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maggiedelusional · 2 years ago

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Let Me Go || Part 2

Pairing: Hangman x f!reader, (eventual) Rooster x f!reader

Warnings: none, lots of innuendos

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Reader is married and shares a child with Hangman, life and circumstances drives reader into Rooster’s arms, but Hangman isn’t giving up that easily

Author’s Note: I cant believe I’m posting the second part of this story in less than 12 hours I was honestly pleasantly surprised at how much you all enjoyed this premise. I mostly wrote the story down for me and my sister bcs i could not get it out of my mind. I honestly couldn’t stop thinking about the next part of the story so I knew I HAD to write it down. I know that Hangman was a little ooc in the last part, in my defense I wasn’t completely used to writing him yet, and I feel like that ooc’ness was large in part due to the tension between him and the reader. I hope he’s a bit more in character i this one. And to my rooster fans, bare with me, just a little bit more until he makes his appearance. Thank you to my little sister (@jhelly-bean) for editing some grammar. And please let me know if I should keep going, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Rooster Playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4tS2I0YnKUSrBOMSUCqLgh?si=6a1898d0be474904

Hangman Playlist:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2z4lAcBPvbCx19NWni8DVS?si=f7da4ba91773424e

Italics is past

Jake stares at the spot in the driveway where your car was parked, a small migraine forming from the amount of travel he endured in the past two days. He knew you were still upset, but he’d never felt this much ice from you before.

In the past, when you were mad at him you would scream, yell, and on one or two occasions, throw a shoe at him. This time around was different. You were….cordial. Jake could handle anger or heat, that’s what drew you to one another in the first place. He’d never met anyone whose fire matched his.

The Hard Deck was packed despite being a Tuesday night. Its patrons consisted mostly of uniforms, with a small mix of civilians. You were working the bar that night, while simultaneously reading from a thick purple book, adorned with the large block letters “LSAT”. You were already annoyed at the pilots who sauntered into the bar, egos the size of an elephant, your patience only wearing thinner as the night progressed.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin walked in around 10 o’clock with an ego that could rival the other pilot’s in the establishment combined. “Hey baby, you wanna get me a beer?” You hear his voice behind you as you bury your nose into your book. You respond by not turning around or looking up. “First of all, I’m not your ‘baby’ and I’ll get to you when I get to you. You’re not the only person at this bar.”

“Okay I may not be the only person at this bar, but I guarantee you. I’m the sexiest.” Jake says with a smirk.

You were now officially irked.

You looked up from your book to see possibly one of the most attractive men you’ve ever laid your eyes on. His blonde hair seemed to reflect the moonlight despite being indoors. He had a jawline that you were sure was sharp enough to cut one of your beer taps, and a body probably carved by God himself. But what caught your attention the most…the mischievous glint in his eyes, a small fire building that begged you to challenge him.

But of course, you would never let him have the pleasure of knowing that you found him breathtaking. “Sexiest? There are other S words I would use to describe you.” You smirk.

“Oh? what would those be?” He inquired smugly. “Spectacular, Stunning, Sublime, Satisfying?”

“How about Self Absorbed, Simple Minded, and Stuck-up?” You challenged.

Jake stared at you with a grin on his face, eyes twinkling in interest, as he scanned your body up and down.

“Sharp tongue you got there, I wonder what else it can do?” He said with a wink.

You felt the fire grow, leaving a tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach. Not sure if it was anger or desire but you were determined to put the cocky pilot in his place.

“I’ll tell you what, play me in a round of pool. If you win, then maybe I’ll let you find out exactly what my tongue can do.” You paused, watching that mischievous glint in his eyes twinkle.” But if I win, then I ring the bell.” You proposed as you pointed to a sign on the bar:

“Disrespect a woman, the Navy, or have your phone on the bar and you buy a round”.

“I’ll agree to those terms, but try not to be too upset when you lose Sweets. By the way, I’m sure you will have no problem with this but I don't like teeth.'' He said arrogantly, only to be met by a roll of your eyes.

“Stripes or solids, Sweets?” He asked as he tosses you a pool cue.

“Cash or credit, Zuko?” You rebutted your own nickname for him.

“Ouch Sweets you wound me, I am so much foxier than John Travolta” the handsome stranger replied as he dramatically clutches his heart

“You may be, but you’re just as arrogant.” You say, with a bat of your eyelashes.

“How about this, I’ll stop calling you Zuko, if you stop calling me Sweets?”

“No can do, Sweets, looks like I’m going by Zuko now. Unless you wanna know my real name, so you know what to moan later after this is done.” He said with a wink.

You couldn’t help the heat that was now traveling lower down your body. You quickly turned your face away from him so he didn’t see the redness spreading on your cheeks.

“Call me whatever you want Zuko, but when this is over you will be buying me and everyone in this bar a drink.” You retorted as you bent over to take the break shot.

“If you just wanted me to buy you a drink Sweets, you should’ve just asked. I’m not the one to deny a pretty la-Hggh!” He hunched over in pain as you hit him in the stomach with the pool cue, sinking 2 different solid balls in the process.

“Oops!” You said with a smile.

“Your turn Zuko.”

You two continued an intense game with both of you neck and neck the entire game. There were moments where he stood a little too close to you. Moments where you could feel the heat coming off of him, making the temperature of your body rise even higher. The game ended with you finally sinking the 8 ball. You stood up straight, smiling satisfied at defeating your opponent.

“Looks like you owe me a drink, Zuko.” You smiled at him. His smirk dropped for a second upon his defeat, but it was back as quickly as it left.

“Good game Sweets.” He admitted as he offered a handshake. You grabbed his hand to reciprocate the handshake, accidentally noticing how his larger hand enveloped your smaller one. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth that radiated between both of your hands.

“The name’s Lt. Jake Seresin, call sign, Hangman.” He said, you let go of his hand after what felt like an eternity. You nodded in acknowledgement.

“And your name, Sweets?” Jake asked.

“Nuh uh. You haven’t earned that quite yet, Seresin.” You flashed him a smile, as you walked away.

Jake watched you in awe as you strutted back to the bar and rang the bell, causing everyone in The Hard Deck to cheer.

That’s when Hangman knew he found a match in you.

After 3 persistent weeks, he finally learned your name and 2 weeks after that you agreed to go on a date. You were never the type to go down easy and Jake lived for your constant battles. Even his proposal to you was during the heat of an argument.

“(Y/n) I don't understand why you refuse to hear me out on this!” Jake yelled exasperatedly.

“Because I’ve told you over and over again, I am not going to give up my dreams just so I can follow you around the world like a sad puppy dog!” You replied with equal fervor.

“I am not asking you to give up your career, I am just asking you to take a job that will give you more flexibility, we hardly see each other as it is!”

“Jake, I did not bust my ass at law school, and brown nose at this firm for a whole degrading year just so I can leave because you want me to!”

“Why are you incapable of any compromise (y/n)?! Do you even care about making this relationship work?” Jake screamed in a huff.

“You’re unbelievable, I’ve done nothing but support your dreams and your ambition for the past 4 years Seresin, I have been the one sitting in this goddamn house while you’re shipped off God knows where?! I can never know how long you’ll be gone or if you’ll even come back! I have not once complained or stood in your way. The one time that I ask for your support, I’m suddenly selfish? I’m the one who doesn’t want to make it work?” Your screams turned into anguished cries as you tried to wipe off the tears spilling down your face, struggling to hold yourself up. You slid down the wall tucking your legs into your chest.

Jake paced angrily as he processed what you said, “UGH FUCK!” He exclaimed as he threw his phone across the room. He walked into the closet and came back out, but you didn’t notice the small black box he brought back with him.

“I never want to stand in the way of your dreams (y/n). It’s just so fucking hard only seeing you for days at a time and not having you beside me/” His voice still boisterous, but less aggressive. “You are the most aggravating woman I’ve ever met, how we haven’t killed each other yet I don’t know, but you challenge me, you keep me grounded, and I cannot imagine another day where you are not my wife!”

His last words caught your attention and left a gasp in your throat as you looked up. Your eyes met as he kneeled in front of you with a ring.

“Please spend the rest of our lives humbling me (y/n). Marry me.” He stared at you as he awaited your response.

You nodded your head as the tears threatened to spill over once again. But this time, it was happy tears.

You accepted his embrace and sat in his arms.

“I will marry you, as long as you admit that I’m Spectacular, Stunning, Sublime, Satisfying.” You said with a smirk.

“Anything for you Sweets.”

He did admit that you were all those things that night and showed you just how satisfying he could be.

All he’s ever known in your relationship is fire, if you were screaming at him or locking him out of the house or even giving him a bitter remark, he would know how to handle it. It's not like you were being particularly unkind to him, that would make sense in his head. But this… pleasantness, almost indifference, coming from you left a very bad taste in his mouth.

“Daddy! You’re not paying attention!” His feisty 4 year old exclaims at him, sitting at her child sized piano. Astrid had his eyes and his blonde hair but everything else was all you. The sassy attitude, the way that she put her hands on her hips when she demanded your attention, her love for spicy food despite only being 4 years old, the way that you both furrowed your eyebrows and grit your teeth when hungry, and especially the way that you had him completely wrapped around your fingers.

“Aww I’m sorry Pixie, can you play the song again?” Jake asks his daughter with a smile.

“Fine daddy, but this is the last time okay?” She threatens with her small toddler sized finger.

“Yup exactly like her mother through and through.” He thought to himself.

Astrid plays the opening chords of a song Hangman (unfortunately) knew too well.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain, too much love drives a man insane, you broke my will, oh what a thrill, goodness gracious great balls of fire!”

Hangman sat as he listened to his daughter sing the entire song, she missed a few notes and got some of the words wrong or jumbled up but he was very impressed with her skill especially at 4 years old.

Hangman clapped, whistled, and gave a standing ovation as Astrid finished her performance and did her dramatic bows.

“Wow, that was amazing, Pixie! I didn’t know you could play piano!”

“Thank you Daddy! Uncle Roo Roo taught me!” Astrid said with a big smile

“Uncle Roo Roo?” Jake asked with an amused grin

“Uncle Rooster!”

Jake felt his stomach drop.

“So Uncle Rooster has been hanging out with you and your mom?” He asked his daughter cautiously.

“Yeah sometimes, I usually see him whenever Mommy is sad, he makes her smile and makes me chocolate chip pancakes!” The 4 year old answered enthusiastically.

“That’s good Pixie. Come on it's getting late, let's get you in a bath so you’re not stinky when Mommy comes home.”

“Okay!” Astrid says as she starts up the stairs.

Jake loved the time he spent with his daughter, and he was thankful that (y/n) still let him be around after what he did. But he couldn’t help but feel a brick form in his stomach as he got Astrid ready for bed.

Jake patiently waited for (y/n) to return, sitting on the couch in the living room. He eventually fell asleep waiting. He finally hears a car pull up into the driveway and he checks the time to see it was a little past 11. (y/n) walks into the house, immediately finding Jake’s eyes.

“Hey Zuko.” She said with a small smile.

“(Y/n), how’s ‘Uncle’ Rooster?”

@alldaydreamers-blog1 @luckyladycreator2 @lunamoonbby @n3ssm0nique @and-claudia @marrianena @hummusxx @writeroutoftime @abrielleholland

Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list :)

#hangman x y/n #hangman x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman #jake hangman seresin #rooster #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangman angst #rooster angst #hangman x reader x rooster #top gun #top gun maverick #great balls of fire

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

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blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Seven: The One with Her Sister

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2915

"No! You flip them after three minutes, or when you see bubbles popping across the top!" Lily laughed as she nudged the taller man that was arguing against her. He seemed to flinch gently at the way her arm brushed against the cool metal of his prosthetic, causing goosebumps to pop up on her fair skin, "Too long on one side will cause it to burn."

She could feel his eyes baring down into her. Trying to read her small movements and the different mannerisms she had. Trying to decipher the thoughts that ran through her head at a mile a minute. He was studying her, learning about her, just simply by watching. The way her hands gripped onto the spatula firmly, but not too hard. How frail and thing her fingers were, the way her neck dipped gently before hitting her collarbone. The marks under her eyes, more likely than not, being the results of countless hours at work. The dips in her cheeks whenever her slightly dry lips upturned into that charming half-smile she did.

But most importantly, how her chest would rise and fall at a quicker rate when someone spoke directly to her. Her mouth parting gently as the rapid breaths were sucked in and pushed out. The tinge of pink that hid beneath the surface of her cheeks, creating a rose hue around her.

"and done," Lily stated, flipping the final pancake onto the stack that sat opposite of the two, ready to be devoured by the enhanced individuals around her.

The second Lily placed the plate at the end of the bar, the team snatched them away in seconds, including Bucky. Lily pursed her lips and slid her hands across the soft material of the grey kitchen towel that sat in front of her on the silver countertops. Watching everybody's eyebrows perk up positively, causes Lily's pure heart to swell three sizes larger. Knowing that it was because of something she created alongside the man that had luckily grabbed her attention. Something no one has everthanbeen able to do for the last four years of her life. It was...surprising.

Ever since her divorce, Lily has busied herself twenty-four seven. Denying that there were still fresh wounds carved into her heart like preteens initials carved into a bridge. The damage that was done to her self-esteem becoming borderline permanent because she refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's even there. Lily had convinced herself, that if she were to admit the pain she was in, and come to terms with the suffering she had been through, Scott would win. He would succeed in breaking her completely, which seemed to be his goal from the moment they met. To take that joyful innocence of Lily's personality and twist it into something darker, colder, and more damaging. But if she continued to act as though there was nothing wrong, that she had healed from the divorce...then he wouldn't win. He would continue to be the jerk who was unsuccessful in his plan to manipulate her personality and destroy her internally.

Whether she admitted it out loud or not, Lily knew, deep down inside of her heart and soul, that he had done exactly that. And by ignoring, a beast was created. A hungry, no, ravenous, monster of insecurity and self-pity, feeding off of the anxiety that coursed through Lily's veins on a day-to-day basis. Growing stronger as the days passed, absorbing more and more of Lily's once peaceful and loving personality, turning her into a distant, self-loathing, ball of pain. All because of one man who managed to entwine himself into her life, and rip it apart from the inside.

"These are amazing, Lily. Much better than Bucks," Steve teased, shovelling another fork-full of pancake into his mouth, "They kind of taste like the ones we had at a nice little cafe yesterday."

Lily nodded along as he spoke, but didn't find herself looking at him. Instead, her eyes wandered to the scruffy man that sat to his left. Hand gripping the fork with an indescribable amount of care, as though he would break it if he held on too tight. Lily figured it was due to the fact he was a trained killer, an assassin for all of those years of his life. Being a doctor, she dealt with psychiatric issues in children, but adults and youths aren't that different when it came to mental health and damage done to their brains. She could tell from his gentle lingering over everything, that he believed he was still dangerous. Tip-toeing through life, praying he wouldn't cause a ripple in the waters around him, sending off tidal waves.

"Yes, that's where you met my son. My best friend, Gen, owns the cafe," Lily commented, letting her blonde tresses out from the constricting ponytail she had wrapped around it, "I helped her create the recipe for them."

Just as the captain went to make another comment, a small body crashed itself into Lily's legs. She gripped onto the counters as her son hugged her shins, a bright and beaming smile evident on his face. Chuckling gently, Lily ruffled the soft blonde locks that laid atop of his youthful face. It had been ages since she had seen a smile like that grace Hunter's facial features. To see him so genuinely happy, and letting those emotions shine through in their raw state. His breath was quick, and Lily assumed it was due to the tour, before bending down to his level.

"Did you say thank you to Mr. Wilson for taking you around?" Lily whispered, adjusting the boy’s jean jacket while her dark green eyes glanced over his shoulder at the taller man that had returned as well.

"Mhm! And he said we can come back any time we want." Hunter giggled, his voice hushed as he looked behind him at the group that admired the two's current interaction. A few had longing looks evident in their eyes, as though the domesticity of Lily and Hunter's lives were something they wanted or wished they had. Others were in awe at the similarity between the two, whether it be the quiet tones or their facial features. Whatever it was, it didn't compare to the look Bucky gave them.

Adoration.

"Oh did he now?" Lily laughed while standing back up, sliding her hand into her son's much smaller one, "Thank you all for letting us stop by. May have to come back again in the future. And I will send the pancake recipe to Sam, so you all can enjoy them again." Lily blushed a common thing that seemed to happen with her. Especially when surrounded by these gorgeous people.

"Oh no, text Barnes that one. I gave you his number, he's the one who's newly obsessed with blueberry pancakes." Sam commented while leaning on one of the pillars, sending a quick and not-so-discreet wink Lily's way.

A nervous laugh slid through Lily's lips as her head nodded along to the words that he said. Giving curt and sincere farewells, the blonde lead her starstruck son back out towards their car that was parked at the end of the long driveway. When the two sunk into their seats, as if rehearsed, exasperated sighs were set free from their lungs. Lily rolled her head to face the young boy to her right and a gentle giggle made its way out of the back of her throat, a nimble hand reaching out to ruffle her son’s blonde hair.

"Nice surprise?" Lily asked, glancing down at the rear-view camera on the dashboard of her car, backing out of the parking lot. Her heart clamoured against her rib cage as her mind continued to reel from her previous interactions. Whether it was because of the interest they took in her, making the Avengers pancakes, or the intoxicating smell of Bucky Barnes that permanently attached itself to the inside of her nose.

The musk. The hints of cedar and cinnamon, creating a potion of perfection to mask the smell of anything else around Lily. How his breath was clean and smelled of mint. The way his metal arm felt against her skin, or how warm his flesh one was in contrast. The feeling of callouses gently brushing themselves against her in a way that made her wonder what it would feel like to hold his hand in her own. Whether or not their hands would fit together perfectly, her soft and supple against his worn and historical. The man was a historical celebrity, a man that Lily had to study in high school, alongside his best friend, Captain America. and Lily Osborne had just made him blueberry pancakes.

"It was...incredible. I have no words mom, none." Hunter beamed, leaning back in his seat as his hazel eyes glanced out the window at the winding forest that sped past them in a green and brown blur. His chest rose and fell at a feverish rate, and Lily furrowed her eyebrows at it, before simply chalking it up to overstimulation.

Just as the Doctor went to return a comment, the sound of her ringtone filled the car around her. Her sister, Rose's, contact popped up on her ApplePlay screen, and Lily answered quickly. Typically, Rose only texted. And whenever she called, it was either something super important or one of the dumbest things she's heard. Most of the time, it was her gushing over a celeb who she had styled for a red carpet premiere or photoshoot. Rose made her living as an extremely successful stylist/designer who has worked around the world with names as big as the Kardashians. Apparently, she had styled Tony stark a few times, but Lily figured he either didn't care that much, forgot, or didn't put together that his old stylist and this random woman were sisters. who would?

"Hey Rose, I'm in the car with Hunt, what's up?" Lily wondered as she turned her blinker on, merging onto a street.

"Hey, so I'm out front of your house and kind of need somewhere to crash for a while so can I go in? I know your system lets you know when the code's used and I didn't feel like giving you a heart attack." Rose rambled, the sound of her chewing on her nails echoing through the microphone and out of Lily's speakers.

"Woah there, back up. Why do you need somewhere to stay? Aren't you living with Levi? Thought you two were going strong?" Lily questioned, motioning for Hunter to put his earphones in, in an event that this conversation became a bit too mature for him, even though he probably had heard worse at his dad’s.

A small and cracked laugh had managed to escape Rose's lips, and Lily immediately bit down on her bottom lip, knowing something had gone wrong, "Well Lily since you ask. He told me to get out of his house and life."

Lily not only grew increasingly concerned but became extremely confused. Every time she and Rose had spoken, the younger Osborne seemed to be happy and giddy. And the two were close, so if there was any sort of suspicious behaviour, Lily would have picked up on it. The two would facetime, and Rose's boyfriend that was previously mentioned, Levi, would join in every so often. So either Lily wasn't as observant as she had believed, or something went horribly wrong very fast in her sister's relationship.

"Go inside, I'll be home soon," Lily stated calmly, her foot pressing harder on the gas pedal of her car, "Tell me why he said that. Hunt has his headphones in, I want every detail."

"I'm pregnant."

-----

The moment Lily pulled into her driveway, she tore open her door and rushed into the two-story home she was lucky to afford in such an area in New York. Her purse dropped from her shoulder as she spotted Rose sitting comfortably on her sofa with Joey, whispering to the dog and stroking the top of his head gently. Running forward, Lily practically launched herself onto her sister, frightening Joey and sending him off to run towards Hunter. The elder sister wrapped her arms tightly around her twenty-eight-year-old sister, causing a small tear to roll down the latter's cheek and onto Lily's exposed shoulder.

"He was having an affair," Rose whispered into her sister's neck, a small weep rolling out of her lips like a broken wheel rolling down a hill, "with his assistant."

Sadness and anger had begun to grow inside of Lily's heart. Half of her wanted to drive to that assholes place and slap the living daylights out of him until his grandchildren felt the repercussions. The other half, aka the rational and sentimental half of Lily, knew she'd stay home with her sister and be there for her. Help her through everything. Give her all of the tips for pregnancy, as well as breakups caused by affairs. Her experienced hands ran up and down Rose's back in a soothing pattern, just letting her get all of her emotions out. Before Lily knew it, Hunter had joined the party. His small and cold arms wrapped around his Aunt and mom, somewhat, and the three sat there for around an hour.

Finally, Lily peeled herself away and let out a shaky sigh, wiping the tears that spilled from her eyes, Hunters, and Rose's. Clearing her throat, Lily stood from her couch and brushed off her dress. There was no way in hell that Lily would let her sister sit here and suffer. No, Lily would even raise the poor child if she had to if it meant that Rose was happy. One thing about all three of the Osborne siblings, despite the large age gap between them all, they three were tighter then a screw in a wood board. The first people Lily told about her own pregnancy were Cedar and Rose. Whenever Cedar was annoyed with their parents, he would drive out to stay with Lily in the suburbs or with Rose in upper Manhattan. Nothing could break the Osborne children's bond, and Lily knew for a fact her parents were proud of that because having children that despised being in the same room as each other would probably break a parent’s heart. That was a part of Lily's fear of starting a family, but luckily, she only had one child. So far at least. But she didn't have any plans to procreate with anyone shortly anyway.

"C'mon, we're going to Gens cafe. Auntie Rose needs some chocolate therapy right now." Lily stated after feeding Joey, before letting him out into the backyard.

Side rant. Joey loved the outdoors. But he was also an introverted dog. He didn't seem to mind when Lily went out, and in fact, was always the happiest when he was left to run wild in the backyard, chasing the endless amount of squirrels that seemed to set up shop in Lily's backyard. End of rant.

The three Osborne’s piled into the car once again and set off into the city again.

-----

When they arrived, Lily noticed a familiar car that she had seen earlier at the compound. Her heartbeat rose and she wondered if she'd end up coming face to face with the Avengers for the second time that day. Her mind spiraled and twisted her into thinking they'd believe she was stalking them or something. That now that she had been to their home, she was obsessed with them. Of course, this was far from the truth and wasn't at all what the group of heroes believed. Gen's cafe was simply a staple in Manhattan it seemed, and people congregated there often. And, Lily's suspicions were soon confirmed, as the entire team was gathered around three tables pushed together in the side of Lily's best friend’s workplace.

Speak of the devil.

"Rosie! is that you?" Gen's voice exclaimed from across the cafe, causing many heads to turn into the direction of the door, where the three blondes stood. Lily's eyes immediately turned towards the Avenger’s table, locking with those steel-blue ones that were engraved into her memory.

And lo and behold, there the man sat with blueberry pancakes in front of him, and a blush tinting his cheeks. If it weren't for the lighting in the cafe, the rose hue would have gone undetected under the overgrown stubble that covered his face. Something Lily couldn't help but admire and grow to enjoy seeing. But it were those ice-blue eyes that stared directly through her that sent the shiver down her spine. Her heart picking up its pace as what felt like hours passed of the two just admiring each other.

"...So I'll be staying with Lily for a bit." Rose's voice sang, pulling Lily out of her trance.

The hustle and bustle of the dinnertime rush resumed, and Lily managed to tear her eyes away from Buckys. The power he had over her was unmatched, and he probably could have made her fall to her knees if their little staring match continued...as in she was weak at the knees not in a perverted way. Her legs felt like they were made out of jello whenever he looked at her, and once again, she barely knew him. If even at all. All that Lily knew about James Buchanan Barnes was the things in history books and his name.

But thanks to Thor Oinson, that would change very soon.

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calebmontg · 4 years ago

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* DYLAN O’BRIEN , CIS MALE + HE / HIM | you know CALEB MONTGOMERY , right ? they’re TWENTY SIX , and they’ve lived in irving for , like , A COUPLE MONTHS AT MOST ? well , their spotify wrapped says they listened to WAVES BY DEAN LEWIS like , a million times this year , which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole RUBBING GLITTER ON PUNCTURE WOUNDS , SITTING CROSS LEGGED IN A SMOKE CIRCLE , SCREAMING SONG LYRICS ON A STRANGER’S ROOFTOP thing going on . i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 3RD , so they’re a LEO , which is unsurprising , all things considered .

TW INCLUDE drugs tw , addiction tw , rehab tw , death tw , drunk driving tw , depression tw

alli known for disappearing constantly and never sticking to one muse back again with a muse near and dear to my heort that makes me smile ok that was gross lets get into it <3

AESTHETICS :

rubbing glitter on puncture wounds, sitting crossed legged in a smoke circle, screaming song lyrics on a stranger’s rooftop, inciting riots and running from your own shadow, sweaty dancing, hanging out the sunroof of a moving car, pretending to be someone else, accessorizing eyebags and sweatpants with feather boas, a coming of age movie soundtrack, liquor stores and afterparties, a map without directions.

CHARACTER INSPO :

huckleberry finn ( the adventures of huckleberry finn ) , seth cohen ( the oc ) , klaus hargreeves ( the umbrella academy ) , elliot goss ( search party ) , charlie kelly ( it’s always sunny ) , hamlet ( hamlet , don’t ask about this one but the connection is there ) , a series of strange headcanons i’ve developed over that years that can’t be accurately put to words

GENERAL STATISTICS :

full name : caleb augustus montgomery

age / dob : twenty six / august 3rd

gender : cis male

pronouns : he / him

faceclaim : dylan o’brien

orientation : homosexual

residence : abernathy creek

occupation : drug dealer / mooch

pinterest : HERE !

BIOGRAPHY :

caleb was born in new york city ( the upper east side ) to two doctors, his lovely but hollow mother and his cold and distant father. when he was a baby his father had an affair with another married woman resulting in the birth of his half sister, lydia montgomery, but they never grew up so much as knowing the other’s name.

he played lacrosse at his private preppy annoying rich kids high school, and surprisingly was really good at it, but he quit after a series of unfortunate events that would ultimately lead to his first stint in rehab.

he’s a dealer. he’s been a dealer since he was a freshman in high school, when he realized he could use the money to stop relying on his parent’s income and his inheritance that he was positive he would sooner be murdered for than ever receive.

at first he didn’t even do the drugs that he sold, he just pocketed the money and had a little hustle, but he inevitably started smoking the weed, and when he widened his range of inventory ( he called it diversifying his assets ) he took a lot of everything else as well. it meant he didn’t have to sit in his numbness anymore so alright baby!

heavy partier, heavy drinker, heavy user. his grades and his performance on the field dropped drastically. he slept around a lot ( tried to. he’s very much Gay but that realization didn’t come for a long time ) and pretty much turned into a giant dickwad.

DRUNK DRIVING TW. REHAB TW. he crashed his dad’s lamborghini one night driving blackout and when he woke up in his hospital he found his parents had packed his bags and enrolled him in rehab.

he doesn’t talk about it.

boarding school came next, and old habits die hard, but he managed to graduate. he went to college and got a degree in chemistry because he’s surprisingly smart but he’s never learned how to work an honest job and he doesn’t plan on it.

he put himself in rehab sometime between his freshman and sophomore year. he talks about it sometimes. not ashamed of it and it actually helped him quite a bit.

DEATH TW. near the end of what was supposed to be his senior year, he received the news that his mother had passed. it was most likely his father’s doing, but white rich men can get away with anything, so he sits free. caleb steals mercilessly from him to get by, but deep down, he’s really quite terrified of the man and chose to travel around aimlessly after graduation to avoid going back to new york.

wound up in irving after a bender that lead him to abernathy creek somehow and he liked it so he’s been crashing there ever since. he doesn’t really know how long it’s been so i do not know either <3 probably about two months but he doesn’t remember half of even that <3

MISCELLANEOUS :

he’s still a dealer. marijuana, pills, powder, miscellaneous concoctions, he’ll sell you anything. he’d gotten a lot better about using in the time leading up to his mother’s death but that wagon’s been fallen off.

he’s really depressed. he’s always been really depressed but he’s. on the up right now.

never not wearing sweats. pretty bad at remembering to shave. a man of culture! still will find an excuse to dress up for theme parties which are his secret lifeblood, especially if they’re stupid.

he’s gay just straight up not straight at all. had his awakening in college and hasn’t looked back.

lives to torment others, can’t take anything seriously, and genuinely a puppy of a person. quite frankly extremely annoying in the wrong crowd.

tall and lanky and scrappy he has a lot of anger the kind of person who probably bit a lot of people as a child. unapologetically chaotic.

he’s intelligent but he’s also super unmotivated. he straight up did not attend class and scraped by literally by the grace of some god. he doesn’t use his brain much at all.

lazy. hates labor. crude sense of humor.

a really fucking good time <3 he will invite himself to parties he does not need to be asked he somehow just knows. he calls it a sixth sense for sniffing out heathenism.

likes almost everyone but also dramatic. sleeps around. lives for causing chaos and being the center of attention and unapologetic about it.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

couches he crashes on if he doesn’t think he’ll make it back to the commune because he’s too inebriated to stand or simply too lazy to find his way back.

hookups. he may call you back but only if he’s lonely. actually has a good heart but where has that ever gotten him?

friends. a whole friend group please. messy. let’s start drama.

people he sells to, people he buys from, other dealers that don’t like that this dude who somehow always has good shit has landed themselves in town and is making himself a Presence.

someone he met while singing a duet at the bar and now they’re attached at the hip. stealing from karaoke night theme because i think this is how he would genuinely make friends.

someone who doesn’t like him and he’s so self absorbed he hasn’t noticed at all.

people who live in abernathy creek and are literally like what the fuck are you doing here. you stole my bed. and he says i’m sorry <3 do u want to get a drink?

people who do not want him to leave town and every time he says i must be going say .. no please don’t.

um i don’t know i can come up with a million random scenarios for him i’ll put out a plot call and come up with more if none of these work?

#irvingintro #drugs tw #addiction tw #rehab tw #death tw #drunk driving tw #depression tw #ok this was so many tw hes had.#a rough go of it hasn't he.#bio

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the-bottom-of-the-abyss · 3 years ago

Text

A Playlist on Paradoxical Love

This is a true story about the abuse I suffered from a past relationship that I wrote for a college class. I feel that sharing may help me but also others in identifying abuse and/or helping others heal.

I have no idea if anyone will ever read this but it was so, so hard to write but in the end, getting my feelings out in one place seemed to help

HUGE TRIGGER WARNINGS: nongraphic sexual assault, mentions of rape, mentions of suicide, emotional abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, coercion, self deprecation

The Night We Met

The Night We Met by Lord Huron; This was our song, one that we thought was of love and fortune, but turned out to be of love and regret. The lyrics rang truer the longer we were together.

It was a warm and sunny day when she first met him. He was a new student from California, coming to her small town in West Virginia and happened to be in the percussion section with her in band. His voice caused butterflies to make a home in her young heart, igniting a spark she had not felt in the fifteen years she had been alive. He made her feel like she was something to want, always listening when others would not.

The week she met him other members of the band were going to a Drum Corps International show in Pittsburgh. Seeing it as an opportunity to get to know one another, the girl volunteered her mother to drive the girl and boy.

Her mother obliged, picking them up from the school parking lot and listened to the conversation being had in the backseat. The boy told the girl of a family full of abuse and an absence of love. The young girl felt her heart grow heavier with each story he recounted. He told her about his stepmother clawing his face, leaving the scar beneath his left eye. She wanted nothing but to heal the pain he held in his heart, to absorb all the hurt he felt.

By the end of the night, he had asked her to be his girlfriend to her delight. After dropping the boy off at his house, her mother turned to look at her with knowing eyes. She didn’t want her daughter hanging out with the boy; he was only trouble. The girl did not listen, deciding that her mother didn’t understand him. She wasn’t there when he made her laugh or looked at her like she hung the stars.

Her adamancy to be with him only grew. As a gift celebrating one month of being together, he gave her a box of things that reminded him of her. Inside, there were the type of mechanical pencils she liked with the thin lead she insisted on using. He picked out colored pens, knowing her obsession with collecting them and also put in scented hand sanitizer, knowing that she was running out of the bottle attached to her purse. To top it off there was a king size Kit-Kat bar, her favorite candy. The girl had never received a gift so thoughtful from anyone. No one had ever spent the time to curate something just for her.

He swept her off her feet and she couldn’t have been more infatuated.

***

Sometimes I look back to that girl and wonder how she didn’t see the danger. I was naïve then, so young and unafraid of the world. Other times I know her naivety wasn’t her fault. How was I supposed to know that the person that told me they loved me would become a monster?

His words were like honey, always promising to give me the world and more, appealing to my doe-eyed view of his love. He would listen to my ramblings and musings about life that most people I knew avoided for the sake of saving time. His touches were soft and gentle in a way I could have only dreamed of. I couldn’t have known that those sweet words would turn to phrases that felt like poison, subtle when spoken but deadly when left to linger. I couldn’t have known that the same ears that listened to me would become the same that ignored my pleas for him to hear what I was saying and not twist my words. I couldn’t have known that those hands that held mine would become the same that forced me to please him after I told him no.

My mother was right and in typical teenager fashion, I ignored her advice.

Tennessee Whiskey

Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton; We went to Tennessee but in addition to that, the lyrics of the song spoke to how warm and cared for he made me feel.

The sun-kissed days of summer gently rolled into the cool, crisp season of fall. While the breeze strengthened day by day, so did their relationship. She swore she had never been so happy, standing tall by his side, feeling like a goddess in his cornflower blue gaze. When it was announced the band would be traveling to Nashville, she excitedly waited for the day for the charter buses to arrive in the cracked parking lot of her school.

October had granted them a clear day for departure, and she sat in the seat next to him, watching mountains she grew up in turn to flat plains of the Midwest. The bus was loud, filled with gleeful voices of their peers, but talking to him made it fade into the background.

She suggested taking a small nap, to help pass the hours of driving straight ahead. He declined, explaining he was an insomniac, and told her to rest without him. The girl convinced him to lay on her lap and decided to sing softly to him, as he did tell her once she had the voice of an angel. Somber tones of “The A Team” by Ed Sheeran floated from her to him for an hour before his breathing evened out.

The first day in Athens of the South flew by, taken up by the bone-tired exhaustion of the long trip and unpacking. On their second day, she dressed in her jazz band uniform, preparing for their recording in Studio B. The boy complimented her red blouse and dress pants as she stepped out of the hotel elevator, making her blush. She thought the uniform was unflattering and too formal to be worthy of his praise.

After the recording, the boy hugged her and told her how good she did and how proud he was. Proud. Someone was proud of her, of her performance. People had told her that she had talent and extended their compliments but none of it meant as much as his.

When the trip ended, she was woeful wishing for more time to escape any commitments back in her hometown. She reminded herself that there was always the Friday night lights that graced their football field and the memories it would bring. The girl was so excited to spend those nights on the field with the boy. The band would dive into the halftime show and afterwards, she could show him what a pepperoni roll was.

*** I sometimes look at pictures I still have from the trip to Nashville. I looked so happy and sure of myself. I thought of myself as a true grown-up back then, not knowing what the future would bring. He was so good to me, and even though there were signs here and there, nothing stood out as dangerous. There was no blaring siren, screeching to evacuate before the ship went down. We had only been dating a few months then, but he told me he felt like he knew my soul from a past life. He knocked on the door to my heart, and I opened it without a second thought, believing every promise he made.

I’m Your Puppet

I’m Your Puppet by Gregory and The Hawk; the lyrics “and I’ll undress, if you need it. But please don’t need it” is an accurate way to tell how fucked up my psyche was after this.

They were on the way home from a friend’s graduation party; it was exuberant, a great celebration of their mutual friend. The boy asked the girl if she wanted to pull over somewhere and fool around. It wasn’t even close to being the first time they had been together like that; they were actually each other’s first times. She was a little reluctant, hesitating to do anything that may land her in trouble. He told her that everything would be fine, so she relented, and the car pulled behind a small row of storage containers.

They both climbed in the backseat. A kiss was shared between the two, only lasting a few seconds before the boy pulled away from the girl’s shining lips.

“Can you give me a blowjob?” He asked her, looking with pleading eyes. “I don’t really want to,” she said, evading his piercing gaze, “I’m not really feeling it.” His face twisted, showing his disapproval at her response. “Come on, you never want to.

What happened to the girl who said she’d always be down to do stuff like this?” “No,” she told him, “I don’t want to.” The girl only had done it a few times, but she had almost thrown up once, and she didn’t want a repeat of that. She hoped that refusing again would make him stop asking.

He rolled his eyes and scoffed, “This is what you do when you’re in a relationship.” The girl went to object but didn’t get the chance. He opened the door and got out of the car, pulling her with him so they were standing in the gravel.

“I don’t want to,” the girl said, feeling panic rise, “let’s just have sex instead.”

“It won’t take very long,” he urged with a forceful edge that made her insides twist. With that, he put pressure on her shoulder to have her sink to her knees.

He said it wouldn’t take very long but it felt like eons to her. The rocks in the gravel pushed into the skin on her knees and that’s what she focused on. If she focused only on the pain, maybe everything else would cease to exist. She knew the boy saw tears rolling down her cheeks and heard the small, muffled sobs that escaped her. He only looked at her with lust, not giving a damn about how she was terrified, how he was making her feel.

After he finished, he pulled her up off the rocks, and helped her back in the car. Only once she felt the leather below her did she begin to full out sob. Instead of the harsh figure from moments before, she was met with the boy she knew, the one who loved her.

He pulled the girl into his lap and rocked her as she cried. “Shh,” he cooed. “I’m so sorry, I never should have done that. Please forgive me.” The girl nodded and buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting herself be calmed by his soothing voice. “We don’t have to do anything else,” he said.

To prove to him that she forgave him, she shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she sniffled, “I’m fine.”

Once it was over, they drove home in complete silence.

***

That day still haunts me. It wasn’t the first time he had coerced me into something. It was far from the last, but it was the one time he legitimately forced me to do something I didn’t want to do and acknowledge it.

I blocked it out for a long time, trying to go on with life as normal. I only realized how wrong it was when I talked to a friend of mine who went through something similar. Even then, I brushed it off and told myself he didn’t mean it. It took even longer for me to see it as sexual assault. I still only remember the overview of what happened, the rest is somewhere in my mind, somewhere that it can’t hurt me. The one thing I remember is the gravel on my knees. The indents I saw when I got home that afternoon were the only things showing that it had truly happened.

This point marked when he knew he could manipulate me. I was so scared of doing something wrong, of disappointing people, disappointing him. At the notion I was beginning to become something he didn’t like, I tried my hardest to become what he said he needed.

If I think about what happened too much, I feel sick, like I need to take a scalding shower and scrub the memory out of existence.

Poison

Poison by Sofia Mills; This song brought me back to the hazy feeling of being high out of my mind and believing my person was the one pushing the drugs into my hands.

She had never gotten high before. The boy once told her he would never touch a drug, but that statement faded into explanations about how he wanted to live life. She was wary, weed was very different from the nicotine they both let swirl in their lungs. He told her for two months about how great it was until she agreed to try. She lied to her parents; the couple had been dating for a little over a year, but the girl’s parents still tried to limit their time together. Instead, she told them it would be a few of her friends from band sleeping over and that the boy wouldn’t be there.

The smoke burned in her chest; it left a distinct aftertaste she wouldn’t forget. Everything was fine until her body started to reject the hazy feeling trying to overtake her. She got sick, a feeling she absolutely loathed. Her friends gave her water and she sat curled in a ball on a chair outside, shivering as the high feeling started to crescendo. The boy stayed outside and told her she’d be okay. He grabbed a wet washcloth and dabbed her clothes before cleaning the hair framing her face. It was in that moment that she only thought of him.

No one else would ever do this for me, she thought. He loves me more than anyone ever has. I am so lucky.

*** That wasn’t the last time I got high. We would smoke at our friend’s house every weekend, spending lazy evenings in each other’s’ arms. That night in particular, I felt so special that someone other than my own mother would clean me up after getting sick and later help me feebly crawl up the stairs.

Wrong Direction

Wrong Direction by Hailee Steinfield; the lyrics “Every time you burn me down, don’t know how, for a moment, it felt like heaven” kind of explains what it was like when looking back on abusive relationships. Back then, the moment of the apology felt like a huge act of love, but now it’s obvious it was just an empty promise.

She had just gotten off a shift at work and got into his car, the clock showing a time around ten at night. The girl already told him that she felt too tired to do anything, but she would be alright for just cuddling before he drove her home. He nodded and drove across the street to the abandoned K-Mart and parked in the middle of the barren lot.

They got in the backseat and she leaned her head on his shoulder and told him about a tough customer she had to deal with. The boy listened to her and waited until her rant flickered into silence.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do anything?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “I’m so exhausted, I’ve been on my feet all day and worked an eight- hour shift.”

“Come on,” he urged, “we never do anything anymore.” She felt exhaustion seeping into her bones, and for the first time, didn’t give in, “No, I am too tired, I want to go home and sleep.”

Instead of agreeing she should get some sleep, he shrugged her head off his shoulder. She tried to reach for his arm, but he yanked it away from her and harshly rolled his eyes. “Babe?” She asked, not fully understanding what was happening.

The boy ignored her concerned gaze and opened the backseat door, loudly slamming it shut before getting into the driver’s seat. The girl took it as her cue to get into the passenger’s side. As he started the car, she once again reached for his hand that rested on the gear shift. Without looking in her direction, he moved his hand to the steering wheel, so quickly that it seemed as though her touch burned him. A permanent scowl took resident on his face and she tried again to talk to him.

“Babe? Please talk to me,” she pleaded, feeling the dread crawl into her throat. With no response, tears started to fall. The road to her house felt so much longer, filled with continuous pleas for him to talk to her, to say anything.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, “I was just really tired. I’m really sorry, please forgive me.” There was no mistaking the sorrow in her voice, the boy knew she was crying, even if he refused to look.

He pulled into her driveway, looking straight ahead as she gathered her coat and purse. Before getting out she tried to lean over to kiss him, but he leaned away.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated before getting out, “I love you.” To her surprise, he didn’t respond. When she shut the door, he immediately backed out, leaving her tear-stained and feeling helpless.

When the boy apologized to her the next day, she forgave him immediately.

***

I have read that emotional abusers utilize the silent treatment because of how effective it is. After refusing him, the stonewalling struck me at my core, my worst fear coming true: becoming something he didn’t want anymore. I never stood my ground again after that. When he would want sex after that night, it would go one of two ways. I would still say no about ten times before he pulled a line that made me so full of guilt that I did what he wanted, or I promised “next time.”

In My Veins

In My Veins by Andrew Belle; This song really emphasizes the pain of the hole that is left when someone with such a stable place in your life. It feels like all that is left is their ghost.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore, Emily.” “What? What are you even talking about?” “I just need to find myself.” “What the fuck does that even mean? How can you just leave? I love you, please, we can work it out.”

“I’m sorry, I just think it’s for the best.”

*** The first time we broke up was over the phone while I was on a weekend vacation. It came after I kept pushing him to apply to college since he was going to be graduating later that year. I calculated what it would cost for him to live off minimum wage while paying rent and he got so angry. He broke up with me because he was getting annoyed with my insistence on going to college or a technical school. He hated when I got on him to not skip school or to stop smoking so much weed. He made me feel like I was so awful for trying to help him succeed. No one has ever made me feel like a burden in the way he did.

A week after, he came to my house and told me that he didn’t realize what he had until it was gone and I ultimately took him back, truly believing he would change.

Terrible Love

Terrible Love by The National; this point really marked the realization that I was in a toxic cycle of what I thought was love.

It was about thirty minutes before the girl was to perform with the jazz band for a Christmas concert. She had asked the boy to come, but he said he had plans already. This wasn’t surprising considering he left early from school on her birthday to get high. The girl settled for texting him instead.

She asked him what he was up to and he replied that he didn’t want to tell her, as she would get upset. Immediately, the girl felt worry build. Thousands of possibilities fleeted across her consciousness of he was indulging in. After pleading for him to tell her, for her own sanity, he relented and told her that he was going to be doing MDMA for the first time with a mutual friend he lived with. The girl felt irritation mixed with desperation bubble up inside her. He swore he would never do anything besides smoke weed but once again, he trampled over any promises ever made.

She texted him a long paragraph about how irresponsible it was and that he could get into so much trouble. He told her how uptight she was and how she was keeping him from living his life. The girl was fed up and told him not to text her for the rest of the night. It was a justified reaction, but her anxiety only told her she was a shitty partner for not indulging him.

She was so upset, so anxious about what he was doing and how in the recent months had been throwing his life away. He had recently began insisting that he would be fine living off of her in the future until he figured out what to do. The night went on with her panic staying at a fever pitch.

The next day the girl texted her best friend, the same one he was with, and ranted about the situation, hoping that the friend would see why she was so torn up. They had the following exchange:

The girl: He even said I wasn’t going to like what you guys were going to do. Because he knew I’d be super against it. But he said it was fine and it wasn’t a big deal and that I was overreacting. I don’t think I am. I just needed someone to talk to last night because I cried and just went over in my head what the hell I could do to help him. It’s not just this. It’s all of it. He doesn’t do his homework, skips school, or leaves because he feels like it, has no motivation and no desire to do the things he needs to. When you love someone so much all you want to do is see them succeed. Idk maybe I’m just an uptight bitch and a shit person but I do know I want the best for him.

Friend: You act like I want to see him fail. I don’t, Emily. I want him to succeed just as much as you do but I also want him to live his life to the fullest. Everyone needs to have quality of life or it isn’t worth living.

The girl: I never said you wanted to. I know you want to see him succeed just as much as I do. But I know for a fact if he doesn’t get himself together, there’s not much of a life to live. It sucks but life is hard and it’s not easy. No matter who you are, it’s never going to be easy. If he doesn’t graduate high school, there’s not much he can do. Even fast-food places can only pay minimum wage without a high school diploma and to be a manager you need a high school diploma. I’m looking for his future, not the next few months. If he wants to live in an apartment, he needs money. His dad isn’t always going to give him that. To get money, a decent job is required. Minimum wage won’t be enough. And he just doesn’t care. I try to make up for it and I try and try to push him to do his homework, to study, to make good grades. But it never works.

Friend: I’m upset rn so I’m not going to respond atm. I will text you later and we can talk about it then, okay?

The girl: Okay be safe. Please don’t show him all this unless you think necessary. I don’t want him to be mad at me because it makes me feel like the shittiest person on earth when people are mad at how I feel and like I shouldn’t tell people how I feel anymore.

*** It is hard to explain the way I felt when he told me he was going to do MDMA. My reaction wasn’t due to the drug itself, but more about the stereotypical, lazy deadbeat he had become. He once tried to impress me by telling me he brought up an 8% to a 32% in an easy class.

I felt responsible for the way he was. I thought I could fix him, that I would be able to pull him out of the headspace he was in and bring him back to who he used to be. Back then, I didn’t realize he had always been that way, only getting more obvious because I never called him out on it, save for a few times.

I recently found those texts while drafting out this paper. Reading them teleports me into the headspace I once held. Back then, I believed that I needed to help him along with the small voice that told me he was right, that I was overreacting. Now I know that my reaction was justified, I should’ve held him accountable by breaking up with him on the spot. But like many times before, I didn’t. I clung on to the hope that not all was lost, there was still time.

Honey and Milk

Honey and Milk by Flower Face; there are some lyrics in this song that really frame how the end of such a toxic relationship felt like. “And the love you made me fight for was never love at all. The red light shines through the window and I’ve got a black eye for every bed you’ve made. The honey and milk on my fingertips was never enough to make you stay.”

It was mid-April, spring out in full force when she couldn’t get ahold of him. Most days, she would have chalked it up to him deciding he wasn’t in the mood to go to school, but the day before, he swore he’d be there.

Halfway through the day, she saw him approaching in the hallway. The relief that filled her didn’t last long, though.

“We got busted last night,” he told her. “What?” “Yeah, we got caught with weed in the car and I got a drug charge.” The girl shouldn’t have been so shocked, but she was. Even worse, she shouldn’t have felt relief that he was handing her a reason to leave him on a silver platter. She finally had enough of the coercion in the bedroom, his confidence that she would never leave, and feeling like a burden.

“I can’t believe this,” she stated, shaking her head. “I’ll talk to you later; I need to think.”

The girl called him later, knowing that if she saw his face, she wouldn’t go through with it. She told him that she was done. He cried for the first time over her and told her that he wanted to take his own life. He went on for hours about how he was going to kill himself without her. The girl felt guilt settle in the forefront of her mind. She told the boy it was going to be alright and comforted him, trying to keep him calm, truly believing that he would leave his blood staining her hands.

She cried for hours after hanging up the phone. But she wasn’t crying for him, she was crying for the girl she used to be. It was almost two years that he had her in his clutches, two years of playing into his twisted games.

While she did feel used and irrevocably damaged, she could finally breathe. She was free.

*** I never went back to him, but not for a lack of him trying. I got myself as far away as possible and it was the best decision I ever made.

New Person, Old Place

New Person, Old Place by Madi Diaz; I struggled for a long time for a song that captured at least something close to my real feelings. This song captures the sadness, the trauma, and the moving on. I think that it really adds to the feelings of realization of how much I sacrificed for him: “I used to take all of your shit and carry it on my back. I’d leave what I needed behind to make room for whatever you had. I believed that I had to be strong just for you, so you wouldn’t crack”

I have thought again and again what I was going to end my story with. The optimistic and empathetic part of me yearns for a happy ending. I want people to know it gets better and feel hopeful. But the much larger, aching side of me wants to tear down the mended façade I have built and scream out all the hurt.

Most days I feel that I’m made up of an alphabet soup of emotions I couldn’t even begin to decipher. In one moment, I feel okay again and understand that I didn’t deserve what happened, but it is over. The next is filled with visceral recollections of all the worst parts that reignites every antagonistic thought. It truly feels like my psyche is in a never-ending pendulum, swinging between healing and absolute and total self-destruction.

While my thoughts on the matter are contradictory from one day to another, I think I have come to a few conclusions. I know that I am not okay, and I probably won’t be for a while. I cannot lie to myself by saying the shaking in my hands that accompanies thinking back is due to the cold instead of a physical reaction to trauma. I also have come to realize that I am so fucking angry, and I am allowed to be. A lot of people say that forgiveness is the way to healing but I think that is bullshit. I will never forgive him for what he did to me. He stole my naivety from underneath me and forced me to thank him. How can you forgive something like that?

Many don’t understand why survivors stay in abusive relationships if it is so awful. The problem is that it wasn’t always bad. There were times that I felt like I was on top of the world and others where he yanked me down to hell. I believed I deserved what he did, that I wasn’t worth anything more. He made me believe he was the only one that would love me.

It’s funny how trauma works. While he assaulted my body and tortured my mind, I mislabeled it as love, as flaws that I needed to accept since he loved mine. I didn’t start to notice the way he changed me until months later. Even now, almost two years since the day I left, I’m still tormented by the aftereffects. Over the course of writing about my ordeal, I tremble for hours, physically reacting to reliving the experiences, no matter how healing it is.

Suffering from abuse at such a formative age, fifteen to seventeen, left its mark on my psyche, etched deep inside. Because of this, I want others to know how to escape and that no one is responsible for the actions of others. Even if he was abused himself, he chose to continue the cycle and use me as a scapegoat for all his problems in life. I am grateful for one thing though; I will never, ever let myself be treated like that again. I would rather be alone than suffer the way that I did.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that most stories don’t have a happy ending; instead, most end in a nameless limbo between good and bad. My story falls into that majority. Many bad things happened, and they continue to come back again and again, like a stray that only found shelter in my mind. There is still so much that haunts me daily, but I also know that it is not all bad.

My soul is still covered with the ominous clouds his presence brought but every day, more slivers of sunlight poke through, causing flowers to bloom where it was once barren. One day, a full garden will grow and take over the parts of me that he singlehandedly ripped apart. One day, I will not feel so empty about the ordeal.

One day, I will be okay again.

#Trigger warning #tw #tw abuse #tw r*pe #tw sex assault #abuse #emotional abuse #trauma #intimate partner violence #domestic abuse #gaslighting #toxic relationship #abusive relationship #actuallytraumatized #coercion

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tomhiddleslove · 5 years ago

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Tom Hiddleston, Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox play the three points of Harold Pinter's adulterous triangle in Jamie Lloyd's superb production from London.

Reverse chronology has become a familiar narrative device in film, but when Harold Pinter employed it in 1978 in his blisteringly personal drama about an extramarital affair, Betrayal, it was still uncommon enough to become highly influential. It makes the drama start from a place of awkwardness steeped in grief, two years after the illicit liaison has finished, and end at the beginning, with a rapturous sense of secret possibility, marbled by the deep vein of melancholy present from the first scene. That emotional complexity smolders like hot coals in Jamie Lloyd's expertly calibrated production, transferring to Broadway direct from its hit London engagement.

The headline news is the commanding Broadway debut of Tom Hiddleston, taking a breather from the Marvel Cinematic Universe to revisit the stage roots to which he has returned periodically throughout his career. The coolly charismatic star is matched at every step by Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox, the latter trailing his own Marvel association from Netflix's Daredevil.

Lloyd staged Betrayal, one of the tightest and most straightforward (albeit back to front) of Pinter's full-length plays, as the unorthodox culmination of an acclaimed London season of the dramatist's one-acts. The director's feeling for Pinter's tricky rhythms, his freighted silences, glacial distances and brittle intimacies is unerring, evident not just in the dialogue-driven moments but also in the physical staging, the austerely elegant design choices, the stunningly descriptive use of shadow in Jon Clark's lighting and the precise attention to movement.

The action unfolds in bars, restaurants, family homes, a regular assignation address and a Venetian hotel. But designer Soutra Gilmour's set is a simple, stark rear wall in slate gray that makes intimate advances on the actors at times, with a sparingly used turntable that suggests the unkind passing of time, even as the scenes play out in backwards order. Among the few props are two chairs, the glasses or bottles required for a variety of alcohol, cigarettes, of course, and only late in the play, a table with an Italian linen tablecloth that becomes the saddest sight you'll ever see.

The three principal actors are onstage for the duration, with the third player at first remaining detached in the background through each of the mostly two-character scenes. But almost imperceptibly, the tiniest flicker of reaction begins playing across the face or in the body language of the silent additional presence as key information is divulged, twisting the knife as to who knew what and for how long. It's a masterstroke of direction, adding lacerating stabs of hurt to a drama in which none of the protagonists is overly sympathetic.

The parties involved, all in their mid-30s, are Robert (Hiddleston), a London publisher; his wife Emma (Ashton), who runs a gallery; and Jerry (Cox), a literary agent who also has an unseen wife at home. Each couple has two children. Complicating the seven-year affair of Emma and Jerry is the friendship of much longer duration between Robert and Jerry, who was best man at their wedding. The two first met when both were bright young things editing poetry magazines, Robert at Oxford and Jerry at Cambridge.

Pinter, and in turn here, Lloyd, get much mileage out of the urbane sophistication of these very English characters, consistently testing the strain beneath their polite small talk and practiced civility, with an edge of formality even between spouses and lovers.

It's thrilling when the simmering rage beneath Robert's smooth, at times bordering on smug, surface bubbles up, for instance in a discussion of the male ritual of a squash game followed by a pint at the pub and then lunch, his exclusion of Emma delivered like a casual body blow. Or during one such lunch with Jerry, when he rants about the tediousness of launching a novel while ferociously attacking a plate of prosciutto and melon. That his anger is never directed openly at its target doesn't make it sting any less.

But it's in those moments when the armor of Robert's composure is pierced by vulnerability that Hiddleston's performance truly dazzles. A scene in Venice, during which Robert dances around his suspicions to the point where Emma reads the knowledge of her transgression in his eyes and chooses that moment to confess, is made all the more wrenching by its restraint. As they sit side by side and she provides key details — location of their trysts, how long it's been going on, reassurance about the paternity of their youngest child — Robert stares straight ahead, impassively absorbing the full impact as his eyes pool with tears. The generally guarded Emma's sudden emotional release is quite different, but no less affecting in Ashton's self-possessed but finely layered performance.

Lloyd's brisk scene transitions add texture to the drama throughout, notably when that painful exchange segues to Emma and Jerry meeting at the suburban flat they've been renting, the shadow of their embrace seeming to infect the still-seated Robert like a virus.

The uncustomary choice to show one of Robert and Emma's children (an adorable girl played at the performance reviewed by Emma Lyles) also pays off. Repeated reference is made to Jerry tossing her up in the air and catching her one afternoon in their kitchen — or was it his? It rips your heart out to watch the child giggle with joy when that happens before curling up in her father's arms to sleep as Emma then meets with Robert early in their relationship, seemingly contemplating making a permanent change.

It might be argued that Lloyd's repeat use of a chilled-out, female-vocal cover of Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" is a little on the nose for Pinter ("Words like violence / Break the silence"). But the effect is powerful and the music choices, including Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, Ryuichi Sakamoto and Norwegian electronic duo Royskopp, help thread one scene to the next, as words and wounds bleed into the spaces between.

At the beginning of the play (which is the end of the story), Robert's infidelities also have contributed to end the marriage, two years after Emma has broken off the affair with a still-aching Jerry. But of the three, Jerry is arguably the only one who wears his guilt visibly. The excellent Cox plays that burden with a palpable sense of the pain beneath Jerry's studied attempts to keep things light and breezy. His declaration to Emma in the final scene, at the start of their love story, is one of the most searing Pinter monologues — ecstatic in its expression of romantic feeling and yet desolate in the awareness that Emma is condemning Jerry to a kind of exquisite misery.

"I can't ever sleep again, no, listen, it's the truth, I won't walk, I'll be a cripple, I'll descend, I'll diminish, into total paralysis, my life is in your hands, that's what you're banishing me to, a state of catatonia, do you know the state of catatonia? Do you? Do you? The state of… where the reigning prince is the prince of emptiness, the prince of absence, the prince of desolation. I love you."

Those last three little words never sounded so doomed. The smile of contentment as Robert interrupts them, entering the room from the party all three are attending, seems veiled on Hiddleston's face with a suggestion that he already sees what's happening. And Lloyd stages the closing moments like a mournful dance, anticipating the pain of what's to come.

It's just six years since the last sizzling Broadway revival of this work, directed by Mike Nichols and starring Daniel Craig, Rachel Weisz and Rafe Spall, all in top form. But this very fine production makes an absolutely compelling case for returning so quickly to the play, in which betrayals cut in every direction — between couples, friends and within the characters themselves. Lloyd and his actors illuminate a glimmering darkness in the drama, a deeper well of sorrows that linger in the air even after the cast take their bows.

If there's one nagging issue, it's with the audience, not the production. While it's great for business that fans flock to Broadway to see an MCU star like Hiddleston showing consummate skill, the constant laughs at inappropriate moments must be distracting for the actors, particularly in the many moments of quiet devastation. Sure, there are sparks of dry humor throughout Betrayal, but c'mon people, it’s Pinter, not Upright Citizens Brigade. It's for grownups.

[ Link to full article in source below. ]

#Tom Hiddleston #Zawe Ashton #Charlie Cox #Betrayal Broadway #The Hollywood Reporter review article #bernard b jacobs theater #jamie lloyd production #harold pinter play #Theatre tom #tom hiddleston stage performance #tom as robert #zawe as emma #charlie as jerry #Broadway debut #new york city

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insanityclause · 5 years ago

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themagicalari · 4 years ago

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001 Fandom She-ra 002 ship Catra x Adora or Perfuma x Scorpia 003 Character Frosta

Omg you just know me so well

001- she-ra

Fave character- Catra I mean.....come on

Least fave character- I mean it’s cheating to say horde prime right?

5 fave ships - catdora obviously, Scorpio/perfuma, best friend squad, entrapta/hordak, Kyle/Rogelio (I know it’s super background but !!!)

Person I find most attractive- Huntara! Big orc lady? Yes please!

Character I would marry- see above

Character I would be best friends with- Scorpia hands down

A random thought- how fucked is it that during the alternative reality shit Micah realized he was still alive in the real world but couldn’t actually tell Angela or anyone else?

An unpopular opinion- do I have one? I kinda like shadow weaver, does that count?

Canon otp - catdora

Non canon otp- best friend squad (including catra)

Most bad ass character- Netcasta, she was like “I will cripple my wife to get her back.” And that’s the back bone the resistance needed.

Most epic villain- catra for a reason very similar to netcasta, she decided to straight up kill adora rather than tell her she loved her

Pairing I’m not fond of- glimmer and catra, idk, they’re just so similar in some ways

Character I feel the writers messed up- umm none actually so I’m just gonna offer this criticism, we should have seen so much more of bows dads

Favorite friendship- catra and scorpia

Character I most identify with- probably glimmer, I too am angry and make foolish choices

Character I wish I could be- scorpia or bow, I just wanna be pure

002 catra x adora / scorpia x perfuma

Imma do both

When I started shipping them- catdora; immediately, There was no hesitation scorpia/perfuma; also immediately, they interacted once and I was like ‘small and tall! Small and tall!’

My thoughts- oh man, catdora is just so sweet and fulfilling, like catra went waaay dark while they were enemies and didn’t feel like she was worth love and adora felt like she had abandoned her even though she knew she was doing the right thing. Like I just love pining idiots who make each other feel valued. And they’re so stupidly obviously in love and just can’t even imagine the other feels the same way. Stupid beautiful idiots.

Scorpia/perfuma was just pure and beautiful, scorpia really deserved to have someone on her side cheering her on and building her up and scorpia is such a good match for perfuma because she can absorb all the love and support and give it back tenfold and I don’t know that the other princesses have been able to match perfumas otherworldly levels of love and positivity.

What makes me happy about them- catdora was pretty obviously endgame but I was still a little worried it wasn’t gonna happen or that it wouldn’t be canon acknowledged, so on a lot of levels it just felt like a win. Like story wise, shipping wise, and culture wise.

Scorpia/perfuma just generates happiness, they’re both such balls of sunshine.

What makes me sad about them- catdora before they got together breaks my heart into little pieces but specifically catra, she just couldn’t accept love and friendship and was so self destructive.

Same thing with scorpia, when she left the horde without saying anything to catra it killed me, she was so defeated. And how it’s so hard for her to take the compliments perfuma gives her!

Things done in fan fic that annoy me- huh I haven’t really read much she-ra fanfic, I don’t have an answer for this one

Things I look for in fanfic- same thing

Wishlist- hurt/comfort for catdora probably, I just want them to talk about their shared trauma and comfort each other

I’d love to read happy family stuff with scorpia and perfuma

Who I’d be comfortable with them ending up with if not each other- adora would have be with bow and glimmer, catra and scorpia, and perfuma and mermista, I’d also be down with scorpia and entrapta

My happily ever after for them- I mean they got it, barring something else happening I’m good.

003 Frosta

How I feel about this character- God I love Frosta, she’s a total badass and gives me strong Toph vibes

Ships- none, she is baby

My fave non-romantic relationship- how she looks up to glimmer ina sisterly fashion, it’s so sweet

Unpopular opinion- idk if it’s unpopular but I don’t like that she was so isolated, like there should have been a steward for the throne until she was older, but I’m over thinking.

Something I wish had happened in canon- a steward for the throne, so she could have had more of a childhood and matured in her own time instead of having to grow up over night to be the ruler of her kingdom.

(Bonus answer for this one though, I saw a head canon that double trouble met and really attached to Frosta and they are chaos incarnate and no one knows what to do about the corruption of this child)

Favorite friendship- Scorpia, but that probably speaks more to my unending love for Scorpia

Crossover ship- platonically Toph from atla

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bloojayoolie · 5 years ago

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Advice, Appalled, and Christmas: 因因西西图 5/3/2017 Easily the worst experience I have ever had with service and management and I can confidently say that me and my friends will never return to this establishment A few weeks prior, I had been to time and loved it so much that I wanted to bring some different friends out to introduce them to it. When I came the first time I arrived around 7, stayed for the band set, had some drinks with my date, and had a fantastic time. The next time around, I made reservations to ensure a seat for the band and agreed to be the designated driver for the night. My friends ordered a few beers and a meal, and I got a Diet Coke. After a few hours, one friend settled up and left. Shorty afterward we were approached by our waiter and a group of four men. We were told rudely (not asked) that we had to give up our table to this party of four and were to move to somewhere in the corner. In essence the request made sense. Clearly two people should be at a two person table, however, the server did not approach it politely, and it was the party of four who apologized and thanked us for moving for the first Very soon after moving, and without requesting it, we were served with our bill. My bill was a bit confusing- $6.00 for one Diet Coke. When I asked for clarification from our server I was rudely told that I was charged extra bc I had been sitting for a long time and hadn't ordered much. I felt pretty uncomfortable with this idea, as it seems a bit unethical to overcharge someone on the grounds of sitting in an establishment. I spoke with a much more reasonable female server who I was more comfortable with, and the problem was easily rectified. During the interaction however, our aggressive server came over and watched over me as I paid, shaking his head in disgust and whispering to the server that helped me. This left me deeply uncomfortable and I thought that I would let management know that we were not feeling the best about our server The manage approached me aggressively. I explained how things were handled and how displeased we were with service. She immediately became defensive and told us that our server was angry because he was losing money on our table, and that it could have been turned over four times by now. She told me they were a restaurant and we all needed to be ordering food, and that we had stayed too long without ordering enough. I was appalled that any manager would say these things to a paying customer, and told her we weren't aware of any of these policies and that she seemed like she was being quite confrontational. I thanked her for her time, stated that T didn't think that the conversation was going to end constructively and went back to my table, with nothing resolved actually saw me coming and Soon after, our aggressive server came with the machine, prompting us to settle our bill about 3 times within a minute. We were not ready to leave, as the band we came to see was still playing. After this, another server came to us and asked us to leave, claiming they had other customers that wanted our table. The party next to us saw this, and offered for us to sit with them so we could watch the last of the show. Then, something bizarre and infuriating happened. The manager/owner| came to the table with fistfuls of cash which she slammed down in front of me and my friend. She yelled that we could have our money back for our food and drinks, and that we needed to get out NOW, and she pointed to the door. We were appalled, confused and extremely frustrated. Interactions with people like this are rare, and hardly ever occur with managerial staff. I can't help but feel like there is something imbalanced with this woman, as such an irrational reaction was completely unwarranted and unjust Needless to say that will be the last time we ever go to I would advise people to avoid the the abhorrent service and management here. Good music is easy to find in dealing with the unstable owner. and it's not worth the headache of Funny 1 Cool Useful 3 Comment from Business Manager 5/4/2017- Hi the unstable owner. I already responded at length to the Tripadvisor review you had your friend (cute fake name though!), this is write for you a couple months ago. I assume that's what prompted this new rant eight weeks on. Glad you finally worked up the cajones to write your own review. Kudos! Once again here is my response: In the nine years publicly responded to a negative review, but your comments are of the "alternative fact" variety and I intend to defend myself. Part of me feels the pettiness of doing this, but a larger part of me needs to stand up for my staff and against the attitude of guests like you. Incidentally, I have also never asked a guest to leave my establishment (except that one guy who was puking on the dinner table at his company Christmas party, but that was for his own good). I stand 100% by my decision to do this with you and did so after I returned your money (all three dollars and fifteen cents of it) in full. You were rude, disrespectful, and above all, has been open I have never entitled Traditionally, when guests make dinner reservations, they are planning to, you know, come for dinner. For band view tables, we typically impose a 2.5 hour seating limit in order that other patrons can enjoy the show once the first wave of diners have finished their meals. More than 3 hours after your arrival, we asked if you would mind moving to a smaller table while we waited for you to pay since we had a lineup at the door. This was a pretty reasonable expectation since neither you nor your friend had ordered anything in over an hour. You begrudgingly moved, and we brought the bill. You weren't happy about not getting a free pop refill. You found a manager, complained, was apologized to, and had the second pop removed. Despite this, you then complained to the bar manager, then to me, about the "aggressive service" in moving you. I apologized for the fact that we should have been clearer over the phone about table times and dining and were in the wrong, but that perhaps that would explain some of the server's frustrations. None of these apologies were sufficient, and you let us know it. At 11pm, FOUR hours after arrival and 2.5 hours since anything had been ordered, you finally paid, then just sat and watched as we turned away table after table that came to the door. If you'd been treated so horribly why stay for hours afterward? Finally, my floor manager respectfully asked that you vacate the table to make way for other patrons. Instead, you then just moved over and intruded on another table. At that point l'd had enough. You were now inconveniencing other guests. I figured if I refunded your money, you would no longer be a paying customer, and I could then in good conscience ask you to leave. Which is what I did. Myself and my staff have put blood, sweat, tears and years into building this business in an effort to keep live music vibrant in Vancouver. We don't charge cover for our shows, but we do expect guests to have a basic awareness of the fact that we are running a business. I can understand that some people may not want to come for dinner, and I can understand that some people aren't big drinkers. But can't abide somebody living in such a self absorbed bubble that they don't realize why giving attitude over a three dollar bill is frustrating to service staff, and then judging US as being aggressive/unstable. Your server is one of the kindest and most generous people I know. The only aggressive one was you, and when it became clear to me that you thought it was your divine right to camp out for the evening and expect to be treated respectfully after being so blatantly disrespectful to my staff and spending three bucks, I asked you to leave. You're not at McDonald's honey. Did I handle myself as professionally as I could have? In the beginning, sure I did, but almost five hours in? Hells no. I was offended, irritated, and stunned that an adult would behave in such a childish manner. You can't come into my house and behave like that. I did not at any point yell or "slam fistfuls of cash" (how do you slam a fistful of $3? lol) but I did tell you to get out, and I didn't ask nicely. At some point, you have to defend your livelihood. For future reference,here's some advice on how to get free pop refills in restaurants: behave like a grownup, be nice to your server, and if you sit at a table for FOUR AND A HALF HOURS and order two diet cokes while enjoying a free show and then quibble over your $6 bill then you are probably going to be met with some frustrations by the time you have complained to four different people about it. Also, you may want to try an exercise called "self reflection" before hiding behind a fake name on the internet and branding somebody as unstable/imbalanced. Your behaviour was disgraceful and you should be embarrassed. Go take your pocket change and entitlement elsewhere. We're all good here, thanks! Trash restaurant cusomer

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Advice #Appalled #and

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welovekpopscenarios · 7 years ago

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More Valuable than Riches (Fortune Hunter! I.M x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

Description:

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: I.M/Changkyun x Reader

Warnings: Small mention of violence

Word Count: 2172

A/N: I’m not really happy with this, it didn’t turn out as adventure-y as I wanted but I wanted to get it out before I think too much about it and leave it sitting there forever, never to see the light of day again. It seems kinda rushed at the end but I hope you still like it. Happy reading, as usual! (was this inspired by uncharted? You bet your booty it was)

Since Changkyun was a young lad, with chubby fingers that pried open the libraries history books and small dark eyes that absorbed each word on the ancient, worn pages of pirates, explorers and others alike, he wanted to be an explorer. A great discoverer, who would uncover lost lands and find old tombs, digging deep into the history of the earth to become one of the greatest men in the world – but of course, life doesn’t always work the way we want it to.

Instead of fame and glory, all Changkyun became was an infamous fortune hunter (a fancier term for thief, as Jooheon had put it), stuck in a lousy Indonesian ruin trying to solve an impossible puzzle (because of course people had to make things difficult when they could be solved in a matter of minutes), and with a smart ass who liked to point out his misfortune every waking moment, as if he wasn’t already aware of the miserable turn his life took.

“So if I turn the dial here, the light on the wall moves over there…” he mumbled, brows furrowed and a sweaty forehead creased in concentration as he focused his attention on the current puzzle in front of him. He was amazed at how he was able to solve the other bizarre puzzles he had encountered on this journey before finding himself in the middle of the Indonesian jungle in a run-down temple trying to figure out the next clue before moving on. This one was proving quite difficult so far, however. But it’s not like you were helping in any way.

“Gosh, it’s so hot out,” you whined, opting to recline on a broken stone slab in the middle of the room rather than aid Changkyun in the impossible task of opening the mysterious door. “Do you have a fan?”

“Well, my mom used to always tell me she was proud of my achievements,” Changkyun began, a minuscule smirk flashing on his face once he heard your dramatic groan followed by a sarcastic laugh. “But, no. I don’t have a fan. Want me to ask the hotel to turn up the AC?” he mocked.

“Do, and file a complaint while you’re at it. The service here is terrible, it’s like the workers are dead,” you chimed, flinging a pebble towards the remains of some poor unfortunate soul who thought himself smart enough to handle the puzzle in here too. Maybe Changkyun will join him. Well, he hopes, anyway, with how little progress he’s making with the puzzle. He sighs out in frustration as he turns another useless dial.

“So…” you droned, sitting up and scuffing the ends of your boots against the gravel littering the ground. “You nearly got it, bud?” Another sigh from Changkyun, this one louder and wearier than the last. “I’ll take that as a no. I wish I brought a book with me, if I knew you were gonna take this long.”

Changkyun turned to face you, a brow raised, and indignation etched into his dirtied and sweat ridden face. “You could, oh I don’t know, help?” he commented, frowning when a wry smile spread across your lips.

“I could,” you began, “but I’m just the hired help who was never really hired, remember? You’re the brains of us two, and you’re the one who wanted to go after this treasure to begin with. Besides, I’m no good at these weird ass puzzles, so just leave the fighting to me.”

Changkyun grumbled incoherently, taking a step back from the dials. His cocoa coloured eyes roved over the mysterious contraption, hands poised on his hips and a furrow to his brow as you watched his face take on a look of pure concentration. It was something you admired about him, admittedly, how intelligent he truly was behind that mask of humour and his dedication to pursuing his childhood dream. A dream that took a slightly different, more illegal turn, but still, he was doing what he wanted, and you envied him for having his life seemingly sorted out while you still drifted in and out of messy brawler jobs that you hated.

Lost in your thoughts you missed what he had said until a pebble was chucked in your direction.

“What?” you snapped, rubbing your knee from where the impact of the pebble hit you.

Changkyun pursed his lips and narrowed those chocolate eyes of his. Yikes, not a look you enjoy aimed at yourself. “You’re not stupid, you know,” he remarked, eyes scrutinising your form, and suddenly this blazing hot temple felt as cold as Antarctica under his gaze. “Far from it. So uh…don’t sell yourself short,” he shuffled awkwardly, gaze flitting between the ancient puzzle and you, at a loss of what to focus on as a silence descended upon the temple. He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Help me with this, will you? Or else we’ll never get out of here and you’ll never get to fulfil your dream of taking a bath in a solid gold tub.”

Feeling unusually fuzzy after his backhanded compliment, you rose from your spot and moved to stand beside him, your arm brushing against his muscled one that left you with the same familiar sparks you’ve been feeling every time he was close to you.

“What do you need me to do, Captain?” you joked, a half assed way to cover your blushing form in the mask of humour and waving a hand in your face to fight against the heat of the jungle. Changkyun seemingly took no notice, having averted his eyes and moved his body away from yours to stand at one end of the puzzle. He nodded his head towards the opposite end of where he stood.

“Go to that end of the puzzle, we’ll see if we can finish this damned thing together,” he grunted, flicking through the pages of his notebook. You did as told, fiddling cautiously with the dials, all displaying different symbols and letters ranging from crosses to stars, A-Z, and everything in between. Why were pirates so stingy with their gold? Did they have to make everything as complicated as this?

Changkyun began giving orders as soon as you were ready - “turn that one”, “try that one”, “ok that one’s broken, let’s just put that one aside”, “ok nevermind, that was actually a large snail shell”, but to no avail after a full hour of bickering. Fed up of hearing the word ‘dial’ once more, you changed the topic of conversation.

“What made you want to do this kind of stuff?” you asked. Changkyun paused, glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes before returning them to the notebook in his hands. “I’ve always wanted to be an adventurer when I was younger. I wanted to discover new places and find riches, ever since I was a kid. I can remember reading every book about pirates I could find in the library, I went there so much, the librarian eventually just gave me a book to keep for free,” he said fondly, fingers tapping idly at the worn leather cover of his notebook. You smiled warmly at the image of a toothless Changkyun hounding anyone who would listen the stories of the worlds most famous pirates.

“And how did it work out?” you questioned. He looked up in confusion, a light ‘hm?’ reverberating in his chest. “The fortune finding,” you clarified with a smirk. Changkyun gave a wry laugh, his eyes scanning the dingy cave you both landed yourselves in in search of these so called ‘riches’.

“Well, I’ve found none so far-“ you cackled loudly, “-but! I think we’re onto something good here. I really do. Plus, with the views and adventure we’ve seen so far, I think it makes it all worth it. Don’t you?” he grinned, and oh. Oh no. That smile was more dangerous than any fight you’ve been in, because it made you weaker than a kitten and gave you the strongest butterflies you’ve ever felt. Damn you, Im Changkyun. Why must you be so imperfectly perfect?

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” you replied, moving to sit on the stone slab like before. Changkyun followed, sitting on the opposite end but close enough that you could feel the summer heat radiating off his bronzed skin.

“Why did you decide to be a security-type person?” he asked awkwardly, unsure of how to phrase your ‘occupation’. Should have been blunt and just said ‘thug’. You sighed, rubbing your neck.

“I didn’t really, it just kind of happened, grew up that way. Got into a lot of fights when I was younger, did some defence classes and boxing, got into bar fights more than I ever went to school, and then one day a guy comes up to me and offers me a job to be his protection for a while. I needed the cash, took the job, and doing these types of jobs is all I’ve been doing ever since. Not good for anything much other than that,” you mumbled sombrely, eyes trained on your boots.

“Don’t say that,” Changkyun argued, but you cut him off with a scoff.

“Why not? It’s the truth. I’m only good for putting a fist to someone’s face and ruining lives-“ a sharp pain to your forehead interrupted your self-deprecating speech, and you looked up with a scowl to see Changkyun’s hand raised mid-flick, a pout on his handsome face that made it look years younger. It suits him.

“Stop,” he demands, sticking out his tongue childishly.

“Stop what?”

“All that negative talk, bad mumbo jumbo, not good. You’re amazing.”

As if this jungle couldn’t get any damned hotter your face just flared as hot as the sun at his words. He too realised his bluntness and coughed awkwardly a few times before continuing. “Since we started this expedition you’ve been annoying, cheeky, a pain in my ass-“

“Oh thanks, I really appreciate that,” you droned, but he shushed you quickly.

“But… you’ve been nothing but amazing and helpful since the day I met you. You’re strong, kind, well-abled, cute, independent, funny, intelligent, and overall one of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I am not worthy to stand in such a divine presence,” he whined dramatically, falling to his knees and bowing at your feet. You smiled bashfully, near ready to flick him right back over his kind words and goofy actions, but you remembered something.

“Wait, go back. What was that you said?”

“Uh…you’re one of the best people I know?”

“Back.”

“You’re intelligent?”

“Back again.”

“You’re funny and independent?”

“One more,” you smirked, enjoyed how the tips of his ears turned pink despite his attempt at feigning nonchalance.

“You’re strong?”

“Go forward,” you sighed good-naturedly, crossing your arms as you stared down at him.

“You’re…you’re cute,” he mumbled shyly, refusing to meet your gaze. You laughed quietly and leaned forward to get a better look at his face.

“Bingo.”

“Yeah well, you are. You’re beautiful. Anyone would be a fool not to see it,” he said quickly, still not raising his head to look at you. His words made a comfortable warmth spread over you – not the blistering heat kind like all around you. It made you feel liked, wanted – accepted.

“I…thank you. You’re not so shabby yourself,” you joked mildly, noticing the growing smirk on his lips. “How long have you thought that I was cute?”

“Oh, you know. Since the day I met you, I guess,” he shrugged nervously, standing up to face away from you and towards the puzzle again. Your jaw dropped in shock.

“Changkyun, that’s over a year ago!” you exclaimed.

“You know what they say about pining,” he simply replied, fiddling with his notebook once again. Pining? Oh lord save you, he was going to be the end of you.

“I don’t know, what do they say,” you inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know either. I was hoping you knew,” he sassed, and it was like he was back to normal with his front of humour to deflect situations he did not feel confident in.

“Well,” you began, “we need to finish this puzzle as soon as possible so we can find our riches, get back to our hotel and you can take me on a real date. Somewhere classy. Like KFC.”

Changkyun turned to stare at you in mild shock for a moment, until a grin spread across his lips and a light rosy hue dusted his dirty cheeks. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get going, shall we?”

Safe to say, after spending hours solving the puzzle, the only thing you received for your efforts was another clue pointing to another damned puzzle somewhere in Malaysia that would no doubt require more climbing, searching, and thinking. But, as you sat next to Changkyun, watching as he drove by the coast in his 4x4, you’d like to think something more valuable was discovered in that ruin. Something completely priceless.

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noramoya · 7 years ago

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“Perhaps the most common trait associated with celebrity is narcissism. In 1988, Jackson certainly would have had reason to be self-absorbed. He was the most famous person on the planet. Everywhere he travelled, he created mass hysteria. The day after his sold-out concert at Prater Stadium in Vienna, an AP article ran, “130 Fans Faint at Jackson Concert.” If the Beatles were more popular than Jesus, as John Lennon once claimed, Jackson had the entire Holy Trinity beat.

Yet while Jackson enjoyed the attention—indeed, even thrived on it in certain ways—he also felt a profound responsibility to use his celebrity for more than fame and fortune. In 2000, The Guinness Book of World Records cited him as the most philanthropic pop star in history. Over his lifetime, he reportedly gave over $300 million dollars to charity, including to the Make-A-Wish Foundation, the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation, the NAACP, UNICEF, and the Red Cross, among dozens of others. “When you have seen the things I have seen and travelled all over the world, you would not be honest to yourself and the world to [look away],” Jackson said.

This indeed was the point of his hit song, “Man in the Mirror,” which reached #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the spring of 1988. The song was about a personal awakening. It was about recognizing that change does not happen on its own. It requires that people become aware, that they care about more than themselves, and do something. “Who am I to be blind/ Pretending not to see their needs,” Jackson sings. His performances of the song on the Bad World Tour were both the climactic finale of the show and its parting message. “Make that change,” he summoned his audiences. In an era often characterized by individualism, greed, and materialism, it was an anthem of conscience and responsibility. Jackson donated all of the proceeds of the song to Camp Ronald McDonald for Good Times, which assisted children suffering from cancer.

Even more significant than giving money, however, Jackson gave his time. At nearly every stop on his Bad World Tour, he visited orphanages and hospitals. Just days before arriving in Vienna, while in Rome, he stopped by the Bambin Gesu Children’s Hospital, handing out gifts, taking pictures, and signing autographs. Before leaving, he pledged a donation of over $100,000 dollars. Before a concert in London at Wembley Stadium he visited Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital—the hospital to which author J.M. Barrie famously gifted the copyright, and royalties, for Peter Pan. Jackson spent hours talking to, holding, and comforting children at the hospital, some of whom were terminally ill. According to a local news story, the pop star “sat some on his knee and told them stories”; he also “handed out dozens of presents, albums, photos, and T-shirts.” Jackson donated 100,000 pounds to the hospital. In addition, he left an undisclosed amount of money to the Wishing Well Fund to help the London’s Hospital for Sick Children, which he also visited during his stay.

Throughout the Bad World Tour, before and after concerts, Jackson had under-privileged and sick children brought backstage. “Every night the kids would come in on stretchers, so sick they could hardly hold their heads up,” recalls voice coach Seth Riggs. “Michael would kneel down at the stretchers and put his face right down beside theirs so that he could have his picture taken with them, and then give them a copy to remember the moment. I couldn’t handle it. I’d be in the bathroom crying. The kids would perk right up in his presence. If it gave them a couple days’ more energy, to Michael it was worth it.”

Everywhere the tour travelled, Jackson tried to give back in some way. In Detroit, he donated $125,000 to the city’s Motown Museum; in New York City, he gave $600,000 to the United Negro College Fund; in Japan, he gave $20,000 to the family of a young boy who was murdered, and hundreds of thousands more to hospitals and schools. When the tour was over, he auctioned off his personal items, with all the proceeds going to UNESCO. This was the man whom British tabloids had taken to calling “Wacko Jacko,” of whom People magazine, less than a year earlier, declared on the front cover: “He’s back. He’s bad. Is this guy weird or what?” Jackson’s kindness and compassion was not good copy; if it made the news at all, it was usually buried behind stories about his plastic surgery or pet chimpanzee.

Jackson’s philanthropy on the Bad World Tour was not new. In 1984, after his hair infamously caught fire while filming a Pepsi commercial, Jackson established the Michael Jackson Burn Center as part of the Brotman Medical Center in Culver City, one of only a handful of badly needed burn centers in the Los Angeles area. “I wanted to do something,” he said, “because I was so moved by the other burn patients I met while I was in the hospital.” Jackson suffered excruciatingly painful second-degree burns on his scalp, but hospital staff remembers him spending much of his time visiting and comforting other patients. Jackson donated the entire amount he received from Pepsi for the accident—$1.5 million dollars—to the Burn Center. That year, Jackson also donated all of his performance money from the Victory Tour to charity—an estimated $5 million dollars.

In 1985, Jackson joined the U.S.A. for Africa effort, helmed by actor and activist Harry Belafonte and music manager Ken Krager. Inspired by the U.K. charity effort, Band Aid, and its musical vehicle, “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” Belafonte’s vision was to bring American artists together for an urgent cause: to raise money and awareness for a famine in Ethiopia that was leaving hundreds of thousands of people, including young children, starving and destitute. The famine was caused by a combination of factors: a complicated civil war, a corrupt government, and one of the most severe regional droughts on record. By 1985, an estimated one million people had died, according to the United Nations. Belafonte reached out to producer Quincy Jones about putting together a song for U.S.A. for Africa. Jones, in turn, reached out to Lionel Richie, Stevie Wonder, and Michael Jackson. Since Stevie Wonder wasn’t available, Jackson and Richie charged ahead.

Jackson’s goal was to write a simple melody that anyone could hum, across cultures and nations, even if they didn’t understand the lyrics. For “We are the World,” he remembers going into dark spaces, a closet or a bathroom, and trying to imagine the people in Ethiopia: their lives, their suffering, their humanity. When he came up with some notes, he had younger sister Janet listen in. “What do you see when you hear this sound?” he asked her. “Dying children in Africa,” she responded. “You’re right,” Jackson responded. “That’s what I was dictating from my soul.”

Jackson continued to develop the song with Richie in the ensuing days and weeks. By early January, he had recorded a solo demo and sent it to Quincy Jones. Jones loved what he heard. “A great song lasts for eternity,” the producer later reflected. “I guarantee you that if you travel anywhere on the planet today and start humming the first few bars of that tune, people will immediately know that song.”

The official recording session was scheduled for January 22, 1985 at A&M Recording Studio in Los Angeles. As Jones planned it, the stars would head over immediately after the American Music Awards, held that night at the Shrine Auditorium. He famously left a sign at the front of the building that read, “Check your egos at the door.” The list of legends that filed in that night was remarkable: Ray Charles, Bob Dylan, Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Steve Perry, Tina Turner, Cyndi Lauper, Willie Nelson, and Paul Simon, among dozens of others. "Here you had 46 of the biggest recording stars in the entire world in one room, to help people in a far-off place who were in desperate need,” recalled Jones. “I don’t think that night, that experience, will ever truly be duplicated again. I know and believe in the power of music to bring people together for the betterment of mankind, and there may be no better example of this than the collective that was ‘We Are the World’ ”.

Jackson skipped the American Music Awards that night and headed to the studio early to record his part. When the rest of the artists arrived, he, Lionel, Stevie, and Quincy helped them learn their individual parts and the chorus. He characterized the creation and recording process as a “spiritual” experience. Most of those in attendance agreed. They describe a genuine sense of joy, unity, and purpose. “Every second of that night was magical,” remembers Quincy Jones. “As artists, we are all just vessels for God’s whispers, and I know God walked through the studio that night, a couple of times.” The final result, completed around 8:00 am, was a majestic, gospel-infused, seven-minute anthem that weaved the together the vocals of some of the greatest artists of the 20th century. The New York Times praised it as “more than an unprecedented communal collaboration among pop music’s elite for a good cause—it is an artistic triumph that transcends its official nature.”

Some critics, of course, scoffed at the self-righteousness of the charity event—and the song. But Quincy Jones and Harry Belafonte were having none of it. “Anybody who wants to throw stones at something like this can get off his or her butt and get busy,” said Jones of its critics. “Lord knows, there’s plenty more to be done.” What impressed Belafonte most was simply the willingness of its participants to use their talents for an important cause. “Here you are with dozens of the best and most powerful artists in popular culture, who had relegated their managers to a place in Siberia — and as a consequence, it was completely art on art.“

“We are the World” was released that March and quickly became the fastest selling single in history, shifting just under a million copies in its first three days. It became the bestselling song of the 1980s, eventually selling over 20 million copies worldwide. More importantly, it helped generate proceeds of over $60 million dollars, which were used to send over 120 tons of supplies to Ethiopia, including high-protein biscuits, water, medicine, tents and clothing. Later funds were also used for over seventy recovery and development projects.

Jackson was proud of what the song accomplished. The idea of thousands of malnourished children being fed because of a simple song thrilled and inspired him. It showed him in a very concrete way the power of music to bring people together, to raise awareness and action.

Yet he also realized it wasn’t enough. “We Are the World” didn’t end hunger or poverty; it didn’t solve the complicated socio-political issues, power dynamics and institutional corruption that were largely to blame for the severity of the African famine. Critics were quick to point out these shortcomings, often deriding Jackson as “self-indulgent” and “naïve” for trying. Songs like “We Are the World” and “Man in the Mirror” were dismissed as simplistic, utopian sentimentality. Music critic Greil Marcus wrote off the former song as nothing more than a Pepsi jingle, while the New York Times’ Jon Pareles dismissed the latter as “activism for hermits.” Jackson’s social vision offered global idealism, triumph and easy resolution, they argued, while the material conditions of the real world only worsened. It was a critique that haunted Jackson while he toured. He believed the critics had it wrong; he believed they couldn’t feel what the music meant to people—what it meant to him. Change, he believed, began within individual hearts and minds. And that’s where art reached people. Yet he wasn’t self-satisfied. In a 1987 interview with Ebony/Jet, Jackson was asked: Eboni : When you look in the mirror, are you happy with what you see? MJ : “In what way?” he responded. Eboni : Just when you look – in terms of that social philosophy? MJ : “I’m never totally satisfied,” he said. “I always wish the world could be a better place. No, not at all.”

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vicjrcajilig · 7 years ago

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The Color of Grief: A Brother’s Reminiscence and Unsaid Eulogy

Disclaimer: This post contains more than 2,000 American English words, making it a five-page read. If you get bored easily with reading, feel free to discontinue. This is nothing like the stuff you see on Facebook that uncomplicatedly tickles your fancy. This is of somewhat eulogistic nature.

It must be one of the deepest cuts made by pain, if not the deepest and worst, to have ever known by the human body. It’s not the kind of sadness you will ever want to feel one more time for the strange, selfish purpose of just feeling something. It’s not the spur-of-the-moment kind of sadness or that sadness you get on Sundays because it’s Monday the next day. It’s worse than disappointments or goodbyes leading to long distance relationships. As a matter of fact, to my surprise, it feels dark. I’m not sure how dark feels like but it’s the best way I can describe it, if I were to, from how my senses translate. It’s too dark of a feeling I can’t even cite a shade or color to resemble its darkness. You can’t say it’s grey, though grey denotes gloom, but it’s still too bright for me; never dark, never gloomy. If there had ever been a shade darker than Cimmerian or ebony or pitch-black, it must be it. But there’s none; black is the darkest. So it has to be black—nothing else. Maybe that’s why mourners wear black to mean they’re grieving. Maybe that’s why death is always visualized in black.

My friends, meet Grief. I’m talking about grief, that deep cut inflicted by pain itself; that feeling of blackness.

What do I know about pain and sadness, anyway? How was I able to know which sadness is worse? How dare I? Well, trust me; I have known them… until I met grief. And so far, it’s not nice meeting Grief. It’s the darkest, darker than vengeance or romantic heartbreak or have them combined. Ultimately, it’s grief at the peak of the pyramid. It’s too dark you can’t even grope yourself, let alone grope for support while in it. The feeling of getting lost and emptiness has never been so true.

All of this is unprecedented. I never saw bereavement until this. It’s a personal life record. I was born without grandparents hovering and playing strict and overprotective around me like how yours do or did around you. I’ve known the concept of funerals but I wouldn’t know how it felt like for those in loss. I’ve seen a few burials and it was not quite a sight to see (and hear). And twelve days ago, life’s roulette stopped at us—we sent our eldest to her grave. Oh what a black, black picture to look at.

Funny how I’d found it a little inhuman when Casey Affleck’s character in “Manchester by the Sea” reacted to his older brother’s passing. It was a phone call. He never shed a tear; neither was shocked nor seen in pain. But just like him, I got to shrug it off. Casey Affleck won Best Actor here so I ought to trust his emotional interpretation and I was also taking into consideration that maybe it was some typical American behavior or accustomed manifestation of machismo because even the son of the dead brother was never taken grieving and despondent. I’d carried on, ending up loving the movie anyway. Then, one Tuesday noon, it was a phone call too. An unregistered number rang me up to tell me that our eldest sister was found dead, that she apparently took her own life (as what was also impetuously blazoned on social media for the intention of gossiping and for the self-gratification from gaining likes which by the way reached one of my then unknowing brothers. Just one of the many reasons why I’ve loathed Facebook. It’s brimming with fake news and thirsty users. Dude, if you’re reading this shit, hope you rang up your purpose!). I was shocked, yes. I was clueless and in utter disbelief, too. I felt my body temperature rose like fever but maybe much worse. It was one typical, sweltering day but whatever temperature upsurge I felt was no way caused by it. I was stuttering throughout the call, too shaken to ask my hows and whys. I managed to do so but I couldn’t seem to absorb every excruciating fact the caller had to say. I felt no imminent tear to complete the mood, though. “Manchester by the Sea” was nothing less than emotionally accurate, I accordingly conclude. It was not something only Americans could pull off. To hear it first before anyone from my siblings was something I would never ask for; to hear real-life tragedy from my ear through my head and heart to imbibe was, however, something I would never want. Who would, anyway? I’d finally cried before that unforgettable Tuesday ended.

Ate Eng died alone. She died alone and probably in pain. She died on the floor behind a locked door, alone. She died ALONE that one night and wasn’t found until the sun was fully lit up in the sky. Her heart stopped while mine kept beating. I woke up that following morning; she did not. She wasn’t at least rushed to the hospital for the hope of performing anything medically useful for the chance to make her breathe the same air I breathe now and that she freely used to. These truths will forever wound my heart. This will forever be torturing. This will forever be haunting. Ate Eng, how I wish I were there with you that night. But if that was incontestably your last night, well at least you did not die alone… at least you were found earlier than noon.

Or you could have at least gasped my name.

I would love to blame myself just for the sake of putting the blame, but this was clearly nobody’s doing. And from the bottom of my heart, from the littlest string of it to each of its beating, I am still thankful to those who found you. I could only imagine their anguish finding you. There. Alone.

Ate “Eng,” born Florvic, was our eldest sister. Her demeanor and tone might’ve stricken you for someone of strong personality but she was fundamentally sweet and generous; to others, helpful and cheerful. If you’d ask me what can possibly be her impalpable legacy, it’s her cooking, for she was the best cook in the family, even way better than Mama. It must be her twists to typical dishes and the span of her culinary skills. I remember how she’d used to love cuddles in bed when I was still small enough for her tight embrace; when she’d loved clothing me with OshKosh B’Gosh; how she’d mashed Libby’s Vienna sausage to mix with my rice then loved it so much I could have the same thing thrice a day; when she’d cleaned my ears with “Baby JR,” as she called the Q-tips (cotton buds); when she’d supported me in my childhood Teletubbies collection and the BeyBlade frenzy; when she’d gifted me so much Ragnarok Online merchandise on my high school graduation that unexaggeratedly filled a big bed; when we’d used to hang out in Glorietta, her favorite mall, at Timezone when we were kids and watch movies and pig out when we grew older. These times will additionally remind me how she’d used to require sticking either of my hands into her jeans’ back pocket to keep me close through crowded malls; when she’d gone with us and paid for our school supplies; when she would intone, “So sad!” under so sad situations. And more little things such as her snorts, her sneezes, her loud laughter, her teenage fondness for Looney Tunes and Mickey and Minnie Mouse, her premium taste in shoe wear, flip flops, and smartphones; and the mosquito nets customized to serve as her blankets. She was a sweet sister to me from my Baby JR years even until I’ve outgrown the cuddles she loved and the OshKosh I didn’t really like. She was the reason behind my most coveted Canon, most significantly. It’s a material thing but, mind you, because of it, I will be forever indebted for making me believe that dreams can still come true.

She was not invariably the ideal flawlessly sweet sister though, because she was ill-tempered at the most part. She was temperamental, choleric. Scolding my twin brothers had been a common scene among them like how she used to do with me when I was their age. As she aged and so did all of us, her string of patience towards us seemed to have never been any lengthier. Maybe that was one way she was aging. The same sweetness we grew up with lingered nonetheless; she would always be the sweet sister, as sweet as the bars of chocolates she would hand us as peace offering after getting herself at the top of her lungs. Now, in return, I wish I could hand her anything more than the beauty and fragrance of pink flowers and the wisps of smoke from candles or even this writing. Little did she know we are not big fans of chocolates. But I would love to let her know that we will forever be a fan of her sweetness, untainted throughout the years.

Death is real, so I have realized. I know people naturally die but you will never understand until it’s right there at your face. Losing someone for good is real. I’ve never seen my father cry before nor seen my mother in so much misery as I kept her in my arms (just imagine their pain sending their child—their eldest to the grave). Hence, death. We’ll never see her on her pink scooter again. Hence, death. We’ll never smell her perfume or her hair shampoo or her body lotion again. Hence, death. We’ll never hear her laughing again that everyone but our family will remind them of her. Hence, death. We’ll never taste her Java Rice, baked mac & cheese, lasagna, crab omelet, panna cotta, and well-spiced sunny side-up again. Hence, death. We, the seven children, will never be seen seven again. Hence, death. We can see her smiling again only in pictures and see her alive on videos (how I wish I had more pictures and videos with her!). Death, so now I’ve realized, is real. And it pains to think about it. It pains worse to accept it.

What hurts me even more is that everything about her is now was. Everything about her is now in past tense. She’s now was.

In this ordeal, I have found out that strength of one’s soul is also real, that the soul has to be taken care of for the sake of holding up well. You don’t simply hold up, you have to hold up well. You have to keep your soul intact. You have to keep sane (what kept us sane was our first ever nephew. Without Allen, this could’ve been more of a struggle. Without him, we could hold up, yes, but could never hold up fast and well). Lastly, you have to be strong for the people around you who need strength. Strength is contagious and in fact absorbable. Trust me; it’s true. The first week was the worst for me. Well, of course. I couldn’t stand being alone in one room. I consistently longed for another human presence, particularly of another family member. I couldn’t listen to sad songs (much less danceable and happy ones) or play Ragnarok or read George R.R. Martin to at least divert my attention even for a short while. And my appetite was fucked up. My system was all down and out, seemingly too tired to normally function. It just happened that I have a bunch of brothers and an irresistible nephew, so I am pretty lucky. I’ve never felt guilty of walking at the mall while there she lay in her casket (because I had thought I could distract myself that way).I've never felt guilty of delighting in good food while there she lay in her casket, probably starving. I’ve never felt guilty of wearing bright colors while there she lay in her casket (though I would love to be clad in black every day, only I ran out of black t-shirts shortly the second day). I felt like I didn’t deserve happiness and enjoyment in any way while she lay there in her casket. Oh fuck—the thought of her lying like a log, breathless in a rectangular container so-called “casket” was too true to accept as true… until I saw her that night. There. In a beautiful white and gold casket beneath a white canopy of lacy textile and the crucifix. There I looked down at her for the first time since her death with all-out agony and sympathy. There she lay, looking like Mama. Stiff. Lifeless. Nestled in the mergence of scents of death and candle and pink rose and white daisy and dahlia. A scent that is now imprinted in me as the scent of death and grief, and nobody’s but only hers. White… Can grief be as pure as white?

Just like that, she’s now dead and gone. And she’s only 35. She never had the chance of bearing a child, of playing the part with motherhood. Of being a wife, she will never walk the altar in white (I couldn’t imagine her in traditional wedding dress, though! I just can’t hahaha). She could have done more things in life, especially plans for their future. But along with her, that future withered away. But I can say she was at least happy, thanks to her partner Kuya Marvin. She did not take her own life, by the way, as clinically affirmed. She might have been ill-tempered and anxious at times but she was a woman of hope and strength. The strength of her soul had always been unswerving and she was surrounded with love (as shown by the number of people who went to her 14-day wake until the pre-burial mass). Suicide is the last thing she could’ve ever had in mind.

I wrote this down not for owning up my regrets, for there’s nothing I’ve regretted. I had better memories with Ate Eng. All I want to say, however, is I’m certainly going to miss her every single day as long as I live. Her presence may be gone, her body may have been buried six feet down the ground, but she will forever be in our hearts, never for a second be forgotten. I can light a candle every day for her if I could. I will make sure it’s pink, too—hold up now, can’t it be pink? Can pink resemble this grief? It’s her favorite color anyway. No?

So, this is how grief feels like. Now I know. And it’s been empty and dark, like you’re the one buried. For those who are putting up with this darkness, be strong. It substantially means you should keep eating and keep sane. Then take time to grieve—cry away. It’s okay. Get as much hugs as possible. I know it’s not going to be a walk in the park. I should know. I know it’s black and dark but light will cut through as you heal over time. Don’t let its blackness discolor your soul all over. Just remember that there’s no sadness in this short, borrowed life that will stay ubiquitous and can remain tender forever. There’s no such thing as incurable unhappiness where the cure is not something you take orally but can only be wrung from the strength of the soul with what and who surround us. Hugs and crying also help.

I told you, it’s really black. I was born colorblind but I know what black is. It’s in fact my all-time favorite color and I bet Ate Eng knew it. I was born color deficit but I know how black feels now. It’s more than a color or a shade now. Now that I know what grief is, I don’t want to feel it over again. It cuts too deep.

Black will do, but just in case you find a shade darker than black, oh please let me know. Help a colorblind. Help a grieving colorblind. Help someone who’s been feeling black.

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” ― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

I will miss you every single day of my life, big sister. Every. Single. Day.

-Baby JR

20 October 1981 - 23 May 2017

#grief #holding up #death #agony #sorrow #sister #family #black #eulogy

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foursprout-blog · 7 years ago

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Why Waiting Until 25 To Lose My Virginity Was The Best Decision I Could’ve Made

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/why-waiting-until-25-to-lose-my-virginity-was-the-best-decision-i-couldve-made/

Why Waiting Until 25 To Lose My Virginity Was The Best Decision I Could’ve Made

Masaaki Komori / Unsplash

In Amy Poehler’s memoir, Yes Please, she wrote, “Keep your virginity for as long as you can, until it starts to feel weird to you. Then just get it over with. Try not to have your first time in a car.” The average age women have sex for the first time is 17. At 25, I’d gone through high school, college, graduate school, and was a professor but had never done the deed – in a car or otherwise. It felt very very weird to me to be my age without ever having done it. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it so badly. I obsessed over sex by constantly reading about it in memoirs, magazine articles, and novels. I watched TV shows and movies to gobble it all up and learn as much as I could. I fantasized about sex. I talked about it and wrote about it.

But I never had it. And I couldn’t “get it over with” even if I wanted to.

Let me be clear – I do not subscribe to the idea of “losing one’s virginity” because it defines sex as man-woman, penis-vagina penetration, which is narrow and exclusive, and who’s losing what and who’s winning what exactly? It just feels like yet another way to shame women. But I appreciated Poehler’s advice nonetheless. It made me feel a bit better about not having done it yet.

As a chronically-single woman in her mid-twenties, weddings have never been my thing, but I looked forward to going to my friends’ wedding in South Korea. The couple, Matt and Ga Young, were more like family than friends and I loved them more than my own self-pity.

There are 6,927 miles between Austin, Texas, and Seoul, South Korea. When we landed in Incheon, we had traveled for over 30 hours, gone through airport security in three countries, and crossed the International Date Line. I was sweaty and tired and desperately wanted to change my underwear.

Once we got our luggage, Matt found his friend, Jack, who was joining us for the wedding and had also just landed from Vietnam.

When the four of us arrived at our Airbnb, we took turns taking showers and getting ready to go out. I’m not sure if it was because he was greasy from his travels or if I was so focused on getting a shower I didn’t notice, but it wasn’t until after we all got cleaned up when I realized how attractive Jack was. He was tall, had a great smile, and a swagger in his step. He wore tight jeans tucked into boots and a tee-shirt that read, “Never Give Up.”

Matt and Ga Young lead us through the streets of Seoul while we took photos of the mismatched neon lights and remnants of ancient architecture nestled between urban skyscrapers. Jack asked me to help him with a few of his camera settings, claiming his photography skills were rusty. He teased me by calling the settings by his own layman’s terms – for example, referring to “shutter speed” as “exposure time.” As a filmmaker and an academic, that kind of nerdy humor tickled me.

We ate dinner at a barbeque restaurant where Matt and Ga Young taught Jack and me Korean dining customs. The youngest person at the table has to serve everyone else’s drinks and turn away whenever she takes a sip. The youngest person happened to be me. Jack enjoyed making me serve everyone. He also playfully reminded me to look away from them every time I drank. I couldn’t help but enjoy the attention.

After dinner, we returned to the convenience store outside our Airbnb. Matt bought us a bottle of Soju – Korea’s most popular liquor, which also happens to taste like watered down rubbing alcohol. He invited a group of older Korean men sitting at a table close by to join us. Only one of them came over. His name was Yante and called himself the “King of the Neighborhood.” He didn’t speak a word of English, so he made Ga Young translate back and forth.

While everyone else was chatting, Jack and I took the opportunity to get to know each other better. He had moved to Vietnam about a year before to chase his roots. He was smart, funny, and had a massive appetite for adventure.

The group caught on to our connection. Yante turned to Jack and pinched his thumb and pointer finger together to make a heart shape with his fingertips. With his other hand, he pointed to Jack and me and said something in Korean. Ga Young laughed, “He’s asking if you’re in love.” Jack shook his head, brushing it off, “No, we’re just friends.”

Ga Young translated Yante’s reply:

“That’s how it always starts.”

The next morning, Matt and Ga Young had a long list of things they needed to do to prepare for the wedding, so Jack joined me on my self-guided tour through Seoul. We were in our own little world, talking and walking for miles between sites. I was blown away by the beauty that surrounded us but couldn’t appreciate it fully because I was distracted by how desperately I wanted him to kiss me.

And finally, when we were in Insadong – Seoul’s “Bohemian quarter” – Jack pulled me down an alleyway and planted one on me. The rest of the day we visited temples, parks, and shopping centers, talking, flirting, and making out in tucked away corners. I was Eat-Pray-Loving my way through South Korea!

That night, we met Matt and Ga Young to go bar hopping. Jack and I were leaning against the bar waiting for our drinks, and he started asking me about my relationship history.

Jack asked, “How many boyfriends have you had?”

I shook my head, “None.”

“Really?”

I shrugged, “Yeah, it’s just never worked out for me.”

“Well when’s the last time you had sex?”

It could have been the alcohol in my system or because I had vacation-brain, but I felt like being very – very – honest. “Sex? I’ve never had any.”

He choked on his beer, “What?!”

At this point, my speech felt pretty rehearsed. I explained it to a lot of guys who didn’t and will never understand. One guy laughed in my face. Another promised to call me and never spoke to me again. Another texted me the next day to say he couldn’t date me anymore because sex was “too important” to him. All I knew was rejection, and I was pretty sure I was going to die alone after a long, loveless and sexless life. But if Jack was mean or hurtful or just not interested in me anymore, I wouldn’t have to see him ever again – he literally lived on the opposite side of the world. Plus, I would have a little buffer room for the next couple of days. I had planned to break off from the group and go to Busan – Korea’s second largest city – by myself before the wedding.

I didn’t have anything to lose.

I told him, “I have a pelvic floor condition called vaginismus. The muscles in and around my vagina involuntarily contract, so sex is really difficult – actually, it’s been impossible so far.”

“So, is there treatment for that?” He asked.

“Yes, I’ve been going to pelvic floor physical therapy for a few years. I’m in a really good place, I think I could do it.” Without having a partner, it was sometimes difficult to measure my progress in physical therapy, but I had recently been able to use what my physical therapist described as a “penis-sized” dilator.

Without skipping a beat, he offered, “I’ll take your virginity.”

Then we both burst out laughing. I was totally thrown off-guard. I was staring into the big brown eyes of this gorgeous, smart guy who was smiling back at me after I just admitted to being a 25-year-old virgin. He wasn’t turned off or put off or intimidated. He was still into me, he could see past this. I didn’t think anyone ever would.

I excused myself to go to the restroom so I could take a second to absorb what just happened. His response was so supportive and compassionate and sexy. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to have sex!

As I washed my hands, Jack burst into the women’s room, pushed me against the wall and kissed me hard. “I want to go to Busan with you tomorrow.”

The next morning, Jack met me at Seoul Station. As soon as we took our seats on the train, I wondered, WHAT THE HELL am I thinking?! I only met this guy 36-hours ago, and now we’re traveling in a foreign country together. Neither of us speaks the language. I’ve agreed to share my Airbnb with him and we’re planning on having sex.

I am definitely going to be murdered.

I didn’t even know if I could have sex, but, based on his reaction the night before, I felt like he would be understanding if I couldn’t. He was the first potential partner that I really felt like was taking a chance with me, rather than just seeing how far he could get.

Our Airbnb was a small, adorable studio apartment in a high-rise with floor to ceiling windows overlooking an incredible view of Busan’s most popular beach.

We started making out and he lead me to the bed. He lifted my dress up to my chest and removed my Spanx. We found that too much fingering and oral hurt after a bit. He asked if we should “just do it,” and I nodded. LET’S DO IT. So he rummaged in his bag for a condom. I told him to insert himself with my inhale as I was taught in physical therapy. I took a deep breath and he slipped inside.

It wasn’t like how I expected. I didn’t feel even an ounce of self-consciousness about my body. I didn’t worry about any of the sounds I was making – or not making. I didn’t feel like I was doing it wrong or that I needed to perform.

It was beautiful and amazing and perfect. I did have some pain, but he took his time and made sure I was ok along the way.

I held him tight as he finished and then I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. It was so overwhelming and I was so happy.

I thought of all the times guys rejected me for not being able to have sex and broke my heart. Or the times I left doctors’ offices in tears with no answers. How completely hopeless I felt after weeks and months and years of physical therapy.

Jack told me that it was “intense and really special.” He said he’d never forget it. He kissed me, gently ran his fingers through my hair and whispered, “You’re worth a little patience.”

That’s all I’d ever wanted: for someone to like me enough, to believe that I was worth the wait.

I had written off ever falling in love, getting married, or having kids, because having a functioning vagina seems to be a prerequisite for all those things. But now it felt possible.

The rest of our trip was incredible. Jack and I spent another magical day in Busan, which I now consider my favorite city in the world. We later met the rest of the wedding party in Ga Young’s hometown of Daegu. I loved every moment getting to know Matt and Ga Young’s families. Their wedding was the most beautiful event I’ve ever witnessed and I cried the entire time, even though the ceremony was done completely in Korean and I didn’t understand a single word of it.

For a few months after I got back home, Jack and I talked on the phone for hours every day. Even with the 12-hour time difference between Austin and Ho Chi Mihn City, we managed to always be in touch. I cried over him a lot. I shamelessly belt out Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles” in my car more than I’d care to admit.

When I told people that it finally happened, they’d say, “Congratulations!” and then immediately take it back, worried that it was an inappropriate response. I’d assure them that it was the only response when someone achieves a goal she has been working very hard at for a very long time.

I knew that the act of having sex wasn’t going to change me; it wasn’t going to make me a better, more complete person. For me, it was really all about connecting with someone in a way I never have before – in a way all my peers were able to and I couldn’t.

I’ve heard a lot of my friends’ stories about their first times – and most of them were pretty terrible. I wish we didn’t put so much emphasis on the idea of “losing one’s virginity” and shaming those who “keep it” longer than average. I wish we taught girls to start having sex when they’re physically, emotionally, and mentally ready, rather than feeding them all kinds of contradictory messages that create timelines and deadlines – like “wait for marriage” or “hooking up is an important part of the college experience.” I think my experience was so great because I was listening to my body, being brave, taking a chance, and being exactly, precisely, 100% true to myself.

If I ever meet Amy Poehler, and I really hope I do, I’m going to tell her that I listened to her advice and did not have sex for the first time in a car. But, I’m really glad that I didn’t just “get it over with,” because my first time was absolutely worth the wait.

#Happiness

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foursprouthappiness-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Why Waiting Until 25 To Lose My Virginity Was The Best Decision I Could’ve Made

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/why-waiting-until-25-to-lose-my-virginity-was-the-best-decision-i-couldve-made-2/

Why Waiting Until 25 To Lose My Virginity Was The Best Decision I Could’ve Made

Drew Wilson

But I never had it. And I couldn’t “get it over with” even if I wanted to.

Once we got our luggage, Matt found his friend, Jack, who was joining us for the wedding and had also just landed from Vietnam.

Ga Young translated Yante’s reply:

“That’s how it always starts.”

That night, we met Matt and Ga Young to go bar hopping. Jack and I were leaning against the bar waiting for our drinks, and he started asking me about my relationship history.

Jack asked, “How many boyfriends have you had?”

I shook my head, “None.”

“Really?”

I shrugged, “Yeah, it’s just never worked out for me.”

“Well when’s the last time you had sex?”

It could have been the alcohol in my system or because I had vacation-brain, but I felt like being very – very – honest. “Sex? I’ve never had any.”

He choked on his beer, “What?!”

I didn’t have anything to lose.

“So, is there treatment for that?” He asked.

Without skipping a beat, he offered, “I’ll take your virginity.”

As I washed my hands, Jack burst into the women’s room, pushed me against the wall and kissed me hard. “I want to go to Busan with you tomorrow.”

I am definitely going to be murdered.

Our Airbnb was a small, adorable studio apartment in a high-rise with floor to ceiling windows overlooking an incredible view of Busan’s most popular beach.

It was beautiful and amazing and perfect. I did have some pain, but he took his time and made sure I was ok along the way.

I held him tight as he finished and then I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. It was so overwhelming and I was so happy.

Jack told me that it was “intense and really special.” He said he’d never forget it. He kissed me, gently ran his fingers through my hair and whispered, “You’re worth a little patience.”

That’s all I’d ever wanted: for someone to like me enough, to believe that I was worth the wait.

I had written off ever falling in love, getting married, or having kids, because having a functioning vagina seems to be a prerequisite for all those things. But now it felt possible.

#Happiness

0 notes

its-just-like-the-movies · 7 years ago

Text

Hustle & Flow (05, A-)

What film has everyone experienced recently where you walked in with positive expectations, only to have them surpassed on pretty much every level? For me that film was Hustle & Flow, the best film about a difficult musician to come out of 2005. No, this is not just a blatant dig at Walk the Line, which I found to be solidly made and amazingly stogy (though it partially is that). On its own terms and in comparison to those basic musician biopic tendencies, Hustle & Flow succeeds remarkably at digging into the world and wants of its characters, of what music means for them on a personal level and what they hope it will do for them. Specifically, it’s what DJay wants to achieve by becoming a professional rapper, and how his ambition festers into those of his collaborators. It’s hard not to think of a character in the film that isn’t sucked into the vortex of DJay’s charismatic ambition except the few who violently reject it, and who he fights back in response. Even if I expected to enjoy the film walking in, expected to enjoy the work of Terrence Howard, Taraji P. Henson, and Three Six Mafia’s miraculously Oscar-winning songwork, I didn’t expect Hustle & Flow to hit me as hard as it did, digging deeper and more comfortably into a seedier character than I had expected while still giving rounded portraits of him and the people in his orbit. I didn’t expect the film to be as earnest as it was about DJay’s dreams, his anxieties, and for everything I liked about it to be handled even more dexterously than it was. In short, I expected everything to be good, but I didn’t expect it to be this fantastic.

My very first sign that I was in for something wonderful came within seconds, as DJay tells a character we can’t see about the profound difference between mankind and dogs. It’s a killer monologue in itself, the power of it heightened by Terrence Howard’s performance of that speech, the intensity of his delivery and of his gaze at whoever he’s talking to, and the slow pan from his mouth that reveals we are inside a crappy car. I’ve never seen a black character so visibly operating on a low income saying something so weighty, let alone at the opening of the film, and not without something taking the piss out of it right after. Instead, we cut to the person he’s talking to, and find her to be in serious consideration of his ultimate question - What do you wanna do with your life, and what will you do to get it? This woman is a prostitute, played in blonde mini-braids by Orange is the New Black’s Taryn Manning, and her ruminations on that question are muddled both by DJay’s actual designs in asking the question - trying to make her more confident about working the streets - and that he cuts her off before she can think of an actual answer as a car pulls in next to theirs, and Manning’s Nola hops out of the car to take care of him.

From here we are slowly and surely introduced to the people that surround DJay and will end up assisting him as he tries to put his mixtape together. The impetus behind it, to burn a tape in time for the Fourth of July party in celebration of underground local turned platinum-album rapper Skinny Black that DJay at best kind of knows but has never met, would smack of Obviously Sad Pipe Dream, if not for how seriously and sincerely it’s handled on every side. The commitment from every contributor is palpable, and everyone involved brings their own reason for wanting to help DJay make this tape, as much for themselves as it is for him. Old school friend Key sees this as a way to make it big, get a real recording studio, and move beyond recording gospel albums and court depositions. Nola still can’t quite figure out what she wants but knows enough that she doesn’t want the life she has. Even if DJay doesn’t know Skinny Black, he’s as confident about his ability to hustle him as he is in his ability to use his music, his prostitutes, his allies, to get what he wants. We see his seriousness not just in how he commits himself to his music, but the way he removes obstacles in the way of that ambition. Neighbors are bribed, expensive equipment is exchanged for the women in DJay’s employ, two people are kicked out of his house after one belittles his ambition as a rapper and a hustler (the other can do nothing but watch and leave). His truest ally is the sweet, anxious, heavy pregnant Shug, happy to help in whatever way she can. The giving of a gift to DJay, Key, and sound-mixer Shelby is the most validating encouragement DJay receives the whole film, and one he rewards in kind soon after. In fact, Hustle & Flow is generous enough to let most of its characters end the film at a better place than where they started it, even if it’s not near the place they were expecting to finish.

Still, the most interesting steps taken in validating DJay’s ambitions is the construction of his character and his paragon ideas about Skinny Black and his tale of success. Black’s beginnings as an underground rapper whose tapes lit up Memphis inspires DJay to no end, believing their mutual talents would make them kindred spirits while nevertheless projecting a love and loyalty to Memphis onto Black that he has no way to corroborate from Black until the party. The casting of Ludacris legitimizes Black as a genuine success, but that doesn’t change the fact that everything DJay is hoping he will be is reliant on his own ideas about the man and what he can do to get his way. More interestingly, DJay’s admiration of Black’s road to success in no way leads to him considering taking the same path to break out. Yes, he wants to be on the radio, but his first and only presumed stop is to put that cassette tape in Skinny Black’s hand however he can, fully trusting Black will listen to it, and piggybacking a rise to fame off Black’s endorsement of his track. Repeatedly in the script, DJay is confronted by characters who fear he’ll use them or know he already has in order to get what he wants, and the biggest success writer/director Craig Brewer and Terrence Howard pull over us is how fully this remains true even as we’re shown DJay’s talent in the recording studio. The man is a talented rapper, but Howard plays scenes like his introductory conversation with Nola, his promise to get Skinny Black to back the album, his actual conversation with Black, all in the same kind of seductive, charismatic key. The power and conviction of his words, no matter how effective (or not) they are on whoever he’s talking to, have the slightly hollow edge of someone who knows that, more than anything, what he’s saying is what the other person wants to hear so that they’ll do what he wants. His approach is textured differently enough depending on who he’s talking to, but we’re still able to see when he’s grasping at straws versus when he knows he’s completely in charge of the situation, able to see the suggestibility of his words without always knowing his sincerity. The way he approaches his success as a rap artist is exactly the same way he approaches his success

What’s equally impressive in Howard’s performance is that DJay maintains a genuine level of unpredictability in how he interacts with people. The earlier mentioned bribing of his neighbor, the trading of a prostitute for a piece of sound equipment, his affection towards a gift from Shug, none of these scenes start with the indication that Howard and Brewer are going to be taking them there. His long conversation with Skinny Black shifts on a dozen emotional beats, each uncomfortably tense as we try and guess what DJay is thinking, watching him strategizing to hustle Black and get him what he wants. If there’s a certain level where you know his warmest reactions are undeniably sincere (most often in his interactions with Shug), it makes his most violent responses matter all the more when he unleashes them. His abandoning of a character who verbally disparages him is upsetting on behalf of everyone in the room, and the tremors where he’s clearly struggling to captivate Black are all the more troubling because we have no idea what he’ll do if Black laughs him out of the bar. It’s almost too easy to compare this to Walk the Line, but what Howard’s hypnotically charismatic, ambitious, and abusive performance does is put Hustle & Flow only a stone’s throw away from Synecdoche, New York, another film about a self-absorbed artist whose ambition is constantly threatening to collapse not just his life but an ever-growing cabal of supporters and collaborators who’ve thrown their lot in with him. We learn about DJay with every interaction he has, each one artfully weaving together a full portrait of the man inside a lowkey, charismatic interpretation by Terrence Howard that elevated the whole project for me.

And yet, like the best leading performances, his interpretation is generous enough to let other characters refract off him as much as they refract onto him, finding room for his castmates to shine in a film that nevertheless is completely in his headspace. The good-dude qualities and unearthed ambitions of Anthony Anderson’s Key are as palpable as the questioning loyalties of Taryn Manning’s Nola. DJ Qualls stoner sound-mixer Shelby registers as convincingly as Paula Jai Parker’s fed-up stripper, Elise Neal’s incredibly small arc as Key’s conflicted but generous wife, and Ludacris’s egotistical but seemingly receptive take on Skinny Black. Taraji P. Henson, a million miles away from her cat-glamour persona as the sweaty, genteel, unsure of herself Shug, does wonders in putting forward her essential goodness and decency, second only to Amy Adams’ Junebug that same year in a similar kind of part. Henson’s delicate work as Shug gives the film a tender center it at times seems inhospitable to, and does astonishing work in a long sequence where she is coached into singing the hook of one of DJay’s tracks, giving a memorably awed response to hearing how it’s been mixed into the track. Perhaps even better is her giddy enthusiasm when giving him gifts at two different points in the film, once leaving before she has a chance to respond, the other time delighted and overjoyed by his response.

If anything, Three Six Mafia gives Brewer and Howard even more support with their songs, deeply specific to DJay’s homemade rhymes and the autobiographical qualities of his lyrics. They’re the songs he for sure would write about himself, and the staging of them firmly roots the film in the world of one creating music, rather than the strange semi capital-M-musical stagings of Walk the Line. Some musical performances in that film functioned as direct commentary on the situations and relationships of the character, while others are allowed to just be performances, and on top of all that we a treated to the sight of June Carter writing Ring of Fire in direct response to witnessing another one of Johnny Cash’s meltdowns. Hustle & Flow’s are very much the creative outlet for a man writing about his own life, for better and for worse, but they’re allowed to be deeply personal and resonant while still being jams in a way that Walk the Line could never balance as deftly. The recording sessions are some of the most exuberant sequences in the whole film, bolstered by the enthusiasm of the characters and the surges of creativity and creation going on between DJay, Key, and Shelby. Egg cartons stapled to the walls are interesting visual textures and vivid signifiers of just how much DJay and his cohorts are scraping this homemade operation together from nearly nothing.

I’ve said already that Hustle & Flow leaves its characters somewhere that’s better off from where a less generous film might leave them, even if it’s not where they were initially hoping for. Still, Brewer’s smart enough to dilute the idea of just how well any character’s been left off, or what they’ve gotten out of their new lives. Nola’s go-getter, in-charge revivification still relies on her pulling the same tricks in a more business-like outfit, and probably doomed to be undone once DJay is able to step up again; Key, Shug, and Shelby are all back to the same gigs they did before, waiting for DJay to get out of limbo. DJay himself ends the film talking to two characters who have a proposition for him much like the one he gave Skinny Black, and his smirk of a response doesn’t indicate in the slightest whether or not he’ll help these men as much as Black helped him. This already on top of him giving an impassioned speech about the dreams we tell ourselves only for the ironic reveal of DJay somehow getting one step closer to achieving his, in spite of the previous ten minutes. Hustle & Flow leaves itself and its characters deliciously open-ended, signalling potential for plenty of paths for these people to follow without signalling any one, obvious road about to be taken. Then again, the film had been doing this for most of its run time, obfuscating an obvious trajectory through sheer specificity of its characters, their situation, and their performers. It’s a triumphant film, not just better than it looks at face value but stupendous on its own merit. And yet, once you start it, it’s power is undeniable. On almost every side the film delivers the best possible version of itself it can give, and damn is it a treat to savor.

#my posts #my reviews #hustle & flow #2005

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foursprout-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Why Waiting Until 25 To Lose My Virginity Was The Best Decision I Could’ve Made

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/why-waiting-until-25-to-lose-my-virginity-was-the-best-decision-i-couldve-made-2/

Why Waiting Until 25 To Lose My Virginity Was The Best Decision I Could’ve Made

Drew Wilson

But I never had it. And I couldn’t “get it over with” even if I wanted to.

Once we got our luggage, Matt found his friend, Jack, who was joining us for the wedding and had also just landed from Vietnam.

Ga Young translated Yante’s reply:

“That’s how it always starts.”

That night, we met Matt and Ga Young to go bar hopping. Jack and I were leaning against the bar waiting for our drinks, and he started asking me about my relationship history.

Jack asked, “How many boyfriends have you had?”

I shook my head, “None.”

“Really?”

I shrugged, “Yeah, it’s just never worked out for me.”

“Well when’s the last time you had sex?”

It could have been the alcohol in my system or because I had vacation-brain, but I felt like being very – very – honest. “Sex? I’ve never had any.”

He choked on his beer, “What?!”

I didn’t have anything to lose.

“So, is there treatment for that?” He asked.

Without skipping a beat, he offered, “I’ll take your virginity.”

As I washed my hands, Jack burst into the women’s room, pushed me against the wall and kissed me hard. “I want to go to Busan with you tomorrow.”

I am definitely going to be murdered.

Our Airbnb was a small, adorable studio apartment in a high-rise with floor to ceiling windows overlooking an incredible view of Busan’s most popular beach.

It was beautiful and amazing and perfect. I did have some pain, but he took his time and made sure I was ok along the way.

I held him tight as he finished and then I began to cry. I couldn’t help it. It was so overwhelming and I was so happy.

Jack told me that it was “intense and really special.” He said he’d never forget it. He kissed me, gently ran his fingers through my hair and whispered, “You’re worth a little patience.”

That’s all I’d ever wanted: for someone to like me enough, to believe that I was worth the wait.

I had written off ever falling in love, getting married, or having kids, because having a functioning vagina seems to be a prerequisite for all those things. But now it felt possible.

#Happiness

0 notes