4.5. please note that when humans call people “adults,” we usually call them that based on their physical ages instead of their mental ages. so tchaiko calling liszt an adult is also not sound evidence that they are adults in every conceivable way. in addition, i would like to say that the drinking age (and i assume age of consent as well) are also based on physical age instead of mental age. example: if a child prodigy has the mental age of a 22 year old but is physically 10, they would not be able to drink or consent because they are physically 10. whether someone can consent is also not sound proof of their mental maturity, but because consent laws refer to physical age, i believe that the classicaloids can ABSOLUTELY consent. hell, i don’t even think i said they couldn’t. (now, consent and drinking laws are probably different for those who are extremely impaired and may be said to act “childish” in that respect. but since the classicaloids’ childish behavior does not come from being extremely impaired, we can disregard this situation.)

5. i hope you are aware that many people under the age of 18 constantly try to get laid. i hope you are also aware that many people under the age of 18 also make dirty sex jokes--specifically, those in the age range of 13/14-17. therefore mozart’s attempts to get laid and the others’ sex jokes would not make them any less emotionally childish. 5.5. i also never said they in general can’t “comprehend” sex at all. i said that liszt specifically doesn’t have a complete understanding of sex--her actions, which i delineated in my previous post, certainly show she comprehends it.

6. as to why someone would go through the trouble of growing them to adult bodies only to have them act like children…your statement implies that kyogo would have wanted to make them literal children in adult bodies, which is not what i headcanon. i headcanon that they became emotionally childlike as an unavoidable consequence of the nature of and circumstances surrounding their creation. and seriously, i don’t want to have to repeat myself again: they objectively act like a bunch of doofuses, so whatever scientific process was meant to make them act perfectly mature must not have succeeded entirely. if i implied indirectly that kyogo deliberately made them like children in any of my posts, please point out where so i can fix it. thank you~

7. did you mean “remember things from when they were kids in the past” as in “kids in their past lives” or “kids after being reborn as classicaloids”? my memory isn’t perfect, but i’m pretty darn sure they all sprung out of their test tubes with physically teen or adult bodies.

8. on a technical note. if you read my last post, this was my challenge for you: “if you have any evidence that disproves the idea they act like humans who are 18 or under, i happily await.” you only proved the obvious fact that they are not physically children, which i already addressed in point 3 by admitting that the label of “children in adult bodies” is hyperbole when applied literally. i believe with regards to my specific wording, you have failed--and this entire post is why.

#classicaloid #[ headcanon ]#anon #ask

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