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afaimsarrowverse · 4 years ago

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The 15 craziest Episodes of Legends of Tomorrow:

„Crazy“ is an ever changing measure, especially in the Arrowverse. When Time Travel and Parallel Universes were introduced it was a heavy leap from the norm. A couple of seasons later it was pretty much normal. So this list reflects changes in the norm, episodes that pushed the crazy and unusual. What is crazy for on show is not crazy for another one.

„Legends“ kind of went nuts in Season 2 and never became sane again, it became even nuttier from season to season. So it’s a question of degree here even more than anywhere else compared to what happened around the episode in question:

So let’s get into it:

15. Doomworld (Episode 2.16/32, Written by: Ray Utarnachitt, Sarah Hernandez, Directed by: Mairzee Almas)

Alternate timelines are kind of an Arrowverse thing, but this one did not came to be through time travel but through the Legion of Doom rewriting history to their own liking. Therefore there is no cause and effect to the changes, which allowed the writers to have vigilante Felicity, hero assassin duo Sara und Amaya, janitor Ray, Bossman Jax, timid Martin, and Master Baker Rip – well that one came about because of different circumstances, but yes, this episode has to be seen to be believed.

14. Camelot/3000 (Episode 2.12/28, Written by: Anderson Mackenzie, Directed by: Antonio Negret)

From the far future to Camelot and King Arthur – this episodes travelled far and mixed those two areas up quite nice. In true Legends fashion Ray became a Knight of the Round Table, Sara got to hit on Guenevere, and Mick got to beat the adversary army with his brain. Yes, you read that one right. Just ask poor Martin about it.

13. Witch Hunt (Episode 4.2/53, Written by: Keto Shimizu und Matthew Maalaa, Directed by: Kevin Mock)

Here „Legends“ inserted the a singing Fairy Godmother into the era of the Salem Witch Trials. While Zari got to confront her own anger about certain things, the Fairy Godmother was really not the fairytale kind, but rather an evil one, but boy, she could sing.

12. Crisis on Infinite Earths Part 5 (Episode 5.0/68, Written by: Keto Shimizu, Ubah Mohamed, Directed by: Gregory Smith)

“Legends” provided Time Travel and it’s characters for most Crossovers, but this one was special because it was a Crossover Episode in pure Legends Style. Our heroes got to confront a gigantic Beebo, Ray took a selfie, Mick had a book signing, and everyone thought they were going insane - and around all of this Earth Prime was established and Olivers fate was confirmed. Most viewers who did not know “Legends” were probably very confused during this one.

11. The Virgin Gary (Episode 4.1/52, Written by: Phil Klemmer und Grainee Godfree, Directed by: Gregory Smith)

John Constantine joins the Legends in the time for a murderous unicorn at Woodstock that roofies most of the team and gets Ray to snog a tree, Mick and Nate to exchange loving vows, and Zari to chase lights. Plus Gary almost gets eaten by a unicorn. Matt Ryan had doubts about signing that contract on his first day on set for this episode, you know. But we loved it.

10. Helen Hunt (Episode 3.6/39, Written by: Keto Shimizu und Ubah Mohamed, Directed by: David Geddes)

Helen of Troy single handedly destroys the Golden Era of Hollywood, simply by being there and driving men nuts. Studio exes try to kill each other in order to get her, while Damien Darhk becomes her agent to wreck even more havoc. Hard to remember sometimes that this is the guy who killed Laurel, given how much crazy fun he became.

9. The Fellowship of the Spear (Episode 2.15/31, Written by: Keto Shimizu, Matthew Maala, Directed by: Ben Bray)

This episode is “Legends”-Homage to Tolkien and his works. However the most quotes and nods go to the Peter Jackson Movies, which is no problem, because we love them too. The Legends recruit Tolkien out of the trenches for a treasure hunt, however things go bad and some fans were not to happy with one of the team betraying their own at the end of this episode. But don’t you guys remember Boromir?

8. Seance and Sensibility (Episode 4.11/62, Written by: Grainne Godfree, Jackie Canino, Directed by: Alexandra La Roche)

What have Jane Austen and Bollywood in common? Both a represented in this episode that features a Bollywood number and the death of Jane Austens writing career. Everyone gets roofied (again!) but this time it’s just sex dreams, and well Zari starts planning her wedding to an Indian God, while Mona turns hulky and tries to kill Jane Austen. Yep, that’s Legends for you.

7. Aruba (Episode 2.17/33, Written by: Phil Klemmer und Marc Guggenheim, Directed by: Rob Seidenglanz)

The Finale of Season 2 features two sets of Legends, while the team goes back to the event of „Fellowship of the Spear“. While Malcolm, Damien, and Snart are mostly confused Eobard strikes back by recruiting a lot of his former selfes. Legends die, Legends live, Sara saved the day with quite a neat trick, and Eobard gets what he deserves, but we all know he will be back to haunt Barry anways, so that does not really matter, does it?

6. The Good, the Bad and the Cuddley (Episode 3.18/51, Written by: Marc Guggenheim und Phil Klemmer, Directed by: Dermott Downs)

In the Season 3 Finale we got a massive Beebo who fights a gigantic demon. The Beebo was created by a Legends Orgy and symbolizes … well love I guess. While the Finale is kind over overstuffed with plot, the fight at the end makes up for it all. Damien sacrifices himself, Zari has an unlikely romance, and we get to see a lot of old faces again. What a weird Season Finale indeed.

5. Raiders of the Lost Art (Episode 2.9/25, Written by: Keto Shimizu, Chris Fedak, Directed by: Dermott Downs)

This is officially the episode where „Legends“ went nuts. Oh and it’s a delicous one. George Lucas never became a filmmaker after being scared of by Malcolms and Damiens attempts to kill amnesiac Rip Hunter who thinks he is an American filmstudent, whose script is basically the plot of the shows first season. Too bad he can’t find a decent Vandal Savage. And that everyone thinks he is this Rip Hunter guy. Also Mick gets a brain surgey, Ray and Nate change occupations, and Amayas babysits their attempt to get George Lucas back to film school, and thanks god she does otherwise … well otherwise there would be no „Star Wars“ or „Indiana Jones“, would there?

4. Beebo the God of War (Episode 3.9/42, Written by: Grainne Goodfree und James Eagan, Directed by: Kevin Mock)

This was supposed to be the sad goodbye to Martin Stein and it still is that as well, but mostly it’s the episode about Beebo Day. You know, the blue god, who hungers for war and conquest? Whose birthday we celebrate once a year in december and … wait? What was I talking about? Oh, yeah Leo tries to make Mick quit drinking and Beebo get’s squeezed a lot.

3. Legends of To-Meow-Meow (Episode 4.8/59, Written by: James Eagan und Ray Utarnachitt, Directed by: Ben Bray)

Sulky about missing out on the Crossover the Legends crossovered with themselves in Season 4. John and Charlie destroyed the timeline for selfish reasons, and now everything is wrong and everything they do makes things worse instead of better. Zari gets to spend most of the epsiode as a cat, the rest of the Legends get turned into puppets, we meet the Sirens of Spacetime and the Custodians of the Chronology, and a gay kiss saves all of spacetime. Why can’t all shows be more like „Legends“?

2. Meet the Legends (Episode 5.1/69, Written by: Grainne Godfree, James Eagan, Directed by: Kevin Mock)

In this episodes Ava tries to race money for the Time Bureau by making a documentary about the Legends and their work. This episode is the documentary and the making oft he documentary. Think Arrows „Emerald Archer“ only way carzier and funnier. The Legends meet Rasputin who kidnappes the camera team, while Ava writes Sara a very weird condolence note, everyone is acting weird(er) because cameras, and well it’s „Legends“ only even nuttier than normally.

1. The One Where We‘re Trapped On TV (Episode 5.13/81, Written by: Grainne Godfree, James Eagan, Directed by: Marc Guggenheim)

And the award for the Craziest TV Episode of all time goes to this one, where the Legends are trapped on TV. Charlie put them there to protect them, and so we get very familiar but strange versions of „Friends“, „Downtown Abbey,“ and „Star Trek“ with the Legends as the main characters instead. We also meet a murderous Mister Parker, get another musical number lead by the Tarazi siblings, and are as amazed as Mona about everything that is going on here. Can „Legends“ ever top what they did here? Let’s not challenge them, I am sure they can. But until then, we have this one.

#legends of tomorrow #Arrowverse #Craziest Episodes #Episodes

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spy-der-woman · 5 years ago

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Spy-Der Woman: To Know Her

Summary: A young woman, Jessica, is captured by a mysterious group of government officials and is forced to recount her involvement in one of the most devastating events in Japan's modern history.

Word Count: 1858

Pairings: Jessica Drew/Gwen Stacy

A/N: Hello! Hi! Thank you for taking the time to read my personal spin on the Spider-Woman origin story. Ideally, many more chapters to come. Enjoy!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218846/chapters/55587907

Next Chapter: https://spy-der-woman.tumblr.com/post/618206045884547072/spy-der-woman-to-know-her

Chapter One: A Black Ink Face

Tokyo, Japan

The colors were still there: the reds, the blues, pinks, and purples. They just weren’t as bright anymore. The ashes of the most devastating event in Japan’s modern history still carried in the wind dulling any glow that the city once had. If anything, the black of Tokyo: skyline, alleyways, suits of men and women were just as deep and dark as ever.

And in that black, a group of young boys played kickball in their light-up Sketchers. Haruto Yamamoto, age seven, teased little Akihiro Nakamura, age six, as he stepped up to the makeshift cardboard plate. Akihiro was the runt of the group, and it didn’t help that his sneakers were too old to light up blue anymore like the rest of the boys. Haruto had no rhyme or reason to be this mean other than he was a boy, and he could. Akihiro, along with the rest of the gang, just begged him to throw the ball already.

But, before Haruto could finally pitch the ball, a warning siren rang throughout the city. The boys looked up at the screens on the sides of the buildings surrounding them as they changed from advertisements to a black screen followed by the logo of Tokyo’s five o’clock news. Yellow text appeared warning that the footage that is about to play may upset children and elderly viewers.

The boys continued to look.

Helicopter shots along with cell phone camera footage were spliced together to show all different angles of devastation that occurred at the Port of Tokyo. The broadcast didn’t linger long on these images before cutting to a live feed of reporter, Mitsuko Miyazaki, who stood a few yards away from the seaport. All of it had been leveled out.

“Good evening, this Mitsuko Miyazaki reporting live for Action News 10.

Prime Minister Kenuichio Harada has asked me to speak to you this evening in regards to what is potentially now being deemed a terrorist attack.

It has been one week since the catastrophic explosion that occurred at Tokyo Harbour. As you can see behind me, search and rescue teams are still looking for survivors. However, hope is dwindling as the death toll continues to rise. By the end of the week, numbers are expected to double, potentially triple.

With that being said, government authorities have been working day in and day out interviewing survivors of this attack. With the diligent work of the government, two crucial pieces of information have come to light. I urge you to pay attention carefully.

One, the cause of the explosion came deep within the underground and not from an outside source, as initially reported. Also, while initially thought to be a chemical explosion, experts are now leaning towards this being an electrical explosion instead.

Two, multiple eye witness reports mention a young woman helping survivors out of the wreckage, but then leaving the scene as rescue teams and authorities started to arrive. This woman has been described as being American or European, tall, black hair, with burn wounds covering her hands, arms, and chest. Gathering as much information as possible, the police have drawn up a potential sketch of what this person may look like.”

A black ink face covered the city.

“If you have any information about the explosion or about the woman. Please give a call to the number appearing on the screen now. Do not hesitate to call. Any and all information, big or small, could prove helpful in aiding this investigation.

If you know something, say something.

Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you have a peaceful rest of your evening.”

Little Akihiro, frightened by the images he saw, had broken away his gaze midway through the broadcast. In contrast, the rest of the boys, with eyes glazed over, had continued to watch.

Desperately wanting to be in the comfort of his mother’s arms, Akihiro snuck off from the boys. He was only able to make it a few feet away before an unmarked car had pulled into the black. The headlights on the vehicle were so bright that Akihiro tripped over his own feet, falling into a puddle. This caught the attention of the other boys whose voices fell short of laughter when they saw a group of men exit the vehicle with guns visibly strapped to their sides.

All of the boys, now just as little as Akihiro, ran off in the other direction. Hamurato ran slightly behind and kept his head turned to look at the men. He watched as the last one out of the vehicle pulled a woman out along with him. The man kept his gun close to her head. Akihiro was frozen.

She was barely dressed, only wearing dirty white underwear and an oversized red and black motorcycle jacket. A large black box that hummed with a blue glow encased her hands, leaving her hunched over. The woman tried to walk on her own, but her knees started to buckle underneath her. The group of men shouted remarks that Aikhiro had only ever heard his father use underneath his breath. The woman took a few steps into the street light, exposing deep purple scars on her legs running from her ankles up to her hips. The tallest man shouted at her to stand up straight. He took a decent amount of her hair into his and yanked her head up, exposing her face underneath the street light.

It was her. The woman Akihiro had only seen moments ago on every screen in Tokyo. Her eyes locked with his, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. She looked like a ghost. One of those urban legends the boys would talk about after school to scare him like the one about the woman who had a smile cut from ear to ear.

The men dragged her into a run-down building, while Akihiro, soaked and silent, got up and began to walk his way out of the black.

***

The building used to be a butcher shop. The walls, floors, even the air was stained with rancid blood. The men pulled her far into the back of what used to be a cooler. Meat hooks swinging back and forth, nipping at her exposed skin. The tall man, leading the pack, opened up a door in the back and instructed everyone to move quickly while he made sure that no one had followed them in. Once the coast was clear and the door closed behind them, all in unison they began to move forward, left foot first. The only source of light coming from flickering lights that were placed where the ceiling meets the wall. None of them spoke.

As they made their way down the hall, the hair left on the woman’s arms stood up straight. She felt nauseated and unable to keep her focus. While only four men surrounded her, she could see eight. Along with the gun firmly placed against her spine, she could feel the blood rushing through her body. Every single cell of her being trying to repair itself into some semblance of what it used to be. Exhausting the last bits of energy she had left. The smell of sulfur that came from the water dripping from the ceiling was strong enough that she could taste it on the tip of her tongue. But, worst of all, was the sound of the rats. The rats with their little claws scratched at the concrete surrounding them.

The group came to a halt when they had reached a new door. The tall man made his way to the front and knocked on the door with a particular rhythm. The door creaked open, there were whispers, followed by laughter. A deep feminine laughter.

“Come in. We have been waiting patiently.”

The new room they entered was filled with old TVs, all of them turned to various news stations and presidential addresses/condolences regarding the “terrorist attack” in Tokyo. The woman kept her eyes trained on the screens taking in as much information as she could understand, even as the men shoved her onto an illuminated platform in the middle of the room. Before she could get the chance to stand tall on her own, a magnetic pull between the platform and the box encasing her hands forced her down onto her knees.

She didn’t make a sound.

The woman that had opened the door slipped a remote into her pocket and approached the girl. “We only do this out of precaution. Not to harm you.” She took the girl’s chin into her palm and inspected every mark that marred her face. “Beautiful thing you are.” The woman looked up at the group of men, “Bring everyone else here now.”

The group of men dispersed, and for a brief moment, the two women were alone.

“You have done a lot of damage.”

“I did what I had to do.” The girl finally spoke.

“And the whole world heard you loud and clear.”

“Should I say sorry?”

“Sorry? Nothing to apologize for. It is all apart of the process.”

The men returned with several individuals dressed in suits and ties. Everyone took their respective seat at a makeshift table. The woman let go of the girl’s face to greet the people in the room with a firm handshake, except for the last man to which she bowed.

“Thank you for joining us, Prime Minister.”

“And thank you, Madame, for the work you have done.”

“It’s my honor.”

“So this is the girl.” the Prime Minister was the last to take his seat.

Madame continued to stand with one hand on the table and the other hand in her pocket firmly holding the remote control.

“Girl? Given our base-level knowledge, she is far more than that. Aren’t you?”

The girl only gave a small glance up at the Madame before looking back down.

“This girl from what we understand is the cause for this little incident. Aren’t you?”

The girl remained silent.

“Killing thousands, mass mourning, even pulled a few of New York’s finest over here to help the remaining survivors. All done by you and only you.”

“It wasn’t just me.” she spoke through her teeth.

“It wasn’t? Well, let’s write that down because we have no clue. In fact, for the first time in a long time, there is a lot of stuff we don’t know. Which is why this evening, you are going to tell us everything, every detail, on what happened last week and everything before it. We want the who, what, when, where, why, and how. And before you try and refuse, please remember how we found you—near death against a dumpster—which means that-”

“My name is Jessica.”

“Jessica? Last name.”

“No last name.”

“Why is that, Jessica.”

“I was told I was lucky enough to even get a name at all.”

“Interesting. Well, luck implies probability, which means there were others like you, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t we start your story there.”

Jessica gnawed at the inside of her cheek till she could feel blood trickle down her throat.

#marvel #spider man #spider woman #spider gwen #jessica drew #marvel fanfiction #Spy-der Woman: To Know Her #into the spider verse #spider woman fanfic #MCU

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jawnjendes · 5 years ago

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shawn meets... | isabella

SUMMARY: in the life of a rockstar, shawn mendes comes across some unique people. sometimes, things stray from the norm. (AU, shawn x every one of my oc’s)(continuation/spin off of goth gf)

AN: time for a new oc! and by NEW i mean, new to yall,,, ive had this oc since i was 15

***let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist

previous chapter

isabella’s origin story not available | isabella’s playlist | masterlist

Out of all the places he’s been to, London seemed to bring the most interesting people to Shawn’s already interesting life. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was an international singing sensation, or because of his own strange luck. Was his college life this weird with people?

College… it felt like somebody else’s life. It had been a few years since he walked through the massive campus, but there were still days that Shawn found himself missing that life. He especially missed it these days because he still had Brian in that life. Not to mention it was all mundane and normal. A number of people knew Shawn, but it was not the colossal amount that knew him now. Back then, he could go to a karaoke bar and get as trashed as he wanted, and the only consequence would be a killer hangover. Back then, he would be going to a karaoke bar with his best friend.

These last few months were a grieving period. Shawn hadn't planned on taking time off, but the funeral was the last straw. Hearing the broken wails of Brian's mother as the casket was lowered into the ground was all too much. He couldn't handle the guilt that sat on his shoulders, or the grief that weight down on his chest. He couldn't look his friend's family in the eyes and say it was his fault why their son was dead. So time off was taken, and a tour was canceled, and much therapy was had.

Now, four months later, Shawn was getting back into the swing of things. He was back in London with the intention of songwriting and possibly some recording. His mind was still cloudy and his chest was still heavy, but he was deemed functional enough by Andrew and his therapist.

However, Shawn couldn't wander the streets alone. That was the case ever since his first fan mobbing in Los Angeles a few years ago. More recently, ever since the girl who bruised Shawn’s wrist happened, Jake had to be at his side at all times. Even at a crowded karaoke bar where his face blended with everyone else under the dim lights, and where everyone focused on the person singing onstage.

Shawn looked down at his right wrist. The bruises were long gone, and he could still play guitar just as he did before. The thought of never playing again gave him an uncomfortable chill. He couldn't be thinking about that, not when worse things had happened. Brian was the one who pointed out how odd and nonhuman that girl was. Shawn wouldn't have been able to figure out the truth about her and her employer. He really needed the karaoke bar tonight.

At least Jake was considerate enough to sit a couple of stools away from Shawn, giving him the illusion that he was here by himself. He nursed his beer and scanned the room, not really listening to the karaoke host introduce the next singer. Shawn was not really sure what he was looking for here. He chatted with the handsome, blond bartender, but he got busy with the night rush. All Shawn knew was that he didn’t want to be stuck alone in a hotel room, and he really didn’t want to be around more people who would share their condolences and fond memories of someone they hardly knew. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar song play on the speakers did Shawn finally focus on the stage.

If it was his own song, Shawn would have had to leave the bar. But it was Niall’s On My Own, making Shawn briefly consider texting the Irish singer to see what he’s up to tonight. However, he quickly zeroed in on the girl singing, and he started to wonder if he really did have a type.

She had short, choppy black hair, like she had cut it herself. These round purple sunglasses hung on the bridge of her nose, and it was the only thing that stood out from her all black ensemble: a low cut tank top, ripped jeans, and Converse high tops. She moved animatedly around the stage, that short hair bouncing and getting disheveled. She didn’t seem to care about how she looked.

Shawn turned back to Jake and gave him that look. “Are you seeing this?” Jake merely gave him a thumbs up.

The other thing about this girl was her voice. Every person that sang before here was… not good. This girl had a strong, rich voice. She could give Niall a run for his money with all the runs she threw into his song. She was talented. Shawn hadn’t heard a voice like that since he heard Bella Santiago sing in person for the first time. (Still a shame that girl won’t accept any record deal she was offered.)

Everyone in the bar seemed to like this girl too. The crowd roared with applause and cheers when she hit the bridge of the song. Shawn bopped his head along to the beat, feeling a genuine smile on his face for the first time in weeks. He clapped as hard as he could when the song ended, but then his heart dropped as he saw this girl walk off the stage and head for the bar. He turned to face the bartender, but looked down at his half empty bottle. His heart nearly stopped when the girl took the empty stool next to him.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t a British accent that came out of her. At least, not a noticeable one. She sounded more American than anything else.

“Thanks, Seth,” she said to the bartender as he seemed to make a Blue Moon magically appear out of nowhere. “What’d you think?”

“Showing everyone how it’s done, like always.” He winked.

She giggled. “We getting outta here soon?”

“After last call, won't be long now."

Shawn felt a blow in his stomach. She was here with the bartender. Well, time to call it a night.

Then, there was something like magic. Shawn had turned towards Jake to signal him to get out of here, but there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned back around to find the girl looking at him.

“I sat here for a reason, you know,” she said, eyebrows raised.

Magic!

Shawn grinned. “That reason being?”

“Handsome chap, alone in a bar? Too good to be true, so I had to investigate. You here alone, mysterious stranger? I mean, apart from your bodyguard, of course.” She took a gulp from her beer.

Shawn was thrown off by that entire string of words. He couldn’t even try to play dumb. “How did you-”

“He’s had that protective look in his eyes since I sat down,” she explained. “And I know protection like nobody’s business.”

“Oh, you’re a bodyguard, eh?” Shawn asked, his eyes shamelessly trailing down her petite body. Yes, it was an excuse to look at the decent amount cleavage she had going on.

“Eh?” she repeated with a chuckle. “What, are you Canadian or something?” She laughed like it was such a ridiculous thought.

He blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The girl laughed even more, her eyes squinting. “Are you joking? Canada’s not real!”

Maybe she had a few too many drinks. Shawn watched her with a polite grin as she hiccuped.

“You’re alright, mysterious stranger.” She held out her hand. “Isabella Montgomery.”

“Nice to meet you,” Shawn said as he shook her hand. For someone who just danced around onstage, her hand was quite chilly.

She quirked a dark eyebrow. “Gonna stick with the mysterious stranger thing, are you? Suit yourself.”

Either she recognized him and pretended like she didn’t or… she just didn’t recognize him. Whatever the case, Shawn was perfectly content with being a stranger tonight.

“You gonna sing tonight?” Isabella asked him.

“Oh no, I’m not drunk enough for that,” he said. “Besides, I don’t think I could follow up the show you just put on.”

She smiled. “You’re probably right. But I’ve got the smallest feeling you might be an alright singer.”

Okay, she definitely recognized him.

“I don’t really want the attention on me tonight,” he admitted.

Isabella nodded understandingly. “I see. Well, would you wanna get outta here?”

The two of them looked at each other for a split second. Shawn was quite forward himself, but he wasn’t that quick. Not to mention, he just overheard her make plans with Seth the bartender.

“To another pub,” Isabella hastily corrected. “There’s a place my friend over here and I are gonna head to. You wanna come along?”

“Oh!” Shawn felt a little more delighted now that she clarified the bartender situation. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. Where's this place at?”

Isabella licked her lips and grinned. She looked for her bartender friend, who just announced last call on the microphone. When he returned to his post, Isabella waved him over.

“Yes, my dear?” Seth asked.

“My new mysterious mate wants to come with us,” she told him.

“Oh, does he? Think he can handle it?”

“I can handle it,” Shawn piped up. “What kinda place is it, anyway?”

Isabella and Seth shared a look, silently communicating. Then, they both turned back to the mysterious stranger.

“It’s, er, a nerdy… type of place,” Isabella explained slowly. “People cosplay… Dungeons and Dragons type of things. They take it very seriously, won’t even break character if you talk to them. It’s a weird environment, but it’s fun nonetheless.”

Shawn nodded as he took in the information. Wouldn’t be the first nerd-themed place he’s been too. But it has been a while. “I’m down. Sounds fun.”

“There’s karaoke there too,” Seth added. “And, we can promise that you will continue being a mysterious stranger while we’re there.”

A karaoke bar where no one will recognize him? Sounds like a dream.

“Let’s do it,” he told his new friends.

This nerd bar was hidden. The shelf behind the bar was actually a secret door. Seth pushed it open with surprising ease while Isabella hopped over the bar. Shawn looked at Jake, who didn’t seem suspicious or hesitant. Yet.

Seth let the others pass through first before shutting the shelf door behind him. Then, Isabella led them down a hallway lit by dim blue lights. She pushed open another door, revealing a bar that was much darker than the previous one. It felt more like a nightclub.

Shawn could barely make out people wearing long colorful robes, dancing under the strobe lights. Definitely nerd space. An unrecognizable song was blaring over the speakers. As Shawn tried to figure out what exactly the lyrics were saying, Isabella nudged him.

“I’ll sign us up for karaoke!” she yelled over the music.

“Wait-” he tried to say, nerves building up in his stomach.

“You’re singing with me no matter what!”

And she disappeared towards the stage.

Before Shawn could stop her, Seth came in for the distraction. He pulled Shawn over to the bar and ordered something for the three of them. Soon enough, there were shot glasses lined up along the surface of the bar, and Isabella had found the boys.

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

Each of them grabbed their tiny glass. Shawn looked around for his guard, now nervous about being left alone, but he found Jake in the far corner of the club. Watching. Waiting. Unbothered.

That was enough for Shawn to down one, two, three shots of whatever the fuck with these people. He felt fire in his veins, euphoria surrounding him. Everything he was previously worried about didn’t matter anymore.

“We’re gonna sing Panic!” Isabella told him at some point.

“Can’t wait!”

Next thing he knew, Shawn was onstage in front of a massive group of nerds, High Hopes blaring on the speakers. Isabella was next to him, microphone in hand as she belted out the beginning of the song with her killer voice.

Shawn took over the first verse, and the two of them harmonized wonderfully. At least, with the alcohol in his system, it felt that way. The two of them danced around on stage like fools, not caring about looking cool or composed or even trying to sing well. Isabella sounded naturally good, though. She messed up her hair and nearly tripped on her feet a few times, but man could that girl carry a tune.

“Had to have high, high hopes for a living Didn’t know how, but I always had a feeling I was going to be that one in a million Always had high, high hopes”

It was liberating. It was spiritually healing. It was different than performing in an arena of thousands of people. He could just be silly and not have to put on his tour persona.

They only sang one song, but it was enough for Shawn to feel something other than the crushing grief that was frequently on his shoulders. He felt good, almost happy. He danced with these strangers and drank some more. He saw pretty lights dancing around the ceiling, he could almost see the stars and the moon through it too. It was magical, to say the least.

"Guys, I'm getting hungry!" Isabella exclaimed after a while.

"Well, I'm getting tired!" Seth told her. "What about you, mysterious stranger?"

"Fooooooood!"

The three of them (Jake in tow, of course) left the way they came in. Seth pushed open the shelf door and let the others through. Shawn's ears were ringing once he was back in the quiet, but there was still adrenaline coursing through his system. He wasn't ready for the night to be over.

But Seth was. He stretched his long arms over his head and yawned once all of them were out in the humid night. “I’m out for the night, lads. It was cool hanging out with you, stranger.”

“You too, brother,” Shawn said, clasping his shoulder.

Seth then turned to Isabella. “I’ll see you at home?”

“See you at home,” she confirmed.

Then, Seth stalked off down the street, practically disappearing into a dark alley. There was a cracking sound that broke the quiet night, but Shawn wasn’t exactly preoccupied with that.

"Where we gonna eat?" he asked Isabella.

However, Jake stepped in. "We should really get going. It's late enough as it is."

"But I'm hungry!" Shawn whined.

"Yeah, the boy is hungry!" Isabella assertively repeated, placing her hands on her hips. "Can't let him starve now, can we? There's a burger joint down the road, 's not that far."

The two of them stared down the bodyguard. He usually took Shawn away from the fun despite the singer's protests. It was always because they had something to do or somewhere to be the next day, but there were still a couple of days left before the demands came back… before the prominent absence of a certain Brian made itself known yet again. Shawn wanted to savor this time, drunk or not.

Jake seemed to realize this as well, because he suddenly approved. “Alright. You eat, and then it’s back to the hotel.”

Isabella bounced on her feet. “Sweet! Let’s go!”

She linked her arm with Shawn’s and led him literally ten steps up the road. The burger joint was empty apart from the cashier working the graveyard shift. Jake went to sit at the booth in the corner, continuing to do his job.

“God, I’m dying for a veggie burger,” Isabella said, looking up at the menu.

“Are the garlic fries any good?” Shawn asked.

“Wouldn’t know, I have a garlic allergy.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere else? What if your food touches garlic?”

She waved it off. “I don’t have severe reactions or anything. And I’ve been here loads of time. Trust me, it’s safe.”

Well, if she knows her own body… The two of them ordered, and Shawn made sure to keep the allergen out of his meal as well. Then, they sat down two booths ahead of Jake, still keeping the illusion that Shawn was out and about on his own.

Under the much brighter lights of this establishment, Shawn could make out Isabella’s face a little more. She had the babiest baby face a person could have. If they hadn’t met in a bar, Shawn would have thought she was a teenager. The pink blush on Isabella’s cheeks only added to that. Maybe she had used a fake ID at the bar… she could actually be a teenager.

Isabella caught him staring, and immediately knew what was on his mind. “I’m twenty-four, just so you know.”

“Oh, I wasn’t-” he tried to say.

“Lots of people give me that look. You know how many clients of mine think I’m an intern?”

Shawn blinked slowly, his hazy mind still processing what she just said. “Um, what is it that you do?”

“I’m a lawyer for muuu- ah, uh - immigration lawyer.” She grinned nonchalantly.

“That’s awesome,” Shawn said.

“Yeah, a few years back I volunteered my services when people in the States were being wrongfully detained at various airports,” she explained. “I got hired by a law firm in New York, so I lived there for a bit.”

Shawn was impressed, but he thought about exactly how long ago those events took place. He was still a little weary about Isabella and her age, so he counted backwards on his fingers. However, the math got difficult and fuzzy in his still inebriated mind, so he took her word for it.

“I promise you I’m older than I look,” Isabella said with a laugh. Then, she turned serious. “Can I be honest with you?”

He nodded rapidly, numbers still flying around in his head.

“I know you’re not just a mysterious stranger,” she admitted. “I know who you are.”

His eyes widened a little bit. Was this another disturbed fan interaction? Oh god, maybe he should have listened to Jake and gone back to the hotel.

“You performed at Sapphire Lilith’s birthday party,” Isabella clarified, seeing the look on his face. “I was there.”

“Oh,” Shawn said, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah. I performed at her house.” And he spent a blissful week with Sapphire, only to result in her ghosting him and the death of his best friend. He cleared his throat as that memory came to mind. “How do you know Sapphire?”

“Her parents died few years ago and she needed me to look over their wills,” Isabella said casually. “Oh, and she got robbed a few times and needed to me look into the legal part of it.”

Shawn tilted his head. “But aren’t you an immigration lawyer?”

“Yeah. We also went to the same sleepaway school years ago.” She shrugged. “Uniforms for girls were pink, but you would never catch me in that shit. I spray painted my dresses black and wore sneakers. I got in so much trouble.”

“Wow. Got ourselves a rebel here.” He chuckled, his hand sliding across the table.

Isabella was faster than him. A single blink later, and she was standing. “I think our order is ready.”

Something fell out of her pocket, making a small clattering noise. Shawn immediately reached down to pick up the item, only to be confused at what it was.

“You dropped your… wand?”

He didn’t even get a good look at the dark wood before Isabella snatched it out of his hand and shoved it back into her pocket. Her eyes were suspiciously wide again.

“I, uh, I love Henry Popper. Be right back!”

As Isabella went to the cashier, Shawn looked back at Jake two booths behind. He seemed more confused than suspicious. Or, spaced out. His eyes were staring back at the guy he was supposed to be guarding, but it didn’t look like he had processed anything that just happened.

Then, Isabella came back to the table, non-too-gently setting their tray down on the table. The noise was loud enough to make Shawn jump and face her again.

“Sorry for freaking out,” she said, somber.

“It’s okay. Hey, I love Harry Potter too,” he replied. “I’m obsessed. Did you get your wand at Universal?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m a Gryffindor.”

“Me too!”

Isabella pointedly grinned and tilted her head. “Really? You give off big Hufflepuff energy.”

“Why does everyone say that?” Shawn chuckled before taking a bite of his burger.

“Because it’s true?”

“And how would you know that?”

“Who has the wand between the two of us? And don’t talk with your mouth full!”

Shawn playfully narrowed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. “Didn’t realize I was talking to the queen of all things Harry Potter!”

Isabella chuckled. “You could say he’s like a friend to me. As a matter of fact, I saw him yesterday when he came round for tea.”

That got a laugh out of him. Any worry he had about this girl was now gone. He would much rather be here than be alone with his thoughts in a hotel room. How often does he get a genuine conversation like this anyway? How often does he get the time to talk to anyone and form one-on-one connections?

He was doing exactly what he wanted to do: make music and perform it. Six years ago, Shawn had no idea what it would cost to be able to do this. When was the last time he had spoken to any of his friends? His family? He looked down at his meal, suddenly not very hungry.

“Hey!” Isabella said, lightly tapping his arm. “Don’t get sad on me now! Am I really that depressing to be around?”

“Of course not,” Shawn said without missing a beat. “And I’m not sad.”

“Please, you reek of stress, loss, and…” She sniffed the air. “Guilt?”

Shawn scrunched his brows, pretending like he was not just attacked. “Where do you get all that from?”

She coughed. “Just a guess. I imagine, being a mysterious stranger, it’s hard to come by actual friends.”

That was something he could talk about without getting too deep into his drunken feelings. “I… yeah. People define you by what you are on the outside and see nothing else. Don’t even take the time to see what’s inside, in your heart.”

Isabella was playing with her fries. “I know what that’s like. All I’ve ever been is a blood sucking parasite with a wand. Doing what you know you’re destined to do comes with a lot of sacrifices.”

“Absolutely,” Shawn agreed. His own cave of regrets came to mind, but he wasn’t drunk enough to share any of them.

next chapter

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @someoneunimportantxx @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsunflower @chillingbythesea @theprivatesmutacc

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x oc #shawn meets fic #no one reads my shit anymore but whtv

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kyndaris · 5 years ago

Text

Unseen

I actually posted this first on my FictionPress account. It’s another short story that got a little out of hand but I thought it helped encapsulate the feeling of being overlooked in the busy lives that we lead. Even more difficult was trying to make the language more ‘Americanized’ than I was used to. Here’s hoping I succeeded.

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When I was young, I discovered I had a magic power. This was just after I had entered middle school and everyone had learned about puberty. It was a strange time, sprinkled with talks from teachers about the physical changes that we were expected to go through. From unwanted hair to monthly bleeds to a sizable development in the chest area. That, coupled with hormones and the outbreak of acne, was the general 'teenager' experience with its mixture of angst, confusion and rebellion.

But none of that mattered to me.

I mean, why would it when I could make myself invisible?

For years, I enjoyed the freedom that this power gave me. While others began to excel academically or at sports, I was far too busy trying to concoct the latest pranks. My marks had never been the best and while I could, perhaps toss a ball around if called upon, I was not one to put my hand up for anything competitive. I had seen the injuries sported by some of my friends when they had tried out for football and baseball.

No. My mission in life was to have fun and to annoy the living hell out of those around me. And I was good at it. The best even.

Only once was I caught. Mom was called in. Frazzled from a shift at the diner, her hair still in a messy bun, she had timidly knocked at the entrance when she arrived. I was pouting, desperately trying to mount up a feasible defense that would see mom take my side.

I was fourteen. Desperate, a little, for approval. With mom being so busy and my little sister just starting school, it had been a difficult year. And while I was enjoying my newfound ability, I was also grappling with hormones and mood swings. The one advantage I had over my peers was that I could make it all go away. Whether it was directing my invincibility to only certain parts of my body. Or simply disappearing altogether and finding a quiet place to clear my head of the mountain of thoughts.

The principal, a man of many years, judging from his balding pate the crow's feet at his eyes, had first tried to cajole my mom into enrolling me into one of those fancy boarding schools for troubled children. Over the years, I had made a name for myself as a rabble-rouser. A common disruption in class. And occasional truant.

It was also a well-known fact among the faculty that I had a hand in the mischief that had spoiled the opening night of the Christmas Play the year before. While they could not provide any concrete proof, I had put myself in their sights and any wrongdoing I did – no matter how minute – was scrutinized.

Mom was skeptical.

Of course, she had every right to be. As a single mother with two young daughters, there was hardly any money to purchase new shoes, let alone afford the fees for a private boarding school.

In the end, she chose to keep me in a public school. Though I was 'gifted' individual, she thought it best that I remain with my friends. Familiarity would ground me. That had been her key argument with the principal that day. In her eyes, whatever talents I possessed would flourish regardless of which institution I was in. Besides, there was no telling what I might do if in some boarding school halfway across the country. No. Better to keep me close at hand.

Knowing defeat, the principal relented and gave me a three-day suspension. Mom wasn't pleased. The entire walk to the car was made in complete silence. Nor did she look at me. Even the drive home was heavy with disappointment. When I tried to give my side of the story, she would interrupt with a sigh.

It was the first time that I felt truly and completely alone. Unseen and unheard.

In the summer just before high school, mom met someone. He was an investment banker that wanted more beyond the small town that we lived. Beguiled, perhaps, by his honeyed words, we packed up and moved to Connecticut. By then, I had met him numerous times and he was all but incorporated himself into our family dynamics. Both my sister and mom were enamored.

Mom, because she had a new man. And my sister, because we now had a new dad. One who doted upon her every wish. Only I was a little hesitant about this stranger in our house. Still, if he made mom happy and our lives a little easier, I could live with it.

Besides, it had been a good twelve years since dad had left us for his new family and he had never bothered with child support.

Perhaps I should have seen the signs then but at the time I was starting in a new school without any of my old friends. Having grown out of being the class clown, I was a little unsure of how to ingratiate myself into this new environment where I knew no-one. My grades had never been the best and I was decidedly average when it came to P.E. Nor was I talented at the creative arts.

The only thing special about me was my power of invisibility. But entering high school, I found out that having it was more of a liability than a gift. People were less amazed and more bemused. Everyone had seen it all before. And it didn't help that there were others who also had it attending my school.

I had to redefine who I was. Fast.

In those four years of high school, I was as like a social chameleon as I tried to befriend the numerous clichés. One week I would dye my hair black. The next, I would be trying my hand at a musical instrument. A third week and I would be in the library, desperately looking up a slew of made-up words that I had never heard of before.

Each day, I would come home exhausted. Mom was so busy that she didn't care how late I returned. Besides, with my abilities, there was no telling if I had come home early and had simply refused to leave the bed. Invisibility was both a blessing and a curse.

I often thought that was why Artemis never tried to reach out to me. She knew that I was struggling and had thought not to burden me with all her troubles. Artemis had always been thoughtful like that. And that had been her greatest power. The kindness, patience and resilience she had brought to our dysfunctional family.

When I finally graduated and applied for college, our finances were in the black. With his income, our stepdad could afford to send us to a decent university. It might not have been Ivy League, but it was enough to give me the peace of mind to experiment and try different things. Besides, while I had participated in a range of extracurricular activities, I had never stayed long enough in any of the clubs to positively contribute and my grades were scattershot, at best.

Still, I was able to make the best of it and moved onto campus. It was a day of heartache and exhilaration. We had moved so much but this was the first time I would be 'leaving the nest,' so to speak.

Everything was so new and I felt like I was out of my depth when I found my dorm room and settled myself in.

My roommate was a girl named Lauren. She was only four foot eleven but she could demolish three full servings of steak and could drink a sailor under the table. Lauren, though, was one of those rare honor students. She had a plan already set out before her and woe betide anyone that stood in her way.

Work hard. Play hard.

It had been her motto since the day she was born. Or so she told me.

I liked her from the start but our conflicting schedules meant that I hardly saw her even though we shared a dorm room. On the rare occasion that we both had an afternoon or a morning together, Lauren and I would take our time to explore every nook and cranny on campus. It took a couple of months but we managed to narrow down the café that served the best coffee, as well as an excellent corner in the library where we could stream the latest television shows while we pretended to study our incredibly expensive textbooks.

All of that changed, though, when I received a call from my mum just halfway through term.

Artemis was dead. She had hanged herself yesterday, using one of the beams in the house, some hemp rope that she had bought just for that purpose and a ladder. The funeral was slated for next week. The timing was bad, she knew. What with exams and assignments piling up. Would I be able to attend?

It was an impossible request. Despite my best efforts, each and every lecturer refused to give me the time I needed to go home.

Somehow or other, though, I managed to make the funeral – albeit after all the eulogies and when her body had already been consigned to the flames of the crematorium. It had not been an easy journey. Had it not been for Lauren's cooperation and my own special ability, I might not have been able to achieve even that.

The staff at the university knew about my unique condition. Of how I could turn invisible at the drop of a hat. Back in those early days, I had occasionally suffered bouts where I would remain unseen and unheard for at least a couple of days. For quite some time, I had not used my power and initially, I had thought that my inability to control it as a had during childhood had come from neglect. It had been an easy thing for Lauren to give them excuses and assist, on occasion with the delivery of my essays to the appropriate faculty (which I had to send to her via email even as I snuck on two Greyhound buses just so I could reach home).

I don't remember much of what happened that day or the two days afterwards when I prepared to head back to college. All the memories in my head were like small fleeting snippets. There was a brief argument with mom. During dinner, I threw a glare towards my stepdad when he tried to offer his condolences. Me walking into her room, right before bed, and trying to picture the way she smiled and would look up at me.

But, always, my mind would go to her last moments and I would wonder what had pushed my perfect sister – the youngest and favoured daughter in our household to do what she did. Back in my old room, I slept terribly. Haunted by nightmares that I could never quite recall.

Even when I was finally back on the bus, headed back to college and the ire of my teachers, I struggled to find a rational explanation for why Artemis did what she did. The perfect world I had constructed was slowly beginning to crumble.

It was only during the start of my sophomore year that I finally came to know the reason behind Artemis's suicide. All of it came tumbling out during the messy divorce between my mom and stepdad. Buoyed, perhaps, by having a man in the house with a stable income, mom went back to school to finish the degree that she never completed when pregnant with me. Once all that was done, she successfully landed the job of her dreams.

With all her success urging her on to better things, she was blind to what was happening at home. Her absence provided an opportunity for the predator lurking amongst us. And Artemis being Artemis…well, she kept her lips sealed. Far too terrified to reveal that he had been touching her and ashamed to admit that it had happened.

For years she had silently endured until finally, in her senior year of high school, it had been too much.

I should have been there for me. And I hated that I turned a blind eye to so many of the signs. From the bruises on her upper arm to the way the light had faded from her eyes.

At college, my grades began to fall. I started heading out to frat houses and clubs located close to campus. Just so that I could numb myself to the pain that was tearing me up inside.

It was then that I made my worst mistake. His name was Stephen.

Initially, it had been innocent enough. We met during a class we shared. I thought he was a nice enough and it didn't hurt that he was quite pleasing on the eyes. Stephen was intelligent too and always with his head in a philosophy book or another. Descartes, Socrates, Nietzsche. He had read them all. He could even hold a conversation beyond questioning whether or not we were stuck in the Matrix.

Ever so slowly, I fell for his charm. When he invited me to a house party right after the exam period, I agreed readily.

We danced. We flirted. And then we began to kiss. Flush with alcohol, we stumbled upstairs to find a spare bedroom that was free. But when he started to touch me down there, my mind went back to Artemis. I told him to stop. Yet, he didn't listen.

It wasn't until I was trying to claw out his eyes that he wrestled my arms away and kept me pressed down with his weight. That was when my power triggered. Had I not been able to turn invisible and began shrieking for help, I'm not entirely sure what might have happened that night.

Days afterwards, I still felt violated. It felt as if I had lost a key part of myself.

I think that was when my problems with my power began, although I did not quite notice until halfway through my third year. The fact that my hand had turned transparent without any conscious thought on my part was terrifying. And I couldn't bring it back. That was the worst of it. If I had known…

"Are you still typing?" said a voice close to my ear. It was one I knew intimately and as its owner sidled up close and kissed me sensually against my cheek, I leaned back into his warm embrace. "Won't you come into bed? It's late and I'm feeling a little lonely."

"Just one more paragraph," I said. "Please, Connor? Just one more. This is important."

He nuzzled against me. "Come on, Persephone. Your story can wait. It isn't going to disappear. At least, if you save it."

I reluctantly turned away from the Word document on my laptop and looked up at Connor. He had a point. I had been at it for most of the day. The words did not come easy and it was a struggle just to get them out. Always, I'd find something to distract me after I had written a few paragraphs. Then I'd go back and delete it all before rewriting it again. For two hours, I had followed the exact same formula until I finally decided enough was enough and moved on.

Besides, the prospect of bed sounded good. And Connor was always good to me. He understood me, having suffered through the exact same thing I was now experiencing. Yet he had recovered from fading away. With each passing day, he seemed to become more whole. Whereas I had come to a standstill.

Every morning I would take a look in the mirror and be dismayed that I still appeared ethereal. It didn't help that it was an effort just to have myself heard in my current office job.

To say that I was envious was an understatement.

"Oh, all right," I conceded, hitting both the ctrl button and 's'. Just to be safe, I moved a finger along the touch pad and clicked on the floppy disc shaped icon in the top left. I shut the laptop. "There."

"So, what were you actually writing about?" asked Connor as I stumbled around the bed and finally sidled in beside him.

"My—our story. Doctor Gibson said it was best that I put all my feelings down and see what happens. She said it might help."

He frowned. "Do you really think a psychiatrist like her is going to help understand the intricacies of being gifted, Persephone? She's never had to deal with what we've gone through."

I reached out for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. The sharp contrast between his tanned skin and my transparency was a stark reminder that all my efforts had, as yet, been for naught. Doctor Gibson had been one of my more recent endeavors to find a solution the problem that still hung over my head. "It's a long shot, I know. But let's give it a month or two before calling it quits, all right?"

Connor didn't like it. He hadn't much liked anything I had done over the last six months to build up my confidence and independence when my condition had partially stabilized after it had nosedived earlier that year. It was as if he feared that if I got better, I would leave him. The thought, in itself, was ludicrous and I wanted to tell him that. Yet, whenever our conversation veered into dangerous waters, he would steer it back towards the safety of land.

And so, instead of agreeing, he pulled me close – enticing me with the promises he had made earlier that night. It was an effective tactic. Before too long, I was swept up by his fervor with the only thought in my head focused on how best to reach that peak again and again.

When I woke up, Connor was gone. His side of the bed was cold. There wasn't even a hint of warmth to indicate that he had been beside me all night. And though I knew he always had an early shift on Mondays, that didn't ease the pang I felt in my heart as I set about getting ready for the day.

Padding into the kitchen, I found a box of cereal on the counter top along with a carton of milk. In the sink was the bowl he had used as well as a mug stained brown with coffee. I ignored my immediate impulse to clean it all up. At the very least, I would delay it until I had my own breakfast.

I grabbed a bagel from the pantry and cut it in half. The two sides were soon quickly smothered in cream and jelly. I delicately placed them on a spare plate and took it with me to the living room. If Connor had been home, he would have disapproved. Though I never quite understood why, he liked to keep each activity relegated to their 'appropriate area.' Food was meant to remain in the kitchen or eaten in the dining room. The living room was meant to entertain guests. To bring a chicken wing, lathered heavily in barbeque sauce would have been blasphemy. Even a biscuit would see his gaze fixed upon each and every crumb that dropped.

"How are you going to remove the stains? Do you know how much it would cost? For God's sake, Persephone, are you even listening to me?"

Without him hovering over my shoulder, I settled down on the sofa and turned on the television. I ate my breakfast with Good Morning America for company.

Some might say it was a little lonely but with no plans for the day, I savored it. Besides, today was my day off. I didn't think it was necessary but Connor encouraged me to do it when my condition had worsened. He said it would be of benefit to my own mental health and I reluctantly conceded the point when I started vanishing before the eyes of my co-workers during an important stakeholder meeting.

I gratefully accepted. By that stage, I was hanging on by a thread and having variable hours meant I could see a specialist without feeling the guilt associated with using up all my sick leave. Still, it had stung to be relegated to part-time work and at first, I floundered with all the additional time I had on my hands. Taking up a hobby that I enjoyed helped alleviate some of that tension and also helped push me back on the path of recovery.

It was nine when I padded back to the kitchen and put my plate into the sink. It would only take me a couple of minutes to wash all the dishes but I decided to put it off until I had finished my daily ablutions. I retreated to the bathroom, picked up my toothbrush and squeezed some paste onto it.

Brushing your teeth while being almost ethereal in appearance was a difficult endeavor. When I was younger, I'd often imagine myself as a vampire. Back then, it was a game. Nowadays, I could barely look at my reflection in the mirror. Today, fortunately, was a good day. But there had been times when my features were so indistinct that I forgot what I even looked like. Was my hair long or short? What color was it? Were my eyes brown or did they border on hazel? Maybe they were blue and I had been deceiving myself for my entire life.

Without being able to see what I looked like it was easy to allow the doubts to creep in. To feel that the most essentials parts that contributed to who I was were being stripped away.

Fuck. When did life become so hard? Why couldn't I get through a single day without feeling as if life would be better if I simply faded away.

I set my brush down and took in several deep breaths. What did Doctor Gibson always say at our sessions? To trust in myself? To give myself purpose and screw what other people thought? No. That didn't seem right. She had always been one to preach about checking my self-doubt at the door. To reinforce all my positive attributes rather than dwelling on my regrets and the bad things. Positivity rather than negativity.

She had said I should try turn the way I thought upside down. There were no tries. I simply had to do.

Yes. That was it.

I could do this. I had to do this. Steadying myself against the porcelain, I stared at my reflection and willed color back to my cheeks. Invisibility was my power and I controlled how much I wanted to use.

Once I was satisfied that I would not be vanishing any time soon, I washed my face and headed back to the kitchen where I cleaned the dishes. Knowing that all my immediate chores had been completed, I finally returned to the bedroom where my laptop sat on top of a low waist-high cabinet.

Prying it back open, I stared at where I had left off the night before – rereading the last few paragraphs before I resumed typing out the last few years before I had met Connor.

So enthralled in my little project, I did not notice time pass until the bedroom door opened and Connor stood standing in the entrance, the expression on his face a mixture of outrage and annoyance.

"Did you not hear me come in, Persephone?" he asked, voice low and dangerous. "How about when I called for you the last thirty goddamn times?"

I shrank back, glancing briefly at the time displayed in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. 6:30PM. Shit. Where had the time gone? "I'm sorry C-Connor," I stuttered. Though he had never once struck me before I could see that he was trembling. "I-I-I was writing. I had some music playing. Jesus, y-you know how I lost track of things when I'm e-engrossed with something. B-but give me thirty minutes. Please. I'll have dinner ready and waiting."

"That's not good enough!" Each word was punctuated with an increase in volume. I couldn't help it. I shied away. Instead of calming it down, my fear only made him angrier. He stalked towards me. "When I come home, I expect my girlfriend to greet me at the door. I would have preferred if you had called out. Instead of having to look for you and wondering if you had abandoned me. Funny thing is, I should have known you would be in here. Tip tap typing away on your stupid laptop. Thinking that just by writing down a few words, it'll make you feel better and maybe stop you from becoming unseen."

His words were like daggers, cutting at all my vulnerabilities. "Stop it," I pleaded.

"Well, news flash Persephone: it doesn't! Guess the jokes on you."

There were tears in my eyes and I was finding it hard to breathe. The months I had spent trying to reconstruct my fragile psyche were swept away and I was once more cast adrift. I covered my ears with my hands – hoping to drown out the vitriol.

I knew Connor loved me. Today had simply not been a good day for him. I should have known that. I should have been the dutiful girlfriend. God. What was wrong with me?

"Stop Connor. Please stop."

"No Persephone. I don't think I will. We need to talk about us. We need to talk about how you never give a damn about me. Even when I've slaved all day trying to put bread on the table! You're an ungrateful bitch, freeloading off my love and devotion to you. What's wrong with you, Persephone? Why can't you even do the simplest thing?"

"I-I don't…" Misery and fear threatened to overwhelm me. I felt so small, so insignificant. That nothing I did would ever amount to anything. Connor was right. He was always right. And I should have been grateful for everything he had done for me.

But it was all too much. For the first time, my thoughts went into a dark scary place that I'm sure Artemis had frequented all throughout high school.

It happened so quick. I only realized what I had done when Connor's eyes widened and he immediately backed towards the exit. His eyes darted around the room. "Persephone! This isn't funny. You turn visible right now, you hear me?"

I said not a word. I couldn't. My voice was gone as well and I could only sit morosely at my desk – ashamed and afraid of what would happen next.

"Persephone, I'm going to count to five. If you don't turn visible, I swear to God I'm walking out the door and throwing away the key. You'll be nothing to me, Persephone. Just like how you're nothing to your mom. You know that, right? She never loved you as much as Artemis. The only person who loves you is me but I'll take it back if you keep this on any further."

Why did he always have to reveal my secrets and use them against me? Connor knew which buttons to press and exactly how much he ought to prod. Even though I loved him, I also hated how he always held these things over my head.

Sadness turned to anger. Why was I always the enemy? I had proved time and time again my loyalty to Connor and our relationship. Yet without my voice, without even the ability to be seen, I knew that this could not be easily communicated. I wanted to scream and shout. Fight tooth and nail as I railed against my fate as one of the Unseen. But if I wanted to regain my appearance, I needed time to think. To calm down and be rational. Connor would only use my outbursts against me.

I glanced towards the bathroom door. There was only one way I would be able to find the solace I sought.

In the end, it was easier than I had thought.

As Connor was on the cusp of making it to five, I hopped over the bed and ran towards the bathroom. I slammed the door and ducked to the side as Connor raced towards me – thinking that I had sequestered myself inside. He banged futilely – never thinking to simply turn the knob – and demanded that I let him in. To console, to berate. God only knows what went through his mind.

Free for the first time, I slipped from the bedroom and out the front door. Stopping only briefly to pick up my laptop and a change of underwear before I left the apartment.

Somehow or other, I found myself outside Doctor Gibson's office close to nine. The lights were still on so I made my way up the stairs. As I stepped up to the door, ready to knock, I thought I could hear voices. Daunted by meeting another of her patients, I went back to the stairwell and made myself comfortable a flight down where I could see who might have had a such a late-night session with the good psychiatrist.

A couple minutes passed and the door creaked open. Out stepped a mess of a man. His cheeks were sunken and it seemed as if he had not shaved in weeks. There were dark bags under his eyes and when he walked past my hiding spot, I caught a whiff of stale whiskey on his breath.

"David! For God's sake David, you can't run from this."

I looked up in time to see Doctor Gibson slipping on a coat as she hurried out the door. The man ignored her, his pace quickening as he took the steps two at a time. Seeing my opportunity, I clambered to my feet and caught the door before it closed.

In her haste, she had left the light on.

I navigated my way down the hallway to the familiar couch where I had spent a couple hours each week trying to find the answers to my condition. The cushions were strewn on the floor and a blanket lay crumpled at one end. Atop the coffee table were water stains, clearly visible on the glass. Maybe David had been staying here. Or perhaps it had been the leftovers from another session with the good Doctor Gibson.

What frustrated me the most, though, was that even though I was now here in the sanctity of Doctor Gibson's abode, I could not make myself visible. Try as I might, I was able to be seen.

The best I could do was blur the edges and give myself a faint outline. Was this it? Was this how I faded into obscurity? Forgotten? Unloved?

I don't know how long I stood there, waiting for Doctor Gibson to return. Trapped in that spiral, it could have easily been thirty minutes or a day. All I could focus on was the rising panic and the all-encompassing fear that came with it. I was only pulled from my thoughts when the door slammed shut and I heard a strangled sob of frustration behind me.

Perhaps she had a sixth sense or maybe she heard me as I whirled around but almost immediately, I saw Doctor Gibson transform from weary and vulnerable to guarded and wary. "Who's there?" she called out. "I know someone's here. And if you're an Unseen trying to bugle me, well, there' not much you can take."

When I tried to speak, to reassure Doctor Gibson that I meant no harm, silence emerged from my lips. Caught between a mixture of dismay and fear, I clutched at my throat as I stumbled forward. Maybe she could feel me. Surely, she would notice if I made physical contact.

I still existed. I was still rooted in the world. Only my appearance and voice had been taken from me. Right?

She fell backwards when I wrapped my arms around her in a hug – desperate to feel wanted and loved and here. In my haste to save her, I banged my leg against the edge of the coffee table. "Damnit," I swore, trying to assess if I had suffered any damage. It didn't seem like I'd hurt myself but it was hard when even your own blood was invisible.

"Is that you, Persephone? I know that you told me that your powers were unstable," she said after a lengthy silence, "but I would never have guessed that it was this bad. Talk to me, Persephone. I'm here."

A smile threatened to tear my face in two. She had recognized my voice. She knew who I was. Perhaps it was this thought that broke through the barrier preventing me from becoming visible. It was only when Doctor Gibson began to stroke my back and dabbed at my tears that I realized that I must have returned. Or had, at the very least, resumed a faded outline or appearance.

My suspicions were confirmed when she took me into the restroom and I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Much of my color was missing but no-one could overlook the faint fuzziness that indicated my presence in the world.

It was nearly midnight when we settled back on the couch. Doctor Gibson looked worn out and weary as she handed me a cup of chamomile tea. We didn't talk much that night. She needed to head back home, but I was welcome to stay the night at the office to collect my bearings and make some decisions. When I handed over my laptop, with my story sequestered in a 30kb word document, Doctor Gibson slipped it into her bag and promised to read it when she had the chance.

We parted at one in the morning. I walked her down to the street before retreating back to her office where I had made a comfortable bed on the couch. Sleep eluded me as I ran through everything that had happened that day. Memories and thoughts would flash through my mind – demanding my attention.

I must have fallen asleep sometime between three or four, because when I next opened my eyes, Doctor Gibson was seated in her armchair, pouring over what I had written over the past week as per the assignment she gave me. Mouth dry and eyes crusted with rheum, it took me a while to understand where exactly I was.

I'm ashamed to admit that panic was my first instinct and I immediately tried calling out for Connor, confused at waking up in an unfamiliar environment.

Doctor Gibson, patient and understanding, was quick to allay any fears I had. Within the half hour, I had recollected myself and was gorging myself on a bagel slathered with cream cheese. She had also brewed up a batch of coffee. And though it was black, the first sip tasted a little like heaven as I was returned to the land of the living.

"This may be a little forward of me to ask, Persephone, but in all our talks together you never mentioned you had a sister," said Doctor Gibson when I had finished breakfast and had just returned from the kitchen. "In fact, it seems as if a lot of your present issues with your gift seems to stem from a place of guilt."

"Well, shouldn't I have been a little more aware? If I had known…if I had stopped it, perhaps Artemis would still be here," I replied warily, saying the first things that came to mind. Talking about what had happened in those frantic months at college had always been difficult. Particularly when mom had slowly begun to withdraw from our interactions. I had always known she loved my younger sister best.

She nodded. "That's an understandable emotion to feel."

"What are you getting at?" I asked, unsure where this conversation might be headed towards. All I knew was that there was tingling down my spine and not the good kind.

"Why don't you sit down," Doctor Gibson said gently. From her tone, it was not a simple request. "This is a bit earlier than our weekly sessions, but considering the circumstances that brought you to my door last night, I warrant that there are things we need to discuss."

I didn't quite know how to respond to that. A part of me was scared. It wanted to turn invisible and run away. But a stronger part, the one that was sick and tired of feeling trapped stopped me from giving in. It was this part that sat me down opposite Doctor Gibson and look her dead in the eye as I waited for the guillotine to fall.

"From what I've read so far, I can see that you feel responsible for what happened to Artemis. In the years since, you've pushed everyone away. And all the failed relationships you've been in, the men you've dated – all of it is some twisted sort of penance. You want to punish yourself, Persephone."

Laughter burst through my lips. "Really, Doc? Is that the best you got? I'll admit that I haven't made the wisest choices but that was because my power made it impossible. One day I'd be me and then the next, I was gone. Faded from sight. As if I didn't exist. As if I never existed. Do you know how that feels like? To have all your efforts gone unacknowledged by those around you. To be ignored and treated as little more than the air someone else breathes?

"Connor was the one that helped stabilize me. He saw me. Because he knew what it meant to be unseen. To be cursed with this ability and not know how to control it."

"Yet, here you are. With me," observed Doctor Gibson. "Why is that, Persephone? If Connor sees you, where is he now? What happened last night?"

"I—we…we had a fight," I admitted. "But that doesn't negate the fact that he's always been there for me."

Doctor Gibson leaned in close. "What did you fight about, Persephone? Was it the fact you were distracted? Or did you forget to have everything just the way he liked it? After all our sessions together, we've hardly even broached the topic about your relationship. Whenever we do, you're quick to change the subject. Is it because he frightens you? Or is he one of the underlying reasons behind why you can't control your powers?"

Each question was a direct blow against the fragile wall I had constructed around my psyche. For months I had tried to play pretend. For months, I had written off Connor's behavior and given him excuses.

If I was going to be honest with myself, though, I needed to realize that being with Connor did not make me happy. I hated how he always treated me as if I was made of porcelain. Or that I was incredibly naive.

In fact, so many of his actions only served to undermine my individuality and my autonomy. Ever since we had met, he had tried to strip away my self-confidence to boost his own ego. And I, feeling that this was what I deserved after what had happened with Artemis, had allowed it to happen. I had been the accomplice to my own downfall.

Hot tears prickled at the corner of my eyes. I tried to blink them away, but it was useless to stem the tide of emotion that crashed through. Doctor Gibson watched on, a silent witness, her face an impassive mask. I did not know if she considered this a breakthrough or if she was aghast that she had destroyed the very fabric of my tenuous world.

Rebuilding my fractured relationships was a lot easier than I had initially thought. It was still a long and drawn out process with many missteps. For a while, I despaired whether or not any of it would be worth it. But, little by little, I made inroads. They say that a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. And that was exactly what happened.

Doctor Gibson continued to help and support me during my momentary lapses. Of course, always with a fee attached. With my new role and growing mastery of my abilities, however, it was a small price to pay.

What I struggled the most with, though, was letting go of my feelings of inadequacy and the guilt that had plagued me for so many years. It didn't help that for several weeks, I still tried to make it work with Connor. He had a way with pushing my buttons to make me feel worse. In the end, there was simply no way for the both of us to be together. Or even live in the same apartment. Not after everything that had happened.

I moved out and continued to work on both my physical fitness and my mental health.

Whether or not it was the right thing to do, I can't say. There were moments when I wondered if I even deserved something better but Doctor Gibson was quick to pull the 'could have, should have, would have' card. There was no telling what might have been and there was little sense on dwelling on the possibilities. What was done was done. The past was immutable and could not be changed.

The future, though, that was unwritten. And I had it within me to chart a different course. To seek atonement rather than wallowing in self-pity.

When I think about everything, though, I know I'm not quite there. Yet I know now that such things take time. There's no instant solution. With my new roommates and Doctor Gibson and quite a few supportive colleagues from work, I felt as if I was finally starting to see the light at the end of a long dark tunnel.

People saw me. Even in my darkest moments. Perhaps I should have reached out earlier. Sought help when I could.

Despite shame and embarrassment holding me back, I still managed to cling onto that last shred of hope. And it was the very thing I needed to claw my way out of an impossible situation.

I write this now for the people that come after. For those that are held back by fear and anxiety.

I see you.

And if I can make it then you can do it too.

#short story #why aren't there any line breaks?#using dashes

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go-diane-winchester · 6 years ago

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J2 and politics and how the hellers are misguided

Jensen Ackles said religion and politics are very sensitive topics to talk about. He is right. Because no matter how hard you try not to, you are still going to offend someone. I am South African. And as a South African, I have access to information that American's don't see because their information outlets are compromised. Americans are ensconced from the truth. However, some Americans are themselves aware of this. It was one of the reasons that Donald Trump is liked by his supporters. He called out Fake News. Unfortunately, [and this is a marketing term] Trump is a political gatekeeper. He tells the truth mixed in with lies, in order to sway your emotions and gain your trust. Sort of like satan. Every American news outlet is telling you lies. Because they all get their news, primarily from a single source: Reuters. What people don't know is that Reuters is a private company, and not a public entity, operated by the people, for the people and certainly not of truth. Reuters is owned by the Rothschild dynasty, the richest and most unscrupulous family on Earth. Americans get information in a way that the Rothschilds deem acceptable.

Jensen also said during one of his latest Vancon panels, that cars had bumper stickers encouraging votes for certain candidates, during the last national elections. He was baffled by that because why would Canadians care about the American elections. That alone shows how little Jensen knows. In fact, Americans generally are the most outspoken and opinionated people when it comes to the opposition and politics. But they don't realize that they are operating on compromised information. Even the ones that are ''woke'' because they are using alternative media, don't realize that they are being hoodwinked by the same people, from a different angle. That is why, even though I have done many posts about Misha and his queer baiting antics, I have never done a single post about his politics. Because just like Jensen and everyone else in America, Misha is ignorant. However, he truly believes that what he is saying is right. And, because fairness is important to me, I could never truly begrudge for his political beliefs. He doesn't know the whole truth about American politics.

What irritates me however, is that in the case of the messy topic of politics, because Misha speaks so openly, the hellers and minions demand that that J2 should speak about politics too. And Jensen, in particular, is easy to push around and so he gives in. And when he does, he gets slandered for it. That is why he wasn't talking about politics in the first place, people. Not everyone shares the same ideals. And the minute he opens his mouth, ''woke'' SJWs who are themselves not very smart, tear him apart for saying something they did not personally agree with. Or they will behave like utter hypocrites. A few days ago, George Bush sr, died. As a foreigner, I do not see this man as a politician. I see him and his family as problematic elements in the political world, not just American but global. However, Americans don't know the whole truth about him. And he was their leader for some time. The man is now dead. And many individuals, including Ellen DeGeneres, tweeted out condolences to him. Jensen did as well. And this happened.

Iangallagher is ''woke''. I am not using that term as a compliment. To me, a ''woke'' person, is not someone who has woken up to the truth. They are either, someone who has woken up to compromised lies churned out in alternative media or they are SJWs who have agendas and are masquerading behind the guise of social justice. So Ian was offended that Jensen sent out a condolence message because a man who just died. And remember, Jensen is operating on compromised information. Ian said nothing when Misha did the same thing.

Both actors believed that Bush served the country well as a leader. And they both did the decent thing by sending condolences. And a Misha fan [look at Ian's profile picture] decided to tear Jensen apart only. There are more responses that he sent, about Danneel cheating on Jensen and the twins not being Jensen's babies. If I met Ian face-to-face and quizzed him about politics, I can assure you there would be many questions he would not be able to answer. If Ian is a heller and not a minion, I am certain that politics was not the reason, he went after Jensen. He did it because of destiel.

The reason why American politics is important to the rest of the world, is because the USA has placed itself as the leader at the helm. When America makes socio-political changes in their land, it affects the rest of the world, especially monetarily. America also subtly pushes these changes on other nations because she is a world leader and can do that. The South African educational system suffers daily because of the Outcome-Based Education system that our Minister of Education imported about America. ''Woke'' people call Outcomes-based education, the systematic dumbing down of America. Remember, if I call you woke, I am not complimenting you. Nobody is dumb. They are just misinformed.

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yourmandevine · 6 years ago

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Come on, come on, come on: get through it

NOTE: A lot of people who have read this have shared their condolences and well wishes, which is really nice. Some have also asked if there was anything they could do for Sean’s family, which is amazing. If you’re able and feel moved to, there is: There’s a college fund for Winnie. Thanks to everyone who has reached out.

***

One of the best friends I’ll ever have died on November 29, after a fight with cancer. He was 36, and he leaves a wife and a young daughter, all of which is an infuriating sin. I’ve been trying to find a way to sit with that. I’m not sure how well I’ve been doing.

I gave the eulogy at his funeral mass. Whenever I’ve talked to people about that, they have apologized to me, have said they were so sorry that I got asked to do that, that I had to do that. It’s weird: I never looked at it like that.

I feel so lucky that I got to know Sean Enos-Robertson -- to really know him, what he cared about, what he loved, what made him so special. You rarely get to know anybody like that, and when you do, sometimes you don’t wind up liking what you see. That never happened with Sean; he was a font of joy, someone who lived to make the lives of others just a little bit better. His wife asked me if I’d write something down and talk to people about this beautiful, amazing person I was so lucky to know. That wasn’t a burden. It was a privilege. An honor.

And now, a few weeks later, as I’m trying to figure out how to process this, I keep thinking that I’d like to share that.

You guys won’t get to know Sean, which is so, so decidedly your loss. But maybe this lets you know how much he meant to me, to us, and to so many other people, and it makes you think about the people who mean this much to you. And maybe you tell them.

Maybe you tell them while you have the chance, because telling people you care about them, and who they are in your life, and why you love who they are full stop is one of the best things there is, and there’s never a wrong time for it so long as it’s before the end. I got to tell Sean how I felt before he died, and I got to tell his family, and his friends, and his students -- my God, his students -- and now I’m telling you. Sean Enos-Robertson was brilliant, the best, a light in a lot of lives. I miss him, and I love him, and I always will. Here’s why.

***

Hello, everybody. My name is Dan Devine, and I'm a friend of Sean's. I am a friend of Sean's. I'm not going to use the past tense for that; it didn't stop being true last Thursday, and it's never going to.

On behalf of Courtney and Winnie, and of the Robertson and Enos families, I'd like to thank you for being here. In a broad sense, Sean believed in community: in the power of people uniting for a common good. More specifically, Sean believed in love. He loved his family — his wife and daughter, his parents and in-laws, his brother and grandmother. He loved his friends. He loved his students and colleagues. He loved the people he leaned on, and who leaned on him — those of us here today, and many others who couldn't make it, but are sharing their love, and our grief.

Sean was one of my favorite people. He was magnetic. He was invigorating. He was cool as hell.

Sean radiated. He was a candle: someone who lit up and warmed every room he walked into, every person whose life he touched. This ... this is a tough room to light up. So we're going to have to do it together.

Before we do it, though, I want to acknowledge a hard truth I've been sitting with, and that you might be sitting with, too. It is deeply, impossibly unfair that Sean is gone — that he was taken from us so soon. Too soon. Way, way, WAY too soon. That's real, and it's OK to feel that.

In my better moments, though, I can set that aside and make room for gratitude — that Sean walked into my life in the first place, that I got as much time with him as I did, and that I got so much exposure to such a shining example of how to love.

There's a song by Tom Petty that I really love called "Walls." There's a line in the chorus that goes, "You got a heart so big, it could crush this town." That was Sean. Sean loved openly, fearlessly, completely — he hugged like you could win medals for it. He loved with everything he had, with his whole body. And if you don't believe that, then you never saw my man dance.

He loved music, and especially sharing it — I don't think anybody made me more mix CDs to try to put me onto something that I hadn't heard. (I'm pretty sure I have about five different "best of Blur" mixes. Sean really loved Blur.)

youtube

I met Sean at Providence College in the fall of 2000, right near the start of our freshman year. I'd seen him around at meetings for people who wanted to apply for shows on the college radio station, WDOM, but we didn't become friends right away. I know exactly when that happened: October 29, 2000. (I looked it up.)

That night, Mike Doughty, the singer from Soul Coughing, played a solo show at the Met Cafe in downtown Providence. I took the PC shuttle downtown by myself to catch the show, and somewhere around the weird acoustic cover of "Real Love" by Mary J. Blige, I saw that tall, skinny dude again. We awkwardly sidled up to one another to watch the show, and wound up walking back to campus together. We talked about bands and school and the station and whatever else two 18-year-olds talk about, all the way back home, and that was that. From that moment on, that was my man.

We hung out a lot, as evidenced by the staggering number of old photos I've looked through recently in which one or both of us had extremely tragic haircuts, facial hair, or sideburns. We lived together for two wonderful years in an awful apartment in Cranston, R.I.

The first year, we lived with our friend Todd. We had two parking spots for three cars, so one of us would always be blocking somebody in. Whenever it was time for the blocked-in person to get out, he'd ask, "Are you behind me?" And always, every time, Sean would answer, "100 percent, man."

It was this small, dumb thing, but it always made me laugh. Sean was really good at that.

We learned how to be adults together, finishing school and trying to figure out how to pursue our passions. After searching a little, Sean found his. In 2007, he took a job teaching history to middle schoolers at Harlem Academy. He shared with scores of students his belief in civic responsibility, in actively engaging with our nation's past, in interrogating history to learn about how we got where we are and how we might make decisions about our future. He loved teaching, and he was incredible at it. In 2016, the Gilder-Lehrman Institute of American History named him the New York State History Teacher of the Year, and they don't just give that out.

Sean's commitment to his students went beyond the classroom. I got a much clearer picture of that when Courtney sent me a note she received after his passing from one of his students, sharing both condolences and her memory of Mr. Robertson as someone who "would always reach out to me when he thought I needed it." One day, in eighth grade, this student confided in Sean that she thought she wanted to be an artist. She braced for stereotypical adult dismissal, the classic speech about "getting a real job."

Instead, she got a giant smile and an inspiring conversation about Courtney's job as a graphic designer, about that being a real path, and about how she might be able to realize her dream. Courtney invited her to visit her job to see firsthand how it was done, and that it could be done. She's kept that dream throughout high school, and now into college, thanks in part to Sean's willingness to listen, to care, and to open his life to a student in need. I'm willing to bet there are a lot more stories like that.

The student concluded her note with a beautiful sentiment: "I pray that you and Winnie and the rest of Mr. Robertson's family and friends are able to find peace and comfort, and I pray that you are able to think of him and feel peace and joy, because I genuinely think that's what he would want." I think she's exactly right. Sean wanted to lift people's spirits, to lighten their moods; on the day he invited some of us Brooklyn friends over to tell us that his fight was coming to an end, he kept moving back and forth among playlists of incidental music, setting a soundtrack to hum underneath all the laughs and tears and reminiscing. Even then, dude was still DJing.

We learned how to be somebody's partner, and eventually somebody's husband, together. Sean met Courtney in 2002, and as I remember it, he knew very, very quickly that he'd hit the jackpot. I'm sure that they had their share of tough times over the years, especially recently, but they always seemed immensely supportive of one another. Their love, from the outside, always seemed easy, in that way that let you know it was right, secure for the long haul.

Something Sean and I had in common, and that I've always felt grateful for, is that we always knew our magnetic north. Everything in our life oriented around the person we wanted to spend it with, and wherever work or school or whatever tossed us, we could always go back to that, back to our person, and get pointed in the right direction. Courtney was his compass, his best reason for doing everything.

When they were going to get married, Sean asked me to stand up with him as his best man, and to give a toast. I dug that toast out of a box last week, and here's the part that matters: "I think that all guys — the honest ones, at least — will admit that the women in our lives do a lot of the heavy lifting in helping us become decent, valuable men. And this is no exception [...] When Sean called to tell me that he and Courtney had gotten engaged, the first thing I remember thinking is, 'They deserve each other.'"

Their time together deserved a better ending than this. But what came before — the 16 years of knowing this great a love was possible, the nine years of marriage, the two and a half years of Winnie's life? That was exactly what they deserved.

Courtney is one of the strongest, fiercest, most remarkable people I've ever met — a woman who has faced unimaginable challenges and kept putting one foot in front of the other. I can't fathom what today is like for you, Courtney, but I want you to know: we are going to be awesome for you and Winnie right now. And tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days after that. I'm sorry, but you're stuck with us.

We learned how to be fathers together. Sean was there for me when my Siobhan was born, ready to cradle this tiny thing in his arms and envelop us with love, and to look me in my bloodshot, frantic eyes and let me know that I didn't have to be OK, because I was never going to be alone with it all. I wanted to do the same for him when Winnie was born, but Sean never seemed to need it. He was just ready: all open arms and full heart and perfect love.

Winnie is amazing, and brave, and funny, just like her dad. She's one of my favorite people, too, and I ache for her. But I'm also so grateful that there are so many people who will line up to tell her just how fantastic her father was. She will always know how special he was, and how special she was to him, and how much he loved her. We'll make sure of that. It might be the most important thing any of us do once we leave here today.

This hurts. This is hard. It's not supposed to go like this. But we don't get to make these kinds of choices. All we can do is deal with the fallout.

I'd ask you to remember the words of Sean's student: "I pray that you are able to think of him and feel peace and joy." Sean Enos-Robertson spent 36 years doing everything he could to bring peace and joy to everybody he met. Sean loved with his whole soul, and we can do that, too. We can do that for him. Let's be candles. Let's radiate.

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hypnoticcastiel · 6 years ago

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my condolences to Brazil

if Donald Trump came out of Satan's left nut, then Jair Bolsonaro came out of his right nut. all the evil seed is flooding american continent and regional and global politics will get much more difficult. Brazil is top5 democracies and i hope that Trump and Bolsonaro never find a bonding moment.

while the financial and social crisis in Brazil is sure different or more severe than in the USA (which had solid Obama years, even though not for everybody!!!), the rethoric, methods, demagogue-talk is too similar. how desperate must the majority of Brazil be to vote for a despicable racist and homophobe who PUBLICLY ANNOUNCED THE MASS MURDER OF (HIS) POLITICAL OPPONENTS?! fixing your economy and stopping crime is important, but it doens't mean that you have to elect a vile human being to do the job. let's see how many people will die before Brazil wakes up from this nightmare.

i'm no expert but IF a president of a country announces to murder citizens that he dislikes, it's your "right" (word pun) as leftist, lgbtq and decent citizen of any country to arm yourself FOR SELF-DEFENSE and fire back when attacked. good luck to all remaining normal people in Brazil. please survive.

#politics #brazil #jair bolsorano #donald trump #society #demagogue #personal standpoint

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Jeopardy! Host Alex Trebek Dies at 80

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Alex Trebek, a TV institution and trivia pioneer as the longtime host of the game show Jeopardy!, has died at the age of 80. The show made the announcement via its Twitter account on Sunday afternoon:

“Jeopardy! is saddened to share that Alex Trebek passed away peacefully at home early this morning, surrounded by family and friends. Thank you, Alex.”

A cause of death was not immediately made available but Trebek had been publicly battling pancreatic cancer after receiving a stage 4 diagnosis in March 2019.

It’s hard to overstate Trebek’s impact on the American television landscape. After a brief journalism career, the Canadian-born Trebek went into the burgeoning game show hosting business, starting with Reach for the Top in 1966. In 1984, however, he received the coveted job as the host of Merv Griffin’s Jeopardy! revival (the show had originally premiered in 1964). The studious, authoritative Trebek proved to be a perfect fit for the simple, yet challenging quiz show and both host and game show eventually reached iconic status.

Trebek hosted every single episode of Jeopardy! for the next 35 years. In 2014, he passed The Price is Right’s Bob Barker to break the record of most episodes of a game show ever hosted. In his time at Jeopardy!, Trebek won five daytime Emmy Awards, a Peabody Award, and countless other honors.

It’s tempting to attribute Trebek and Jeopardy!’s success to mere consistency. The show, along with its Merv Griffin-created, CBS Studio mate Wheel of Fortune, has been a ubiquitous part of the early evening TV landscape for decades. But that level of ubiquity and consistency doesn’t come without demonstrated excellence. And Trebek was nothing if not excellent.

Despite what Ken Jennings and James Holzhauer may think, Jeopardy! is a difficult competition, featuring 61 questions (or “answers” in the show’s parlance) crafted by a crack team of writers. Trebek had the right level of gravitas to lend a sense of added legitimacy to the proceedings, while also knowing when to indulge in some fun.

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Shortly following Trebek’s death on Sunday, reaction from Jeopardy! fans began to pour into social media. The three competitors in the recent Jeopardy GOAT tournament, Ken Jennings, James Holzhauer, and Brad Rutter, all shared their condolences.

Alex wasn’t just the best ever at what he did. He was also a lovely and deeply decent man, and I’m grateful for every minute I got to spend with him. pic.twitter.com/CdHCcbqmp2

— Ken Jennings (@KenJennings) November 8, 2020

Alex was so much more than a host. He was an impartial arbiter of truth and facts in a world that needs exactly that. He was someone you could count on to entertain you every weekday, even when his health barely allowed it. And he was an underrated rapper: pic.twitter.com/ybvp7RlvjH

— James Holzhauer (@James_Holzhauer) November 8, 2020

Just gutted. There will never be another. RIP, Alex, and thank you so much for everything. https://t.co/4FMlgaFYvI

— Brad Rutter (@bradrutter) November 8, 2020

Meanwhile fellow Canadian Ryan Reynolds revealed that Trebek has a cameo in the upcoming film Free Guy. Trebek maintained a modest acting career throughout his time as Jeopardy! host.

But perhaps the best tributes came from longtime Jeopardy! watchers contributing their favorite Trebek moments and memes like the hosts steadfastly Trebekian pronunciation of “genre.”

I spent way too much time putting together this video of Alex Trebek saying the word "genre," so now you have to RT it. Sorry, I don't make the rules pic.twitter.com/VacI730SJv

— Alex Jacob (@whoisalexjacob) September 13, 2019

There was also the touching moment in which a Jeopardy! contestant, Dhruv Gaur in the Tournament of Champions used his Final Jeopardy! board to write “We love you, Alex” shortly following the announcement of the host’s cancer diagnosis. Trebek, ever the professional, fought through his tears of gratitude to dutifully dock Dhruv $1,995 for the wrong answer.

Trebek’s status as an American icon persisted right up to the very end. In one of the final episodes aired before his death this weekend (though Jeopardy! films in bulk and more new episodes are likely to arrive for a bit), one contestant shared a touching story with Alex of how he learned English watching the show.

Alex's impact is immeasurable. Thank you for sharing, Burt! pic.twitter.com/XgGGwJ8GlH

— Jeopardy! (@Jeopardy) November 6, 2020

What that misty clip doesn’t capture is the moment after in which Trebek thanks Burt, then chortles and recalls that all his grandpa taught him was how to swear. Then he quickly directs the show back to the business of answering trivia in the form of a question.

The post Jeopardy! Host Alex Trebek Dies at 80 appeared first on Den of Geek.

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years ago

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Restaurants Must Use This Moment to Change, Too

Loic Venance/AFP via Getty Images

Dismantling racist and classist ideologies is not just about police reform; restaurants need to answer the call of protesters, too. This is how.

This is Eater Voices, where chefs, restaurateurs, writers, and industry insiders share their perspectives about the food world, tackling a range of topics through the lens of personal experience. First-time writer? Don’t worry, we’ll pair you with an editor to make sure your piece hits the mark. If you want to write an Eater Voices essay, please send us a couple paragraphs explaining what you want to write about and why you are the person to write it to [email protected].

Right now, the United States is in the middle of the hundreds of protests sparked by the death of George Floyd. With cities reopening, restaurants are also opening their doors for service again (albeit with strict guidelines due to the ongoing coronavirus pandemic). Some owners and chefs are reasonably upset that their storefronts have been damaged during the protests, an additional blow to already-struggling businesses.

While restaurant owners were vocal about the losses they suffered when their businesses were shuttered because of the coronavirus, and still more spoke out when certain big-name chefs and restaurant groups received federal loans they desperately needed, many of those same owners and chefs have been quiet about the injustices that Black people face, even as protesters show up on their doorsteps.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, though; the industry is filled with instances of racism, sexism, ageism, and every other -ism there is. Discrimination comes from angry and ignorant guests, but even more so from the people who brush shoulders in restaurants every day, working in dining rooms and kitchens. Restaurants are still often obviously segregated by staff, and Black people are often denied employment or progression in fine dining and corporate restaurants. This doesn’t even begin to cover the countless acts of discrimination and stereotyping Black guests deal with in establishments all around the country.

Restaurants should become third places that tear down old racist and classist ideologies.

Throughout history, restaurants have played major roles in political movements; because they uphold unfair practices, they often become centers of protest themselves. Right now, restaurant owners, chefs, and people across the food industry should be at the frontlines with protesters, speaking as loudly about social injustices as they did about the Paycheck Protection Program and unemployment due to COVID-19. They should be fighting just as hard to end systemic racism, poverty, and the inhumane treatment of immigrants as they did to save their businesses, seeing as their entire labor force depends on it. They should become “third places” for protesters. Instead, we see our public dining institutions siding with the same people who fail to protect them time and time again.

According to the Brookings Institution, “third places” are the spaces where people spend time between home (the “first place”) and work (the “second place”). They are places of communion, where we exchange ideas and have conversations with one another. It’s no surprise that bars, restaurants, and cafes are defined as third places, but they are often spaces where Black people aren’t welcomed or don’t feel safe. So with the call for change within our communities and government institutions, we also need change to come from within the restaurant industry. New third places should be created, tearing down old racist and classist ideologies and putting systems in place that represent true inclusivity and compassion.

The Woolworth sit-in in Greensboro, North Carolina, may be the most famous example of a restaurant taking center stage in a movement. In 1960, four young Black men, all students at the historically Black college and university North Carolina A&T, were fed up with the segregation they faced despite the 1954 Brown v. Board of Education ruling that “separate but equal” was unconstitutional. Inspired by Gandhi’s nonviolent activism, the students sat at the “white-only” counter at their local Woolworth. They returned day after day with more and more people, despite being spit on, beaten, and taunted, until Woolworth and other restaurants throughout the South agreed to fully integrate.

Violence surrounded the peaceful protesters who used restaurants and other small businesses as their third place — and restaurant owners, workers, and diners allowed and participated in this violence. This story of silence and permission, tacit or otherwise, has found its way back into mainstream American life, and once again, restaurants are sites of history. At Halls Chophouse in Charleston, South Carolina, staff, diners, and protesters clashed after an employee brandished a gun and fired it to disperse a crowd that had formed outside the business. No one was severely injured in the altercation. Two days after the shooting incident in Charleston, chef David “BBQ Man” McAtee was shot and killed by members of the Louisville Police Department. According to McAtee’s nephew, he’d been standing in front of his restaurant trying to protect his niece, who had also been shot by officers, after police were called to disperse a large crowd nearby. Police officers said that they heard gunshots and opened fire in return, although accounts across social media allege otherwise.

The contrast between these two incidents underscores the total disregard for life that law enforcement and white people have for Black people: While a restaurant employee was allowed to shoot into the air amid a crowd of protesters with no intervention or retaliation from cops, a Black restaurant owner lost his life. While I’ve noticed many, many well-known chefs asking for donations to save their restaurants, I haven’t seen many send their condolences or coins to chef McAtee’s family to help keep his business open after his unexpected death.

Sociologist Ray Oldenburg, who coined the term “third places,” says that although many of our third places are virtual, the most effective spaces are ones that allow people to easily and consistently connect with each other on a physical level. To build community, society needs places where people of different races, ages, genders, sexualities, and socioeconomic statuses are on a level playing field. Restaurants and other food businesses can fit that description exactly.

Restaurants that fail to see themselves as third spaces, and that don’t go out of their way to ensure their spaces truly function as such, will be on the wrong side of history.

To create change and mobilize their businesses as third places, restaurant owners need to listen. Listen to Black communities and comprehend what is happening, how they feel, and what they need from you. Let them tell you your role before assuming one. It may be your kitchen, but you serve your community. Chefs, you can also do what you do best: feed people. Start a food bank, give out free meals, create community grocery stores and bartering programs, give protesters drinks as they walk down the streets fighting for your rights. And if your restaurant is closed because of the pandemic, or for any other reason, allow people to safely use those spaces as places of rest and repose. Let people meet and organize and know they have a safe place to go to if they’re in trouble or danger, and that you will support them to the best of your ability.

To create change and mobilize as third places now, restaurant owners need to listen.

The work needs to continue after the protests stop. Hire people from the community, and not just to feel better about meeting whatever diversity quota you’ve set. It is even more important to hire Black people if you’re operating a business in a majority Black city or neighborhood: If that’s the case, you are an unwelcome guest who time and time again finds your way into Black spaces uninvited. Your accolades only add to our burdens. But since you’ve decided to infiltrate our neighborhoods, hire people from the community. And once you hire your staff, pay them equal and fair wages, teach them, and promote them; if you don’t want to do that, let them move on and flourish elsewhere. When you don’t do this, you’re upholding a racist ideology and system.

Train yourself and your staff to commit to fighting injustices inside and outside of the dining room. It shouldn’t take someone dying on camera for you to watch a video on anti-racism and advocate for appropriate workplace behavior. Fight for Black food workers, owners, writers, and chefs to have equal footing when it comes to being promoted, securing investors, benefiting from marketing, making connections, getting paid fairly, and having decent health care and work-life balance; anything you have or want, they should have too. Use your voice and your resources (including your money) to support the people who work at and frequent your businesses. Stop relegating Black culture and appreciation to one month a year, or when a hot topic arises. Food media, give stories about Black culture to Black writers, but don’t be so asinine as to attempt to put them into one box (that goes for Black chefs, cooks, photographers, etc).

Be accessible to your community. Not only should your business feel sincerely welcoming, guests should understand what’s on your menu. If you use historically Black recipes or ingredients, source them from Black farmers and businesses; if you collaborated with Black minds to create your concepts, speak about it in your pressers and in your dining rooms. You should be vocal about the harm that is done to Black people regularly, so that people know that when they come into your space, they are making a choice to support who and what you support.

Black people have always created third places for themselves and for others, especially during social movements, usually for their own safety. For Black chefs and food people, your role in this movement is to do absolutely nothing more than what you already do every single day. Keep surviving. Keep feeding your communities. Keep uplifting one another. Keep spreading knowledge. Help when you feel the need to, but take care of yourself first.

Chefs, owners, and staff who are white and non-Black people of color, we aren’t asking you to invite us into your spaces. We aren’t asking you to become allies. We can and have fought this fight without you, and will continue to do so as long as it’s necessary. It’s your time to do the work and stop asking an already emotionally taxed and physically exhausted group of people to help you do it. There is no reason you should have to be taught how to be a decent human being in 2020. I find it hard to believe you all don’t know how to be any better, but I’m sure that once again, you’ll be given the benefit of the doubt. If you choose to stay silent or act against us, that speaks volumes about your character, not ours. The time of carrying your loads while you reap the benefits of our physical and intellectual labor is over.

To those who have finally decided to answer the call to protest injustice, who wrote those beautifully worded posts and blacked out their profile pictures in solidarity, and who promised that their restaurant or publication or business will do better, remember that Black lives are worth more than your business. At the end of the day, your windows can be replaced. Your looted alcohol can be rebought. You might lose some of your clientele. Just keep in mind: You have only lost your livelihood for a moment. Black people have been losing their lives forever.

Amethyst Ganaway is a chef from North Charleston, South Carolina, and winner of the 2020 LDEI Culinary Legacy Award.

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Dismantling racist and classist ideologies is not just about police reform; restaurants need to answer the call of protesters, too. This is how.

Restaurants should become third places that tear down old racist and classist ideologies.

Restaurants that fail to see themselves as third spaces, and that don’t go out of their way to ensure their spaces truly function as such, will be on the wrong side of history.

To create change and mobilize as third places now, restaurant owners need to listen.

Amethyst Ganaway is a chef from North Charleston, South Carolina, and winner of the 2020 LDEI Culinary Legacy Award.

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dramallamadingdang · 7 years ago

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Replies about skies and Halloween. :)

For @doowydoog, @dunne-ias, @nimitwinklesims, @clericalrodent, @nyshabrokeit, @digitalangels, @simper-fi, and @0201-sims.

And I feel like I’m missing people, too, but my Activity page seems to be a bit weird at the moment. Like, it doesn’t seem to be showing all the replies I can see on my dashboard. So, if I’ve not answered anyone’s questions they’ve put in replies, please do yell at me in an ask or message or something. Those don’t seem to get screwed up... :P

doowydoog replied to your photoset “Here’s the second part of the Great Sky Project. I was going to wait...”

can you see these lot view?

So long as you have Skyfix installed (which fixed the sky-breaking that Maxis did in the Seasons EP), yup! And you can see the sun, moon, stars, shooting stars, etc. through them, too.

dunne-ias replied to your photoset “Here’s the second part of the Great Sky Project. I was going to wait...”

this would kill my computer. But oh soo pretty. *bookmarks in case of new computer in the future*

You think? These are actually the least resource-consumptive sky objects, since the textures are smaller and mostly transparent. Horizons are the biggest drain, I think. But, I suppose if you layer them with static skies and horizons and water mods and...Well, yeah. It all adds up. :)

nimitwinklesims replied to your post “ah, problem with horizons is that my neighborhood is a wee island in...”

Well... In this case, my older skydomes probably look decent as well, because they're smaller,closer to the edge of the terrain, and go down a little bit further. There shouldn't be a gap visible there. Only the straight edge of the water.

You might very well be right, Nimi. So, if you see this sky anon, you could try Nimi’s original skies instead. I made them Skyfix, etc. compatible here, here, and here. Some of those have the same textures as the ones I made, since my original purpose with this whole sky thing was to just “update” Nimi’s skies to make them compatible with the newer horizons and animated skies and stuff. It just kinda got out of hand from there.

clericalrodent replied to your post “Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world (or at least the...”

Autumn's my favourite season too - all the colours and mushrooming and the last bits of harvest. There's a lot of canning and baking waiting to be done.

I’ve never done canning, myself. Just never had the time/patience. I do like to make jams and preserves and stuff, though. We’ve been doing that throughout the growing season, actually, buying extra berries and peaches and tomatoes and stuff and making jams and stuff. And alas, I suck at baking. :( Or really, I don’t have the patience to measure ingredients properly, and that really has a bad effect on baking. :)

clericalrodent replied to your post “Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world (or at least the...”

We don't celebrate Halloween here in Estonia, but it's creeping it's way here too. Which is weird because we have two treat-getting holidays of our own already.

Two treat-getting holidays? Really? Wow. But yeah, seems Halloween is infecting Northern Europe like a plague. Sweden, Finland, Estonia... My condolences. :)

nyshabrokeit replied to your post “Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world (or at least the...”

Nah, I'm not hugely into Halloween myself - bring on bonfire night, though!

Now Guy Fawkes night I can definitely get behind. :) (Ooooooh, fire...!) Bring on the parkin!

digitalangels replied to your post “Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world (or at least the...”

I dislike Halloween too. Like dunne-ias we don't celebrate it here (Finland) but it's slowly trying to become a thing here too. Autumn itself is great season though, I love the colors, crispier air, dark nights... ♥

Yeah, I’m bummed I’m going to miss the colors. :( We don’t get too much in the way of fall color in southern California, not like they get in other parts of the US, and by the time we get home to Colorado, where the fall color is a mix of golden aspens, orange scrub oak, and evergreen pines, all the leaves will be off the trees already. :( But hopefully we’ll be in Colorado next fall!

simper-fi replied to your post “Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world (or at least the...”

I'm not into it either! I'd much rather enjoy the whole "autumn" thing than the whole "spooky-dressing-up" thing. :)

Yeah, I just never “got” it. I never enjoyed dressing up in costumes as a kid and I’ve also never been much for candy. And I was raised such that “spooky” stories weren’t a thing and believing in or even entertaining the idea of irrational supernatural/paranormal things was frowned upon, so it just wasn’t something I was interested in or could be “spooked” by. I remember being kind of miserable at Halloween parties in school because I just wasn’t into any of it and didn’t have a costume and didn’t eat candy. But hiking in the autumn in the Northeast to enjoy the color and the cooler weather? That’s awesome. :)

0201-sims replied to your post “Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world (or at least the...”

I enjoy Halloween as a holiday (and always did) but I'm not into it as the kind of edgy cultural phenomenon it seems to be on tumblr! I do love seeing all the cute kids who come to my house for candy. But I consider fall the best season by far so I hope you enjoy the cooler weather and whatever festivities you enjoy. Even if it's going home to a little early winter! ;D

Is it just me or is trick-or-treating kind of dying? I mean, in Colorado, I don’t exactly have neighbors because I live in ranch land, but we didn’t have any in San Francisco, either, where the house is in the middle of the city in a nice, safe part of town where I know there are kids. I mean, I bought candy and turned on the porch light and everything, but...nope. We’ll see if we get any this year here in SoCal. Because yeah, one of the few things I do like about Halloween, now that I’m an “adult,” is little kids in cute costumes traveling in herds to get candy. :) (Not so impressed with teens and adults who trick-or-treat, though. :\ Unless they’re just taking their kids or younger siblings around.)

dunne-ias replied to your post “Sometimes I think I’m the only person in the world (or at least the...”

I hate it too. Of course I hate it more because we celebrate all saint's day which is often confused for Halloween to the point where children in Sweden think they're the same, so our somber let's-put-lights-gravestones has become about ghosts and witches. This is to the point of me blocking all halloween-related tags on tumblr because it pisses me off when our holidays get replaced just because of American media. Don't get me started on Santa living on the North Pole :P

Ugh, don’t get me started on Santa, period. :p But yeah, Halloween with the trick-or-treating and all is an American thing that seems to just infect the world. But I guess it’s not the first American thing to do that. :\ It’s kind of a shame that it has eclipsed All Saint’s and All Souls, which I think are rather nice holidays/remembrances. But I guess we ultimately have the church to blame for that, in the end, with its habit of co-opting pagan celebrations to make itself more attractive to possible converts. In this case it co-opted Samhain by moving All Saint’s to November 1 (when it was originally observed in May) and Samhain is just ultimately more fun, I guess.

#doowydoog #dunne-ias #nimitwinklesims #clericalrodent #nyshabrokeit #digitalangels #simper-fi #0201-sims #replies

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paulbenedictblog · 5 years ago

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%news%

New Post has been published on %http://paulbenedictsgeneralstore.com%

News ‘How dare you?’: Trump slammed for suggesting late congressman John Dingell is in hell - The Washington Post

News

Rep. Debbie Dingell (D-Mich.) thanked Home Republicans for their outpouring of increase Thursday after President Trump’s advice right through a campaign rally that her unhurried husband, John Dingell, would possibly merely be “looking up” from hell.

For the duration of Thursday, Dingell acknowledged Republicans ranging including Home Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (Calif.) and Reps. Liz Cheney (Wyo.) and Louie Gohmert (Texas) crossed the aisle to give their increase for her and her husband, who died in February. John Dingell retired in 2015 as the longest-serving member of Congress in history.

The outdated evening, after the Home’s traumatic debate to approve two articles of impeachment in opposition to Trump, the president lashed out at Dingell for her vote in opposition to him, in particular after he gave militia increase for John Dingell’s memorial companies and products — including a flight stuffed with a bipartisan delegation to Michigan for a funeral they never would possibly lend a hand thanks to depraved climate.

The president and the congresswoman discussed his increase for the companies and products in a cellular phone name that Trump recounted for the rally Wednesday evening.

“ ‘John would be so extremely overjoyed. He’s looking down,’ ” Dingell educated him, in step with Trump, who then acknowledged to the group: “Perchance he’s looking up, I don’t know.”

Dingell regarded Thursday morning on CNN, and host Alisyn Camerota queued a clip of Trump’s incendiary remarks with Dingell on a break up conceal. The congresswoman’s face remained stoic as Trump mimicked her in a cellular phone name he made to Dingell after her husband died.

But her eyes closed tightly for a moment when Trump arrived at the line she knew changed into once coming.

“John Dingell beloved this country,” she educated Camerota. “He believed in bringing all people collectively. He believed in our democracy. And my family’s serene hurting.”

No topic an uproar from Democrats and a few Republicans, Trump has no longer apologized. Talking to media Thursday afternoon, Trump regarded to ignore questions posed by a few newshounds, one of whom asked, “Mr. President, will you recount regret to Congresswoman Dingell?”

Rep. Fred Upton (R-Mich.), a shut family buddy who served as a eulogist at Dingell’s February funeral Mass in Georgetown, known as on Trump to recount regret.

“I’ve the least bit times regarded up to John Dingell,” Upton tweeted. “. . . There changed into once no ought to ‘dis’ him in a crass political methodology. Most melancholy and an apology is due.”

Varied Republicans got right here to Dingell’s protection as the controversy grew. “Merry Christmas Debbie, you deserve so as to heal in peace. These comments had been utterly pointless,” tweeted Rep. Dan Crenshaw, a Texas conservative and frequent Trump defender.

McCarthy — who, at Dingell’s funeral, sat within the entrance pew with Pelosi and varied congressional leaders — declined to address Trump’s comments Thursday at a news convention, describing the Dingells as “very correct form folks.”

Debbie Dingell thanked her GOP colleagues for their internal most expressions to her, hoping that it would possibly perchance maybe build folks rethink over the holiday season.

On Wednesday, Gohmert purchased into a shouting match with Democrats right during the impeachment debate. A day later, he got right here to their aspect of the aisle to seek Dingell. “Louie got right here to the Democratic aspect. Louie Gohmert! And kissed me and saved apologizing for the president,” she acknowledged, explaining that he didn't ought to recount regret. “Louie, it’s no longer you!”

One Republican approached her and motioned toward the heavens, Rep. Dingell acknowledged. “John Dingell’s up there serene.”

She rebuffed solutions from Democrats to head after Trump in a political stage. “I’m no longer going to head to his stage. Michelle Obama: When they skedaddle low, you skedaddle excessive,” she acknowledged, recalling the former first woman’s smartly-known commentary. “But it did harm, and I feel folks truly realized that it did harm. And did he perchance — is that this the time that contributors realize what we’re doing to each and each varied? I don’t know; I don’t ought to be naive.”

John Dingell changed into once a mammoth American who made a profound affect on our nation.

Debbie, the admire & devotion you shared is an instance to us all. Whereas this President seeks to divide and harm, enable us to catch that admire & undergo in mind the pretty legacy of the kind of correct form & decent man.

— Steny Hoyer (@LeaderHoyer) December 19, 2019

Dingell learned of Trump’s assaults whereas attending a bipartisan dinner of participants of the Convey Solvers Caucus. Upton educated her that the president had mentioned her, and then a reporter known as to present the principle points of the comments, so she had to leave the dinner.

“I educated them I beloved them, however I changed into once going to head dwelling and contend with it,” Dingell acknowledged.

The White Home didn't retort to a are waiting for for commentary unhurried Wednesday, however when asked by ABC about Trump’s comments, White Home press secretary Stephanie Grisham defended the president as a “counterpuncher” who changed into once “below assault.”

“I'm very, very sorry for her loss,” Grisham acknowledged on “Appropriate Morning The United States.” “And I would thank her and I would thank her unhurried husband for the general carrier to our country.”

Grisham’s protection changed into once criticized by Rep. Don Beyer (D-Va.), who tweeted that Trump’s “ ‘counter punches’ in opposition to fallen American heroes and their grieving households are vile, cruel, and disgusting.”

.@JohnDingell changed into once everything that Trump will not be any longer—a correct public servant and statesman in a methodology this president is aware of he can never be.

I’m so proud of what @DebDingell has completed to take care of on John's work in Michigan and Invoice and I are standing with her this present day.

— Hillary Clinton (@HillaryClinton) December 20, 2019

Some spiritual leaders had been serious of Trump using damnation as a political taunt, despite the undeniable reality that the president’s evangelical helps believe remained steadfast.

John Dingell’s demise in February, after considerations from prostate cancer, drew a bipartisan outpouring of admire and condolences. On Feb. 8, the day after he died, Trump issued a presidential proclamation reducing the flags to half-team for at some point soon “as a designate of admire for the reminiscence and longstanding carrier” of the congressman.

Trump’s remarks Wednesday echo his unrelenting assaults in opposition to the unhurried senator John McCain of Arizona even after his demise, which believe drawn criticism from Republicans. Within the the same methodology Trump attacked Dingell for voting to impeach him despite “A-plus remedy” for her deceased husband, he went after McCain’s family for no longer sufficiently thanking him for McCain’s funeral.

“I gave him the attach of funeral he wished, which as president I had to approve,” Trump inaccurately acknowledged in March, evidently referring to authorizing the militia transport of McCain’s physique. “I don’t care about this. I didn’t get a thank-you — that’s k. We despatched him on the methodology.”

Trump’s comments focusing on the Dingells regarded to in particular resonate with McCain’s widow, Cindy McCain. She educated Dingell on Twitter: “I’m terribly sorry. Please know I'm fascinated about you.”

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womenofcolor15 · 5 years ago

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Rep. Elijah Cummings - Political Legend, Father, Husband & Son of Baltimore - Has Died

Representative Elijah Cummings, longtime member of the House of Representatives, has died. Details on the 68-year-old political legend's life and death inside.

He was set to be honored at the Spirit of Democracy Awards dinner last night. We now know why he was unable to be there to receive his flowers, and another honoree gave a moving tribute about the impact he had on her life.

Rep. Elijah Eugene Cummings - longtime staple of the 7th district of Baltimore - passed away early this morning after suffering more complications from incessant health challenges.

Cummings' office released a statement, saying, "At approximately 2:30 a.m. on Thursday Oct. 17, 2019, Congressman Elijah E. Cummings (MD-07) passed away at Gilchrist Hospice Care, a Johns Hopkins affiliate, due to complications concerning longstanding health challenges. More details will be forthcoming."

As one of our powerful black political leaders and civil rights activists, he stood up for the marginalized, his Baltimore citizens, and the Americans who know - as he once said - that "we're better than this".

The Howard University alum, where he served as student government President & member of Phi Beta Kappa Honor Society, and University of Maryland Law School grad started his decades-long career of service after practicing law for 19 years in Maryland.

His wife, Maryland Democratic Party Chair Dr. Maya Rockeymoore Cummings, released a statement encapsulating his legacy saying:

"Congressman Cummings was an honorable man who proudly served his district and the nation with dignity, integrity, compassion and humility. He worked until his last breath because he believed our democracy was the highest and best expression of our collective humanity and that our nation’s diversity was our promise, not our problem. It has been an honor to walk by his side on this incredible journey. I loved him deeply and will miss him dearly."

Here is her statement in full:

As the Chair of the House Oversight Committee, Cummings always made sure to stand up for truth and light, speak truth to power, and used rules of order strategically to ensure fairness and democracy in our system of government. One of his most important statements in this current term was written and said just this past September as he spoke truth to power, calling for impeachment of the President. His words could serve as his own epitaph:

When the history books are written about this tumultuous era, I want them to show that I was among those in the House of Representatives who stood up to lawlessness and tyranny.

Read my statement supporting impeachment: https://t.co/xppt73HN6k

— Elijah E. Cummings (@RepCummings) September 24, 2019

As expected for a man of his caliber, the tributes are pouring in from around the country.

View this post on Instagram

Representative Elijah Cummings represents everything that is honorable about public service. He is literally the standard for moral and effective leadership. Baltimore has never had a greater champion and our family joins the entire country in mourning the passing of this giant of a man and a leader. After we pause to reflect on his immense legacy, the greatest tribute we can make is to commit ourselves to the work and the people he cared so deeply about. We send our love and condolences to his loving wife, Maya, and his staff, constituents, family and friends. Nick and Marilyn Mosby #Heartbroken

A post shared by Marilyn Mosby, Esq. (@marilynmosbyesq) on Oct 17, 2019 at 3:59am PDT

America lost a giant with the passing of Rep. Elijah Cummings, a man of principle who championed truth, justice and kindness. He fiercely loved his country and the people he served. Rest In Peace, my friend.

— Hillary Clinton (@HillaryClinton) October 17, 2019

.@RepCummings work to make every community he touched a better place is one we should all emulate, and we know he will rest in peace and in power. pic.twitter.com/vT99Qzq2vN

— Mayor Muriel Bowser (@MayorBowser) October 17, 2019

Rest In Peace @RepCummings. Our nation is a better place due to your dedicated service and principled example. Congress will miss your leadership. I will miss your friendship and will never forget our work to improve the lives of Baltimore residents when I was at @HUDgov.

— Andrew Cuomo (@NYGovCuomo) October 17, 2019

Rest In Peace, Elijah Cummings. His passing would be a huge loss to his family, his district and his country under any circumstances. But this particular moment puts his absence into even sharper relief.

— jelani cobb (@jelani9) October 17, 2019

My heart is heavy with a flood of tears waking up to the news my friend @RepCummings has died! Rest in peace my friend. May God be with your wife, your family, friends & the City of Baltimore who mourns your loss. May the Nation & the world remember your heat & your fight.

— AprilDRyan (@AprilDRyan) October 17, 2019

Today our country lost a true leader. Congressman Elijah Cummings was a friend, a passionate fighter for justice, and a powerful voice of moral conscience in our government who served his country for decades with dignity and integrity. I’m blessed to have known him. #RIPElijah

— Cory Booker (@CoryBooker) October 17, 2019

Our nation has lost a mighty fighter for democracy, accountability, equity and justice with the tragic loss of Congressman Elijah Cummings. He never forgot that his was borrowed power, which he wielded in defense of the vulnerable and on behalf of the American people. #RIPElijah

— Stacey Abrams (@staceyabrams) October 17, 2019

Salute to A Great Man.We appreciated your relentless,unwavering commitment to our community and the country . You’re irreplaceable and that speaks volumes to the legacy that colors YOU. Sound the trumpets and open the doors and windows of Heaven a man from God is home.#RIPElijah pic.twitter.com/gkr0WsPnHn

— MC HAMMER (@MCHammer) October 17, 2019

Elijah Cummings was only 68 He was a true champion, real Black King. Rest in Peace Sir #RipElijah #RIPSir pic.twitter.com/TRNmsdiCle

— Alexis Carter (@carter_royalty) October 17, 2019

@RepCummings was a public servant of unimpeachable integrity and class. He was as decent and fair of a human being as you could ever find. He was a crusader who did not enjoy the spotlight that followed. An icon who will never be replaced. #RIPElijah pic.twitter.com/gu9mqa7Pu6

— Kurt Bardella (@kurtbardella) October 17, 2019

We lost a giant today. Congressman Elijah Cummings was a fearless leader, a protector of democracy, and a fighter for the people of Maryland. Our world is dimmer without him in it.

— Kamala Harris (@KamalaHarris) October 17, 2019

Never forget this legacy:

Wow. From Rep. Elijah Cummings' first floor speech: "I only have a minute, only sixty seconds in it... Just a tiny little minute, But eternity is in it." 4/25/96 #RIPElijahCummings pic.twitter.com/SV85PV74c0

— Tommy X-TrumpIsARacist-opher (@tommyxtopher) October 17, 2019

Watch this remarkable speech from Elijah Cummings

Last words from his 92 year old mother were “do not let them take the vote away from us”

“There are efforts to stop people from voting,” he said. “That's not right. This is not Russia. This is the USA!”pic.twitter.com/9d8ZICW5is

— Ari Berman (@AriBerman) October 17, 2019

I'm begging the American people to pay attention to what is going on. Because if you want to have a democracy intact for your children, and your children's children, and generations yet unborn we've got to guard this moment…this is our watch. pic.twitter.com/ShTZwbQROP

— Elijah E. Cummings (@RepCummings) July 24, 2019

Rest in Peace, Sir.

Photo: Shutterstock.com

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