#i learned the alphabet in middle school and then realized it’s so hard to self study for me

[mysicksecrets]

ever since like 7th grade i’ve just wanted to learn japanese and i never have time to do it. i want to take a class for it but i don’t have time for it in my premed schedule and that makes me so sad </3

[gaymershigh]

hulloh! I've only been on tumblr for a few hours, and me and my friend already love your work! Is it ok if I request some TWST parent scenarios with Riddle,Lilia,Sebek,Vil and Floyd? If so, thanks! Also once again, me and my freind love ur works alot!

Of course! Since there's no s/o really mentioned in here but people might still want to be included, s/o will be mentioned just a tiny bit (the kids being biological or adopted is up to you since I want to make the s/o gender neutral.) Also, thanks a lot! I'm still and probably be forever an amateur writer so this means a lot to me 🥺💞💞

Triggers: None

Parents au: Riddle, Lilia, Sebek, Vil and Floyd edition!

From what we've seen, his parents are not the best role models like, at all. They were too strict, pressuring him and treating him like a trophy child. However, he will definitely not treat his child like that at all after Ace slapped him with reality.

He will be a bit strict, having some rules and will scold them if they did something wrong but not as scold them the way his mother does. He won't raise his voice at them, showing them the right path after he scolded them. He will give them freedom and try his best to not make his children suffer the same thing he did, especially when he's the source of the pain.

Though, he might accidentally adapt some things from his mother and project her ways to his children, being completely not self aware. If you're his s/o, please teach him the baby steps to avoid this from this occurring too often.

Unfortunately, having a good life and children won't make his short temper extend. This is the only reason why he doesn't spoil them too much, they might act entitled and may be too late to change them back to the innocent infant they were back then. He tries very hard to control his temper if his children unintentionally knock furniture over or damage something. He just needs a few minutes alone, everything will be back to normal later.

There was one time where his child's birthday was near and decided to bake a cake from scratch, without any assistance from Trey nor his s/o. Thinking he could do it and don't want anyone to underestimate him. He was planning to make a burnt strawberry cheesecake and did the mistake of leaving the oven on for an hour for 400 degrees fahrenheit. The cake went on fire but it tasted very good when he for some reason tasted it. Nobody knew about the incident and the cake was actually used for its purpose. Yay for him, I guess.

He was already pretty outdated in trends when he was in his teens so do expect him to be like a middle aged soccer mom on Facebook every time his children send him memes or something like that. If he does even use any sort of social media and stumbled upon a 'funny' minion meme or something, he will definitely send it to the family group chat. He will make those 5th grade types of edits with one of the family pictures with a "I love my family". It's funny but still wholesome so don't laugh at him.

There is no alternate universe where Lilia isn't a good dad. Silver and his other wards are already an amazing example of how amazing of a parent he is! He has gained a bunch of experience so he got this in the bag.

Though, his way of taking care of children might be different from how it is now. Times have changed, there are probably some new and uncomplicated objects or toys to entertain the baby or child. He would love to go on a shopping trip to buy some fascinating kids toys he found in the toy store. Please stop him from buying everything in there because it looks "intriguing".

If you're his s/o, you're very lucky since if you have a baby who always cries at three in the morning or a kid who really have trouble sleeping, Lilia will sing a lullaby and they'll doze off in any second. He can wake up easily or he'll just always stay up playing his games so you don't even need to break a sweat in this situation.

His kids or any kid in general loves him lots. He will always tell his tales anywhere, anytime. If the kids ask him for a story to tell, he will always have a new one ready to tell. They also make amazing bedtime stories! It can be funny little innocent stories like his funny experiences taking care of his three wards to actual battles he went through. Any story is a good story.

He really got along with his child when they're young and innocent but when they get into their teenage years, oh boy. He will unintentionally embarrasses them but their friends won't mind. If anything, they will love him being around as he's always keeping up with the games and trends, not being a fat, shirtless creepy dad. One of the positive parts about his child growing up is that he can play video games with him just like he did with Silver! Reliving the nice memories.

He would always try to cook something in any opportunity he gets and of course, he gets stopped by either s/o or his own children. Yes, they have to go through the hard way to realize their father is garbage at cooking. He would always try to cook some food everytime something good has happen in order to celebrate but most of the times, he just wants to cook something for them to show how much he loves them. They really made him happy, he finally have a biological/adopted offspring to watch growing up (again).

Sebek unfortunately doesn't have that much time to spend time with his children due to being Malleus' trusted escort. Of course, when he does have free time and is not exhausted he will use the opportunity to spend it with his adorable younglings.

Knowing him, he still loves and worships Malleus but he's no longer his only priority in life when he finally has a life of his own other than just being Malleus' bodyguard. He will ramble and tell so many stories about his young master to his kids. They will be infatuated but will later complain about how everything is just "Malleus this, Malleus that". He will get a bit upset about that comment, so he will only talk about Malleus stories for 3 days a week.

He only has focused his life on guarding Malleus and advancing himself on magic and education. Now that he's now an actual father, this is a new chapter in his life and he's not prepared at all. He will seek Lilia for guidance and of course, Lilia being Lilia will rope him to doing something absolutely ridiculous and he would of course, woefully fall for it. Pretty surprising that no matter how much he has fallen for his teacher's trap, he still seeks him for advice.

His kids will definitely learn how to read fast. He loves reading and he really wants his kids to appreciate it too. He was about to immediately give them the books that have old and poetic language without even knowing what the alphabet was. Lilia put a stop to this and you couldn't even bear seeing how sad he looked because he needs to wait for a few years for him to have little reading buddies. Oh well, it doesn't matter now. He will teach them how to read and appreciate the art of reading no matter how long it takes.

He has exposed his children to a bunch of Malleus propaganda so there's no surprise if the children become just like him. Loud screaming, Malleus worshipping, smart but naive and other things Sebek has. If you're his s/o, please keep the children in check as they might cause problems to the neighbors. As this might be troublesome, it's at least entertaining experience I suppose.

Just like Sebek, he has even less time to spend with his kids as he always has modeling, acting and other businesses to attend. He's probably going to be exhausted when he comes back as well. Though, of course he's going to try to use all his energy to talk to his children till he can no longer open his eyes anymore. He prefers an s/o that is a stay-in mom/dad so the children won't feel lonely while he's gone.

They're definitely gonna grow up just like him. A model, actor, media influencer, or the combination of the three and it's not a bad thing. If they're going on the same route as him, he will teach them in a strict but still in a somewhat caring manner as he has learned a lot from his experience of the VDC boot camp and the overblot incident. He will only show his threatening side if they start to misbehave like those ADeuce rats.

Just because they are his children, doesn't mean they get a free pass if they intentionally neglect or not doing their best at all times, especially when it comes to appearance. He's known to be a neat-freak and a very hard worker to the point it's concerning. He will scold them if more than two pimples pop up on their face but he knows when to cross the line. He learned this easier if their child is rather sensitive and just emotionally fragile in general but they still need to take care of themselves.

He expects his children to follow his footsteps when it comes to where they're schooling. He wants them to enter a prestigious school like he did for his reputation and for the sake of his children's future. This is optional (not really) but he also hopes his children to enter Pomefiore as well and take the dorm head title at least the second week they enroll in this school. If they were sorted to a different dorm, they still want them to have a role in their dorm or in the school at all.

He begs to the Great Seven that paparazzi or desperate losers obsessing over him don't intrude into his personal life, especially if it's about his family. The last thing he wants to witness is his family in pain or being uncomfortable for their whole life. He usually avoids or straight up tells the interviewer that he's not comfortable answering questions when they're going too personal when it's about questions of his family.

You cannot feel anymore blessed when you see his smiling face when he received news about having a vacation. He can finally spend more time with his wonderful kids he's raising with all his heart. He will tell them about some funny incidents in the studio while he was involved in some modeling gig or he will bring them to a private island with gorgeous scenery for both of them to enjoy. Of course, his children's happy faces are more beautiful than the island.

Floyd is seen to be very warm and sweet despite having a very intimidating height. Naturally, he's not going to be ruthless and act the same when it's with his children because it's his children of course, family is precious to him. He has a lot of energy even after a long shift at Mostro Lounge, so he will always spend a lot of time with his kids.

He's physically affectionate so expect him to be always close and wrapping his arms around his children at almost all times. He'll usually let them sit on his lap when they watch TV or sleep with them if they can't go back to sleep because of a nightmare. Headpats are needed, especially if the kids did something good or got good news. Not saying he won't give any headpats if something bad happens, maybe headpats of sympathy perhaps.

He's very patient when it's with his children because he doesn't want his children to fear him when they grow up. If anything, the s/o have to do the scolding to avoid him snapping or anything like the sort. They rarely do anything bad though, since they're aware of how their dad acts from how he treats a dirty burglar who once tried to break in.

Since he's usually very active and hates just standing around, he expects his children to be just like him. It's never boring if your dad is Floyd as he always has something really entertaining to do at most times. If you're his s/o, you have the free entrance to see an eel man dancing around with his kids or playing some basketball either inside or preferably in the backyard. He tried showing the art of parkour but is stopped due to it being very risky. He sulked about this but oh well, once they're ten, they have no choice but to learn it!

Floyd is an amazing cook and he sometimes lets his children be involved like chopping some vegetables or stirring the macaroni. He sometimes teaches them the perfect way of doing it or let's them try doing their own meal with his assistance. There was one time they decided to make one of the weirdest food combinations and try to eat it, he won and ate it all as it was too gross for the kids to eat it. It's not gonna be a surprise if everyone in this household is an expert cook when Floyd is here.

If possible, he really wants to bring his kids at work no matter how troublesome they could get. If Azul has a "bring your kids to work" day (which I doubt of him doing), he's going to bring all his children no matter how many he has. If there's no day like that, who cares! He's bringing his kids anyway and nobody's stopping him. Sure, he will get scolded by Azul but if that's the only thing stopping him then he'll take his chances.

I don't if it's still Christmas or not since I don't celebrate it but if it's still is, Merry Christmas! 🎉 I'll just say this is a Christmas gift for you and your friend, Mouaietaru! Especially for that Jamil and Silver fanfic that you made. It's very good, keep up the fantastic work! ✨✨✨

-𝕸𝖎𝖗𝖎

[izzielizzie]

could u do a short Rosalind and Tommy fic?

This is by no means short and also it’s not that great but enjoy anyway! Also? the football coach? Definitely took some inspiration from my soccer coach. 

Tommy was having, to put it plainly, a terrible day.

It had started that morning, when he awoke to the most obnoxious bang he had ever heard. Not fully awake yet, Tommy jumped, falling out of his bed.

"Where's the canon?" Tommy mumbled, running his fingers through his rumpled dark hair. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't talking to anyone. Tommy made the effort to scramble off the floor and venture out of his room, calling for his parents as he looked into the rooms of his house. Empty. He glanced out of the kitchen window and saw his older brother Nick in the driveway. "Nick?"

"Out here Kid!" Nick called back from the driveway.

"Obviously," Tommy mumbled. Nick was back from the military for a two month long vacation, something that had been as much of a surprise to Nick as it had been to his loved ones, and in the past three days Nick had managed to cause general chaos on their beloved Gardam Street.

Tommy pushed through the side door, bypassing the coat rack on his way out. This was his first mistake.

He stepped into the frigid early December air to see Nick staring into the hood of his car.

"What was that noise?" Tommy asked, stepping up next to his brother.

"The car, I -"

"Hello," a voice called from across the street, interrupting Nick. The brothers turned to see Rosalind, Skye, and Jane Penderwick trekking across the frost covered street to their house, Jane in the lead, waving at them. "Whoops," she said as she nearly slipped. Tommy saw Skye roll her eyes at Jane, but he looked past her at Rosalind. Tommy smiled at her, despite the intense shivering that overtook him. She looked adorable in her beige peacoat and black cap that looked a little like a beret, sitting jauntily atop her curls. Rosalind raised a hand to wave at him, and Tommy waved back.

"You're going to get a cold," Rosalind said as a way of greeting when the sisters reached Tommy and Nick.

"No I'm not," Tommy responded, pulling her into him for warmth anyway. She giggled and rested her head on his chest, her arms around his waist.

"So what happened to the car Geiger?" Skye asked, punching Nick in the shoulder gently.

"Not sure," Nick says truthfully.

"Maybe the battery was stolen. We know how to put it back," Jane said, peering into the car, mimicking Nick's stance.

"No we don't banana head," Skye said, kicking at Jane's slippers with her own. Unlike their older sister, Jane and Skye were still wearing pajamas underneath their heavy sweaters. "We know how to remove one though," Skye added as an afterthought.

"Maybe not mention that out loud," Tommy joked as the rest of the Penderwick family approached them, Batty and Ben in the lead, Ben holding his sister's hand.

Nick instantly turned to swing Ben high above his head. "How are you doing on this fine morning Bravo-Echo-November?"

"Golf-Oscar-Oscar-Delta," the boy giggled as Nick placed him on his shoulders.

"Ugh Nick, don't encourage him," Rosalind said from her place in her boyfriend's arms. "He's been using that alphabet for the past two days."

"Buck up Rosy, Ben's learning how to spell," Mr. Penderwick said, clapping Tommy on the shoulder.

"Car trouble?" Iantha asked pleasantly, the last one to arrive. Like her step-daughter, she was dressed in her day clothes.

"It would seem so Iantha," Nick said solemnly. He brightened instantly though. "How's the baby?"

Iantha smiled like she did every time Nick asked that question. "Very good at sapping my energy," she said with a smile as she put a hand on her stomach.

"My brother's gonna be as cool as you!" Ben informed Nick with a little clap.

"Ben dear, the baby might be a girl," Rosalind said, shaking Ben's little foot from his high perch.

"No," Ben said in his stubborn voice. Rosalind rolled her eyes, but Tommy knew she was not actually upset. She loved Ben too much for that.

"Well, how will you get to school Tommy?" Batty asked, speaking for the first time. Both Geiger brothers looked at each other, not considering Tommy's options for getting to school.

"Are your parents at work?" Mr. Penderwick asked. He was dressed for work too, and Tommy noticed the car keys dangling from his hand. Both boys nodded. Tommy turned to Rosalind.

"Can I go with you Rosy?"

Rosalind's face fell. "Oh Tommy I'm sorry, but I'm not going to school remember?"

Oh. Rosy had taken the day before winter vacation off to drive to Rhode Island to take a self-guided tour of Brown, a college on her list for years.

"I remember. It's okay."

"Tommy if you're ready Iantha and I can take you on our way to the university," Mr. Penderwick said.

"It'll have to be right now though," Iantha added. "We have to go to the kindergarten and the elementary school first to drop off Ben and Batty."

Tommy looked down to his pajamas and his bare feet, which were becoming numb. "I might not be ready in time," he said.

"Why you can walk with us!" Jane said brightly. “And tell us about Russian class and your football team!”

Skye rolled her eyes again. As a freshman, Jane was still too excited about being in high school, and her excitement oozed into everything she said and did. 

“But we need to leave soon too. I have a question for my physics teacher,” Skye added.

Tommy agreed, and the two families dispersed, leaving Tommy to quickly pull on his warmest clothes and brush his teeth. He decided to forego breakfast, since Skye was ringing their doorbell incessantly. 

“Hey Nick, where’s my hat?” Tommy called to his brother, who was getting ready to go back to bed after calling the towing company. 

“Mom sent it to the cleaners!” Nick called back over the doorbell. 

Right, Mrs. Geiger - fed up with the mud Tommy got on his winter clothes - decided to send all of his outerwear to the cleaner, forcing Tommy to wear one of Mr. Geiger’s old jackets. Tommy - after realizing that he could search for the hat and annoy Skye and himself or just leave - called goodbye to his brother and stepped out. It somehow had become even colder than it had been earlier. 

Tommy walked to school behind the sisters, letting their conversations drift towards him as he shivered violently. As they neared the school, Jane looked back at him. 

“Are you alright?”

“Just cold.”

“Shall I bathe your forehead?”

“Jane stop with the forehead bathing. Not all ailments need you and your cold washcloths,” Skye said giving Tommy an apologetic look. 

“Why do you always ask?” Tommy asked, genuinely curious.

“Because no one ever said yes,” Jane said irritably. 

Tommy shook his head at Jane as his stomach rumbled. He ignored it.

He spent the next three and a half hours ignoring his stomach until his lunch block. 

“I have never seen you walk so fast,” Brendan - one of his football teammates - said as they headed to the cafeteria. 

“I haven’t eaten all day,” Tommy responded.

“Why?”

“Long story,” Tommy responded as he fished around in his school bag for his wallet. Tommy searched for a few moments, growing more and more panicked until he realized that his wallet was always in his gym bag which was always swung over his left sh-

Wait.

“Brendan have you seen my gym bag?” Tommy asked frantically as they stepped forward in the lunch line.

“No, you didn’t have it with you in class.”

“Oh no,” Tommy said, realizing that he had put his gym bag in Nick’s car. 

“What?”

“It’s in Nick’s car.”

“Can’t you go to the main office and call him? I mean he remembers how scary Coach is. He’ll drive it over.”

“Yes he would, except his car was towed since a pipe burst or something.”

Brendan nodded wisely. “Always the pipe.”

Tommy shook his head in exasperation. “What do I do?”

Brendan put a placating hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “The team will pool our money, don’t worry, and we’ll deal with Coach when we cross that bridge.”

Between Brendan and their teammates, they managed enough money for an apple, a bag of pretzels, and a carton of milk, which Tommy only managed to eat before the bell rang for their next class.

“Alright students, pull out your group projects, we’re presenting today,” their history teacher was saying as Tommy and another of his teammates - Jackson - entered the room.

“Group projects?” Tommy asked Jackson as they sat in their seats in the middle of the room. Tommy usually sat in the back, but Rosalind was in the class and she liked to sit in the front, so they compromised. 

“Yeah. About the Silk Road? Remember? You worked with Rosalind.”

“And she’s not here,” Tommy whispered harshly, briefly wondering how his day could have gotten this bad. 

Jackson made a face of comprehension. “Sorry Geiger, you’re on your own.”

They turned to their teacher as he started speaking. “Going alphabetically, Tommy Geiger and Rosalind Penderwick are first to present.”

With a sigh, Tommy raised his hand. “Yes?”

“Sir, Rosy - that is, Rosalind isn’t here today.”

Their teacher sighed. “Then present on your own please.”

“But, Rosalind has the project.”

“Why didn’t she give it to you?”

“She must have... I mean, I must have forgotten.”

“You forgot?” The look Tommy was receiving was worse than any of Rosy’s withering looks. Tommy sank down in in his seat a little as Jackson flinched sympathetically next to him.

“Yes sir.”

“Well, I hope you understand this will be reflected in both of your grades.”

“Yes sir, I know sir,” Tommy said, mentally kicking himself. He didn’t care much for his grade but Rosy had worked so hard, and he hated for her to not get the marks she deserved. 

Tommy passed the next two classes in a blur tired hungry, cold, and more importantly, incredibly angry at himself for letting Rosy’s grade slip. 

He let himself wallow in self pity until he stepped out into the football field and realized - to his dismay - that it was snowing. And not the delicate flurries that had been falling on the walk to school. No, this was the heavy, wet snow, the kind that could block roads and make passing drills rather difficult. 

“Alright boys, into your workout clothes. Snow never stopped football players!”

“Have fun telling Coach,” Jackson said, referencing Tommy’s missing gym bag.

“We’ll wait for you in the locker room,” Brendan added more kindly. 

“Thanks,” Tommy mumbled as he headed towards his coach. “Coach?”

“Geiger! Into the locker room!”

“Yes sir, I will sir, but um...” Tommy trailed off, shaking his hands to get the cold numb feeling out of them. 

“Speak up!”

“I don’t have my gym bag.”

“Why?”

“It’s um, in Nick’s car? And it broke down?”

“Is that a question?”

“No? I mean... no.” Tommy kicked at the snow with his sneakers, not meeting his coach’s eye. 

“Well then, you can run laps.” 

Tommy looked up. “What?”

“You’re not getting a free pass Geiger.” Coach looked down at Tommy menacingly, as if he thought very little of people who tried to get out of football games. Not many things scared Tommy, but Coach was most definitely on the short list. 

“No sir. But what should I wear?”

“Jeans are fine.”

Tommy opened his mouth to ask another question, but his coach was already walking away. With a sigh, he went to the locker room to put his bag away. Thankfully, Brandon offered him one of his sweaters so Tommy would have only a slightly less chance of getting pneumonia. 

“Coach was brutal today,” Brandon announced three hours later as the boys headed to the parking lot. Tommy, trailing after them, shivering so violently his teeth were chattering. 

“At least you’re not Geiger,” a team member said, doubling back to clap Tommy on the shoulder. His knees nearly locked. “Sorry!”

“It’s f-f-fine,” Tommy responded as they neared the line of parked cars. 

“Want a ride home?” Brandon asked.

“He doesn’t need one,” Jackson said. 

“What?”

Jackson pointed to an old blue car at the edge of the parking lot, where a figure in a beige peacoat and a black cap was sitting on the hood of the car. Upon seeing the group of boys, the figure slid off the car. 

“But Rosy is in R-r-rhode Island,” Tommy said in disbelief. 

“Apparently not,” Jackson said with a grin.

“S-s-see you later,” Tommy said suddenly, breaking into a run despite his protesting legs. He barreled towards the car at full force, stopping only to grab Rosalind in a hug and swing her around, despite his screaming muscles. He could hear his teammates cheering somewhere behind them, but he was too busy hugging Rosalind as tight as he could. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked into her hair.

“The roads were closed so I cam back home. No point in being stranded in the middle of nowhere.”

“I missed you.”

“Gosh Tommy you’re so cold,” Rosalind said in response, pulling away.

“It’s been a long day Rosy,” Tommy said, brushing snow out of his girlfriend’s hair.

“Wait, tell me in a moment, let me grab something.” Rosalind reached into the car and pulled out a garment bag from the Cameron Dry Cleaners. She unzipped it to reveal Tommy’s jacket, hat, and gloves.

“How did you -”

“I remembered your mother brought them in last week and I needed to pick up some stuff for Batty and Jane. I thought you might be cold without them so I got yours too.”

With a laugh, Tommy reached forward and kissed Rosalind, long and hard. “Thank you. But did you pay?”

“Yes but don’t worry about it.”

Tommy nodded, secretly resolving to pay her back. He knew her family’s finances worried her. Unfortunately, Rosy knew him enough to know what he was thinking.”

“Stop worrying Tommy, really. Here, put these on you’re going to get sick.”

Rosalind helped him into his jacket. He pulled his gloves on, and with a giggle, Rosy pushed his hat onto his head. It didn’t fully sit on his head properly, but she looked so adorable standing on her toes to reach his head that he had to pull her in for another kiss, forgetting about the cold and the snow.

“Thanks beautiful,” he whispered to her.

“Any time. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Tommy took his usual spot in the passenger’s side, and Rosalind slid behind the wheel. “Oh, one more thing.” Rosalind pulled a thermos out from the back seat cupholder. “I made hot chocolate. I didn’t get to taste it but-”

Tommy cut her off by pulling her into him in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you Rosy.”

Rosalind pulled away, laughing. “Of course. I knew you’d be cold. Especially since I heard about your disastrous day.”

“You did? How?” Tommy asked, surprised, as Rosalind started the car and backed out of the lot. 

“Skye and Jane told me. Apparently you got yelled at during history?”

“It was project presentation day,” Tommy supplied. Rosalind glanced over at him. 

“Don’t worry about the grade. I’ll talk with him.”

“I feel so bad,” Tommy admitted.

“No, it was my job to remember to give it to you. Anyway, it’s winter vacation. Just enjoy the time off with your brother, okay?”

“And you,” Tommy said emphatically.

“And me,” Rosalind agreed. She cut a glance over to him as they turned into the chaos of Gardam street. “I love you Tommy.”

“I love you so much more. You have no idea.” 

Rosalind smiled. 

[noblesparrow]

I think I have ADHD.

I think the hardest thing I’m having to deal with right now is that I, my fiancé, and my fiancé’s family are all 99% sure I have undiagnosed ADHD as a 23 year old.

I’m in what is supposed to be my last semester in school and I just failed a test harder than I have ever failed a test in my entire academic career. If I work a miracle, I can still pass the class, but I mean near perfect grades on everything from here on.

I think it was my fiancé saying something about it that made me start looking into it. His little brother had BAD ADHD when they were kids. He knows what it looks like. He looked up little quizzes online with some questions that a doctor might ask to help give me an idea if I should go get checked out. I thought I would place in the ADD category, but nope. ADHD. All the way.

I’ve been looking up symptoms and finding things that I had been telling myself was laziness on my end are actually symptoms. Procrastinating on projects the require a lot of continuous thought, not being able to finish projects without getting bored, needing to get up and leave a room after sitting there for a long time (like a lecture, or sitting in an office), starting conversations or talking on the phone. There’s so much more and so much of it applies to me. I had no idea.

Since looking up these things, I’ve been trying to write it all down so I know what to tell the doctor when I go to talk about it. It got me thinking about when I was little, trying to trace the symptoms back as far as I can. I traced it back to elementary school.

I didn’t learn to read very well until 3rd grade. Don’t get me wrong. I knew my alphabet. I wasn’t illiterate, but I most certainly couldn’t read at the same level as the other kids. My parents said my teachers weren’t that great kindergarten through second grade, but I’m starting to wonder if it was the fact that I couldn’t focus enough to perfect the skills.

The reason I caught up with the other kids was because my third grade teacher made it her mission to get me reading at the same level, if not higher than the other students. And she did it. God bless Mrs. Garfinkle. And yes, she was as fun as her name sounds. I didn’t learn a lick of history that year, but we played with fire in science. As THIRD GRADERS. It was fantastic.

The real question though is: Why haven’t I been diagnosed if I’ve been showing for symptoms for this long? Answer: My parents don’t think ADHD is a real thing. Classic, right? I remember them saying “it’s just an excuse for kids to act out and not follow the rules”. I don’t have to ask them years later to know that their opinion hasn’t changed. If I went to them now and said that I think I need this looked at, they would tell me that I’m not trying hard enough to pay attention and that I’ve just been being lazy. Hm, that’s funny, because as an adult, shouldn’t I be able to pay attention without too much effort? I’ve had years to train myself to do it, and yet, I can’t. I’m in a career that I chose, I have hobbies that I love and yet, nothing gets done or it’s at snail’s pace. Is that not a red flag that maybe something’s wrong?

I’ve been able to squeeze by in school until now. I’m not trying to being arrogant when I say that I think I’m pretty smart. I made A’s, B’s, and a couple of C’s through out my elementary, middle school, and High school careers. The C’s didn’t start until 7th grade math class. I didn’t make a grade higher than a C in math until 11th grade, where I made an A in finance, and then I went right back to C’s when I was thrown into pre-calculus the next year. But, for the most part, I could half-ass my work still make decent grades.

For the past two or three semesters, though, I’ve hit my hardest college classes of my career. Tax, Auditing, Financial Statement Analysis, and more. What’s a creative mind doing in an Accounting program? That’s a story for another time. I’ve failed classes and I’m on the verge of failing another. I can’t fail this semester. I’m supposed to graduate and get married in less than a year. A possible full time job is depending on it, and here I am struggling to pay attention. As a 23-year-old. That doesn’t make any sense.

I wish I could go to my parents about it. I really do. That’s what they’re supposed to be there for, but I know they wouldn’t be. They would focus on my failings and not WHY those failings might be happening. They would want me to fix it their way and not look at other options that might also help.

I’ve said a lot, but there’s just so much. I hope that this is my problem. It would be such a relief to finally have an answer because that means something could be done about it. I could move forward. I could accomplish what I want to accomplish. I could actually be a functioning member of society without zoning out and missing what my boss is telling me, hear everything about my fiancé’s day with out drifting away into my thoughts, GRADUATE??

I’m trying to imagine what it’s like to actually be able to focus and not be at risk to drift away. I’m realizing now that I’ve never experienced that ever in my life. I’m becoming self aware and I don’t know what to do with it. I just hope a solution is in my future. And soon.

[purplesurveys]

711

How fast can you say the alphabet? I can say it quickly without my accent failing me, I guess? I’m too lazy to time it. What are you allergic to? None. How many serious relationships have you had? Just one. If you could read one person's mind, who would it be? I wouldn’t want to target one person like that. I’d only be picking my dog’s so I can hear what he thinks of me, ha. If someone dared you, what dare would you be afraid to attempt? Eating/drinking anything rotten.

How do you like your eggs? Scrambled or over easy. What's your most expensive piece of clothing? Probably my shoes. Most of them are several thousand bucks. What was your last big achievement? The last objectively big achievement I made was finishing the first half of my thesis and getting the go signal to finish the rest of it. But if we’re counting tiny steps that feel like big achievements, it’s having an article published in my org’s publication this week. I co-wrote it with JM and Rick, but it still feels nice to get to say I was productive during the quarantine. What famous person's memoir would you like to read? I’m willing to read anyone’s biography/autobiography since it’s one of my favorite genres. But at the moment I’m probably most willing to read something about Kim Jong Un since it’s generally hard to find material in North Korea as it is, and it would be fascinating to hear about their life and culture there. Have you ever had a "false alarm" moment, what was it about? Sure. A few months ago I was in Manila for a workshop and my car wouldn’t start when it was time to drive back home. Pressing any button on the key fob wouldn’t work and I couldn’t open the doors, so I was pretty much just locked out. I was already stuck there for a while and I was starting to panic, so I called up my parents to ask for help and they were already getting dressed to drive all the way where I was. Right before they left the house Jhian was mysteriously able to make stuff work and opened my door and I gave my parents the happiest “false alarm” ever haha. Do you know how to ride a bike? I don’t. My dad recently pumped air into the wheels of the bike that we have in the house so I can practice riding it throughout the quarantine, but I just can’t. I never did learn what my friends say when they tell me to just “find my balance.” If you could breed two species together what new animal would you create? No thanks. What 5 world leaders would you make sit down in a room to discuss issues? Isn’t that already the point of UN? If you were in the hospital who are the two people you'd want by your side? Gab and my dad. When was the last time you cried and what made you cry? Ooh ya got me. With this quarantine not letting me go anywhere and giving me new experiences, I’ve had no reason to cry lol. 

The last most vivid reason I remember crying was that one Wednesday in February where everything went wrong  – Andrew and I got red marks all over our thesis and we got practically yelled at over how bad our work had been so far; accidentally spewing peanut sauce all over the said thesis draft immediately after it was returned to us; almost losing this one thing for the org that I 100% WAS NOT allowed to lose, and having to ask Andrew to go back to campus at mid-fucking-night just to retrieve it and feeling shit the whole time for asking that of him; and having to deal with an unresponsive source for an article I needed to write and finish ASAP. I cried nonstop until like 2 AM that night. If you could ever take a street sign, what sign do you want? It’d be such a pointless steal, so no thanks. What is your favorite ride at any amusement park? Haha anything mild and for kids tbh. My stomach can’t handle rides. Have you ever raised money for charity? I haven’t spearheaded any fundraisers but I’ve donated for some, like whenever workers from exploitative corporations go to UP to visit some classes, talk about their struggles, and ask for support. How do you feel about growing older? I’ve got little time to be scared of it because getting old just happens all the time and constantly. I just take it for what it is and learn along the way. What wild animal scares you? Probs lion. I’ve never seen one in real life and movies and shows have conditioned me to think they’ll attack any human that comes close enough, soooooooo no thanks. I’d love to be corrected and to find out that they’re big softies, though. Do you think actors and athletes are overpaid? I can argue that for some actors, but definitely not athletes. Athletes bust their ass day in and day out and are in constant need of training, transportation, and the adequate gear, equipment, etc. Some actors just have to sit pretty and they wouldn’t even be good at it. Have you ever been alienated, if so for what? This was me for most of what you’d call middle school. People were starting to be more conscious of trends and using it as a basis for who to hang out with, so while everyone had a Blackberry, got side bangs, and listened to The Summer Set, I was struggling to fit in a place where my love of wrestling would be accepted. Of course there was none, and I felt left out for a while.

More recently, this was also me in applying for AIESEC but I’ve already touched on that a couple of times here. The alienation was so bad my friends and I just resort to laughing about my experience whenever it gets brought up. Have you ever not returned something you borrowed and if so what was it? I have a couple of Gab’s jackets, but she doesn’t mind me keeping them since I get cold quicker and more often. When you pack your lunch, what's your favorite packed lunch? Loooove when my dad makes curry for me to bring to school. What was the one most important thing you learned from your parents? It’s impossible to start at the bottom and work your way to the very top. I’m constantly worried about staying at the bottom, so it’s always comforting to see how far they’ve come.

On a parenting note, I’ve learned that I should talk to my future kids the way they are – kids. Ever since I can remember my mom has always gotten mad at me as if I was already an adult, so it’s made me permanently terrified of all adults/the idea of pissing anyone off. She would always just get mad, banging stuff around, and never explain to me what I did wrong, so to this day I get very self-punishing when I feel like I’ve done something wrong but don’t exactly know what it was I did.

How fast can you run? I used to be good as a kid which is what landed me on the track team in grade school, but I didn’t enjoy running so I did it less and less every year. Now I’m just meh at it. Have you done something you worry could come back to haunt you, what? Nothing that bad, no. What is your most favorite feature of your favorite electronic device? I’m very happy with the battery life of my laptop, considering how 1) my old Macbook Air only had a battery life of one hour, and 2) the laptop I had before had a damaged battery to begin with so I couldn’t even use it/bring it anywhere unless it was plugged in. The 10-hour battery life for my current one is a fucking dream for me lmao. If you had to build a small ark, what 7 animals would you save? All the endangered ones so like an elephant, Philippine eagle, panda, orangutan, tiger, and a rhinoceros. I’d save the last slot for a stray dog. What is your favorite Christmas or holiday tradition? I love going over to my mom’s cousins’ place and have our tradition of exchanging gifts singing My Monito/Monita. What novel would you love to be transported into to live out your days? I prefer non-fiction, soz. What is your favorite hiding place? MY CAR. It’s seen my worst breakdowns, my sleeping sessions in the middle of the day, and the days where I’m okay but simply need a break from everyone. If I feel like being alone I just head inside, recline my seat, and tune out the whole world. What is something your parents love that you actually love too? Indian food. Have anyone ever said "I love you" and you couldn't say it back. This is me with my mom. I’ve stopped saying “I love you” ever since I came to terms with the fact that she has brought a lot of trauma into my life and it would be unfair to the both of us (mostly me, heh) if I said it back. Have you ever ridden a camel? I haven’t. It would be very difficult to find a camel on this side of the planet.

What's been the hardest loss you've had to take? My grandfather and Nacho. What emotion is your least favorite and the one you are not in touch with? I hate feeling embarrassed obviously, but I’m regularly in touch with it because there’s always at least one event a day where I fuck up and I feel extremely embarrassed. Do you think facial moles or freckles are cute? I don’t mind them. They’re not a common facial trait where I live, so I’m more fascinated by them than anything else. Would you ever pick up a hitchhiker? I’ve read too many accounts of serial killers where hitchhikers were involved to feel skeptical about them but I know I’d also feel bad if I ignored them. I honestly don’t know what to feel about them as I don’t live in a hitchhike-y area.

What was your funniest computer or phone wallpaper? Eh, I don’t really pick wallpapers to find them funny. If you're searching for a relationship, where is your go place to look? Unapplicable for my demi ass. When and where are you happiest? Either anywhere with Gab or Skywalk with my orgmates. What was your favorite age, so far? 16 has so far been the year with the least fuckups. What is your favorite part of the day? Typically, it would be the moment I realize I’m done with everything that needed to be done for that day, like if my last meeting has ended or if I’m finished with my last class, and all that’s left to do is to drive home. What book have you read multiple times? The Septimus Heap series up til the 5th book (there are 7) only because in the past I had always made plans to restart and finish the whole series, but I never did get around to finishing it so I’ve only just kept restarting and restarting the books.   Do you keep a budget? No budget. What matters to me is at least being able to have savings at the end of the week, which is tbh not the smartest thing to do. Have you ever test driven a car you knew you weren't going to buy? Nope, I’ve never gone car shopping like that. Pretend you're doing an interview, what's the first question? Uhhhhhhhhhh idk depends on what the interview is for? What do you have a hard time visualizing? Everything. I’m not a very visual person and creativity is my weak point, so I genuinely struggle if I do have to imagine anything. Abstract reasoning has always been my least favorite part of tests. What makes you feel uncomfortable in group settings? If all of them already know each other and I am just starting to try and fit in – it’s worse if they’re all loud and extroverts. The former is what made my internship hard for me in the beginning, but thankfully they were all very nice and could tell I was shy so they knew not to overwhelm me by being too loud. What was your worst date ever? I haven’t had a bad date. Have you ever gotten in a bidding war on Ebay, if so for what item? Nope. If you had to pick one food to eat everyday for life, what would it be? Risotto or chicken wings. For dessert, macarons. Are you supportive of your friends even if you don't agree with them? As long as their choice doesn’t entail stepping on human rights, e.g. not being pro-choice or supporting a president that supports killing the poor, I’ll be fine with the disagreement. Have you ever used the opposite sex restroom in an emergency? Yeah I had a bad nausea attack one time and needed to vomit but I only had enough time to run to the men’s bathroom before I started throwing up everywhere, so that’s where I ran. What did you think was stupid until you tried it? Ube cheesecake. I really hate ube flavor and I hate everything it’s in, but I gave it a chance when a local bakeshop incorporated ube in cheesecake since it’s my favorite kind of cake. I ended up really liking it and now I often look for it when we have family get-togethers. What subject do you and your parents never see eye to eye on? Politics, duh. Where do you see yourself in 1 year's time? Having a job, out of the quarantine, maybe saving for a trip. How scared of the dark are you? I’m fine with the dark as long as I’m not somewhere that’s meant to be haunted. What is your favorite type of seafood? Crab fat, sashimi, eel, and sea urchin. What triggers your inner shopaholic? I don’t really have a trigger. I don’t even consider myself a shopaholic. I just shop for new clothes once I feel like I’ve been repeating my clothes too much. What is the rudest thing a person can do to another person in your opinion? Insulting dead parents is one. Except if you’re the Marcoses, heh. What public figure do you disagree with the most? President Duterte, obviously. I wanna barf just having to call him President. Do you think you could ever be a firefighter, why/why not? Nope, because I’m terrified of fire and I don’t have half the stamina needed to carry the shit they have to lift when they have to put out fires. What is/was your favorite bedtime story? I don’t have any. My favorite kids’ book was Corduroy, though. What was the last thing to make you feel happy? My dog going down the stairs and going straight to me for pats once he was done. What is your opinion on rats as pets? Rats are pests here so I find it pretty disgusting. I think hamsters are fine, though. What is something you're afraid to try? Cliff diving, bungee jumping... anything that would give me the sensation of leaving my stomach behind lmao. What cartoon character best describes you? Mr. Peanutbutter from BoJack Horseman. What keeps you interested in your goals or dreams? The fact that I went through so much shit as a child/teenager that I absolutely have to make myself happy in the end, and I can only do that by achieving my goals. What is your favorite actress beginning with the letter J? Jessica Chastain. What song makes you dance uncontrollably? Crazy in Love by Beyoncé, heh. If you wanted to live off the radar where would you live? I was gonna say Sagada but everyone knows it’s my favorite place so it’d probably be one of the first areas they’d start to look... so I’d go with Batanes. That place can’t get any more secretive with their sporadic phone signal and nonexistent internet/data connection. Do you like nachos, if so what topping is a MUST have? Melted cheese. Do you have any subscriptions? Netflix and (technically) Spotify. Which is better, Mario or Sonic? Mario. I’ve never played a Sonic game and I’ve only ever encountered him playing Super Smash Bros. Brawl, which is a Mario-themed game to begin with. Who is the most creative person you know? Alex, someone from my high school who can recreate any. thing. Art is in her blood; she was my seatmate for one sem and she was constantly doodling and drawing and making new stuff in every class we were in. Besides a pickle, what is your favorite thing pickled? I hate pickles and anything pickled :/ Not really in the Filipino palate. What did you do for your 21st birthday? If not, 21 what are your plans? I celebrated it mostly alone because Gab couldn’t be present. Angela made me feel better by taking me to dinner and an arcade.

Are you a role model for anyone in your life? I dunno. I hope so, for at least one person. What song do you hate the most? Any song by The Vamps or Meghan Trainor. Do you think you need to slow down and enjoy life more? Isn’t slowing down what we’re all kinda forced to do right now? Can you impersonate anyone famous? Eh, sure. It’s fun to copy Gordon Ramsay for one hahaha. If you could go back in time to change one thing what would it be? Going out of my shell as early as freshman year and avoiding the semester-long breakdown/depressive episode I had. Can you honestly say you're enjoying your life right now? I can’t say I’m unhappy lmao. I have no problem doing nothing at home for more than a month – besides, this already serves as the break I planned to have shortly after graduating. After this I’ll be really ready to start looking for a job. What is your favorite salty snack? Pringles. What is your favorite restaurant? Yabu, Torch, Pound by Todd English, or Frankies. Idk man, I’m craving so much shit now that I haven’t eaten out for more than a month.  Have you ever been in a play for school? Yeah, we were all required to be in all the annual school productions from kinder to senior year.

[babycoulson]

Naiveté

Note at the end of the chapter this time.

“This could have been a traumatic experience for Dr. Hall. He may not be the same when you find him,” Phil warned the two of you over the comms. “(Y/N) will talk him down. We don't want your personality to set him on edge, Ward.”

“Great time for humor, sir,” he replied blandly. “My people skills are the least of our problems if Skye can't get us in.”

With one last tug, your raft was safely on the beach, tucked behind a rock.

“You still don’t have any faith in her,” you called Ward out. “How do you expect to be able to bond with her in a way that helps you to train her if you refuse to believe that she can do anything?”

“She’s gotta earn my trust, too,” he replied stiffly.

“That’s not what being a teacher is about. You know that, right?” you asked seriously. “In a teaching situation, you have to trust your student for them to trust you. If they break your trust, then that’s that, but you can’t start out without a little blind trust.”

“You suggest that I trust someone who could betray us at any moment?” He glared at you as you walked up the path to Quinn’s property.

You returned a glare with equal force. “No, I suggest that you trust your student.”

He said nothing, just sighed and shook his head as if he were dealing with an unreasonable toddler.

You kept your anger at his ineptitude down and instead promised yourself that you’d kick his butt sparring later. “When I was in middle school, I had a lot of trouble with math,” you stated.

“You’re not special.”

“Oh, you’re certainly not wrong. I hated math, just like every kid across the world is conditioned to. Something kind of miraculous happened in high school, though. I suddenly got really good at math, and I was pretty stoked honestly. The numbers and letters and Greek alphabet started making sense out of nowhere.”

“Lucky you.”

“Do you know why I got so good at math?”

“If it’s not crucial to our success here, I don’t think it really matters, does it?”

“It may not be crucial to the success of this mission, but it will be in any future missions where you have to put your trust in Skye.”

“You talk like there will be future missions.”

“Yes, because I trust her to do her part!” you exclaimed angrily. “Math started making sense because I wanted it to make sense. I couldn’t learn it until I wanted to, get it? You won’t be able to trust her until you want to.”

“I do want to trust her!”

“No, you don’t.”

“Oh, well, excuse me, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, but trust doesn’t come so easily to all of us.”

“Just like math.”

He didn’t have a response, but that may have partially been because you rounded a corner on the trail to see a bright yellow warning sign. In an English translation below the warning in Maltese, the sign read, “Do not cross / Lethal radiation.”

Eyeing the sign and the seemingly clear trail ahead of you, you picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it forward. With a buzzing noise straight out of a video game, the laser grid glowed bright yellow and ate the destroyed the dirt. You and Ward exchanged a concerned glance.

“Next patrol any minute now,” he said.

“Skye's offline,” May reported urgently. “Repeat, we've lost audio and vitals.”

“No,” you murmured.

Ward gave you an exasperated look with a hint of “I told you so” and said, “Abort is not an option, but if she's compromising--”

“She's still our only way in to get to Dr. Hall,” your father interrupted him over the comms.

“And we're their only way out,” Ward accepted.

The sounds of soldiers’ feet crunching on the sandy trail preceded the “Beach is all clear. Let's move up the ridge.”

You retreated quickly behind a large bush, pulling Ward with you.

“Do you understand the plan or do I have to explain it to you?” you whispered.

“What do you think?” he spat quietly.

“I don’t know! I guess I just feel the need to treat you like you treat me.”

“I don’t treat you like a little kid.”

“I never said you did.”

“But you said you’re treating me the way I treat--” he all but gasped as he realized his error-- “oh my g--”

“You could have pled the fifth, man, but you decided to self-incriminate instead.”

“Listen here, you little--”

“Change of plans. You stay in the bush, and I’ll take care of the problem, understood?”

“No, we are a team and we make decisions--”

You stepped out from your hiding place as the guards became even with your position off the trail. The first guard in line raised his gun quickly as he heard the leaves of the bushes rustling as you made your appearance. You forced his arms down and punched him across his face, knocking him to the ground. The second guard tried to hit you, but you turned around just in time to catch his arm and twist it in just the wrong way and use his immobility to strike him as well. You caught the third guard with a sharp elbow to the face and a strong push down the hill, which sent him tumbling.

The first guard stood up and attempted to hit you, but you grabbed his arm and flipped him over your shoulder. He didn’t get up after that.

“Dang, a little rusty, I guess,” you sniffed, picking up the first guard’s gun and disarming it in a second. “Hey, speaking of rusty, how long does it take you to disarm a gun, Dad?” you asked, touching the ear your comm was in.

“I will have to find out,” he responded.

Ward looked at the three men and said, his teeth gritted, “I have to admit that wasn’t bad.”

“Not bad?” you chuckled. “Not exactly the words I’d pick. It wasn’t good, either. I haven’t really fought in a while and it shows.”

He kept looking at the fallen men and scratched the back of his neck. “Rusty,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Hey, clock's ticking, guys,” you reminded the team back at the Bus. “Where's Skye?”

“We still don’t know,” Fitz worried. “She may have abandoned ship.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Simmons agreed sullenly. “Quinn’s got a lot to offer.”

“Hey, so do we,” you argued. “I know you all think that she’s using us, but I can tell that she’s sincere about wanting to be with us.”

“You’re naive is what you are,” Ward growled.

“Maybe I am!” you yelled, frustrated with the baseless dislike that he’d had for you since you’d met. “I’m also significantly better at making friends than you are.”

“We’re in!” May exclaimed.

“She’s done it!” Jemma followed excitedly.

You crossed your arms and gave Ward a smug look. “Freaking told you,” you gloated.

“Fitz, you’re up,” May told the scientist.

“Oh, mother of all things,” he mumbled to himself. “Move, move, move!”

“We have a man down,” a voice came loudly from one of the soldiers' walkie talkies. “Hostiles on the east ridge!”

Your eyes widened and it was Ward’s turn to try to pull you into the bushes as gunfire came from more soldiers downhill. The bullets disintegrated when they hit the laser grid behind you.

“We need a reset here, Fitz!” you called.

“Fitz!” your father pushed.

“Fitz!” you repeated, pulling your gun from its holster as you looked for a target to shoot.

“Saying his name repeatedly does not increase productivity!” Simmons stressed.

“Okay, go!” Fitz said.

The grid dropped and you dashed across the border, but Ward stood still, firing back at the enemy.

“Or maybe it does,” she resigned, impressed with her friend’s speed.

“System rebooting in two, one, now!”

Ward dove over the border just as Fitz said “now.”

“Cutting it close for no reason,” you teased him, helping him to his feet. “Love that.”

He paid you no mind, instead starting to jog down the path to Quinn’s estate. He seemed pretty set on not speaking to you, so you obliged him.

When the mansion came into view, you told Ward, “I'll look for Dr. Hall down in the lab.”

“I'll get Skye,” Ward said.

You split up at the swimming pool. Remembering the basics on where you had to go, you headed towards the mansion.

“Remind me where to go next?” you requested of your father.

“You’re heading in the right direction,” he assured you. “There’ll be a door coming up in about twenty feet.”

“It’s so nice having an audial Marauder’s Map,” you joked.

“I know just as well as you do that you’d get lost without me.”

“I will certainly not deny that,” you chuckled. “Found the door, now what?”

“Head down the stairs on the left until you get to a door that looks like it belongs in front of a lab.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.” You hurried down the stairs until a door that looked like it very much belonged in front of a lab came into your view. “Found it,” you said.

You opened the door and entered quickly upon seeing Dr. Hall.

“Dr. Hall,” you called to him, quickly approaching him before introducing yourself, “Agent Coulson. We have an exit strategy.”

“SHIELD?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” you confirmed, walking back towards the door. “Let's get you out of here.”

“I'm sorry, Miss Coulson. I'm right where I'm supposed to be,” he said.

You froze, looking at him with your eyebrows raised. “I'll be honest, our strategy did not take into consideration you saying that.”

“I’m sure it didn’t,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

You moved to stand in between Dr. Hall’s control table and what you assumed to be the gravitonium. It was huge, at least twelve feet across. The surface was silvery and undulating like it was in turbulent zero-gravity.

“Look, I don't know what Quinn is promising you, but--”

“An opportunity,” Hall interrupted you earnestly.

You looked at the gravitonium as it began to solidify under the electric currents of the ring spinning around it. “We can't let Quinn have control of this, sir, it's too dangerous.”

“We can't let anyone have control of this,” he agreed passionately. “That's why I'm here.” To bury it at the bottom of the ocean, with him.” He pressed more buttons on the control table and the spinning rings gathered more and more speed.

“(Y/N),” May grabbed your attention, “The leak came from--”

“Dr. Hall. Yeah, I'm kinda getting that,” you replied, staring at the gravitonium.

“All the petitions, embargoes in the world couldn't stop Ian,” Hall explained. “He grows more powerful every day. And then I get word he's found this.”

Another wave of electricity from the rings zapped the gravitonium and it visibly solidified, releasing a shockwave that nearly knocked you off your feet.

“I'm sorry, Miss Coulson. I had to make a choice.” He made one more adjustment on the control board and the insides of every cupboard in the lab spilled out.

You responded nervously, “Something tells me that wasn't the "off" button!”

One last shockwave jerked you violently to the left side of the room where you slammed into a metal filing cabinet.

So bad news.

My family is canceling Netflix at the end of April because of rising prices. Unfortunately, this means that I won't have access to Agents of SHIELD anymore. I'm going to try to get one more chapter out before the end of the month, but I'm starting a new semester of college, so I don't know if that'll be possible.

So yes. I'll be going on hiatus for an indeterminate amount of time.

Here's a face reveal to cheer you up?

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 12

Master List | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Smoking (idk if anyone considers that a problem other than the obvious), mainly angsty fluff.

A/N: Look, we can all be insensitive fucks from time to time. That rings especially true when you’re dealing with your own issues. The most important thing is being able to self reflect and realize that we are focusing too hard on our own issues and trying to make things right. Supporting our fellow humans is a hard but worthy endeavor and I think that the journey to learning how to be a better partner, friend, advocate is a huge part of this story. As always I’m just immensely grateful for those of you who are reading and reaching out! Like I said before, reblogs are cool and all but tbh I just like engaging with my readers (so let’s chat) and y’all have totally done that. I love ya pumpkins! (Idk why, but this is one of my faves so far.)

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@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby  @disagreetoagree@woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @soulless-and-sarcastic

Now, you want a cigarette. The last 24 hours have been far too much and you’re done. Bucky wasn’t wrong, you weren’t necessarily a habitual smoker but you were a ‘when you want one you need one’ kind of smoker. 

You walk to the newsstand across the street to snag a pack of cheap ones and a lighter. You cross back, tapping the pack against your left hand, the lighter held in your teeth. 

That first drag is almost as good as the first sip of coffee. Annoyingly you have noticed, as with drinking and caffeine, it takes so much more for it to really do anything than it used to. But the motion is still soothing in its own way. You take a long pull and look up at the blue sky puffing perfect smoke rings. 

The bell on the bookshop door tinkles and Bucky emerges. “If you’re going to tell me these will kill me I would really rather you keep it to yourself.”

“They will and I wasn’t,” he leans against the wall next to you, “I was going to ask for one.” You stare at him for a long second before proffering the pack. He takes one and before you can hand him the lighter he pulls a knock-off Zippo out and lights it. 

He drags hard, letting the smoke escape from his nose. You stare up at him and he looks down at you through the cloud, “Yes?”

“Just wondering why you gave me shit for smoking earlier, since you obviously do too,” you turn away inhaling and looking across the street. 

He snorts, twin plumes rise in your peripheral, “I gave you shit for smoking a pack a day or more when it’s clear you aren’t doing so because you need to.”

“So what you’re saying is,” you take a drag, “if I was an addict it would be fine.” 

“No,” he drops his to the ground, stamps it with his boot, and picks up the butt, all with the last vestiges of smoke curling out of his nose. He looks right at you, “But you wouldn’t be doing it for the sole purpose of hoping it would kill you.” He turns and tosses it in the nearby trash can. 

“Touche,” you tamp your cigarette against the brick wall and he gives you a half-hearted smile before heading back inside. 

Was I always this defensive? You wonder as you head to the trash can. Why does he keep asking me questions? Doesn’t he realize I don’t want to fucking remembe- Then it hits you and you grab the edge of the trash can groaning. 

You really have forgotten how to be a human. You don’t want to remember, you want to let the old versions of yourself, the battered child and the resilient woman, you want to let them both die in the pit of forgotten things and move on, void of a past. He does not. He cannot. He needs to remember, desperately needs to find that past version of himself. All his questions aren’t solely because he wants to know you, they’re also because he’s hoping you’ll ask back so he can get to know himself. 

You think back to how he lit up last night when you asked about Totonno’s, how that led him to another memory, how this morning through talking to you he remembered escorting those women to protect them. You, Y/N, are a complete and total asshole.

Back inside you smile at Mr. Goldstein and head to the storeroom. He’s sitting in his place, two more boxes on the floor back to the door. Not wanting to startle him you gently rap on the frame. “You know I heard you the moment you walked in right?” You wince a bit at his cold tone but, honestly, it’s the least you deserve. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“The way you walk,” he sets the book he’s pulled out to the side, a collection of poetry in Romanian. 

“You couldn’t see me?”

“I could hear it,” you walk around him to reclaim your own spot, he still hasn’t looked at you, “hear how you set your foot down. You don’t put your heel down hard, mainly carry yourself forward on the balls of your feet,” he sets a book in its alphabetical pile. “Dancers and people who wear heels a lot walk like that. Good for being quiet, and moving quickly, shit if you want to have a solid footing.”

“That’s some hearing for a fragile old man,” that gets you a bemused look. “I don’t walk that way from excess heel wearing, I always hated heels, and I’m no dancer,” you start sorting your own box, handing him an author beginning in B. “I got used to sneaking around a lot as a kid and I guess it just stuck.”

“Why?” He asks this like he doesn’t expect an answer. 

“Mom had a series of assholes for boyfriends.” He looks at you, brows knitted. You shrug. “So, I learned to be quiet. I couldn’t always just float.”

“I figured.” You cock your head, “I just… I thought… they gave you this-“

“No,” you hover a book from the top of your box to your hands. “This has always been mine.” You spin the thick volume on your upturned palm. “It’s why they wanted me.” It falters and falls, “But they did make it… stronger? Or maybe just pushed me to use it more. Either way, I used to just be able to move medium-sized objects or use it to help move big ones. Came in handy moving a couch to a 4th-floor walk up.”

He snickers, “I bet.” The silence hangs. 

“So, do you have a favorite Shakespeare piece?” He looks at you hard for a second and you smile, Please just know I’m sorry, I’m so tired of saying it.

“I don’t think so,” he blankly studies the cover of a book. “I don’t remember reading many of his plays, I did take a girl to see one about this woman who was,” his eyes squint into the middle distance, reaching for that memory. “A harlot? No…”

“Taming of The Shrew?” 

“That’s it!” He pulls a little notepad from his back pocket and jots it down, you can’t help but smile. “I liked it.”

“I like that one too.”

“I thought you were a tragedies girl.”

You laugh, “Yeah but 10 Things I Hate About You is hands down my favorite romcom.” 

“What?” 

“Romcom. Romantic comedy.” He still looks confused. “Oh! It’s a movie, based on the play but set in a high school in the 90’s. I kind of hate most romance flicks but that one is an exception.” You realize he probably hasn’t seen many movies.

“I’ll have to watch that.”

“You should,” he hands you a stack of books for your piles, “It’s silly but good.”

He chuckles, “I like silly.”

“Yeah?”

“St- a friend and I would always go see Chaplin or the Marx brothers, stuff like that. We’d go to see pictures all the time, even if we had to sneak in,” he’s wearing that sad smile. He almost said a name, you aren’t sure if he’s worried it’s the wrong name or if he doesn’t want to share it… He laughs, eyes glassy, “Got caught sneaking into Duck Soup, we were 16 I think. We ran but he, my friend, fell behind, he had trouble breathing, so I had him get on my back,” his eyes crinkle. “God, we must have looked so ridiculous.” 

“Did you get away?”

There’s that incredible smile. “We did. By hiding in a dumpster,” he shakes his head, “that was Steve’s-“ he comes up short smile vanishing, takes a shaky breath, “his idea.”

You smile, “Clever.”

“He always was.” He’s so far away. “And so goddamn stubborn.” He’d said you had reminded him of someone when you were pitted against one another at the facility. You’re scared to ask but you swallow hard and go for it.

“This friend, was he the one I reminded you of? When… when we…” He looks at you, smile so tender it makes your chest contract. 

“Yeah,” his voice cracks a little and he clears his throat looking away. “He was… my best friend, my… family.” His left hand seizes into a fist, the metal whirrs in the silence and the glove strains to contain it’s secret. You reach over and lay a hand over the hard metal aching for his loss, too close to your own. 

He jerks his hand back and for a moment you’re a little hurt, then you see Mr. Goldstein approaching. “You kids are making good progress.” 

“Yessir,” Bucky responds, no sign of the previous emotions in his tone. He stands, grabbing his stacks. “Once we’ve finished these that’ll make six boxes.”

“Fantastic!” Mr. Goldstein claps his hands. Victor, the cat, lazily strolls in and rubs his face on Bucky’s legs. “Victor seems to approve too. I should have known you were good boys when he took to you, cats have a sense about people you know?”

You look at Victor, contentedly winding around Bucky’s feet, purring, “Yeah, they do.”

Mr. Goldstein nods. “Well once you two are done with those I’m closing up. Have afternoon Shabbat. Don’t forget to pick your books.” He turns and hobbles back to his perch in the front. 

Victor is still making his circuit around Bucky. He sets one handful of books on the desk and bends down to scratch the cat's ears. “I think your senses may be a little busted, bud,” he whispers. Victor only purrs louder. 

“Nope,” he looks up at you somewhat surprised, “Victor’s senses are just fine.”

[jonathaniketem]

Coming to Terms

I was the last to introduce myself at my table, comprising four desks facing each other. World cultures—my very first class as a middle schooler. I couldn’t have been more excited. Our teacher sat in the front of the room just surveying her surroundings; her pearly, white smile was about as bright as the hot Texas sun. I still remember Ms. Juarez getting up herself, flattening out the creases from her outfit like she usually does once she got up and and introduction herself. Right after she spoke a few words and while the crowd gasped in excitement, I stared at my table, aghast. “You guys will make a presentation about your own culture by the end of the year, it only seems fair as this is a world cultures class,” she smiled as she always did while stating something that felt similar to a death sentence. How was I to complete something I had so much trouble accepting?

Now let’s turn back in time—back to when I was nine years old meeting some of my closest friends for the first time. I came across a group of kids my age range playing soccer right in front of my house on the street. I was too shy to come out and just ask if they would let me play with them; with the knowledge I’ve amassed now I know children are much easier to congregate with peers than adults who may be a bit pretentious to ever allow anyone foreign join their clique. I only walked away from the screen gate concealing my gazing presence for a bottle of water when I heard a thump against the familiar sound of something hitting the plastic exterior of a car. I ran outside yelling at those rowdy individuals who dared to hit my father’s sedan. They did what kids knew best and ran for their lives, and as a kid myself, I ran after them. We ran and ran until the sun went down only for all of us to collapse from exhaustion. We laughed about how stupid this all was while apologizing for hitting my dad’s car. My summer as a nine year old then on was me going out and having fun with the new kids I met. I started to grow bonds with them and create memories hoping nothing would throw a wrench into the fun I was having. Sadly it’s always those who try to escape bad luck who end up chasing its tail. One day all my new friends came to our friend Tobias’s home for a game day. The environment was much different than it was in my house: R&B music playing in the house, friends of Tobias’s dad in the backyard having a barbecue, and a marathon playing of a show I had never heard of before called Martin. I must have been very tense as Tobias noticed and tried to calm my nerves, and if Tobias noticed my other friends did too. They must’ve realized I wasn’t feeling like my regular self, all from being in a different setting. “Hey why do you look like you’re out of place? You’re Black too, aren’t you?” The question I always felt uneasy about. I stood there and stared at everyone unable to say a thing for awhile. To this day my present self could never understand why I agreed that I was such instead of the truth, but the lie was played and it had to be kept up or my image would’ve been ruined.

I am an African American, an American citizen who just so happens to have African roots. This is what I have finally accepted myself to be ethnically. Though it was never easy for me to accept as a youth. I have parents from the Eastern horn of Africa, born and raised in the country Eritrea. They sadly had to leave their homes to escape the war for Eritrean independence from Ethiopia, later meeting each other in Houston. They were proud of their Eritrean ethnicity, yet they gave birth to and raised a son who was ashamed of who he was. I was surrounded by people who identified as what the average person would imagine to be the Black American. I was constantly seeing myself as fitting into this group without also being apart of my own group. I didn’t have the knowledge to be able to be apart of both the African American community while also being proud of my roots as an Eritrean youth. I saw it as wanting to be able to accommodate myself into this community I was around so long that being a bit different would only make me feel segregated deep within, so my only solution was to lie about who I was. I’ve been questioned continuously as I differed visually from the peers I so wanted to be apart of, the loose curly hair, my bulging eyes, and complexion that made it seem I was from the Middle East. Because other people have continuously made assumptions about my race, I have found myself frequently discouraged. Discouraged to the point that lies flowed smoothly out my mouth like water surging from a faucet. Embarrassment followed me no matter who asked the question I dreaded: “Hey what are you? Are you Black?”, and no matter how many times I was asked my lies never failed to put me at ease. 

A thing about lies I’ve come to realize—they may start out as little white lies, but the constant repetition of a lie breathes life into the lie. The lie starts to become its own entity, an entity I despised but kept molding with the eccentric tales I formed that would’ve put a seasoned politician in awe of what the mind of a youth could conjure in fabrication. My lies started with only a few peers; later, newer mouths would ask the same questions with familiar ones standing close by; my lies couldn't change there or I would be a liar. The lies began to form an identity—latching on to my person like the backpack I so proudly carried through the hallways of the school I spread my lies, instead the lies were a burden to my conscience. The typical person would try to fix something weighing heavily on their mind, but the lies were an addiction that sadly started to rope in others that weren’t supposed to be involved. Since my sister, two years my junior, started to attend my school I’d tell her to start lying about our identities. She could never figure out why it was such a big deal to me, but I started at her just as drug addicts stare at their loved ones asking for a bit of cash to get high one last time. Looking back it was quite repulsive doing something so crude to the innocent minded. I was her source of wisdom as her older sibling, yet I tried to bring her into the darkness I created out of disregard for myself trying to fit in with the groups of people I just happened to want to be a part of. Another thing about lies that I often hear and can confirm for myself are that they most likely will always catch up with their creators no matter how hard they try. As children get to meet others outside their family, they start to bringing them into the homes they were raised in and subsequently meet the ones who did the raising. For the liar I had become I could not believe I made the simple mistake of leaving my parents alone with friends to talk—the same parents who love to represent and share their information about their homeland. To hear one of the many customers you’ve sold your lies to ask what an Eritrea is feels probably about as painful as getting shot in the heart. I was truly grateful the attention span of my peers was about as long as a toddler’s who still hadn’t formed object permanence yet. There needed to be a remedy for the troubles I was causing myself, some soul searching before I was completely branded as a liar and someone who couldn’t come to terms with who they were. Surprisingly, all it took was a summer trip and a bit of contemplation about life to get myself on the right track.

Summer before the start of the nerve-wracking middle school experience, a family trip was presented to the June-born siblings as a gift. I didn’t know how to feel about going to Eritrea to see and experience the environments my parents grew up in. The trip was for the entirety of the summer, coming back only two days before the school year was about to start. We would be taking the German airlines Lufthansa stopping in Frankfurt, Germany and Istanbul, Turkey for gas and once again taking off until we landed in the capital of Eritrea: Asmara. Summer is the perfect opportunity for friends to make a few more memories before they went to different schools and possibly losing contact with each other. It hurt my child heart to know that I couldn’t go out and have fun, but instead I had to go to the place I tried my best to hide the existence of. The constant questions of why I wouldn’t be home got my creative process running, my solution being that I told everyone we would be visiting family in Europe. My lie wasn’t completely far-fetched though; my mother and father both had brothers located in Sweden and Norway, so coming up with this I felt proud of what I conjured up. The trip there wasn’t an easy journey: our first flight cancellation due to the 2011 eruption of the Nabro volcano, TSA possibly giving White House security a run for their money, and the long flight hours accompanied by the sounds of my sister heaving up her airline meals every moment of turbulence. I couldn’t have been happier once I had both feet on the motionless earth. Finally stepping out of the airport, I stood by the entrance waiting on my mother to get her bearings. Hand stretched out tugging at my luggage, I watched in awe at the deep lavender masterpiece in the sky the sun had left once it set ready to rise once again from where I came from. “Not bad,” I thought quietly to myself, “I guess I’m home.”

Asmara is the capital of Eritrea as well as my parent’s birth place. There are many ethnic groups living in Eritrea; my family is a part of the largest group in Eritrea called Tigrayan due to the language we speak: Tigrinya. Because of my delayed learning of English and natural tendency for Tigrinya as a child, my father decided to withhold my learning of the letters my parents grew up with called Ge'ez. They decided the 26 letter alphabet worshiped by this new country they settled in was much more important than millennia of history and culture. Though I regret their decision now I never cared much for it back then, especially during our trip when I had two translators by my side. The air there was very cool, which never made much sense to me until my parents explained how we were many feet above sea level, basically living on top of a mountain. Walking to our grandmother’s house from when the taxi dropped us off, we were headed to where would be staying for the entirety of our trip. I saw that everyone was walking, reminding me much of the climate of New York from various videos and photos I have seen. People walked and talked mostly in Tigrinya and to my surprise English as well. Asmara is much more advanced when it came to popular culture and what was big in societal trends as the capital of this country compared to the more rural cities my great grandparents and so on came from. My father thought it would be best to walk the rest of the way while my mother took the taxi back to her childhood home preparing for our arrival. We walked the streets taking detours walking past the many food stalls and shops out in the open, like shopping at a bazaar. The stained homes and buildings from the sun and style to the colorful, but bleached architecture made it feel like I was vacationing in one of the South American countries. I couldn’t believe what beauty Africa had housed. 

Living in Asmara for just less than three months I started to see what it felt like being more than just American. It wasn’t as big of a difference as I thought, especially not from the rumors about Africa that I heard back in America. Of Course as popular as Asmara was, it couldn’t be used as a standard when comparing all of Africa, as if comparing a mansion to low-income housing provided by the government for struggling individuals. Things like famine, poverty, and horrible living conditions existed, but I was living as lavish as I could in my grandmother’s home. I was woken up to this sad reality when we traveled to my great grandparents village of Maiha, which also served as my grandfather’s burial place. My grandfather died before I could ever meet him two years from when we left to come to Asmara—another reason that warranted this trip. The trip there was suffocating; the advent of the air conditioner seemed to not have reached east of Africa just yet as the bus ride there was unpleasant. The whole ride we were leaving the cool mountains and entering sea level, and humidity was coming at full force that summer. At our stop we walked to Maiha, my mother’s family village where she hugged, kissed, and introduced us to our family. Maiha was a desert from what I perceived it as, almost no vegetation anywhere with everyone’s skin clinging tightly to bone where muscle should’ve been missing. I couldn’t fathom how people could be living here, but these were also my roots. We walked to an area that presented itself as a miniature version of a cemetery I remember once seeing as I joked around with my siblings, holding our breaths until my father drove past it. My father pointed out my late grandfather with his image on a tombstone, I quickly noticed the resemblance he had with my cousin that was back in Asmara. My mother and her sisters circled around his final resting place as their sounds of sorrow hit my eardrums, their wails had hints of grief and sorrow I couldn’t help but feel regrettably sad my mother felt this way. Something in that moment made me think life was fleeting, it wasn’t very normal for a child so young to be thinking about such things. Our journey back to Asmara was filled with reminiscent stories of young girls and their time with their father. A grandfather who would spoiled his grandson every minute he spent with him would’ve been joyful to experience, but loved ones are taken before these moments can even be recorded. I learned that my grandfather had an avid love for language, housing the ability for speaking many languages during his life. It was something about that fact that resonated within me even though at the time it seemed to be just one of the many accomplishments he had under his belt. Once we made it back I remember sighing loudly that we were back home, which made me question my word use at the moment. I was finally comfortable enough to call the place my mother grew up in home, and I wasn’t at all ashamed by it. This new found respect I had garnished upon myself seemed to keep me on a high. In the coming weeks of traveling around the country and enjoying the cuisine, to my surprise was a lot of pasta and pizza, only added to my enjoyment for my summer. I later learned there was more Italian influence in Eritrea than I knew back from when Italy used to control this little country. From words such as eyeglasses and car borrowed from Italian to the architecture and food, Eritreans used their suppressors identity and incorporated it into their own. The love for the language and learning more words in Tigrinya took new heights when I decided it was time I learned the alphabet from my uncle who was a school teacher. It was no easy feat, but the dedication I had for this task was marvelous and quite miraculous looking back. By my age at the time, my brain had most likely already made its last connections with neurons in the language department, cutting its ties with neurons that most likely would’ve made learning these symbols a lot faster. Though with my effort, my plastic brain must have given me a chance to redeem myself from my ignorance as before I knew it I could read small segments from the local newspaper like an infant reading the big text from a picture book. The applause I received from family members in the room during my recital was very heartening and exciting as I showed off my new trick unbeknownst to my audience. 

Before I knew it my first year as a middle schooler was only a few days, just under two weeks. The sorrowful goodbyes and hugs hurt my little heart. I made ties and bonds with people I never knew existed until three months ago and I never wanted to leave. The environment there was very free and fun and I couldn’t fathom coming back to America. The smiles I once had plastered on my face now masterfully painted to express an aghast look. If someone said this was the same happy little boy enjoying his life in eastern Africa, they would’ve been taken as a joke. Ms. Juarez’s words still rang in my ears and my trip playing in my head over and over. Before I knew it the bell rang signaling us to our next class before I could over think how I felt my life was over. The whole school day consisted of trying to distract my foreboding thoughts with the workload I was piling up on my first day, yet I still couldn’t get world cultures to stop taking over my thoughts. This kept on up until I finally made it home after a tiring day of school. I had to come up with something soon as I laid in my best going through every decision I could’ve made about a school project possibly changing my outlook on many things. My thoughts raced back and forth when I suddenly remembered all the fun I had during our trip and remembering the times I struggled learning a new alphabet for the sake of trying to please family who passed on before I even got to meet him. Though I broke my promise of continuously practicing my Ge’ez I couldn’t help but smile at myself struggling to get better at something I had put my mind to. This trip couldn’t have been scheduled at a better time, a time when something as important as a cultural showcase was announced just after my return. I was finally more accepting of something I despised for so long even though I wasn’t going to change over night I was taking the necessary steps and that's reason enough. I hopped off my bed and ran downstairs to my father reading his newspaper at the dining table as usual. I remember him looking up waiting for me to tell him whatever it was I had to tell him, but nothing wanted to come out. I couldn’t just close up now after I finally told myself it was time for a change. I started to hate myself even more for making such a topic embarrassing for myself in the first place when I should’ve embraced it like other Eritreans I knew. This was my time to finally leave my cocoon of hate and emerge as not a full fledged Eritrean just yet, but however far baby steps would take me for the meantime. I took a breath in and out and before I knew out came the words “dad I need help with a project at school.”

The lights were off and seats were rearranged so that everyone was facing the front of the room. The student right before me alphabetically decided to make a powerpoint slide about what being Mexican American meant to him. I wasn’t listening closely, only paying attention in little bits before I would stare out the window watching the trees waving hello in the wind. Time kept ticking and I knew soon the 10-minute interval for our presentation would start over again for the next student. My heart ticked in rhythm with the second hand on my watch and I realized my heart seemed to go faster and faster, a heart attack was all I could think of which only sped up my heart beat and didn’t make the situation any better. As I took deep breaths to calm myself I heard the class start to clap, my time was up. I wasn’t going to let 10 minutes ruin my life, this was going to be nothing but a simple speech to a bunch of people I met during my sixth grade year. I got up with the most confidence I had in awhile once I heard my name, tri-fold board in my right hand, a garment worn by women from Eritrea and Ethiopia in my left hand, and a traditional drum given to me by my late grandmother on my father’s side slung across my shoulder. I stood in front of my audience with my presentation set up, like I was at a science fair nervous to explain my booth. I took a deep breath, yet this time it wasn’t going to be used to spew lies any longer. I was standing my ground against all my demons ready to release myself all by giving a presentation. To many it may have looked like a child talking to his school friends about how he grew up, but to me it was a life changing moment. In that moment as if all at once my lies seemed to disappear into thin air relieving the stress I made for myself all those years; I was finally ready. “Hello my name is Jonathan,” I smiled a nervous, toothy grin, “and this is my presentation on what it means to be Eritrean.”

——————————————————————————————

Afterword

My thoughts were built selfishly upon self-love that was never present. I owned information that many peers I share my skin color with would never get to know. I couldn’t accept something that many could try to search for after it was stolen from them centuries ago, but I was ignorant to that fact. I was ignorant to the culture I was blessed to have information about and in my selfishness pretend to have no such knowledge. I am thankful for this gift many of my brothers and sister will never get to know: another language, another culture, another home. I care for my roots ever greater now since I’ve learned the significance of where I came from. I am African American with known roots from Africa. I am able to speak my African tongue. I am proud to say my heritage lies in another continent. I am me. 

[narcissusanasui]

1AM Voltron Shenanigans Part 1

A collection of highlights from my sleep-deprived conversations with @farklelucas (go check out katie i love her) about my sons.

Part 1: Languages (shance)

to stay well-practiced in his bilingual abilities, lance takes to making little jokes to himself in spanish

which sometimes turned into little comments about his team members

which he thought no one else would understand (other than like the basic spanish hunk picked up from visits to the McClain household)

except one day shiro hears and replies

shiro, at some point: “lance, you realize i lived and worked near the mexican border - yeah, i picked up spanish”

lance trying to get payback by secretly studying japanese bc of course pidge has something for that on her invincible laptop

but it’s hard bc dang the romantic languages use a lot of the same letters and don’t have multiple alphabets and scripts 

and of course shiro is flattered and wants to help

S: “lance can you just ask me to help you please”

L: “shiro you can’t be this skilled and hot and helpful AND fluent in three languages”

S, mumbling: “...ive”

L: “...what was that”

S: “uh, five languages”

L: “IM GONNA DIE”

those five languages being:

japanese from his family

english from growing up in america

spanish from school and living in the southwest

galran, picked up during his year in captivity (some other fighters in the ring were kind enough to help him early on)

altean, self-taught over the course of many sleepless nights with the castle library

he’d ask coran to check his work sometimes, which makes the space uncle CRY tears of joy

also knows a little bit of korean 101 - wanting to help keith hold on to what little of his dad’s language he could remember

he explains as much to lance

L: “oh so SIX LANGUAGES”

S: “well, five and a half”

Matt, just walking in: “what, did lance find out about you trying to bribe my dad to teach you italian on the kerberos mission? we didnt even have anything to write with! I DON’T EVEN KNOW ITALIAN”

L, turning to shiro: “WHAT ARE YOU? THE GODDAMN ROSETTA STONE???”

for shiro’s next birthday, the team made him an infinity gauntlet of language as a gag gift

shiro, crying, having the time of his life in five different languages: “thanks guys, gracias, arigatou, vrepit sa-”

keith: “yeah yeah, at least learn some morse code. send us SOS every time your ass is in mortal danger”

a few nights later

keith, waking up to his communicator blinking like mad: “wtf???”

shiro, from his own comms in his room: .... . -.-- / ... --- / .... -.-- .--. --- - .... . - .. -.-. .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .... --- .-- / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / .. / --. . - / .- / --. ..- -.-- / - --- / - .- -.- . / -- . / .- ... -.- .. -. --. / .... .. -- / --- ..- - / ... . .-. .. --- ..- ... .-.. -.-- ..--.. [hey so hypothetically how would i get a guy to take me asking him out seriously?]

keith, yeeting his comms at shiros door: “BITCH IDK”

K, in korean: “shiro you dumb mofo please just ask lance out”

lance, only able to make out his name, sticking his head into hallway: “KEITH CAN YOU STOP TALKING SHIT ABOUT ME TO SHIRO PLS”

the next day at breakfast

K, in choppy spanish so allura nearby doesnt eavesdrop: “im sick of being a middle man just ask shiro tf out”

L, oblivious: “how do YOU know spanish???”

K: “IM TEXAN. AND SHIROS MY BROTHER. FIX YOUR SHIT, MCCLAIN”

Hunk, actually sitting on lance’s other side the entire time, in Samoan: “ALL of you need to get your shit together”

the chaotic multilingual slow-burn comes to a close when they get back to earth

lance and shiro find a new language to take some classes for their first date: asl

happily recommended by some of lance’s cousins

shiro: “it’ll be great for communication during missions! and i can’t believe i never thought of taking it”

they first say “i love you” via asl either on a mission or in a comfortable silence on lance’s beach

years and years later they’re married and adopt a bunch of kids (alien and human alike) including a cute deaf/HoH kiddie from earth

and that’s the end of part 1

[baldtaelovemaze]

Love me for me (1)

What kind of love story starts with two people locked in a classroom and ends with the two same people in a courtroom? This one. After unfortunate circumstances, Venice is forced to illegally change her identity and live as a boy in a all boys school.

She planned everything out. Every. Single.detail. but no matter how much she tries, she can’t stop herself from falling for the son of one of the biggest lawyers.

Is loving the man of her dreams worth  years in jail?

Reader (OC) X jungkook ft.Taehyung

Warnings: mature language

Words: 3k

"Dear Miss. Abass, unfortunately, your demand at Yale University has been Rejected-"

“fuck” 

Orbs clouded, I rip apart the letter. The torn cream pieces dance with the wind my fan generates and I watch them gracefully fall to the floor, blending perfectly with the wood. 

Years of studying, isolation, practically not having a social life I forced upon myself to proudly become a valedictorian graduate but everything i did was in vain.

On the floor lays the last piece of hope I once clung on to. Now crushed under the weight of disappointment and failure, my chest hitches as I desperately try to hold back a sob. Water gathers at the rims of my heterochromia eyes. Left one a muddy green and the other a murky blue with a tinge of that same muddy green who manages to stick out no matter what like I do so very well. Intentionally or not.

I don’t cry, instead, I sniff away all the mucus who threatens to slide down my nasal passages and roll myself into bed.

For a moment, the smell of the freshly cleaned sheets and my dearest pillow make me forget of the hell hole I am in, of the chains that confine me.

That moment is short-lived when it all comes back rushing down on me like a wave. These chains that I have, invisible to the human or anything supernatural expect me. This rope around my neck who never ceases to tighten as time goes by.

I ponder on this fact. Or is it a question? It’s something I definitely know the answer to. So a fact it is.

The chains that hold me aren’t emotional or even close to physical. Nor did I ever do anything to earn them but that’s how the system works.

The system refused every single application I sent to prestigious universities. Not one of them accepted me even after they had contacted me for scholarships offers. Claiming that “my chosen classes were already full and to try elsewhere.’

It wasn’t a coincidence. Out of everyone, I should know that. Because I knew the system far too well.

That system chained me without even binding my wrist to chains, that system took my freedom away without truly stripping me of my rights, that system tied a noose around my neck and is waiting for any given occasion to rip away the chair from under my feet.

The system doesn't want my education to blossom. the system wants me to settle for less every time then die. That’s our government. the system is our government and it’s trying to kill me off. 

I could apply at a community college and get accepted in mere seconds but that's what they want. That is their plan and no matter what, I will not succumb to it, not after seeing how it ended for father. Not after seeing that.

I gulp at the thought of him. My body and mind react instantly at the mere idea of my father. My breathing becomes ragged and I sense my palms get clammy and sweaty. The noose around my neck feels like it got ten times tighter. Even though nothing is truly there, my brain acknowledges the hard rope covered in sharp split ends digging at the skin of my neck. My hands who once were tucked underneath the pillow flock to my neck, grasping around nothing but my own skin.

I seal my eyes shut and begin chanting the only thing that calms me down during my breakdowns.

“A,B,C,D,E,F,G,H,I....” 

the alphabet, something you often associate with learning toddlers full of life and not a 19-year-old having a nervous breakdown.

“J, K, L, M, O, P, Q, R, S!!” I scream loud, frail body shaking like a leaf as I try my best to block out the nose, block out the shots and the footsteps who are threateningly close. I hiccup between a sob when I feel his big greasy hands grip my long ebony hair, yanking me back painfully, he throws my whole body across the room.

what letter was I at? I forgot. Now I can barely breathe. I frustrate the man furthermore. I know this when he yells  “shut the fuck up. Make another sound and your lovely mother gets it.” I open my eyes and stop breathing altogether. She lays on the floor.

I shake my head, clearing my mind of theses awful flashbacks as I shoot up from bed to reach for the pieces of paper, crumble them into a tiny ball and neatly shoot them in my plastic dollar-store basketball net who hangs just above the door. It hits the rim before falling on the floor with a plop. 

“damn, where did my basketballs skill go?” I ask my self, feeling slightly better due to the self-pity that seems to have eaten me whole.

 The alphabet always calms me down, it brings me back to earth when I need it the most -when my anxiety decides to lock me in my painful past.

My back now on the bed, I look at my white ceiling, its time to think rationally, like an adult - I smile to myself. Like an adult, huh? I quickly recognize the fact that most adults don’t actually know what they are doing. Most of the time they let themselves get dragged with the wave. Some try to overpower the water while others succumb to it and others find a way to float, to stay on the surface no matter how strong the storm gets.

I huff a breath of defeat "what am I going to do? It was the last one on the list.” I toy with my phone. I run my fingers against its smooth metal surface all while making sure to not unlock it by accident with the touch ID.

I've been ignoring Haerin’s messages for a while now. 

I frown, hoping that she won’t misunderstand and think that I a mad at her.

the screen lights up.

Haerin: Don’t worry I know that you’re not mad at me or anything but I'm just worried.. plus I kinda miss your ugly ass so text back soon. I can’t believe you’re making me seem like a desperate hoe by ignoring all my text. Your fuckgirl mode has, unfortunately, been activated :/ [2:45]

I snort. Not being able to ignore her for any longer, I text back. 

Me: I usually don’t text girls back after we fuck... but ur kinda special so come over or whatever... [2:46 pm]

Haerin: omg okay daddy! I’ll bring take out that way my ass won’t be the only thing you’ll eat today! I'm omw bitch you have some explaining to do. [2:46]

I chuckle and lock my phone.

 With the stretch of my limbs, I'm out of bed and I beeline straight to the bathroom.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “fucking hell, I barely look alive.”

after peeing and a quick face wash, I stand in front of the mirror and notice that my pixie cut may need a trim soon. I can’t ever let my hair grow past my ears and I rather not think about the reason behind this -not yet at least, not yet.

I watch the clear droplet of water cling on to the curl near my forehead before dropping and rolling down my tawny skin. I can’t help but to glance down at my neck, it’s red. I pray that I won’t bruise. I take in the fact that my new skin care routine has been working marvelously. From my high cheekbones, my narrow chin and slightly protruding forehead my skin is spotless.

"Venice, you little thot, I have arrived in your domicile"

I jump in surprise at first. After a smile covers my plump lips when I realize who that voice belongs to. I step out of the bathroom which is linked to my room and meet the fake redhead. 

In a matter of seconds, I am engulfed in her tight embrace. Face hidden in the crook of her armpit I notice that the tall girl is wearing her favorite mustard hoodie.

I break the hug. “ I missed you too,” I say, gazing up at her through my short lashes. I see the worry in her slanted eyes but I know she isn’t judging, she never does.

“let’s talk, okay?” her voice is soft when she speaks. I nod and lead her to my bed.

A couple tears, three hugs, and many heartfelt words later, we lay diagonally on my bed. Looking up at the ceiling. With a shift in position, I look over at Haerin’s toes who never fail to not be ugly and stinky but who can blame her? She's an aspiring basketball player. Now I look up to her profile. It seems like the ceiling is long forgotten and that she is currently deep in thought, I can tell by the way her straight thick brows furrow and how she chews almost aggressively her full bottom lip. I Am caught red-handed when she suddenly turns at catches me staring.

“I've got an idea.” her lips part as she smiles, revealing the gap in the middle of her two front teeth that fits her so well.

“Shoot”

“How about we watch old Disney movies to take off some of your stress for today? let's deal this fucktard of a situation tomorrow. '' She pushes her elbow underneath her to lift herself. Her round glasses droop down the bridge of her nose but she's quick to push them back with the help of her lanky fingers.

I smiled at the idea. I ask myself how can someone be so pure and genuine sometimes.

''Okay, but just don't put anything with romance in it. I don't want to be reminded of the fact that the only thing I wake up next to in bed is my life-sized Makoto Tachibana pillow.'' My feet drag on the warm floor as Haerin intertwines her arm with mine. '' That's extremely sad and I hope that you'll throw it out once you get a boyfriend-'' she stops in her tracks and looks at me.

we both stare at each other only to explode with laughter.

 ''BAHAHA! I can't believe I just said that! You? a boyfriend? I think WinWin would finally be getting lines in songs before that happens.'' wiping away the tear that escaped, we go down the stairs and she grabs the laptop on the kitchen counter before plopping herself beside me on the sofa.

''Shut up you shouldn't be the one to speak here.'' I laugh back with her.

''Whatever ugly loser, go grabs snacks that way we can stuff our faces and I'll pick a movie'' She orders and am up in seconds.

''I know you said no romance but I still picked the Amanda Bynes movie She's the man '' Haerin informs me as I come back into the living room

I shrug my shoulders, indifferent.

''I don't care what we watch at this point, anything to get my stress down.'' I slur on my words near the end, taking a big fat handful of popcorn and shoving it down my throat.

'We could watch porn then'' she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and I pinch her left nipple.

''shut up and play the god damn movie.''

And with a click, the movie is playing and I am finally relaxing.

About an hour and forty-five minutes later the movie is done and you're left with a strange idea in mind.

''hey Haerin..'' you start off

her eyes squint, which suggests that she's thinking . ''hm?''

''Are you possibly thinking the same thing as me ?'' now my eyes squint, trying my best to read her expression.

 '' If you are thinking about dressing yourself up as a male and infiltrating the all-boys prestigious Uni then yes, we are thinking the same thing!'' her grip on my wrists is tight and I feel light headed when she shakes me like a polaroid as soon as I nod.

''CALL CHRISTIAN RIGHT NOW! SOME MADAME DOUBTFIRE MAKEOVER SHIT IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN IN THIS BITCH!'' She screams at the top of her lungs.

"You called me here because am what?" Christian took place on the sofa beside me. Brows creased together, he leaned forward, as if he hadn't heard me the first time. He heard me perfectly fine. "Because you're the dude-dest dude I know and I need to learn how to become a dude."

He drowns himself deeper in the couch, taking a chunk of his locks between his fingers, he let out an exasperated "what kind of fucking drugs do you guys take to come up with this shit?" And shortly after "Okay, I'll help."

This was our relationship. Christian Yu a very stable young adult that happened to be my childhood neighbor. Even when I moved out of my mother's home, he never left me behind. Kind of like a big brother that allows me to do dumb shit only with his supervision.

"This might seem crazy but just trust me on this. It might work,"I reassure.

His eyes bulge “What exactly might work Venice please don’t tell-”

“I can’t keep living on like this. I don’t want to live a meaningless life all while knowing that I can achieve so much more. Just entering that school and studying to become a lawyer would be a huge step for me” my jaw clenches “Its a step towards my goal and..” nostrils flared, I watch Christian tense, the weight of my words slowly seep into his pores, completely changing his first resolve. “ I will fulfill it no matter what”.

“I understand what you want to do but wouldn't that be proving what the government is doing to people like you -no offense, right? You're just doing what they expect of the children of criminals, you're becoming one too” He remains tense. Lower lip stuck between his pearly teeth, Christian avoids eye contact. 

“Reflect on this: What do criminals have in common?” I get up from the couch under the perplexed gaze of my friend.

Lips puckered, brows screwed together, he comes up with an answer quickly “Its simple, they do illegal things!”

“That's partially true but I want you do think of the biggest names in the dark world, the infamous one. What brought them together besides the fact that what they did was prohibited?” I am patient, smiling down at my friend who racks his brain fora retort. His wide shoulder slump, not knowing where exactly am I go going with this. I give in, choosing to spare him a brain burn out “they were all selfish.”

“W-What?”

“yes, it really is that simple.” I smirk “ Just think about it, All their lives, their goal was to enrich themselves, gain profit or some form of power. They were ready to do whatever it took to gain these things. Kill, steal ect. What separates me from them is that I am not only doing this for me but the others who suffer alongside me in silence. We both know that the system is wrong and should be taken down even if that means sacrificing the little freedom I have.” I exhale, coming back to sit near Christian on the couch.

He sighs, elbows now up on his tighs, he rubs his eyes. “Fine, I support you in this but please don't you dare end up in jail or else-”

“You’ll lose your mind since you can't live without her.” Haerin finally speaks. She had remained so silent I forgot that she was even there.

“Y-yeah, you're probably right actually, I don't think I can't live without either of my girls” he pipes, scooping both of us in his toned arms and engulfing us in a tight hug.

“Let me go, Chris, my face is literally buried in your armpits”  Haerin whines.

“Then smell them!”

“Oh no, you don”t-”I send my knee in his crotch in a matter of seconds, making him groan in agony all while curling into a ball on the floor. Haerin stares unbothered, pulling out her phone and calling someone. The conversation is short but it leaves a smile on her lips when she hangs up.

"Okay whores, I just called the best makeup artist in town. After you get your lesson on how to become an owner of a dick and get a makeup lesson cuz god knows you struggling in that.." Haerin shakes her head and muffles a laugh with her hand when I pipe out “bitch.”

 "You will go in the room and do what you have to do to make the world believe you are a man."

"Okay, let's start then!" the serious and somber mood is gone, excitement is now what is left behind. Am thrilled, justice pumps through my veins and it's only fueled more by the support of my friends. I can do this

"Okay let's start then...but no homo"

"I know I taught you to use 'no homo' but it doesn't mean you need to say it in every  sentence, Venice," Christian shouts from the kitchen, watching the makeup artist teach me the basics on how to make my face look more masculine and the brands that stay on the longest.

Haerin had told her that we were just filming a really weird porno and the women weirdly enough, nodded as if what Haerin said was something that she had seen often.

A couple more minutes spent by my side and she was out of the house, I shooed Christian and Haerin out as well.

With years of fraudulent knowledge in my hands, creating a new identity would be a breeze. 

What should my new name be?

I grab my phone and open the group chat

Me: I need Name ideas, got anything? [5:15]

Chris: keep it simple... something like Steve Duncan or whatever [5:17]

Haerin: Don't listen to this loser, Bob Mcniplecoker shall be your new name, beloved  ;)  [5:17]

Chris: i-  [5:18]

Me: 00Ooo thank you Haerin! very cool! [5:18]

Chris: please don't tell me you're actually using that- why am I the only sane person in this group? [5:19]

I shut off my phone, content with the name and ready to get down to serious business. Hours and hours of serious business.

Creating a whole new identity sure was time-consuming.

The wait was over.

The letter who held my fate had arrived to my surprising displeasure. I huffed a breath of frustration. Why am I so nervous? With the grades I have, it is certain I’ll be getting in but why can't I open it?

The pretty creme letter waited for no one other than me to open it. I was first made known of its presence when I was taking a shit and my uncle so kindly slid it under the door when he was staying over for a couple days.

All Boys: Great Jeon University

I had just finished taking a shit but after re-reading the letter I felt like taking a second shit.  Curling on the floor, my nose rose up in defiance as I glanced at the paper, still centimeters away from under the door.

Let's just open the letter and get this over with.

With trembling hands, I reached over to the letter but I at last second I let my hand fell back to my side.

This Is so stressful! Is it possible to vomit and shit your pants all at the same time? I shot up, heading to the sink determined, with a couple splashes of cold water on my face I stared at myself in the mirror, determined.

I pursued my full lips, taking in a pimple that formed right next to my thick brows. This stress is really getting to me. I know damn well that a pimple wouldn't have been there otherwise.

"Okay you big wuss, tear that shit open !" I gas myself up, finally picking up the letter, I rip the envelope, already expecting the worst.

"Dear Mister. Mcniplecocker, we are glad to inform you that you have been accepted-"

“Oh thank God...” relief washes down on me like a ton of bricks. ”Thank 

god..”I exhale, I can't contain the small smile that forms on my lips.

"THIS CALL FOR DANGEROUSLY HIGH AMOUNTS OF CALORIES !" Haerin shouts, grabbing the takeout menu to order too much food and possibly max out her credit card. She is reckless and often thinks of the consequences after she does something but if she ever got in trouble with the law due to her shenanigans, me, a soon to be law student would help her.

Christian took his usual seat at my right and Haerin at my left on our favorite brown couch. They were here so often on this couch that their butts were permanently imprinted.

"I need to tell you guys about this girl I've met. She's older but I swear I've never seen a woman more beautiful" Christian gushed, tugging on my shirt. "Oh, my man is finally getting some action! I started getting worried for you I was almost going to ship you with Haerin."

The girl snapped her head to look at me at the mention of her name. "Excuse me? Me and Christian? I'd rather let your creepy pillow anime guy date me." She snickered and I scoffed "Bitch, you wish Makoto Tachibana would be with your dusty crusty ass plus you're acting like Christian is ugly! I mean he might be a lil on the grandpa side since he's so old but-"

He deadpanned. "I'm literally 25 ???"

"Anyways, in two months I'll be going to one of the most prestigious schools and I'll be a lawyer. If one of you ever gets in trouble with the law don't call me because I'll be the one making sure you go to jail." I joke, picking a movie on the laptop.

I was over the moon. Things were going my way and it felt good, so good.

"If you ever do get caught, who will defend you ?" Christian hesitated when he asked, not wanting to stress me.

"Don't jinx it, idiot. I won't happen, don't worry." Haerin leaned forward, taking my hand in hers and gave me a small smile not knowing that the damage was already done.

 It was something that I ridiculously tried shoving at the back of my brain. It was something I needed to face. I was going to be a lawyer for crying out loud, I knew that I could face time in jail and fines I wouldn't be able to afford to pay.

It was something I was ready to risk. For my education. I was breaking the law in order to work as a person who enforced the law. How ironic.

"Yeah, don't jinx it, Chris." 

[mandelene]

Tag Game

Answer 15 questions and tag 15 mutuals

Thank you to @feyna-v for tagging me!

1. Are you named after someone? No, my mom picked my name just because she liked it and it was American/English and not Polish (she didn’t want to give me a Polish name).  My dad agreed to it. (My name is not Mandelene, btw). 

2. When was the last time you cried? While reading the ending of Small Country by Gael Faye a few days ago. 

3. Do you have kids? Nope, not yet, haha, but I hope to have kids someday if I can. Two or three but no more than three :) Idk how to explain it, but at some point within the past two years, I started feeling more...maternal toward kids, if that’s the right word for it. I just see kids on the bus and think, huh, yeah, I could have one of those, I think I might like that, God knows why. 

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Oh, boy. Yes. It’s not as obvious when I’m online, but ask my mother or my close friends and they will confirm that 90% of my daily life is spent being sarcastic. My life is just one big sarcastic meme. 

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people? How they present themselves -- whether they’re smiling or frowning, standing up straight or slouching, etc. For men, I immediately notice how tall they are because I’m a tall woman so tall men are absolutely heavenly to look at. Any man that’s like 6′2 ft or taller and in their mid to late twenties makes my heart flutter instinctively. (This is how I know I’m definitely straight, bahahaha).

6. What’s your eye color?

Hazel. I joke that I must be adopted because my parents and sister have green eyes, but my great-grandmother had hazel eyes so I guess my parents are my parents. 

7. Scary movie or happy ending? Happy ending for sure. Scary movies rarely have a storyline that I find interesting tbh.

8. Any special talents? I’ve been told I bake a fantastic coffee cake. I can recite the alphabet backwards, and I know some first-aid, but those are skills and not really talents. 

9. Where were you born? I’m a Brooklyn baby. :D Brooklyn, NY. 

10. What are your hobbies? Writing, reading, occasional video-making, playing with my cat, indoor cycler, casual gamer, novice yoga pupil. 

11. Have you any pets? Of course. Most of you know my baby already: 

Macchiato! 

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

Oh, here we go. Brace yourselves for a tangent.

I was the sickly asthmatic kid who was too busy coughing up a lung to play sports, and I’m only half-joking. I played soccer a lot as a kid with my friends, but I was never on a team because my asthma was too severe and out of control for that. I’ve talked about this many times before, but I spent a good chunk of my childhood in the doctor’s office. I missed a lot of school. I got poked and prodded. I cried often about how much I hated being sick. I would be out playing with my friends and have an asthma attack in front of them and feel embarrassed. I would start wheezing and ignore it because I didn’t want everyone to make a big deal out of it. Don’t ever ignore your asthma, please. That never ends well. Sports were something I feared for years.

Midway through high school, my relationship with sports changed completely. I started seeing them as a method to improve my asthma rather than worsen it. My pulmonologist got my asthma under better control by coming up with a treatment regiment that he made sure I stuck to by lecturing my teenaged self at great length and wrote notes to my gym teachers at the start of every marking period. I slowly started regaining my confidence. My doctor made it clear that he was not excusing me from gym completely -- I had to exercise to the best of my ability without making myself sick, and if I kept getting attacks, it was back to the drawing board. If I couldn’t manage to exercise normally, then, in his view, my asthma was impeding my life too much and my medicine wasn’t working for me, which was totally true.  

One of my high school gym teachers, Mr. B, was notorious for being the hardest P.E. teacher in the school. I was terrified of him. Whenever he made us run laps, I would pause when I started feeling unwell, rest for a minute, and then continue. He never said a word to me about it even though he was known for scolding students for stopping. Oddly enough, it took me a while to realize this, but he was always subtlely looking out for me. He always asked me if I had my inhaler with me at the start of class. Although I was often dead last in everything he made us do, he pretended not to notice and never commented on it. I never cheated him. If he said to do 30 laps, I would do 30 laps, even if I had to pause three times in between. Everyone else would have already moved on to other exercises while I was still doing my laps, lol, but I don’t think I ever had to reach for my inhaler. At the end of the term, he pulled me aside and told me, “I know you always tried your best, and I admire that.” He gave me an A. He was the only gym teacher I had who didn’t accuse me of making excuses or being lazy. Many previous teachers had convinced me I wasn’t trying hard enough, so I would push myself, and then I promptly proceeded to have attacks, be frustrated with myself, and end up in tears in the locker room. I needed Mr. B in my life to restore my faith in gym. 

Nowadays I indoor cycle 3-4 times a week for 45 minutes to an hour to strengthen my lungs. Once a week, I have my “long tour” which is when I cycle for an hour and thirty minutes. After cycling, I lift weights for another 15-20 minutes. If I have a cold or any other upper respiratory infection, I stop all exercise until I’m well, and I hold myself to this. I have a better idea of my limits and what sports are best for me. I love swimming, but unfortunately, I don’t have a good indoor swimming pool around me, so it’s not something I can do regularly. Running/Track is still something I really struggle with, but brisk walking or hiking is fine. Last year, I was really into dance classes with my friend. Cycling is super kind to my lungs but leaves me exhausted in a good way, so that’s why it’s my favorite form of exercise. I’m sure if I did it outside though, I’d have asthma attacks. I’m generally okay with all sports/exercise as long as it doesn’t involve long stretches of running with few breaks in between, and I don’t do it outside when it’s cold. I won’t die from a light jog unless it’s the middle of January and there’s a meter of snow on the ground. You can invite me to play volleyball/basketball/tennis/whatever, and I promise I’ll be fine, haha. 

I’ve also tried getting into yoga recently by following some YouTube instructors, but cycling is what I do most regularly and have stuck to. I take frequent exercise very seriously now, and I make it a priority. 

13. How tall are you?

5′10 ft, so 177.8 cm. Super tall, I know. You should see my legs in yoga pants ;) 

14. Favorite subject in school? In elementary school, I enjoyed English classes the most. In high school, AP comparative government in my senior year was my favorite because I love international politics. Then, there came a point in my life when I stopped liking English classes and started despising them (around my second year of university). College English consists of reading novels (which is a good start) and then writing unnecessarily long papers analyzing the novel, but if the professor doesn’t like your interpretation or analysis, they’ll deduct points. They’re not the classes you want to take if you want to actually learn how to be a better writer. They just teach you how to pander to the professor and not how to think for yourself. It’s annoying. Journalism classes get right down to the technical parts of writing and tear your sentences apart. I feel like I gain more from those classes than ones in which I have to write a ten-page essay on the symbolism of a key. 

15. Dream job? A few years ago, I would have said “reporter for the New York Times,” and while that would be incredible, I have multiple dream jobs now. 

I would still love to work at a media outlet. I’d want to either work at the international desk as a writer/reporter or work on digital content like podcasts or short documentaries. However, I can also picture myself working at an NGO or at a think tank. I might also be interested in doing something in government someday--anything that has a direct impact on getting involved in a community. Global politics and writing are my two biggest passions, so if I end up doing work in either of those areas, I’ll be happy. 

Ideally, I can continue writing fiction on the side and publish it someday, but that’s still a dream I have to work my way up to. 

I don’t want to leave anybody out, so if you’re reading this and you want to answer it, consider yourself tagged by me! :) 

[lighthouseofthewanderess]

Self-love

I don’t think I’ve met a single person who’s learnt to love themselves without learning it the hard way first. And I know that there are still many who are yet to be blessed with the wisdom to realize what self love can do. It’s almost like someone built a world for you before you were even born, confining you to ages of repetition, deciding what you can and cannot do. God forbid you start straying into the journey of finding yourself, then would follow lectures in hope of ‘getting you back on track’. While pressures of the society is something we all have to live with, doing that without loving yourself makes the whole ordeal, harder. And I refuse to have anything pre-defined for me, except my name. Well, maybe not my name either. In its entirety, my name has 29 alphabets -- Priyadarshini Balasubramanian. As a South Indian, I took the name of my dad as my last name. Till date I don’t know if it ends with a ‘m’ or and ‘n’. Does it even matter? Whenever I hear this long name, I feel heavy. I absolutely hate it. I don’t believe it matches my identity at all. My mom launched into an explanation of how she named me ‘Priyadarshini’ so that people can all me ‘Darshini’. Well, screw that. She also said it was borrowed from Indira Gandhi’s middle name -- Priyadarshini . Screw that too. I’m not a celebrity, I’m not nobel. I’m simply me, and this was way too long a name. Longer than the English alphabet. So when people in US couldn’t pronounce my name for nuts (how can I blame them) the Principal politely suggested a shorter name. “Just for the schools here” she stressed, as if it is their shortcoming. I gladly welcomed that opportunity and snipped both the names. At the end what we had was  -- Priya Bala. A short, self-made name for a self-made woman. Works. So when my prefect badge had my whole ugly name crunched on it, I marched up to the principal and made a deal. No one’s taking me away from me. It also made me feel like I had something to live up to. While Priyadarshini meant personification of love, Priya just meant love. It was a lesser burden. I wasn’t going to embody all the good, personify it. I was just going to action the word out. And as a verb carried out by a human, it was okay flaw while loving. This I can live with, I told myself. Problem is, for the longest time, I considered the whole act of loving as something you do for the world and the people in this world. And life tried so hard to show me it wasn’t others you need to seek love in return from, it is from yourself. From within.

I remember in school, I had a friend called Megha. I considered her my best friend. Looking back at it, I don’t even know what led me to that conclusion. One day, we both had bunked our classes and were walking around the campus. I cherished these one-on-one conversations with people; it made me feel real important and wanted. But soon, a gang of boys (who were also her friends) came by and I took three steps back. No boys rule. She quickly came over to me afterwards and said “I’ll be right back, they’re calling me for a game.” I nodded enthusiastically. Love is patient. Love can wait. I waited. And waited. The bell rang, lunch hour was upon me, and still no sign of Megha. Here’s where there’s a fork in the road. If you love yourself even a little, you would be able to brush it off; chalk it to the other person being well, a person, and walk away. But if you all you’ve done is pull out oodles of love, stuff it into people’s heart, and expect their validation, then you’re in for trouble. Like the little me now. I went spiraling in my thoughts wondering if I was a bad friend, if I wasn’t loyal enough. Why did she even want to leave me alone in the first place. The thought killed me for a few hours and when I met her again, I was struck with agony to see she wasn’t even sorry. It wasn’t her fault. It was my inability to let things go. That I cannot expect things just because I gave some love. Love isn’t a transaction. It isn’t a process. I smiled, I hugged her, we forgot it. Inside, I told myself not to love anyone too much.

But it kept happening. And whenever it did, I pointed fingers at myself. The birthday party where I invited 3 people and only two turned up. Wasn’t I good enough? The day people made decisions without even asking me if I was okay with it. Did I not matter to them? The family gathering where I ended up singing carnatic music just because I was taking classes. Why did they force me even after I said no? I saw the pattern. I went out of my way to make others happy; I did things I regretted. I didn’t know any other way. Then there came a day when I that changed. It was only a small instance, but I learned a great deal from it. Whether it was mom, my then lover, or friends, the rule was simple -- does it work for me? It went like this.

I was at a party. Sitting there, plastering a smile on my face, having shots because it was what everyone was telling me to do. The conversation was boring. Over some hostel story that I didn’t want to know, didn’t have anything to contribute to. It looked like the only thing that kept me there was the fact that I had said yes to being there. And so, in the middle of it all, I felt like I was done. I got up to go. I put some money on the table and said they were all assholes for forcing me into their idea of fun. How stupid. But it felt good to have my opinion on my table. I knew I probably won’t see them again, and I was happy for that. I didn’t wait for them to stop me, and they didn’t either. I rode home feeling lighter, smiling to myself at the signals for doing what I wanted instead of going along with someone’s plan. I got home, made myself a nice meal and plonked with my laptop. Watched a horror movie, slept, danced around with a tea cup in the evening, and read a book basking in the sunset. The day had just turned out fabulous. And it was because I had got up and chose myself over them.

After that, I went on a detox. Don’t be wrong to think it had to do with food. I did a complete cleanse of my friend circle. I stopped meeting people who were okay if I tagged along. I sent a message out there into the universe that my time was precious. If they wanted me around, they better let me know instead of me assuming and randomly showing up. I deleted people off Facebook. I stopped responding to pointless forwards and engaging in small talk. My words were precious. If I was to spend it on you, you better know you’re important. My circle dwindled to people I can count on my fingers. And that was okay. They were all people who took me in because they valued me for me. I am flawed, I snap when hungry or just the same when I’m normal. I cross lines when drunk, say what’s on my mind. I frown when I work, I sit silent on group discussions observing people. I bring my bike whenever I come to meet you just so that I have an escape plan if things don’t go well. I always have an escape plan. I don’t contribute to conversations that involve history, politics, or celebrities. I know a very few things in life, but I’m willing to learn. And if you don’t judge me for that, then you have me. If not, then au revoir.

That said, it’s not like I wasn’t social. I talk to people who talk to me. Some amount of small talk is okay. But these are the people who know me for what I let on. I laugh a little on the inside when people say I have it all together, I’m always traveling, sweet to people, or that I love my work. You have no idea what’s beneath the surface you just managed to scratch. The real me is exclusive to just a few. And it is just these few that are allowed when I’m a bloody mess -- howling away, breaking to bits over a burger, panicking when I can’t decide what to wear. For this support system, I would cancel other plans. Throw in my essentials and come stay over. Pick up calls at 3am and listen to their stoner-talk. I love them because I can see a bit of myself in them. And because I love myself, I can allow to love them too. That’s how it works.

You love yourself first. Then you grow your circle of those who love what they see in you. Not the other way around. It has taken me all of 23 years to learn that, and I’m still not done. Here are a few things that has helped me, in bits of the Serenity Prayer. 

You cannot do anything about your face -- I was body shaming myself for the longest time. I wanted to be petite so that I can fit into any and every kind of clothing. I experimented with my hairstyles just to make my face look smaller. But it is huge and round. I cannot do anything about it. I can only make sure my body stays fit. But that doesn’t mean I become a fitness freak and hope for smaller hip bones. My built is this, I shall dress for it. That’s how my boho-chic style came to be. A ‘I-don’t-care look.’ Give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change.

You can only love people so much -- It is not your job to go around fixing people. Just like you found a way to fix yourself, they too need to hear from within. No amount of positive talk or empowering compliments is going to change their mind. So don’t set out on a mission to heal the world like a savior. Love them, hold them when they need you, and inspire them. The rest is in their hands. Give me the courage to change what I can and the wisdom to know when to stop.

You are not what happens to you -- So when a project goes wrong, a person cheats on you, or your parents think you are a disappointment, double check how much of that has to do with what you’ve done. If you find a way to fix it, go ahead. If you cannot, then it’s not your fault. Don’t go looking around for sympathy when you’re the only one who can forgive yourself for your losses. Or if you can’t, just cut them from your narrative. And for god’s sake -- don’t jump to the conclusion that you’re not good enough. Like literally don’t off anything, ever. Everyone errs, to err is human. Give me the power to accept my hardships as a way to become stronger.

Self-love is an ocean that I can scrutinize from every angle. I can simply put it like this: your heart holds a lot of love. It is easy to underestimate how much love you can give others. We do it all the time, leaving a bit of our heart with so many people -- scattering it away like they’re breadcrumbs for others to find a way back to you. But whatever you do, don’t spend it all. Fortify your own before you try to be a pillar for others. You need some for yourself, you cannot depend on others’ bread trails because they don’t lead to you when you’re lost.

[belonglab]

Growing Up Brown in America: When Every Day is Halloween

By Neha Sampat, Esq.

October 16, 2018

(Previously published in News India Times, The Teal Mango, and Thrive GlobaI)

Sometimes, taking off the mask is what is really scary.

I’ve been working on that the past few years. I found myself struggling to process a personal loss, mainly because I was more worried about how others perceived my loss and my reaction to it than allowing myself to just feel what I felt and honor those feelings. I realized I had become so swift to gauge others’ needs and so preoccupied with telling them what they wanted to hear, that I had forgotten in some ways who I was. I had covered myself in a cloak of expectation, carefully crafted over four decades of my life, and it was suffocating me.

“How did I get here?” I wondered. I thought back to kindergarten, when I proudly raised my hand when the teacher asked who knew the alphabet. Upon her request, I began to recite it, but was brutally stopped at “H” by my classmates’ uproarious laughter. I couldn’t comprehend why they were laughing at me, which only added to my distress. Finally, someone explained to me that it was pronounced “aych,” not “etch,” as my mom had taught me through her Indian accent. From there sprouted a seed of self-consciousness, a ceaseless suspicion that there was the equivalent of a “Kick me” sign taped to my back, and the silencing shame of being different.

I started to adapt by downplaying my differences. I figured I had to try to be like them in order to be with them, and I had to say what they wanted to hear so they would listen to me. And thus, I gathered the fabric of fitting-in and the string of assimilation, and I began to assemble my costume.

Once I had a passable prototype, I began to perfect it with the right props. For me, one such prop was the simple fork. In my Indian-American family, I remember from early childhood eating with our hands. My mom and grandmother would use their hands to carefully and evenly work warm jaggery into crumbled wheat rotis to create glistening spheres of goodness, which they would lovingly pop into my mouth. Even in the moments we resorted to silverware, we went straight for the spoons, effectively cutting food by forcefully and frantically sawing with the spoon’s side. When invited to a white friend’s home for a meal, I initially feared the fork. I would meticulously study how my friend’s family ate, marveling at their mastery of interchangeably using three utensils in one meal, and I would bring home with me those lessons in “civility, normalcy, and good manners.”

In middle school, I was thrilled to discover another useful prop: Lip gloss in the perfect shimmery shade of frosty pink. It made all the white girls look so shiny-sparkly-good, and that’s what I needed to be! But with my darker lips asserting themselves from beneath the cotton candy sheen, I couldn’t quite achieve the desired effect. Yet, there was no room in my world for the question my mom gently proffered as to what was the right shade of lip gloss for me, so I persisted with the pink.

Thankfully, we all grew out of the Bonne Bell stage. But for many of us brown folks, that just meant our costumes needed to be updated. I observed with an eagle-eye every expression, every choice, every quiet movement made by my white counterparts, and I plotted how I could improve my costume to make it more real and more believable. I started to become more accustomed to wearing the costume and, soon enough, was rarely taking it off. In the safe space at home with my Indian-American friends, I thought I was taking the costume off, but I realize now that remnants of the deception remained: an expression, a choice, a quiet movement.

All of this seemed to work well enough for me as I graduated from my educational endeavors and entered the professional world. I knew how to dress like a white girl, talk like a white girl, and for the most part, act enough like a white girl to get by. And trust me when I tell you that this is what it takes to get by in many professions. Even worse is that in most professions, mimicking a white girl isn’t even enough to excel, due to a cultural bias against women leaders.

In spite of this set-up, I took some risks. Once, when I was a summer intern at a law firm, I asked my assigned mentor attorney if I could wear an Indian outfit to an off-the-clock gathering at a law firm partner’s house. My mentor shook her head incredulously and issued a resounding “Noooooo!” Curiously and quite distressingly, despite my consistently well-received work product, I later was denied a position with the firm for reason of “not being a good fit.” It doesn’t take more than one or two outcomes like that to shake your confidence and chase you right back into your costume, which then is what begins to feel like the safe space.

Without even consciously realizing it, my M.O. became more and more about flying under the radar. If they didn’t notice me, it meant that I was fitting in. That my disguise was working.

Eventually, my costume started to fray from overuse, and the seams started to split to reveal more of my true personality, which, as it turns out, does not want to fly under the radar. I want to do something big and important! I’m tired of the same ineffective solutions to the same problems in business and society, particularly when it comes to diversity. And I’m tired of listening to people tell me their stories and then walk away before hearing mine.

I’ve tried to share with some people how much I was bullied as a child because I was different, but I often find they start to get visibly uncomfortable or try to tell me that my race may not have been a reason, for they, too, were bullied for being nerdy or not wearing the right clothes. I’ve learned through my now well-honed observational skills that people don’t really want to hear me talk about how I was called a “sand n_____” by my elementary school classmates. Or how, even after being the last one picked in 6th grade gym class, my square dance partner considered my brown skin too dirty to even touch, and we both miserably do-si-doed with a deep, dark chasm between our outstretched hands. Or how my high school English teacher told my mom that my potential was less than that of my white classmates since I was “English as a second language.” All of those stories make people break eye contact with me, wriggle in their seats, and try to change the subject.

I have this friend who is Jewish. She and I often have connected over some of the similar traits of our cultures. She is a gifted storyteller who doesn’t shy away from questions that help her understand others’ experiences, and I accordingly have found her to be compassionately and sincerely open to my stories. I recently relayed to her a detailed version of the story about my request to wear Indian clothes to the law firm gathering. Her eyes welled up as I related the events that led to me being dinged from the firm. I could see that it was hard for her to hear. As it should be, because it was hard for me to tell and even harder to experience. In fact, there was a new pain I felt in relating that experience. It was the pain of knowing better. It was the ache of wisdom telling me that I shouldn’t have put up with that and regretting that, as a young, female law student of color eager to make a good impression, I felt disempowered and showed up to that event costumed up, asking them to drop a treat in my bag.

Unfortunately, yet understandably, this form of disempowerment is common among minorities and women. In the 1960’s, sociologist Erving Goffman coined as “covering” this behavior of a known stigmatized individual attempting to mitigate the obtrusiveness of the stigma. It is difficult to metrically ascertain the impact of covering, when it includes lost professional opportunities, decreased confidence, identity and self-worth, and a whole lot of cognitive dissonance. But as law professor Kenji Yoshino recognized, “covering” amounts to a civil rights issue: African-Americans have lost their jobs over wearing their hair in cornrows; Women have been demoted for choosing to become mothers; and Jews have been terminated from the military for wearing yarmulkes. Professor Yoshino explains that courts are willing to protect immutable traits such as the color of one’s skin and one’s sex, but “will not protect mutable traits, because individuals can alter them to fade into the mainstream…If individuals choose not to engage in that form of self-help, they must suffer the consequences.” Such consequences are too often dire in these days of rampant racial profiling, especially for our African-American brothers and sisters who might wear a dark hoody on a candy run. And so, as incentivized by some of our classmates, teachers, neighbors, mentors, and bosses, and also by the law of the land, we cover, hiding our true selves behind masks of the majority and resigning our society to a persistent and oppressive homogeneity.

Abby Norman, in her article about liberal progressives not enrolling their children in her predominantly black neighborhood school, asks, “Really, if we are experiencing diversity on white terms, what good is that diversity anyway?” I’d guess that Ms. Norman and I would agree that the answer is, “not very good at all,” but you don’t have to take our word for it; the data speaks loudly and clearly. In spite of ongoing claims of diversity as a top value and mission of many organizations, African-Americans and Latina/o-Americans remain significantly underrepresented in many industries, even more so in senior leadership roles. Even in a legal profession charged with upholding justice, barely modest strides have been made in diversity metrics.

Clearly, “success” needs to be redefined when it comes to diversity, and innovative and diverse approaches must be welcomed, supported, and earnestly attempted to reap the many benefits of diversity and inclusion. To genuinely engage our underrepresented brothers and sisters, we all must battle our own implicit biases, in part by expanding our own social networks to be genuinely inclusive of others who have different backgrounds and experiences from us. If organizations truly seek diversity and inclusion (and that is a question meriting candid organizational introspection), they must make space for everyone, especially minorities and women, to bring their true selves to the table. Most, like me, have learned the art of “covering” to survive in organizations because that is what our society has required of us. It is now on our society and our organizational leaders to undo that to allow minorities and women to thrive and offer their unique perspectives and ideas for assured organizational and societal improvements. Seats at the table aren’t enough; organizational leaders must warmly and earnestly ask minorities and women to share their stories and then must listen, especially when it is painful and uncomfortable.

At the same time, we minorities and women must be more aware of and intentional about when we put on our costumes. There always will be some amount of care and strategy we employ in determining with whom, in what scenarios, and to what extent we show our true colors. However, it is important that we not be scared by past risks that didn’t pay off and continue to share our stories with the people in our lives who will be moved and impacted, and who will remind us of the power of our true narratives.

For me, that means remembering the way food always tasted better to me as a child when it was fed to me by my mom’s or grandmother’s hand instead of a cold-clawed fork. And it means acknowledging that the pretty pink lip gloss made me look like the living dead.

I’ll save that costume for Halloween.

Neha Sampat is founder, consultant, trainer, and coach at GenLead|BelongLab, where she collaborates with clients through consulting, training, and individual coaching to innovate approaches to leadership, inclusion, and professional development that are both data-driven and grounded in the subjective experience. Her best Halloween costume to date was Buffila Slayerjee (the South Asian vampire slayer), and when she wears lip gloss, it is in the shade of coco plum. Find her on LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram (@belonglab) and Twitter (@nehamsampat and @BelongLab).

[donghun-s]

the very large sp3arb tag

so @sp3arb has tagged me in a total four tags recently and i’m finally getting around to all of them!! tysm for all the tags, meri (btw i love your name?? i think its super cute!) and i hope you learn a bunch of unnecessary stuff abt me lmao (under the cut bc this is a long ass post)

i dont have a name for this tag

1ST RULE: Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

im not tagging anyone bc im bad at things and most ppl i wanna know about, meri has already tagged so

2ND RULE: BOLD the statements that are true.

APPEARANCE: - I am 5'7 or taller - I wear glasses - I have at least one tattoo - I have at least one piercing - I have blonde hair - I have brown eyes - I have short hair - My abs are at least somewhat defined - I have or had braces

PERSONALITY: - I love meeting new people - People tell me I am funny - Helping others with their problems is a big priority of mine - I enjoy physical challenges - I enjoy mental challenges - I am playfully rude to people I know- I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it - There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY: - I can sing well - I can play an instrument - I can do over 30 pushups without stopping - I am a fast runner - I can draw well - I have a good memory - I am good at doing maths in my head - I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute - I have beaten at least 2 people arm wrestling - I can make at least 3 recipes from scratch - I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES: - I enjoy sports - I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else - I’m in a orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else - I have learned a new song in the past week - I exercise at least once a week - I have gone for runs at least once a week in warmer months - I have drawn something in the past month - I enjoy writing - Fandoms are my #1 priority  - I do some form of Martial arts

EXPERIENCES: - I have had my first kiss - I have had alcohol - I have scored a winning point in a sport - I have watched an entire TV series in one sitting - I have been at an overnight event - I have been in a taxi - I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year - I have beaten a video game in one day - I have visited another country - I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

MY LIFE: - I have one person that I consider to be my Best Friend - I live close to my school/work - My parents are still together - I have at least one sibling - I live in the United States - There is snow where I live right now - I have hung out with a friend in the past month - I have a smart phone - I own at least 15 CDs - I share my room with someone

RELATIONSHIPS: - I am in a Relationship - I have a crush on a celebrity - I have a crush on someone I know - I’ve been in at least 3 relationships - I have never been in a Relationship - I have admitted my feelings to a crush - I get crushes easily - I have had a crush for over a year - I have been in a relationship for over a year - I have had feelings for a friend

RANDOM: - I have break-danced - I know a person named Jamie  - I have had a teacher that has a name that is hard to pronounce - I have dyed my hair - I’m listening to a song on repeat right now - I have punched someone in the past week - I know someone who has gone to jail - I have broken a bone - I have eaten a waffle today - I know what I want to do in life - I speak at least two languages [i don’t speak two, i speak one and sign in another] - I have made a new friend in the past year

alphabet tag

Rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better

I was tagged by Roxanne ( is it ok if I call you Roxy? I like Roxy) Actually @lxx-fxlix  And for some reason it did not give me the notification you did, I was casually stalking your blog when I saw:

A: age? 16 (01 liner)

B: birthplace? North Carolina

C: current time? 7:53 pm

D: drink you had last? Arnold Palmer (half sweet tea, half lemonade)

E: easiest person to talk to? for me, it’s my irl best friend gwen and my best friend on here, krys

F: favorite song? oof i’m super indecisive so i’m just gonna commit to mayday by got7 (it always changes but mayday has stayed on my constantly rotating playlist for nearly six months now; most are on for six weeks, max)

G: grossest memory? uh probably when one of my swim lesson kids tried to eat a bug (they were like four) and i had to make them spit it out into my hands 

H: hogwarts house? proud slytherin!!

I: in love? i love a lot of people, but i’m not IN love

J: jealous of people? not anymore, my self-esteem has gotten so much better in past years

K: killed someone? uhm a couple of times in fics (*cough* jinjin in not like this *cough*)

L: love at first sight or should i walk by again? not love but pls walk by again bc i’m probably enjoying your aesthetics

M: middle name? christine

N: number of siblings? one, an older sister

O: one wish? to adopt a kid with no family or an unhealthy one (obvs when  older and financially stable)

P: person you called last? my sister called me yesterday morning, and before that i had called my friend to tell him abt a near death experience when i was driving

R: reasons to smile? something good will happen to you, you’ll meet someone wonderful, and there’s always new experiences to happen

S: song you sang last? poet by bastille (an underrated fave)

T: time you woke up? about 8 am

U: underwear color? light heathered grey

V: vacation destination? i’d love to go to greece someday! santorini would be my first choice, and then my great-grandparents old village near thessaloniki

W: worst habit? probs my dermatillia (picking at acne on my face until it bleeds, then picking at the scabs, leaving a bunch of scars that will never go away)

X: x-rays? i got one on my tailbone one time, two years after i sprained it bc my mom didn’t believe me

Y: your favorite food? uhhh most anything tbh; i quite like the honey butter chicken sandwich from pdq

Z: zodiac sign? libra

✨ Fun Facts Tag ✨

Rules for this are:

Have fun with it!  

Tag some of your mutuals

1) Favourite colours:

orange!! and after that, any kinds of pastel or muted darks

2) Favourite song at the moment:

lotto by exo has been on replay in my head, my car, and my earbuds

3) Last book you read:

the sun and her flowers by rupi kaur

4) Last TV show you watched:

i tried to watch part-time idol bc hyunbin from jbj was in it, but within the first 15 minutes they set up an unnecessary relationship so i had to nope out of there real hard; i then reverted back to rewatching white collar for the fifth time

5) Last movie you watched:

does john mulaney’s nerflix comedy special comeback kid count?? if not, probably nightmare before christmas way back around christmastime

6) If you have a pet whats their name?:

four dogs: pheonix, kino, midge, and bess; three horses: little man, gem, and andy (ironically i’m allergic to dogs and horses, and my dad keeps buying more)

7) If you have siblings how many?:

one, my older sister

8) Favourite thing to do on a weekend:

i love doing my swim lessons and seeing all my kids!! i haven’t been able to lately bc of the weather, 

9) Best tumblr friends:

i only talk to @cheesyramynry on a daily basis, but i have a lot of blogs that i consider friendly acquaintances or casual friends as well!!

10) Favourite thing about yourself:

i value my compassion and empathy above all else; i am very much the mom friend and love to be it

11) Favourite memory:

ah i have so many; i think rn i’m gonna go with this past christmas, bc it was my last one with my grandfather

12) 3 weird habits:

swallowing gum, taking all my pills in descending size order, i tend to mimic how a singer sounds when i sing along to the song (ex: if they have a british accent, i’ll subconsciously sing in a british accent; if they stress certain syllables in certain ways, i’ll do it too)

13) What would you call your style?:

comfortable (stretchy jeans, t-shirts, hoodies) and with a few signature Gay Things (jean jacket, flannels, oversized mens’ button ups, a couple gay/bi pride shirts)

14) Odd talent:

if i have lyrics in front of me to a song i’ve never heard before, i can predict the pattern of the tunes and rhythm and sing along the first time

15) Do you have a tumblr crush?:

literally all of aroha and all of the sk fandom (y’all are the loveliest fandoms i’ve ever been a part of)

the stray kids tag

Rules: answer the questions in a new post, and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better.

I’ve decided that in celebration of Stray Kids pre-debut album I needed to create a tag. The ultimate goal for The Stray Kids Tag is to learn about your Tumblr mutuals, and have fun answering the Stray Kids related questions!  Here we go:

1: When did you decide to join the Stray kids fandom?

i saw a thread of information abt the suspected nine members before they were officially announced and was like ‘yes i must stan them and love them with all of my heart.’ so uh,,,,, back in august or september??

2: What is your favorite episode of Stray Kids? uhm, i’m gonna expose myself rn and let y’all know that i’ve never actually seen a full episode of the show; as soon as i heard it was gonna be a survival show, i knew that i couldn’t watch it bc my heart was too weak and i was emotionally incapable of becoming too invested while watching it; but from clips, i quite like the episode with the 3:3:3 mission, and also the last episode when all nine were reunited and told they were going to debut together

3: Who would you say is your bias in Stray kids?

my initial one was chan, and they i got rlly confused, and then slowly came to realize that it was jeongin (anything else after that is a fucking mess)

4: Who would you say is your bias wrecker in Stray kids?

literally kill me all of them bias wreck me so hard bUT hyunjin, jisung, seungmin, and chan have been wrecking me so hard in particular lately

5: What line would you want to be apart of in Stray kids? uHHH not dance line bc swimmers have 0 coordination on land; i quite like singing even tho i’m not good at, so probably that, but i can also hit all of chan’s english rap parts in 3racha songs, and keep up with lafayette’s raps in hamilton, and a lot of the english rappers i like too so uh,,, sign me up for rap line too

6: What is the first song you heard of Stray kids? hellevator

7: What is the first song you heard of 3racha? i think it was either hoodie season or runner’s high

8: What is your favorite song on their pre-debut album?

young wings or school life or yayaya (or grr or 4419 or glow or hellevator)

9: What is a concept you’d like to see Stray Kids try in the future?

i love their current optimistic and slightly rebellious teenager concept rn bc its an Eternal Mood; but i always love myself a soft boyfriend concept 

10: if you could meet with the members of Stray kids for one day what would you say to them?

how proud of them i am, and how proud of themselves they should be; i would tell them about how they’re saying things that resonate deeply for their fans and i love that they’re talking abt real world problems; i would also make sure to tell them (chan and 3racha especially) to make sure to rest more, and eat well, and take care of themselves emotionally as well as physically; and finally i’d like to tell jeongin how wonderful he is and that he’s doing so much at such a young age (lmao he’s actually eight months older than me but that’s no the point) and to never lose his cute little smile

finally done!! meri, if you actually read all of this, uh thank you????? i hope you now know everything you wanted to know abt me, and probably more than you wanted to know

i’m bad at tagging people, so if you also made it this far and haven’t done some of these tags, choose one, or a couple, or all of them and do them yourself!! just say that i tagged you!!

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The College Years - Freshman Year (Chapter 5) - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles​

Title: “The Second Patrol”

Characters: Stiles Stilinski & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff.

A.N.: Feel free to listen to any of the songs that I mentioned in the piece… or don’t let me tell you what to do. That’s also fine. Ugh, i love this chapter too. I can’t. It was sort of inspired by my own visits to this exact spot and also Stuart doing this in The Internship.

Summary: Stiles is developing quite the crush on Y/N and it only intensifies as she picks him up for their second late night vampire patrol around Berkeley.

Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

You pulled up in front of Stiles and Scott’s building and saw Stiles pacing on the sidewalk with two coffees, in to-go cups, in his hands, and his hood pulled over his perfect chocolate brown hair. It was still early and you both were the first watch that night instead of the last. You rolled down your passenger side window and shouted his name to get his attention towards the car that he wasn’t familiar with. Stiles smiled and ran over, grinning as you leaned over to open the door from the inside since he had his hands full.

“Hey… I brought you a coffee..” He lifted a cup in the air.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” You smiled, took a sip and placed it in the cupholder.

“I went with milk and two sugars. Scott said that was probably safe.”

“It’s perfect…. I thought we could kind of stay in the Magnolia Park area tonight, see if we could find anything around there?” You proposed. Stiles nodded and you drove off.

Stiles wasn’t used to being the passenger in the car and fidgeted with the insulated cup in his hands. He looked around and saw your phone plugged into your dashboard. He reached for the dial and turned up the volume. “I’ve only heard a few songs by these guys, are they any good?” Stiles asked, picking up your phone and reading the layout that read ’The National - Guilty Party - Sleep Well Beast’.

“They are my absolute favorite band, hands down. They’re like these old guys from Brooklyn, but I’ve seen them live a few times and they’re incredible…… I can change it if it’s not your kind of stuff though…” You offered, feeling self-conscious about him not liking your music and thus not liking you.

Stiles shook his head. “I like new music.” He smiled, and turned the dial even farther to the right.

He watched as your hair moved softly in the wind of your slightly cracked windows. It was a clear night for the middle of January in San Francisco, and Stiles pressed his head against the window to see the stars above them, the light pollution from the city not allowing too many to show but enough were visible. 

Stiles watched as you whispered the words to the song to yourself, driving with your right hand at the top of the steering wheel. Your left elbow was pushed against the place where your door met your window, and you propped your head up with your hand. Stiles smiled, pulling his hood down, and relaxing into his seat. He closed his eyes for a minute, enjoying the mellow and low timbre of the lead singers voice, and the quick, heartbeat compliant rhythm of the song. He dozed off for an hour and you just turned down the music and continued on the patrol quietly.

You got to a red light and yawned. Without Stiles talking to you and making you laugh, or without music to sing along to, you were getting drowsy. When the light turned green, you drove through the intersection and pulled over. He woke up when he heard the car door shut. He wiped the little bit of drool away from his chin with the end of the sleeve of his hoodie and looked around for you. He was disoriented but he knew that you were missing. He began to panic and quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and scrambled out of the car.

“Y/N?!” He said loudly.

“Yea?” He followed the noise to the trunk of the car and saw you leaning against your car, with a concerned look on your face. “Did I wake you? I tried to shut the door as quietly as possible.”

“It’s fine, I just saw you were gone and got… what are you doing?” He asked, standing on the curb a couple of feet away from you.

“I was getting tired and I stopped to just stretch and get some fresh air. I stuck around to look at the stars though.” She said with a sheepish smile.

“Ah, these aren’t great stars… you have to drive out to Yosemite for really good stars.” Stiles told you, stepping forward and leaning against your car next to you.

“Hmm… I’ll have to check that out sometime.” You said, smiling up at him and rubbing your arm to get warm.

Stiles noticed that you were cold and began to unzip his hoodie. “Are you cold? Do you want this?” He asked.

“No, it’s okay. Maybe we should just get back into the car.” You propelled yourself off the small ledge under the trunk hatch, wondering why you refused Stiles’ sweatshirt.

“Yea, okay… If you’re tired, I can drive.” Stiles offered again.

“I’m better now, and if you stay up and talk to me like last time then I think I’ll be good… I just feel bad making you do all the driving on these things.”

“I can stay up. You shouldn’t have let me nap like that.” Stiles said as you both climbed back into the front seat.

“You were so peaceful, I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up.” You admitted, as you put your car in drive and continued weaving through the neighborhoods bordering Magnolia Park, the site of the first attack. Stiles smiled softly at your comment.

Stiles lifted his coffee to his lips. It was cold now. He took a small sip, cringed and placed it back in the cupholder. “So… how are your classes going?”

“Really well, I like all of them, which is a relief. What about you?” You answered, glad to hear his low, husky voice ringing in your ears.

“They’re okay. I have two with Scott and that’s cool… You know, I don’t think I actually even know what your major is..?” Stiles realized aloud.

You pulled over on the west side of Magnolia Park when you saw a group of three guys walking through. You and Stiles watched them leisurely strolling through the park from afar and continued talking.  "I’m a double major in history and political science with a minor in Arabic.“ You answered, your eyes trying to remain focused on the group of men instead of on the object of your affections.

"Arabic? Does that mean that you’re learning to speak Arabic?” Stiles questioned, breaking his gaze on the group.

“And write in Arabic. It’s hard because it’s a whole new alphabet but for what I want to do, it’ll be worth it.”

“What do you want to do?” Stiles wondered, intrigued by your choices in schoolwork.

“The goal is to go into politics in some capacity, so whether that’s working for the State Department with something having to do with the Middle East, or literally becoming a politician or working at a policy center or a think tank or for a politician, I don’t really care, I just want to be involved in what’s going on in the world.” You explained.

“Why politics now? In this day and age, I mean.” He asked.

“I get what you mean, it seems like everyone else is running in the opposite direction from politics nowadays. It’s not cool or noble or anything anymore, and that’s obviously not why I wanted to ever get into it, but I guess I just have strong opinions about what’s going on in the world and in our country and I think that I have good ideas on how to better my community and my peer’s future and I just want to be able to make positive changes in the world…. and that totally sounded like I was trying to get you to vote for me."You blushed furiously, and covered your face with your hand. You gave him your quick interview pitch as to why you wanted to pursue your chosen career path, not certain of what he would think if you kept going on and on about how you were raised by incredibly liberal parents who raised you to be political and to think critically and to see the big picture with what was happening in the world and how you just wanted to make the world better.

"Well…” Stiles paused, and you were worried that you hit a hot button issue that would push you two away in common ground shared. “If more politicians spoke like that, maybe people would be excited to vote or get involved.” He smirked at you.

You looked down and smiled, fixing your hair as a nervous tick. “Thanks… What about you? What are you doing with school?”

“I am in the criminal justice major… I know, a real departure from my real life.” Stiles joked while he was clearly currently on a stakeout. “I’ll do anything, if that means being an FBI agent or police detective or Sheriff of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department, I’ll do it. I just like solving a case and figuring out who the bad guy is and keeping people safe…. obviously.” He laughed softly to himself.

“An FBI Agent, huh? You never know… we could both end up in D.C. looking for jobs after school is over.” You sparked his imagination with your suggestion and he grinned. He liked that you imagined a possible future where you two were still in each other’s lives.

“That would be pretty cool..” He smiled at you, wide and toothy, then got shy, breaking their prolonged eye contact, and smoothed his pant legs over his thighs.

You had broken off from following the group of guys from the park when they all went into separate apartments, figuring that they were just regular students who were coming home late from campus. You two started driving around again, looking for a new group of suspicious people to watch. You parked near the athletic practice fields on the south end of campus as you both watched a girl walking home by herself.

“Did you play sports in high school?” Stiles asked nodding towards the fields, and wanting to get the conversation rolling again. He felt stupid for it but he missed the sound of your voice when you weren’t talking to him. It was complex. It occasionally had a thick New York accent that peeked its head out in words like “coffee, water, walk or talk”. It was lower like Lydia’s and Malia’s but still sing-songy and sweet like Allison’s was. He liked that sometimes he could hear you singing under your breath during certain points in the evening to songs that came on over your speakers.

You glanced over at the practice fields, and shook your head. “Not really. I mean, I used to play soccer pretty competitively but I ended up hurting my knees before I was even fourteen, so I had to quit and I ended up getting surgery on both knees and I don’t really do any sports anymore. What about you?” You asked.

“Wow, that really sucks.” You smiled and shrugged, wanting to hear what he had to say, because the truth was that you were ready to quit playing at that point anyway so it never really bothered you. Stiles continued, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, his bicep flexing against the fabric of his shirt and hoodie. You tried not to stare. “I played soccer when I was really little and kind of sucked at it. It was too slow and my ADD was just…” Stiles made a gesture mimicking an explosion around his head. “I did play lacrosse all through high school though.”

“No way… ugh.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Do.. do you not like lacrosse?”

“NOOO!” You laughed. “Oh god, I am so bummed, you were so perfect until you said that!” You smiled a toothy grin at him.

“What’s wrong with lacrosse?!” Stiles demanded to know, both broken hearted but smiling in reaction to your wide beam and comment about him being perfect.

“Maybe it was different in Beacon Hills, but lacrosse is pretty big where I grew up and the guys who play it are the BIGGEST douches. They’re just like…. total lax bro assholes.” You rolled your eyes, imagining certain people from home in your head.

“Ohhh… Okay, yea, I get what you mean.” Stiles thought of Jackson. “I have definitely known a few people like that on my own team, but I swear the sport itself is really fun…. You know, uhh, before that party on Saturday, that I mentioned the other night.. that afternoon, our friend Liam is coming up from Beacon Hills and Scott and I roped him and Isaac and Ethan and our friend Simon into playing a pick up game of lacrosse. You should come and watch, maybe we’ll change your mind?” All he wanted was for you to say yes.

“I would, but I have to work on a group project that afternoon… if you ever play again, let me know, I’ll cheer you on.” You told him, both letting him down and building him up in the same sentence. Stiles nodded and smiled sheepishly. “I am definitely coming to that party though..” You mentioned.

“I was hoping you would..” Stiles admitted, getting red in the face over his own brashness.

You both watched the girl safely reach her dorm and go inside. The vampires just weren’t biting. It was nearing three in the morning and Stiles’ phone vibrated in his pocket. You were driving around aimlessly, finding no one out walking at this time of night. You saw Stiles’ face glow white as he read the text message he had just received.

“Parrish just pulled into Berkeley city limits with Lydia. She said that we can go home early if we want.”

“We’re done for the night?” You asked.

“Yea….. unless you had somewhere else you wanted to check out first?” Stiles asked.

You paused at a stop sign, contemplating what to do. You weren’t tired anymore and you really didn’t want to leave Stiles. You didn’t have class until the afternoon and you didn’t care about yawning your way through it. You looked at Stiles, he was watching you think.

“Do you have class early tomorrow?” Stiles shook his head. “Can I take you somewhere before I take you home then?” You asked.

“Where?”

“….That’ll sort of ruin the adventure, won’t it?” You smiled gently, hoping he would say yes.

“Okay… yea, I’m down for an adventure.” Stiles smiled back at you, completely enthralled by you spontaneity.

You punched an address into your GoogleMaps, dropped your phone in between your legs and began driving again, this time with purpose.

“Can I see your phone?” Stiles asked, placing his palm out next to you.

“For what?”

“Give me your favorite National song and I’ll put it on. I liked that one you played earlier, and you have good taste in everything else so..”

You blushed and quickly closed the map on your phone, not wanting to spoil the surprise. “You can’t peek..” You warned as you placed your phone in his hand, your fingertips lingering in his palm. Stiles nodded with a grin, holding his breath while you touched him. “Put on "England”, you might like that one, it’s kind of… epic.“ You told him.

Stiles found the song you were referring to and clicked it, handing you back your phone so you could look at the map. He heard the swell of guitar, violins and piano filling the car with sound as the song began to play. The sound of the lead singer’s deep, somewhat monotone voice filled in as the drums were introduced. Stiles sat quietly, not fidgeting for once, watching you drive and trying to figure out where you were taking him. 

He saw the exit for the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge and knew where they were headed. Every time a song would end, you would direct him with which song to play next. You went through epic and crescendoing night drive songs by Death Cab For Cutie, The National, Radiohead, and Bon Iver, as you drove towards the Marin Headlands, the faint city lights of San Francisco revealing themselves as they made their way through the forest. 

He was trying really hard to not get swept up in the moment, but all that he wanted to do was slip his fingers between yours and feel your soft skin against his. He really liked that for once he wasn’t the one who was dragging someone reluctantly out in the middle of the night to do something. He saw the lights on top of the massive, skyscraping orange towers blinking in the night sky as the trees began to part, revealing the Golden Gate Bridge ahead of you both.

You pulled off the road after seeing a sign that said "Vista Point, Next Right” with a big brown arrow pointing in the direction of the water. You pulled the car up to the parking lot and stopped, letting it idle for a few moments. You both sat with the music playing, staring out over the city and the Bay in front of you.

“Do you want to get out?” You asked.

“Yea..” Stiles smiled, and watched you pull your keys out of the ignition and open the trunk. He got out and stretched. 

He heard the trunk close and saw you walk around his side of the car with a large, purple and green plaid blanket in your arms. You wrapped it around your shoulders and began walking with him. He tried to hide his disappointment over the vision he had in his head of you standing at the scenic overlook, getting cold and him wrapping you in his sweatshirt dying as you held the blanket against your body. 

You both walked over to a picnic table that was close to the edge of the stone wall the bordered the edge of the cliff. You were all alone at that time of night. You sat on the table and rested your feet on the attached bench.

“I haven’t been here since transferring. I came here like ten years ago when my aunt lived here, and I’ve been wanting to come back, but I didn’t have anyone that would come with me at this time of night.” You admitted, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders.

Stiles looked down at his shoes, glancing at the space between your bodies on the table out of the corner of his eye. “I’m glad that you thought of me to come with you.” He admitted, barely turning his head to look at you, but smiling with his big brown eyes.

You both sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, looking out on an abnormally clear winter night and all of the city lights and bustle on the opposite end of the bridge. The wind picked up in small gusts, causing a chilly breeze to blow through the picnic area. Stiles lifted his hood back over his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. You glanced over, and grimaced.

“Hey… do you want to..?” You pulled the blanket over so that only the right half was covering you, and held the left half up to put over his back and shoulders.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want you to get cold.”

Another gust of wind sent a chill down his spine. “Okay, don’t you think I’ll be warmer under here with you? Just, come here..” You moved your body next to his, your leg pressed up against his and handed him the other end of the blanket, letting him wrap it around his shoulders.

“Thanks…” He smiled and watched you shiver. Sitting shoulder to shoulder left an opening in the front of the blanket for the wind to rip through. “Uh, Y/N, do you want to..?” Stiles swept his arm between your back and the tightly wrapped blanket and rested it across your shoulders.

“Okay…” You were red as a tomato, as he pulled you close to him and you snuggled into his body. You rested both of your hands on his knee and thigh and let your head sink in against his chest, and he wrapped the blanket tightly around the both of you. Finally, the two of you getting warm in the night air. 

You tried to keep your breathing normal but struggled. You really like this boy and you were beginning to think that maybe he liked you too. Stiles got whiffs of your vanilla scented shampoo every time the wind blew against his face. He worried that you could hear his heart about to beat its way out of his chest. He could feel its heavy thumping in his ears.

“Stiles?” You said quietly, not turning to look at him.

“Yea, Y/N?”

You paused… You had a little speech set in your head, but went completely blank at the sound of his voice saying your name and the feeling of his breath against your hair. “Thanks for coming with me.” You sighed, knowing that you had much more you wished you could have the courage to say.

“Thanks for bringing me.” He whispered. You nodded against his chest. “You can bring me on late night drives anytime.” He built up the courage to say.

You stayed looking straight ahead, grinning from ear to ear, and very lightly squeezed his knee. You both stayed, wrapped up in each other and silent for hours, until the sun began to rise and early tourists and runners began to descend on their private overlook. You pulled away first, not wanting to share your prolonged moment with strangers, and Stiles followed you back to the car.

He saw you yawn as you crumpled the blanket into a ball and threw it into the trunk. “Why don’t you let me drive back?” He offered, the sun still hiding in the morning fog keeping the air gray and dark.

“If you don’t mind…” You smiled.

Stiles got back on the highway, headed the way they came, and saw you yawn again. “You can sleep a little if you want. I know the way back.”

“I might… just a little..” You said as you pulled your left leg up onto the seat, turning the side of your body against the back of the passenger seat and facing Stiles. He looked over at you and smiled. You blushed, placed your hands in your lap, and closed your eyes. 

As the car neared the bridge that you came over, you heard “Heavenfaced” by The National quietly beginning to play over your speakers. “I could walk out, but I won’t. In my mind, I am in your arms.” The lead singer crooned softly. 

You heard him sigh quietly. You then felt his hand lightly and hesitantly rest on top of yours. You kept your eyes shut, letting him continue to think that you were asleep. You two stayed that way until he pulled up to his apartment and woke you. You got out to switch with him and give him a hug. You shivered in the early morning air.

“Here.” Stiles didn’t ask this time, he simply unzipped his sweatshirt and placed it around your shoulders, bringing you back in for another hug.

“I’ll see you later?” You asked, a sleepy smile plastered on your face, as you hugged the hoodie around you.

“Absolutely.” He smiled back as he watched you get back into your car and drive off.

Chapter Four <- -> Chapter Six

[jam2289]

The Opposite of Slavery

"Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave" is one of the best autobiographies ever written. In that book Douglass doesn't have a list of the things that support slavery, but there are some things that definitely stick out as important. What if you just did the opposite? What if instead of doing the things that were important to keep slaves in slavery, you went the other direction?

To a large extent, that is what Douglass did. He freed himself by doing the opposite of what a slave was supposed to do. (A number of other people were instrumental as well, of course. And Douglass himself acknowledges that Providence played a large part.)

An important note before we dive into what led to his freedom. He didn't go from being a slave to owning slaves. He might have been able to, he was a very resourceful man. And, others did it. There were black slave owners, traders, and breeders. It's an odd piece of history that's largely ignored because people don't know what to do with it. There were even rich black slave owners that donated money to support the Confederacy during the American Civil War. William Ellison is the most famous example.

But enough of how history is significantly different and much more complex than most people think it is. My point is that the opposite of being a slave is not being a slaveholder. The opposite of being a slave is being free. The opposite of slavery is freedom.

Here are eight of the most important things that I noticed while reading Frederick Douglass's book. I'll include some pertinent quotes as well. (He changed his name a couple of times throughout his life, but I'm going to use Frederick Douglass the whole time in this article.)

One

The slaves didn't have birthdays. The birthdays weren't recorded, and the slave owners didn't want the slaves to know their birthdays. It seems kind of odd to me. It seems unimportant. But I've been rethinking that, because if slaveholders considered it important, then it probably is.

I think it might be something like this. To have a birthday is to confirm that you are an individual. To have a birthday is to confirm that you had a unique beginning. Beginnings have special power. The greatest political philosopher of the 20th century focused on this idea. Hannah Arendt called it natality.

I've largely ignored my birthday. I haven't considered it significant. But, I think that was wrong. I think it's more important than most people realize.

"By far the larger part of the slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of theirs, and it is the wish of most masters within my knowledge to keep their slaves thus ignorant."

Two

Mothers were separated from their children. Families were separated from each other in general. The bonds of the family are too strong. When people bond together they become strong. They won't allow a loved one to just freely be beaten on and abused by someone. They will do something. But, if you don't have strong bonds, then why should you step in and get punished too? Family groups are the foundation of human society, and if you can destroy the family unit, then the society falls apart too.

"My mother and I were separated when I was but an infant - before I knew her as my mother. It is a common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part children from their mothers at a very early age."

Three

Douglass was sent from the plantation to serve part of the owner's family living in town when he was fairly young. The wife hadn't grown up owning slaves and taught Douglass the sounds of the letters. (Yes, phonics works.) She was then informed by her husband that it was illegal to teach slaves to read. But, that start was just what Douglass needed. He would trade bread to poor white boys in the streets to help him with reading. Later, he would challenge them to spelling contests.

This is an important point to emphasize. It was illegal to teach slaves to read. It's hard to keep educated people down. And I'm not talking about school, I'm talking about real education, about learning and knowing and thinking. It's much easier to keep illiterate people down. So much so that it was a law to keep the slaves illiterate.

Douglass had a gifted intellect and picked up reading fairly quickly. By quickly I mean he worked on it for years. Luckily, when he was about 12 he came across a book titled "The Columbian Orator". This book was focused on teaching public speaking by drawing from the greatest speeches in history. It included speeches against slavery from ancient Greece. It had a huge impact on his life and he became one of the most famous public speakers in the world.

Also, writing is what allowed Douglass to later write fake papers so he could escape to the North.

"Just at this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and at once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among other things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to read. To use his own words further, he said, "If you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his master - to do as he is told to do. Learning would spoil the best nigger in the world. Now," said he, "if you teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no value to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great deal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy.""

Four

Douglass talks about how slaves walked around with their shoulders slouched down in a servile position. He really noticed that when he went to work in town and the same woman that taught him the alphabet reacted oddly to him being hunched down. So, he stood up straight. Slaves are expected to cower.

"The crouching servility, usually so acceptable a quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward her."

Five

Slaves weren't allowed to talk back to their masters or the overseers, at all. If you talked back to them you would be beaten. This inability to speak is huge. That's why freedom of speech is the first amendment in the American Bill of Rights. Because, if you can't speak, then you don't have freedom.

"To all these complaints, no matter how unjust, the slave must answer never a word."

"There must be no answering back to him; no explanation was allowed a slave, showing himself to have been wrongfully accused."

"To be accused was to be convicted, and to be convicted was to be punished; the one always following the other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was to escape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either, under the overseership of Mr. Gore."

Six

Slaves weren't allowed to fight back, obviously. Douglass includes a couple of stories that illustrate the significance of this perfectly. He talks about a slave that was going to get whipped, but to avoid it he ran into the middle of a river and stood there. The slave overseer told him to come out. He wouldn't, so the overseer shot the slave in the head where he was standing. These were the stakes.

At one point Frederick Douglass decided that he would never take another whipping without putting up a fight. This should have gotten him killed. And he knew that. But he decided to fight anyway. The next time Douglass was going to get whipped he got into a fistfight with the overseer in the barn. They fought one-on-one for two hours. Apparently Douglass was a pretty good fighter, because he didn't get whipped. And, for some reason, they didn't kill him either. Douglass got into a number of other fights throughout his life, but he fought every time and was never whipped again.

Slaves don't fight back, free people do. That's why the right to have weapons is the second amendment in the American Bill of Rights. If you don't have the means to fight back, then you have no choice but to do what you're told, like a slave.

This touches on the origins of slavery as well. The foundation of slavery is war. Slaves are the war captives. I'll go into that more in another article.

"Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do what he pleased; but at this moment - from whence came the spirit I don't know - I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I seized Covey hard by the throat; and as I did so, I rose."

"He asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance. I told him I did, come what might; that he had used me like a brute for six months, and that I was determined to be used so no longer."

"This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived within me a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed self-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free. The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for whatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was a glorious resurrection, from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took its place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain a slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of me, that the white man who expected to succeed in whipping, must also succeed in killing me.

From this time I was never again what might be called fairly whipped, though I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights, but was never whipped."

Seven

Slaves were not allowed to keep what they earned. They were just given enough to stay alive and continue to work, no matter how much they produced. Douglass broke through this chain as well while he was slowly working his way out of slavery. He was able to develop a skill. His master had him apprenticed as a ship caulker. After Douglass knew what he was doing he convinced his owner that he could manage himself and would pay the owner a set number. It was common to rent out slaves, and Douglass essentially rented himself. Plus, it was less of a hassle for the owner. This way, if Douglass could earn more than that he would be making money. Which he did. Free people are able to keep what they earn.

"I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents per day. I contracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to me; it was rightfully my own; yet, upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelled to deliver every cent of that money to Master Hugh. And why? Not because he earned it, - not because he had any hand in earning it, - not because I owed it to him, - nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a right to it; but solely because he had the power to compel me to give it up. The right of the grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is exactly the same."

Eight

Slaves aren't able to decide what they will do. They are told what they will do. They have no choice. As Douglass started to manage himself, with the deal he had made with his owner, he was able to take back some control. He was able to do what he wanted when he wanted, for the most part, as long as he made his payment.

"He too, at first, seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me the privilege, and proposed the following terms: I was to be allowed my time, make all contracts with those for whom I worked, and find my own employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him three dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools, and in board and clothing."

Summing Up

These are just a few of the lessons that I've been able to glean from Frederick Douglass. Let's summarize these eight points.

Slaves:

don't have birthdays,

are separated from their families,

can't read and write,

slouch their shoulders,

can't openly speak,

can't fight,

can't keep what they earn,

and can't decide what they will do.

If we take the opposite of these I think we end up with a pretty good description of what a free person is. Maybe even a good definition of what freedom is, and what is needed to protect freedom.

Free people:

have individual birthdays,

have a family bond,

read and write,

stand up straight,

are free to speak,

fight back against abuse,

keep what they earn,

and decide what they will do.

There are a ton of other great insights in Douglass's autobiography ranging from the corruption of holidays, to the corruption of religion, to the corruption of political parties. I highly recommend reading it.

Slavery destroys the humanity in people, both slave and slaveholder alike. It's important to know what slavery is so that we can move in the opposite direction. It's important to know the value of freedom, how to attain it, and how to protect it. And if you want freedom, then be the opposite of a slave.

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To read more from Jeff go to JeffThinks.com or JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com