#its MY birthday. is it truly such a crime to wish i could stay home n play viddy game instead of having dinner with. this old man.

[seaquestions]

is it truwly such a terrible thing to be a shut-in................ what if a girl just wants to have fun.... at home......

[monikafilefan]

seven years

This is an answer to a couple different anon prompts from a long time ago mixed together. One with Maggie finding Scully’s journal and seeing what she’d written to Mulder. The other prompt was for Mulder to spend a lot of time at Scully’s place after “all things.”  

tagging @today-in-fic 

*

Margaret Scully considers herself to be a great many things in life. She’s a conservative woman of God who has quietly voted democrat since the day she said “I do.” A loyal navy wife who has worked her slender fingers to the bone as a stay-at-home mother of four; a stickler for rules who occupies her time spent alone with a well-kept home; a grandmother who loves to spoil her grandbabies with cookies before dinner and always reads “just one last story, Grandma” at bedtime.

She also considers herself an excellent judge of character and has learned over the years when not to pry in the private lives of others without invitation. Though she cannot say she has never let curiosity take over and wishes her children would invite her in to visit those hidden recesses of their minds once in a while.

But blind is one thing she is not.

Arriving at Dana’s for a quiet Mother’s Day brunch after church today has only confirmed her long-lasting suspicions of the current relationship status between her daughter and Fox Mulder. One look at Dana’s flushed cheeks and swooning smile as she utters her partner’s name across the kitchen table would have been enough to satisfy Maggie’s curiosity about whether or not her daughter has finally embraced what lay within her heart.

Yet, there is much more to be seen here than a meaningful smile and pink cheeks.

And Maggie sees plenty.

A pair of men’s running shoes - size twelve - sit snugly by her daughter’s size sevens. A large leather jacket that smells of familiar cologne is slung over the coat rack by the door, only partially hidden by the sweater she’d gifted Dana four months ago on her first birthday of the new Millenium. There are two mismatched mugs resting next to the coffee maker, two toothbrushes inside a cup in the bathroom - bristles touching in comfortable ease - and two towels hanging dry over the shower door. The entire bathroom smells of men’s body wash.

A new development seven years in the making.  

Maggie dries her hands at the sink and shuts the bathroom door, smiling warmly as she goes.

“You need help cleaning up, Dana?”

“No.” She shakes her head and turns the water off in the kitchen sink, soap bubbles rising above the dirty plates as she wiggles her rubber-gloved fingers. “I’ve got it, Mom, today’s your day. Why don’t you take a seat in the living room? I’ll make us some tea and we can talk.”

It’s her day, too, Maggie thinks, but will never say. There will always be an ache in her heart at the thought of her child unable to raise one of her own, yet her pain is one she soothes regiously on her knees come Sunday morning.

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m fine.”

Maggie eyes the paired coffee mugs once again and taps each one with her manicured nail, giving her daughter a chance to open up if she so chooses.

“Do these need to be washed, too?” she asks, knowing good and well that they do not.

Dana’s blue eyes widen as they flick to Maggie’s but replies with a casually dismissive, “No. I cleaned them this morning,” before resuming her scrubbing. This time, Dana does so with a renewed flush and a bitten lip.

“That’s good, honey,” Maggie says with a reassuring squeeze to her daughter’s shoulder, but cannot resist adding, “It’s good to spend mornings with those you care about,” as she turns to leave her with her thoughts.

As Dana finishes with the dishes, Maggie allows herself to admire the intimate details of her daughter’s home - now that she knows for certain with whom she’s been sharing so much of it lately. Her slender fingers trail along the bookshelf, scanning the titles of anatomy books, several science journals in which Special Agent Dana K. Scully, MD has been published, and some classic novels she recalls her freckled nose being buried in over the years. All are in alphabetical order. So very Dana.

She chuckles and her eyes catch on a leather book that is not neatly tucked in line with the rest. It’s black with golden letters etched on the cover that simply says “Journal.”

Curious, Maggie holds the journal close and contemplates on whether she should peek, selfishly hoping that more than just the surface-level emotion her daughter allows her to see might reveal itself.

Yet, the thought of betraying Dana’s trust unnerves her. Her daughter trusts so few these days.

As she firmly decides to return such private thoughts to where she found them, she notices a piece of yellow paper slipping out of its back pages. Maggie quickly tries to nab the square bookmark so Dana wouldn’t lose her page due to her mother’s intrusion when the spine flips wide open, fanning out words of heartache her eyes simply cannot unsee.

And every word is intended for someone else.

To whom it may concern,

To my family,

Dear Mulder,

I feel time like a heartbeat, the seconds pumping in my breast like a reckoning. The luminous mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage. I feel these words as their meaning were weight being lifted from me, knowing that you’ll read it and share my burden, as I have come to trust no other…

“Oh, Dana,” Maggie exhales through her fingertips, hesitantly scanning the pages scrawled in intimacy with watery eyes.

...Mulder, if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never think there was the possibility of some secret intervention, something you might have done. And though we’ve traveled far together this last distance must necessarily be traveled alone...

Months spent watching helplessly as the bright light of life burning within her daughter slowly faded more and more each day was the hardest thing she as a mother had borne. Watching and waiting for what many thought was the inevitable is something she would never wish upon anyone. And here she is, sneakingly seeking some sort of deeper understanding of what her baby girl has endured.

...Mulder, I feel you close though I know you are pursuing your own path. For that I am grateful, more than I could ever express. I need to know you’re out there if I am ever to see through this...

Maggie sighs and swipes at a tear hovering along her lashes, hands shaking as she adjusts the book to replace it, when the piece of paper floats to the floor.

Bending down to retrieve it, the journal pages flutter open across her lap to another time in Dana’s life. Maggie’s chin quivers at the words displayed before her.

Dear Mulder,

There was a time in the not so distant past when I told you I was throwing this journal out. That I chose to leave my moments of weakness in the past. But the time has come to admit to myself that losing my only child, my daughter that was never meant to be with you by my side, only confirms that the ache of what lies within my heart is meant for you to bear along with me. That this time, the distance must necessarily be traveled together…

Maggie gasps at the strength and conviction laced within her daughter’s words. The raw heartache Dana must still feel after burying a piece of herself is a familiar one Maggie does not have the strength to re-expose.

But her baby has not experienced it alone; she’s had her partner, and that has been enough.

Her eyes burn and a hot tear rolls down the swell of her cheek, splashing onto the next page before she can stop it. Pinching the tear-stained paper between her thumb and index finger, she waves it through air in hopes of drying the smeared ink before she shuts the book. As she does, Maggie turns the page fully and sees a single sentence hastily written over and over with what she recognizes as fierce emotion pouring from her child’s fingertips.

Dear Mulder,

Personal interest is all that I have. Personal interest is all that I have... Personal interest: it’s something I’ll always have, even if I should not.

“Oh, goodness.” She should not be reading any of this. If Dana wants her to know what secrets lie in her heart, she will tell her.

Maggie picks up the yellow paper next to her feet and immediately realizes it’s more than merely just a bookmark. It’s a note addressed to “Scully” that’s written in fresh ink and time stamped for today’s date.

I never imagined you’d invite me to see your private thoughts you’ve kept so well guarded over the years. I’m truly grateful; for your loyalty, your trust… for you, Scully. More than words can ever express.

Sniffling and riddled with guilt, Maggie slips the note meant for her daughter to read in private back behind the journal’s last written entry. This time, Dana���s greeting to the man she’s clearly been loving from afar for years is a very different one.

To my constant, my touchstone...

Maggie quickly shuts the book and stands, heart racing at her lack of self-control as she places the leather bound memento back on the shelf.

She has known for years that her daughter loves her partner a great deal, and that he loves her just as fiercely in return. She’s not an oblivious woman and never has been.

No, she thinks, as her eyes scan the room once again to land on a lone photo of Dana and Fox standing close together at a crime scene, staring into one another’s eyes, blind she is certainly not.

“Mom, I have tea brewing if…” Dana enters the room and stops a foot away as she takes in the likely overwhelming expression on her mother’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Maggie swallows a lump in her throat and smiles softly at her daughter across the room. Suddenly she sees the tomboy with wild red hair and dirty knees; then the teenage girl with freckles and braces kissing a boy on their front porch. She sees a proud Dana graduating with honors and jumping head first into med school, only to be eagerly recruited by the FBI. She then sees that pride and determination focus on a quest that Maggie will never truly understand, but she doesn’t need to.

No, Fox Mulder is the reason Maggie now sees a real and fulfilled happiness on her daughter’s face for the very first time.

“Nothing, honey. Nothing at all,” Maggie assures, and she means it.

Dana cocks a brow - just like her father used to - and points to the kitchen. “Okay, well I’ve a kettle on the stove if you want some tea.”

The house phone rings before Maggie can respond and Dana stares at it carefully, as if considering whether or not she should pick up. At the fourth ring, she gives in and answers with a breathy, “Yes, Mulder?”

Maggie smirks, silently moving about the living room to gather her things.

“The audit has been moved up? To tomorrow?” Dana huffs with her back turned, tapping her nails along her desk. “Isn’t this a little short notice coming from Skinner?”

Walking into the kitchen with her purse and sweater slung over her arm, Maggie removes the teapot from the burner before it screams for attention. She pours her daughter a cup the way Dana likes it and sets it on the dining room table as she finishes her call.

“Yeah... yes, I can do that,” Dana murmurs, failing to fight off a smile before swiftly hanging up. “I’m sorry, Mom I-”

“Have to go?”

“Mm,” she confirms and darts her gaze out the window. Maggie knows the summer sun is only partially to blame for the glow on her Irish child’s porcelain cheeks. “Something like that.”

“Fox needs you.” A question isn’t needed this time and both Scully women know why.

“Yes,” Dana draws a deep breath and nods. “It looks that way.”

Maggie has seen more than enough today to know that it’s always been that way. And when her daughter finally looks at her again, Maggie is staring at her gleefully.

“What, Mom?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Dana runs her tongue across her upper lip, expectant. “You may as well.”

Maggie shrugs nonchalantly, openly grinning now with a motherly confession perched at the tip of her tongue. 

“I may be near-sighted, Dana, but I’m not blind yet,” she teases, reaching up to cup her daughter’s reddening cheek. “Not blind at all.”

*

side note: Mulder leaving evidence of his weekend sleepovers at Scully’s is a little slice of head canon happiness I like to cling to pre Requiem. I do however believe the evidence shows he moved in with her after he came back in “deadalive,” just not beforehand. 

[chocolate-parfait]

Matchup for @bigwintter

bigwintter , dear, tumbrl ate your ask away and I can't seem to be able to tag you for whatever reason. I hope you'll be able to see this nonetheless!

I match you up with... William!

You two are the embodiment of the dark academia aesthetic tbh✨

During your first encounter, you mostly keep to yourself, but Will can tell that you two are, in a way, similar to each other. It all starts with casual and sporadic encounters where the general ambiance is “Oh God, I’m talking to THE William Shakespeare”, but all that quickly dissolves through time. The writer instantly takes a liking to you, a normal reaction to your genuine love for literature, but the more he talks to you, the more he realizes there’s something more to it.

Your aura kinda works like a magnet. It’s in your little gestures, the way you carry yourself, completely at ease despite a 200 years-wide gap between your time and your new surroundings. Most of all, he’s genuinely amazed each time you give him deep and psychological insight about a recently published novel or sometimes even a piece he has written himself. Sometimes you stumble a bit and don’t exactly know how to convey your thoughts in a precise way, but this makes him all the more curious(he finds it very cute, actually). He truly wonders how come you’re able to give a fascinatingly knowledgeable answer to whatever topic the two of you are discussing, and this ignites an always increasingly burning fire deep inside of him.

He tries (unless SOMEONE cough Theo cough forcefully kicks him out) to visit the mansion more often, other times he invites you over to his residence to have a nice chat over some tea. If you feel like it, he even plans some rendezvous in the city to show you around. It’s very nice of him and he acts like a total gentleman! But... some problems may arise when he starts showing his overly possessive side.

Since you know your fair share of information when it comes to psychology and all that may come in handy to diagnose someone with being a yandere (and whatever type of mental illness Shakespeare has), you notice the signs early on, so at least you’re not completely caught off guard. As to how to act next... well, that’s pretty much up to you. You can ask Comte for protection for the rest of the month and then go back home, or you can try and talk it out with him if you prefer.

Since this is a matchup, let’s pretend you chose to stay in the past and confront him about it. You go to his house and he’s acting like usual, although there’s a glint in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. When you finally bring up his weird behaviors a switch in his mind flips the other way. It’s a really intense moment because as he’s explaining all the reasons why he deemed it necessary to “protect” you from others, he suddenly realizes that at the root of the whole problem there’s only his genuine affection towards you. But would he act the same way with Vincent? No, of course not. Then, there must be something else to his feelings, right? And the word he had written so many times, the main theme of most of his stories, comes crashing down on him. Love.

He doesn’t outright say it, but it’s subtle and you already know about it. Once more, you can decide whether to correspond to his feelings right away or wait a little longer, just know that you’ll be in for a lot of therapy sessions. This man needs three things: affection, a LOT of reassurance, and someone to show him how healthy relationships work. You can provide him with all three, and though he might reject the idea of change (perhaps even in a violent manner), with time and care he’ll come to understand where the boundaries of a relationship lie. Surely, there will be times in which he falls prey to his darkest thoughts, but the progress is admirable.

His recovery aside, he’s truly one of the kindest lovers out there, getting slightly rough only during horny times (he wouldn’t be able to withstand the guilt of having hurt you), and he never misses out on important dates and small details. There is a lot of unspoken understanding between you two, and with just a glance, you can convey everything that words wouldn’t suffice to describe. Regardless, he still loves composing little poems on the spot just for you (he later writes them down in a thick book that he gifts you for your birthday), pressing a soft kiss to your lips when he’s done reciting his small part.

As a couple, you pretty much have all the freedom in the world. Living in a house far from prying eyes and unwelcome visitors, you can enjoy your much-beloved solitude from the rest of the world. Even in the same house, he will eventually come to respect your wish for independence and alone-time. Though there is a lot of work behind it, you and William finally reach an equilibrium that few couples would be able to maintain for long.

Second choice: Dazai

Despite being quite the trickster, an unprovoked Dazai is a person that enjoys quiet spaces and his fair share of alone time. You two could definitely get along pretty well, but getting past the acquaintances-who-have-some-idle-chat-every-now and then phase? That could be slightly harder.

Everyone has their bad days, and depending on the person, some may want to let the whole world know about their feelings, whether others prefer keeping everything inside. Well, Dazai is definitely the second case. Just as usual, he puts on his happy mask and clown nose in the poor attempt of shifting his focus on his surroundings, but ever so often his facade slips off completely. Be it a glance, an unhappy comment or the sudden quietness, you pick up on it quite easily.

There are many strong personalities that leave their lasting impressions in the mansion. For each you could find at least 10 adjectives to describe them without you even being close, but what about Dazai? At first glance, he seems like one of the most dual characters in the vampiric group; one side of him is warm and caring, completely in the norm, but most things he says leave a certain bitter aftertaste. One could describe him as a breeze, but you had noticed that this warm spring breeze could turn into a chilly autumn one in the blink of an eye.

He’s seemingly a superficial man, but many little details convince you otherwise. Spending a whole month in the past with no one to talk to was out of the question, and mystery man here is the tragic hero that had piqued your curiosity the most so... why not give it a try? You would have to approach him first (he reaches out to people mainly when he sees they're struggling with their emotions), and with the right words here and there his fake smile will crumble away. (you don't necessarily need to be an expert speaker, he's a smart one and will understand what you mean)

Of course, he won't be giving in too easily, but he's quick to notice your genuine interest and curiosity towards him. You'll be going back in a month, so even if he let you see a snippet of who he truly was... it wouldn't be such a bad thing, right? Unfortunately for him, all the romance he has ever experienced in his life was tied to his and his partner's mental health, so with you there to help him out with his emotional state, he's quick to fall for you. (these aren't really spoilers,, its just facts about irl dazai but idk how much they decided to keep in his route tbh, I've only read a general summary)

On the other hand, it may take you some time to realize your feelings, and sometimes you wonder whether your initial reason to get close to him was just your love for psychology. With time, that will all become a secondary matter, for thus you'll start seeing him as a true friend, and perhaps something more.

Oftentimes you hang out in his room and have long discussions while sharing some tea and sweets together. Topics may vary from analysis of fictional characters to more philosophical matter, and a couple dumb jokes here and there: other times the room falls in the most comfortable of silences, the atmosphere warm and relaxed.

Dazai definitely doesn't mind your goofy side, he actually enjoys it quite a lot. You, him, and Arthur could team up and become the most annoying trio of the mansion, much to Isaac's dismay. It's very clear to the Englishman though, that you two have something going on, although you don't seem to be aware of it. He will start teasing you and dropping heavy hints until Dazai eventually confronts him about it. 

When it dawns on you, it doesn't take long before you and Dazai confess to each other and become a couple. If you're both mutually interested then why wait? Your straightforward nature plays a big part in this, despite your communication skills. Dazai secretly admires this aspect of yours, and if you question him about it, he will admit it without embarrassment and the fondest of looks.

As partners, you have a very mature relationship, and neither of you has a problem with meeting the other's needs. The Japanese writer will always respect your wishes and opinions, but every now and then, mostly at nighttime, he will crave your touch and comfort. Old habits die hard, and it's not easy to completely let go of one's past, that is why he seeks your warmth. Offer him your lap, pepper his face with delicate kisses, tenderly stroke his hair; whatever you have to offer will be more than enough for him. These are very intimate and romantic moments between the two of you, in which your bond gets stronger and stronger, although through quiet reassurance and support.

He doesn't necessarily mind PDA, but he'd rather you keep your most explicit gestures to the privacy of your rooms. Nevertheless is a man of great calm and patience, and he's a great actor, too; don't be too surprised if he decides to tease you in public. Generally speaking though, he'll stick to basic stuff like hand-holding and such.

You have dates in the most random of places! The termae, the gazebo, on the riverbank or in some obscure neighborhood of the city. He loves strolling around with you, and he'll get so lost in the feeling of your hand in his that once he snaps out of it he doesn't realize where your feet have taken you.

Another activity that you two could end up doing together is drinking. He takes you to his favorite bar, where he orders his favorite drink, cigarette in hand (he smokes only if you're okay with it) while looking impossibly hot. You can order yourself a beer and then you can have whatever discussion you feel like having. He is not one to judge, and will happily comply and talk about all topics. Whether it's a book you've read or something that happened to someone in the mansion, he will quietly listen to you as he sips on his whiskey or brandy or whatever, adding a thoughtful comment here and there.

[my-words-are-light]

Watch Where You’re Flying

Hey @sai-shou! Happy birthday! I wanted to write something for you, except it’s not really that good because I had trouble pushing myself to write it. Or anything at all, really... but I wanted to make something for you. You’re amazing, you really are. All these birthday wishes, so full of love, and all this admiration... you earned it, and you earned it because you were you.

I wanted to do something for you as well, to celebrate your birthday and show you how much you truly matter to all of us. You’re so much better than you say you are and you’re growing so fast. You never stop amazing all of us. Keep doing the best you can. We believe in you. We all do.

We love you, and miss you, so very much. Have a happy birthday.

-----

A little birdie has just told me that a policewoman is looking for sirens. Why don’t you hurry on over and give him a hand?

So went the call that Amelia Eamon received from Kevin Runan, her... “employer” at Goldcrown. And, as of a few weeks ago, her sister’s—Faith Eamon—as well. They both knew as well as each other that they were in no position to say no. What else was left to do but to go check it out?

Keeping their siren masks in their jackets, the Eamon sisters departed to where Kevin told them to go. This would be fine. They could endure. All they had to do was keep it up.

They found the policewoman on the side of the road, her car parked while she paced back and forth with her hands clutching her hair. This must’ve been urgent. Amelia and Faith approached the officer. “Uh, hey, are you alright?” asked Amelia.

“Ah, hey.” The policewoman ran her hand down her face and sighed. “No, not really. Why?”

Amelia and Faith glanced at each other. In silent agreement, they pulled out their masks. It was obvious they were siren masks. Anyone in law enforcement would know that. Each one was custom made for its wearer, from its shape to its colour. “We, uh, heard you needed sirens,” said Amelia.

The officer stared at the masks for a tense, awkward moment. Amelia and Faith knew this was a risk, yet they had to take it.

“Um,” said the officer, “I don’t know where you heard that but… I meant police sirens. Like, for my car.” She pointed a thumb at the top of her car. “Mine are busted.”

Amelia and Faith looked at the apparently broken sirens. Indeed, they were also called ‘sirens’. The thought suddenly occurred that they could’ve been called by a sailor who would then have to clarify that they meant the seaborne sort of ‘siren’. That thought occurred to them in a futile bid to distract them from their massive embarrassment.

“Oh,” said Amelia. “Well, my mistake. I am so sorry. I got the entirely wrong idea.”

“It’s all good. Gave me a bit of humour in this, uh… circumstance.” The officer grunted. “Long story short, I’ve places I need to be. Crime places. And I need to be there urgently. Problem is, regulations forbid officers from engaging in a criminal pursuit with a vehicle without using sirens. As mine are busted, I’m going to cop an earful from my bosses for something that isn’t my fault.”

“I know that feeling...” Amelia muttered under her breath.

“So yeah. Not going anywhere.”

“Don’t you have spare sirens or something like that?” asked Faith.

“No, we don’t prepare for stuff like this. I’m supposed to wait until mechanics come by to patch up the sirens and then I’m good to go. Problem is, I have no idea when they’re supposed to show up, or even if they know this is urgent. I’m screwed.”

Faith looked at Amelia.

Amelia looked back.

Faith grinned and wiggled her eyebrows.

Amelia’s eyes widened in fear.

Faith widened her grin and wiggled her eyebrows faster.

Amelia shook her head softly from side to side.

Faith turned back to the policewoman. “What about us?”

Amelia bit her lip.

The officer looked at Faith. “What about you?”

“You need sirens, right?” asked Faith.

Amelia began hissing under her breath.

“Uh, yeah,” said the officer.

“Well, we right here are sirens,” said Faith proudly.

Amelia clenched her teeth.

“… You certainly are,” said the officer.

Faith crossed her arms. “So how about you use us as sirens for your car?”

Amelia let out a sound that part growl, part cry, part whimper, and part sigh. I will leave to the reader the task of figuring out the exact proportions of each.

The officer blinked several times. “I don’t follow.”

Faith clapped her hands together. “Tie us to the roof of your car and we’ll replace your sirens.”

Amelia dragged her hands down her face. Some unholy sound came from her, muffled by her palms as they descended.

The officer blinked.

Faith smiled.

Amelia kept making that strange, horrible sound.

Finally, the officer spoke. “What?”

Faith kept smiling.

The officer blinked. “No. What?”

Faith raised an eyebrow.

The officer’s jaw fell open. “What? No. No! What? No!” She walked over to her car and slammed her hands on the roof, shaking her head in silence.

She pushed herself away from the car and turned back to the Eamon sisters. “No! What? No! Absolutely not! Out of the question! How do you even think of something like that?”

“Boredom and synonyms make for good wordplay,” said Faith. “Also, our masks glow.”

“Well good for you! I’m not strapping two girls to my car which is probably going to go at ludicrously high speeds to only get semantically get around a regulation! I could get you killed!”

Faith put up her hands flat. “Fine. Enjoy waiting for those mechanics while criminals crime.”

The policewoman grunted and paced around more forcefully. After several seconds of this, she looked back at the sisters. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

“I hope you’re not seriously contemplating this,” asked Amelia.

The officer’s face relaxed in resignation. “I am, in fact, seriously contemplating this.”

Amelia gulped. “Well I hope you’re not seriously going to take her up on her idea.”

---

She did, in fact, seriously take her up on her idea.

“Faith!” screamed Amelia over the traffic.

“What?” called back Faith.

“I’m going to kill you!”

“What?”

Amelia, sadly, could not kill her sister at that point in time because they were tied to the roof of the policewoman’s car, wearing their glowing siren masks while the policewoman drove along the busy highway, harshly growling curses that the Eamon sisters could barely hear.

“Wee woo wee woo wee woo!” Faith sounded, grinning like an idiot.

“Are you kidding me…?” muttered Amelia.

Faith looked at her sister and giggled. Amelia had to admit, this was so silly and stupid that it went back around to being fun. They hadn’t done something this childish in… years. And, what with Kevin breathing down their necks, there was something both relieving and empowering in this.

Amelia gave up. “Wee woo.”

“There we go!” cheered Faith.

Thinking back on their childhood, the sisters remembered a song they were taught in school.

“The owl flaps its wings as it flies through the night

Woo wee woo wee woo wee woo

The firetruck drives so fast towards fires to fight

Wee woo wee woo wee woo wee

The tree...”

That was was far as the sisters could get before they broke down in laughter. If they weren’t tightly secured to the roof of the car, they would’ve fallen off.

Not that the policewoman’s driving was helping. She was getting more and more erratic; the car was swerving all over the road.

Since this had gotten to the point where it could be a legitimate hazard, Amelia cut the rope with a knife she kept concealed and crawled over the side of the car. “Hey, are you drunk or...”

Amelia’s voice died in her throat, which was a far better fate than the policewoman was going through right now. She was slumped against the wheel, completely lifeless. It was like… her soul was sucked out of her.

Amelia sat up. Sirens drained life from others. Anyone with a siren mask could do it. Yet Amelia and Faith were the only sirens nearby. But how? Sirens could only drain one’s lifeforce through singing, and they weren’t…

… Except for that nursery rhyme.

Amelia turned back to Faith. “I think we sucked her soul out!”

“What?!” called Faith.

“I said—”

“I heard you the first time! I was in disbelief!”

In the next half-second, it sunk in that they were sitting atop an out of control police car with a woman they might as well have killed (until they give her back her life force) in the driver’s seat on a busy highway with lots of traffic.

The sisters screamed as Amelia handed Faith her knife to cut herself free and Amelia—

---

“Stop,” said Kevin Runan, holding out his hand flat to Faith. “Just… stop. Please. No more.”

Amelia and Faith were sitting in Kevin’s office. After that… ‘hectic’ afternoon, the sisters were summoned to explain themselves and everything else that transpired from when he sent them the message.

Roughly ten minutes in, Kevin had had enough. He massaged his temples. “Okay. This is my responsibility. I caused this by dispatching two very desperate sirens to work that I misinterpreted and forwarded along.”

Kevin took a breath. He then slammed his hands on his desk. “But why would you go along with something so stupid?! Why would you wear your masks?! Why would you sing?!”

“It was her idea,” said Amelia, pointing to her sister.

“Snitch,” grunted Faith.

“I don’t care whose fault it was!” yelled Kevin. “The moment you realised that they didn’t mean the ‘you’ kind of siren, you should have left! If I had known this would’ve happened, I would’ve tied you up in your own home and turned on the TV so you wouldn’t have gone!”

“You could’ve also not sent the message at all,” said Faith. “We would’ve stayed home then.”

“Shut up! I had to pull way too many favours just to get you both out of trouble! Do you have any idea how badly this could’ve harmed Goldcrown?! I had to bribe witnesses! Police! Prosecutors! Highway patrols! There were a lot of those, I guarantee you!”

Kevin slumped onto his desk. “So much money. I can’t believe it. We’re all fools...”

The office was quiet, for the Eamon sisters knew better than to disturb Kevin when he was in one of his despondent moods.

He lifted his head up to glare at the girls. “And you still sung that Wee Woo song afterwards?”

“Do not get me started on that stupid song!” snapped Amelia.

[keeroo92]

Prompt idea: Angel!V is and will always be human reader’s guardian. He is cast out of Heaven when his brethren realize his love for a mere mortal. Forced to live among ordinary folk, the fallen Angel crosses paths with reader again, at long last able to stay in her life.

Oof, what a delicious idea! Thank you!!!

Word count - 3,158

Twice Fallen

“Do you accept this charge?”

V swallowed. Only last week he’d been watching his last charge die, silently waiting to perform the final duty of Guardianship – escorting his charge’s soul to the afterlife. It was never easy; it was the first and only time he communicated directly with Michael, using his own voice and body as opposed to working through other beings. Though it wasn’t the first time he brought a charge over, it never got easier.

But he knew his responsibilities. “I accept the charge.”

Bael nodded his approval, acknowledging his apprentice’s adherence to the traditional phrasing as he gestured to the Seeing Pool’s shimmering water. V stepped to the dais to gaze into the water and get his first look at his new charge. The connection formed in his heart as he stared into a delivery room, witnessing a miracle.

But something wasn’t right; a quiver in a spider’s web echoed in his heart. His charge wasn’t breathing. He leaned closer, his white hair draping over his face to dip into the fluid as his eyes narrowed in concern. He reached out with a thin tendril of power, probing to discern what the issue was.

There!

The umbilical cord wrapped around your neck. He needed to be gentle, or he’d only make it worse. He extended another tendril and slid it under the cord, tugging it a few millimeters away from your windpipe as the nurses urged your mother to push. A third tendril snaked out to widen her birth canal just enough to allow your head to pass.

As gloved hands reached out to help you enter the world, fingers pulling the cord away fully, V released the tendrils and leaned back, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

“Well done, Varnaah. Quite an impressive introduction.”

He bowed his head in deference to Elder Saiinov, stepping away from the pool to return to his place in the gallery where he stood vigil as his brethren received their new charges. None of their introductions required their interference, so it was a challenge to maintain his focus. His mind drifted to explore the fresh connection, mapping its structure and reinforcing its strength until the ceremony concluded.

Bael found him afterward, a broad smile on his grizzled features. The Elder crossed his arms and inclined his head in a gesture of respect, according to custom. V responded with the corresponding motion and rose to meet his mentor’s storm colored eyes.

“Truly an impressive display! You’ve grown much.”

V smirked, his pride inflating at the praise as they made their way to his personal chamber, where he would remain until you expired and they assigned him a new charge. Guardianship was fulfilling, but lonely. Always observing but never able to interact, it left most with a level of disconnect that was difficult to overcome.

“Hopefully there won’t be any more excitement for a while,” he replied.

Bael chuckled as they reached the familiar ivory doorway. His mirth faded, his mournful eyes meeting V’s once more as he opened the door.

“I’ll see you in a few decades, old friend. Be well,” V murmured. Bael extended his arm and the two Guardians grasped forearms in farewell.

The years passed quickly. You were a simple charge, with a caring family watching over you. He barely needed to intervene, only needing to provide the occasional soothing aura to grant you pleasant dreams at night. It wasn’t until you were three that events forced him to take direct action.

You played in the yard, swinging a stick around like a sword as you fought invisible foes. The babysitter was inside, occupied with her boyfriend. V fed your imagination, grinning with pleasure at your squeals of joy. His smile vanished as you turned to run into the busy street, darting to fence another enemy in the middle of the road.

His heart stopped as a semi rolled closer to you. The connection pulsed in warning, and he knew beyond a doubt that the truck would kill you. V streaked closer to you, arms outstretched. He tugged your wrists and cushioned your fall against the asphalt, pulling to the left to move you to the perfect spot. He held his breath as the massive truck roared over your small body, tires mere feet away from your arms and legs on either side.

The semi didn’t even slow, the driver oblivious to the near miss as he drove on. You bawled in his ethereal ears as the babysitter sprinted outside, her top still out of place. He released you and let out the breath he’d been holding as her arms pulled you into a reassuring hug. You were safe, and he allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation.

He stepped away from the dais with trembling hands, exhausted from the scare. Perhaps encouraging your play had been a mistake. He needed to be more careful, or he’d lose you.

For the next several years, he was attentive to the point of paranoia. He kept careful watch over your fate, ensuring that the limited amount of pain he allowed you to experience wasn’t too much for you to endure. It made his heart ache when you broke your leg, and he cried when your hamster died. He focused on the fact that growth sometimes required pain, but it brought little comfort.

The next true test of his ability came three months after your thirteenth birthday. The connection twitched and within seconds he was watching through the small pool. You stood in the living room of your home, red faced as you shouted at your father.

“I hate you! I wish you were dead!”

Your small feet stomped to your bedroom as your father’s face fell, and V followed with his calming aura already emanating from his incorporeal form. He watched helplessly as you packed some clothes and toys and climbed out the window, shimmying down an oak tree to reach the ground. The desire to speak directly to you, to explain why your parents were against you going to the slumber party in the trailer park flooded his mind.

By the time you reached the bus station, the rage leaking through the connection had cooled. He sent a powerful gust of wind billowing around you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You wrapped your arms around yourself and shivered, glancing around you with the first stirrings of doubt. A beat later, you turned around with a sigh and began heading home.

Only two years later, you met a boy. He seemed nice enough but lacked courage, so V had to intervene. Only with the aid of the boy’s Guardian did the lad garner enough bravery to lean over and kiss you, and the smile on your face as the youth pulled back made his head swim.

Barely two months later, you’d first tried to please yourself. Your clumsy efforts proved ineffectual until he’d guided your fingers gently, knowing exactly what to do through the connection. He found himself fascinated by the sounds you made and the expression on your face, and his pale cheeks tinted a strange hue of red as you found satisfaction at last.

In your seventeenth year, you met another boy, this one not so nice. Like with every other charge, as you aged his ability to influence you waned, and he was forced to watch in silent agony as the boy took advantage of your naïve trust. After he left, you cried for hours and he had been right there through every second, using his meager strength to keep you from the depths of despair. It took you many years to overcome the trauma, and every step you took towards healing brought joy to his heart.

When you were twenty, you lived alone and he’d mournfully stayed with you as your solitude grew unbearable. By now, his power over to influence you was spent and all he could do was manipulate lesser creatures or tweak random chance, and it took all his focus to guide a stray dog into your path. It was your choice to take it home, to adopt it and allow it into your heart. You named it Lucky, for the dog’s fortune and for your own.

Now, you were twenty two, and he was beginning to understand his fondnness for you ran deeper than simple responsibility. Guardians always felt something for their charges, but never had he developed a bond so strong, so overwhelmingly powerful. None of his previous charges had evoked such a sense of need, of craving within him. It was his gift and his curse to know the fate of those he Guarded, know how every action would change it. Always, he had stayed objective and allowed just the right amount of pain to strengthen his charges. But with you, he found he wanted to guide you away from any pain whatsoever, protect you from every ill turn.

He found it harder and harder to stay alert as you interacted with men, cringing when you kissed them or touched them. Anytime you coupled, his stomach churned. He tried so hard to fulfill his duties, guiding those he found less abhorrent in how to please you despite his nausea. The few moments you pleased yourself were a blessing, and every time he guided you to fulfillment heat stirred inside him. It drove him mad, this feeling. It built to a towering inferno until he could barely think, and he broke his vigil to relieve the pressure.

He bit his lip to contain his groans, but it proved fruitless as he satisfied the desire with an echoing cry.  He froze, his hand still wrapped around his length as someone knocked at his door. He panicked; there was no hiding his actions and he hung his head in shame as he opened the door to reveal Bael, wearing the deepest frown he’d ever seen.

“You know what comes next,” the Elder said simply.

V gulped and nodded, gathering his courage as his mentor led him to the Great Chamber.

“I’m sorry, I meant no harm.”

Bael sighed, pinching the bridge of his flat nose. “The Council will decide the severity of your crimes. It’s out of my hands.”

They covered the remaining distance in silence. V braced himself, knowing exactly what he was in for as Bael entered the chamber without him. Left alone for a few minutes, V pondered how many of the Elder’s laws he’d violated.

Too many.

The enormous door opened once more to reveal Bael gesturing him inside. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, head inclined respectfully. His mentor brought him to the still waters and he obediently plunged his hand in the pool, letting his recollections play on the surface.

He used to think the Great Chamber was beautiful, with its pearlescent pillars and shimmering Seeing Pool. Yet as the twelve Elders bore witness to every moment of his Guardianship over you in those waters, his own memories betraying the depth of his care, the bright glow became overbearing. The purity stifled him and he fidgeted as he waited for the Elders to rise. At last, they turned their disapproving eyes on him and he struggled to display the proper amount of respect.

“You stand accused of developing romantic feelings for your charge, and allowing them to affect the manner in which you performed your duties to the point of negligence. For this crime, you are to be cast out to live amongst the mortals as one of them. So it shall be,” Bael intoned gravely, the remaining eleven Elders echoing his last four words solemnly.

No! I’ll never see her again! Who will protect her now?!

Panic consumed him as Nui, another of the elders approached him with a sympathetic gleam in his gaze. He lowered his ghostly blade and severed the wings from his back, but the physical agony paled compared to the torture in his mind. As tradition dictated, his voice remained bound to silence in these chambers unless given permission and never had the spell seemed so nefarious. All he could do was cry and turn his pleading eyes on each Elder in turn, finding nothing but contempt.

His halo faded into nothingness as Nui drained the last of his angelic power. The Elder stepped away and gestured to Bael. It was his responsibility, as the offender’s mentor to see the sentence fulfilled. They left the chamber behind and the instant speech was within his ability, he opened his mouth.

“No harm has come from my actions, and Father Himself praises love in any form if it be true. You must have mercy,” he begged his oldest friend.

The man walked in silence for a moment, refusing to meet his intent emerald eyes. He was about to continue his protestations when the Elder’s lips opened.

“V, I am being as merciful as I am able considering the circumstances. I am sorry,” he said, using his nickname. And just like that, they reached the Gate of the Forsaken. It was the only way they could traverse the gap between realms, and as Bael strode to set the destination, V’s panic turned to rage.

This is wrong! How can love be a crime? I’ve done nothing to harm her or change her fate! I haven’t even looked past the next year to see what her fate is!

V did not resist when Bael removed his clothing. He only glared, declining to pay any further deference to such hypocrisy. His mentor turned the wheel to open the gate and came to push him through it with a sad sigh. Only then did he react, planting his feet and stubbornly refusing to take a step. Bael gave him a disapproving look and crossed his arms.

“Truly, you are blessed. Many Guardians never learn what it is to love. But it comes at a cost, and nothing you do will change the price.”

The Elder backed away, his mournful gaze holding V’s as a swarm of Heralds dragged him through the gate. He screamed, he cried, he thrashed in their grip, but still he felt the cold embrace of crossing over before everything faded to black.

 _________________

He woke in a small alcove, alone and wet under the drizzling clouds. He was naked, the fresh markings from his fall adorning his skin. The cold set in and he shivered. The downpour slicked his newly darkened hair to his forehead as he curled into a ball, not intending to ever move again. He didn’t know or particularly care where he’d landed, only knowing he could no longer tell if you were safe as the connection lay shattered within his heart.

The rain covered his tears, but did nothing to conceal the shake of his shoulders as he cried. Everything he believed, everything he’d been taught over the centuries, meaningless. His most trusted friend had betrayed him. The Elders whom he’d looked up to and respected had cast him out. Love, that which his Father professed to be the most holy of emotions, had led to his fall.

He leaned back, letting the rough bricks support his aching shoulders where his wings once sprouted forth. All that remained was a pair of identical scars, though the physical pain would torment him for weeks. Such suffering to look forward to. His sobs became crazed laughter and he lifted his chin to glare at the sky.

“No more I follow, no more obedience pay!”

Still, his wrath was a violent tempest in his belly. He stood awkwardly and raised a fist to use the gesture he knew was such an insult amongst mortals, extending a single finger and howling curses at the uncaring clouds.

A voice called out to him and he froze, unable to believe what his ears told him.

“Are you okay?”

A cruel trick, no doubt. Bael would never send me to her…

He turned to face the source of the voice and gasped, his rage vanishing into the ether as he stared at your features for an uncomfortably long time.

“Um, are you on drugs? Do you want me to call someone?”

Your concerned tone broke the spell and he blinked, suddenly acutely aware of how he must look. Utterly naked, cursing his fury at the sky in an alley during a storm.

Not the best first impression.

But I’m mortal now… what if I could still be in her life, in this new manner?

V’s heart flew, a new level of understanding rushing through him. Perhaps this was Bael’s plan all along? Was it possible the reason the punishment for loving a charge was to be cast out, was so the offender could pursue that love? Was this some secret tradition, one meant to honor their Father’s intention, honor the sanctity of true love?

He had no idea, but it didn’t matter.

V turned his attention back to you, noticing the way you kept your eyes averted and chewed your lip in embarrassment. He moved to cover his crotch, and you relaxed. Barely.

“I… I must apologize. I’m… well, you could say I’m stranded,” he replied. Your expression shifted to sympathy and you lifted the strap of your purse to offer him your raincoat with a kind smile. He beamed back and donned the jacket, finding it barely covered his groin.

“I live close by, come on. Looks like you need something to eat, too. What’s your name?”

“I’m Var-… You can call me V,” he replied. His nickname felt more suitable and the thought of you speaking his true name turned his stomach. It was too formal, too uptight for the relationship with you he desired. You gave him your name in return, extending a hand to shake his with a smile. His arm trembled as he reached out to touch you for the first time.

Calm down, it’s just a gesture of greeting.

The texture of your skin was ethereal, soft beyond imagining. Even such a simple contact made him smile widely, his long fingers pumping your palm for a beat longer than was normal. He didn’t want to let go, and his lips faltered when you released him.

“Nice to meet you, V,” you said.

“Likewise.”

You smiled and turned to walk away, glancing back to make sure he followed. He took a moment to whisper his thanks to the sky above, and he swore he heard Bael’s unmistakable chuckle as he joined you. He smirked, imagining his mentor looking down on him as he accompanied you home just like Lucky had, all those years ago.

[hope-for-olicity]

Fabulous Olicity Fanfic Friday - April 12th, 2019

Happy Friday! So this is my attempt to both thank awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and offer my recommendations to anyone who is interested. Here are the fantastic fanfic stories I read this week! They are posted in the order I read them. This and all previous Fabulous Olicity Fanfic posts can be found on my blog.

With the Speed of an Arrow multi-chapter WIP by @academyofshipping - Oliver Queen’s elite and silver-spoon life has taken some blows in the past few years, but he is still the carefree billionaire everyone knows of and loves. When his role in the family business is in jeopardy and he is introduced to a motley of new people, his status quo is threatened. With a changed perspective, Oliver realizes his feeling for his best friend and anchor-in-life, Felicity Smoak, may be more than just platonic. OR A modern adaption of Jane Austen’s Emma with a gender swap* and no island. *Knowing that gender is not binary https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559846/chapters/38799857

2 + 2 Equals a Family multi-chapter Complete by @mogirl97 - When Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak both reach for the last Lego Batman set on the shelf at the same time one December night while holiday present shopping for their kids, they have no idea that their chance encounter is going to change their lives. https://archiveofourown.org/works/11853030/chapters/26760468

It's the Little Things by @laxit21 - Oliver has a lot ways he tells Felicity he loves her. Sometimes, he says it without even opening his mouth. https://laxit21.tumblr.com/post/183968026597/its-the-little-things

Home To You multi-chapter WIP by @the-shy-and-anxious-fangirl - Oliver Queen has never done what his family expected of him. He took a gap year after high school instead of going to college right away. He quit his fraternity sophomore year to join the student newspaper, switching his major from business to journalism. He became a photojournalist for a wire service instead of taking a place at Queen Consolidated. He went missing after six months instead of coming home for his sister’s twenty-first birthday. He survived five years of captivity in a war zone when everyone thought he was dead. He came home. But home didn’t have a place for him in it anymore. His parents were both dead, casualties of their own mistakes and a city they had turned against them. His sister was all grown up, the CEO of Queen Consolidated with a fiancé and a dog and a life of her own. Oliver didn’t belong in his old life, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He was a man without a home, without any way of finding one, until he stopped by the IT department of his sister’s company to get files off an old, battered memory card, and found a woman with curly blonde hair and bright, intelligent eyes chewing on a bright red pen and swearing at a computer screen. https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613188/chapters/28734552

Charmed I'm Sure! multi-chapter WIP by @christinabeggs - What happens when three witchy sisters take on the evil in the world? https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852249/chapters/36922482

Overwatch multi-chapter WIP by @it-was-a-red-heeler - A burglary attempt convinces the Mayor of Starling City to hire Smoak Technologies to strengthen his security. But between the sassy AI watching him 24/7 and the personal trainer with his own reasons to kill him, Oliver may wish he’d stuck with his baseball bat for protection. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500640/chapters/41221793

The Fan multi-chapter WIP by @leuska - For the past couple of months, Felicity Smoak, previous child star known to the world through her alter ego Lisy the Tech Whiz, who ended her career and her growing popularity at the age of thirteen rather abruptly, has sporadically received disturbing notes and gifts in her mail. Police believe the notes to be just little tokens of appreciation by a former fan. Despite having left the spotlight over a decade ago and living in anonymity since, the fan mail keeps coming, increasing in frequency as well as intensity. The last drop is when Felicity receives another letter with a love note. A scary, ominous note. A note written in human blood.FBI director Amanda Waller tasks her best Agent to the case. Oliver Queen, a criminal profiler, is currently working on a special task force formed between SCPD and FBI to catch a man dubbed the Start City Slasher, who has murdered at least three young women in the past nine months. Agent Queen is not thrilled with the prospect of holding a former princess’ hand through her problem with a simple stalker while a serial killer is still at large. However, once meeting her, Oliver finds there is nothing easy or simple about Felicity Smoak as their worlds start to intertwine. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726573/chapters/41820368

Do You Remember multi-chapter Complete by @smkkbert - Eight years after Oliver and Felicity became teenage parents, they have everything they could have ever hoped for and more. They have a good life in a nice house. Their marriage is happy, and a second baby is on its way. The calm they have settled in is interrupted abruptly when a stalker starts terrorizing Felicity. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409059/chapters/40978307

To Sacrifice the Sun multi-chapter WIP by @emmilynestill - Oliver and Felicity are ARGUS agents working on a mission in Mexico, the two share some very important history. http://archiveofourown.org/works/7510744/chapters/22505918

From Somewhere Within multi-chapter WIP by @smoaking-greenarrow - Their connection has always felt natural to them, safe and secure. But others tend to fear what they don’t understand, and as far as their enemies are concerned, the world isn’t ready to accept two people who can know each other the way that Oliver and Felicity do. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009244/chapters/37356257

Last Dance (post-S6) by @dust2dust34 - Oliver and Felicity share a stolen moment at Iron Heights. https://archiveofourown.org/works/11888871/chapters/33256854

3 Times Oliver Surprised Felicity With Food (And One Time She Surprised Him) by @juvinadelgreko - I needed some fluff, y’all, what can I say. There’s some jumping around in terms in chronology here. #1: post-s3 #2: somewhere around 4x02-3 #3: end of season 7 or so, probably AUish +1: 5x17 https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391871

Providence multi-chapter WIP by @so-caffeinated - Will Queen has struggled in silence in the year since he was shot. But when a shadowy crime lord known as Domino targets the only woman Will’s ever truly loved, fate forces him to confront his demons in ways he never could have imagined… Whether he wants to or not. Amelia Prescott has fought to take control of her life since learning two years ago that her personal and professional worlds were manipulated by others. But nothing can prepare her for just how hard she'll have to fight to set her own course, especially when her heart belongs to a damaged man and a crime lord threatens her every professional move... And her life. Destiny brings them together, but as chaos reigns and personal demons haunt Will and Amelia both, it may also threaten to tear them apart. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17919056/chapters/42308753

The Voyage to You multi-chapter WIP by @obibalwin - Felicity Smoak didn’t want a complicated life. She enjoyed helping people as a nurse at Starling City General Hospital and spending time with her best friend Sara. When a John Doe arrives on the fifth floor of the hospital, she finds herself being dragged into a world of mysterious oaths and visions. The only thing she can hope is to stay strong enough to resist the man who has traveled to find her. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596788/chapters/38895977

One Step Ahead multi-chapter WIP by @stephswims - Felicity Acerbi is married to esteemed Italian mob boss. Married after a failed business deal with her father, she is forced into a life decided for her. That is until a new bodyguard is hired. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959333/chapters/39855036

Modern Woman by jaegermighty - "You're a what?" Oliver asks incredulously. https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242193

Time for a Story multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert - This fic shows Olicity and their life as a (married) couple with family. Although Olicity (and their kids) are the protagonists, other characters of Arrow and Flash make appearances. YOU NEED THIS STORY IN YOUR LIFE. https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912157/chapters/8757172

// @emmaamelia95 // @mel-loves-all // @oliverfel4 // @green-arrows-of-karamel // @coal000 // @miriam1779 // @memcjo// @captainolicitysbedroom // @tdgal1 // @spaztronautwriter // @lalawo1// @quiveringbunny // @wrongshipper // @thebookjumper // @vaelisamaza // @myhauntedblacksoul // @lovelycssefan // @laurabelle2930 // @laxit21 //

[jae-daddy]

Holic (8)

Jaebum AU

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / nine / ten / eleven

Pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

Genre: Drama, Romance, Mature

Plot: When the nights are cold and full of monsters, all you need is the warmth of someone to make it all disappear.

a/n: I will finish this before 15 april lol, i already have so many other series planned. but, i hope y’all enjoy this! 

You stood outside Jaebum’s door with sweaty palms and a pounding heart. 

It was well past one in the morning, and you knew you were going to suffer through another sleepless night if you just simply lay in bed. 

After scrolling through the same google articles about ways to sleep without drugs. Jaebum’s words from that afternoon in the garden flashed through your mind. 

If you ever have those nightmares again, I’m less than a door away.

‘That’s right,’ you nodded as you tried to reassure yourself. You didn’t come here on your own will, you were just taking up his offer so you don’t be rude. 

You were cruel, manipulative, but rude you were not. 

You let out a deep sigh as you fisted your hands and brought it up to the wooden door standing tall in front of you. 

You quickly landed three short knocks on his door; your lips caught between your teeth, and your nails biting faster into your palms. 

You watched the light peering from underneath the door, and you felt somewhat relieved. 

You were glad you weren’t waking Jaebum up from his slumber because your monsters were clawing at your feet during dark nights like tonight. You didn’t want to burden him with your problems. 

He shouldn’t have to share it anyway; he was your husband only in name. He was your husband, simply because he was your groom. 

Jaebum shouldn’t have to deal with your problems. 

“Hi,” Jaebum’s suited body greeted you with a raised eyebrow and somewhat surprised face. 

“Hi,” you replied, meekly, as you wrapped the silky gown tighter around your body. “I couldn’t sleep, so I’m here to take up your offer.”

Jaebum’s lips quirked with an amused smile, making you glare at him in return. 

“I’m thankful that you did.” He replied, bringing a hand up to his heart in a dramatic gesture, bowing slightly, as he moved to the side letting you step through. 

“I didn’t want to be rude,” you responded with your chin high, as your body brushed past his. 

You were lying in his bed, under the dark green covers of his king size bed. 

You smiled as you took a deep breath in; the sheets smelled off Jaebum.

From far away, you’d think he’d smell like an expensive man in expensive cologne. That scent was there, but it was so miniscular, it was hidden beneath everything his warmth carried naturally. 

Jaebum smelled like the peak of a wintery mountain. He smelled of the rainforest, rain and of laundry and soap. 

You felt like you were crazy, thinking about how Jaebum smelt. Even crazier for remembering how smelt over all the years you’ve known him. 

In the beginning, he smelt of cake and freshly baked cookies. You always found that a bit off on someone who barely entered the kitchen, but you still welcomed it. 

You would always steal a sniff while playing house, then fight Jaebum, when he’d notice and call you out on it. 

“I see you still like sniffing things,” Jaebum’s voice made you jump in your spot. 

You pulled the blanket from your nose and turned to him with accusation in your voice. 

“I see you’re still imaging things,” you retorted with a confident voice, even though your heart was failing to return to its calm beat, after being caught in your crime. 

Jaebum shot you an eye roll, before turning off the lights as he walked towards the bed. 

“You know, if you were in Harry Potter,” you told Jaebum as he stood on the other side of the bed, untying his robe as he looked at you. “You’d probably be in Slytherin?”

Jaebum gave you an annoyed look, as he pulled the robe off his shoulders revealing his bare chest. Your cheeks painted red, and you tried to look away, but you didn’t want to seem weak. 

Therefore, instead of following the hardness and curves of his stomach and toned chest that called out to you. You zeroed into his eyes with a straight face. 

“We took the tests as kids, y/n,” he sighed, as he lifted the blankets beside you. “I was in Gryffindor.”

“We both know that was just your hero complex, and your desire to be like Harry Potter that took the quiz, not the real you.” You rolled your eyes at him, as the lazy smile danced on his pink lips. 

“Yeah, well, it is what it is,” he grinned at you. “I am in Gryffindor.”

“But truly belong in Slytherin,” you sang teasingly. 

“Just because you’re in it,” he stuck his tongue out before he lay down beside you. “You always want me beside you, don’t you?” 

“Do not,” you retorted instantly. 

“Then what’s this?” He smiled at you, with a challenging gaze.

“I’m just taking up your offer,” you pouted, before frowning. “However, if it’s too much of an inconvenience then I’ll just leave.” 

You trailed off, as you began climbing out. 

Before you could properly peel the sheets off yourself, Jaebum grabbed onto your wrist and pulled you down beside him. 

He wrapped his arms around you and hid your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Stay,” was all his soft low voice said.

Jaebum’s fingers ran through your hair, calming you and your racing heart, as his other hand wrapped around your waist. Your chest pressed against his bare one; the heat of his skin burning through the flimsy silk of your nightdress. 

“Why were you still wearing your suit when I knocked?” You hummed softly, as you finally rested your hands on his skin. 

You bit your lip to hide the giddy smile that was threatening to spill as you felt little jolts spark run from your palms and travel up your arm. 

“Because I was still working,” he sighed, as his fingertips drew small circles on your lower back. 

“So late?” You asked and felt him nod.

“One can say I’m a workaholic,” he paused for a moment, before changing the subject. “What about you? Why’d you come so late?”

You swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat, managing to reply in a raspy voice. 

“I had another nightmare, and you told me that I could come over, so I did.” 

“You did the right thing. Well done, y/n,” he commented, as he hugged you tighter. 

You both lay in silence for a few minutes, lost in thought and the sounds of your gentle heartbeats. 

“What happens in your nightmare?” he asked, softly. 

“It’s different parts of the same torture, but it’s always the same theme: me getting kidnapped.” You spoke after a few moments. “Some days they are taking me away. In some, I’m in the same dark room again, and I’m crying and yelling but no one can hear me. Sometimes, I hear them laugh through the door, and I try to stay quiet so they don’t come inside.”

“Y/n,” Jaebum blew out softly, as you choked on the threatening tears. “You don’t have to say it-”

“No,” you cut him off, quietly. “I’ve never told anyone this, and maybe this will help, you know?” 

You felt him nod against the top of your head, and you smiled lightly. 

“The worst of the nightmare is when I get home. 

“No one cared, Jaebum.” You shook your head with the bad memory replaying, not noticing your nails digging into Jaebum’s lower back. 

“They didn't ask me if I was alright, or if I was hurt. All they did was do damage control.” You smiled cynically at the memory of you returning home to your family. 

Your parents weren’t worried about you at all. 

Their faces were calculating their next moves on how to keep this away from the public. They didn’t care for the scars you had etched on your body, all they cared about was how to hide them.

“I cried for hours that night. I cried and cried, and I wished someone had walked into my room earlier and have realised I was gone. I wished someone would’ve found me sooner.” 

You let out a shaky breath, as you fisted the blankets between Jaebum and you. 

That night when you had returned, you wished with all your heart that Jaebum was there. That this moment was the moment he fulfilled his promise and returned back from wherever his parents took him. 

You had stared at the door, and counted to a hundred a million times, hoping Jaebum would walk in any second. 

“What I really wanted- needed- that night was for someone to walk in through those doors, and just hold me and tell me that I was okay, that I would get through this.”

That was the night you got over everyone and everything. 

That night you let go of Jaebum completely and shut him out. You wouldn’t even open up to your sister anymore, and you gave up on your parents entirely. 

“But no one did,” you hiccuped, as the memory closed on your throat. “No one gave me a second glance, while I waited in my room for them. No one came to help me because it was my sister’s birthday party downstairs.”

“I’m here now,” Jaebum whispered into your hair, as held you close to his flushed body. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you then, but I’m here now, and I’ll always be here.”

“I will protect you with everything that I have and am, y/n,” he moved back, his eyes searching your face, before staring into yours. 

Even in the dim lit room, glittering in the moonlight, you could see the raw emotions of love and affection dance in his eyes. 

You gulped under his intense gaze, as he looked at you as if you were the stars and moon on a cloudless summer night. 

“I promise. I will keep you safe,” he whispered, his hot minty breath falling on your parted lips. 

“You are so fucking magnificent, y/n.” He pressed his forehead against yours, as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

His large tender hands brushed the sides of your faces, as one tucked a loose strand behind your ear. 

“If you knew how much you meant to me,” his lazy smile returned to his lips, but as his eyes opened again, the same loving emotions remained. “You would think I’m stupid.”

You watched as his eyes trailed down to your lips for a few moments, before meeting your dark ones again. 

You felt yourself do the same, and you gulped with nervousness. 

One hand of his, dropped to your waist, squeezing it ever so slightly. You moved closer to his body, leaving no distance between your bodies.

Your palms lay flat against his chest, the hasty beating of his heart vibrating through your veins making you dizzy as it mingled with your own. 

“You’re lucky then,” you whispered, breathless,  as you moved closer to him.

Your lips hovered over his, and you noticed the nervous bobbing of his Adam's apple. 

His dark brown eyes stared at you, and you grinned up at him. 

“You’re lucky because I think you’re the biggest fool I’ve ever met.” 

You placed your hands on the side of his face before gently placing your lips on his. 

You smiled at the softness of his lips, and the faintly tightening grip of hands on your body. You smiled as you felt a jolt of happiness rush through you, as he kissed you back, 

You moved away from the lingering kiss, as you bit your lip nervously. 

“But I’m starting to think I’m a bigger fool.” 

You peered into his eyes feeling your lips tingle from the innocent peck, as your hearts beat faster than it did before.

You smiled at him with the softness of the cold winter morning breeze, and Jaebum returned one that filled your heart with sunshine. 

“You have no idea how crazy you drive me, y/n,” Jaebum told you with dark eyes and tender words. His fingertips lightly brushed the stray hair away from your face. 

“You can tell me anything you want, Jaebum,” you whispered back, in a low voice. “But, I won’t believe half it.”

Jaebum smiled at that and returned the knowing grin. 

“So just believe this one thing,” he whispered into your ear, as he tucked your head to his beating heart. “I will always back to you.”

You sunk closer into his arms, welcoming the heaviness of your eyes Jaebum’s heat brought.

“And so will my heart.” You heard his low voice breath before you fell into a peaceful slumber after a long long time. 

not edited

[incursionofthedamnedrpg]

Hattie Brent accepted! We loved your bio, Sarah, and can’t wait to have more heretics on our dash. You know what to do!

Name: Sarah

Age: 23

Timezone: EST

State an account where we can message you: Any of my characters

How active you’re going to be: (1-10) same

How did you find out about this roleplay? in it

Why do you want to play this character? because MUUUUUSE

Anything else you would like to tell us? (Changes, suggestions…etc) I saw the anon about oc heretics and I had a character in mind for a while so I figured I could modify her a bit and make it work in such a way that it doesn’t take away from the already existing canon bios.

IC:

Preferred Ships: HattiexChemistry

Sample para:

RFP

Name: Clare Henrietta “Hattie” Brent Birthday: June 20th (20/138) Species: Vampire (Heretic) Lookalike: Lily James Availability: Taken

Personality

With her sweet face and charming smile, Hattie could make any fool believe that she’s a lovely and innocent young woman, which of course she consistently uses in her favor. Don’t let looks deceive, she’s deadly and will crush someone without thinking twice. That’s not to say she’s completely heartless, it just takes her a lot to let someone truly in. She makes them earn her trust even if she’s not all that trustworthy herself.

Past

Born in 1880 in Dedham, Essex, England, Clare Henrietta Brent, or Hattie as she was known to most, was a spitfire right from the beginning. Her family was a coven of witches, on her father’s side, and to them magic was life. Which was unfortunate for little Hattie as she was born different from most. Unlike those around her born with magic, she only had the ability to siphon magic from others, having none of her own. During this time in her young life, her mother was her protector, keeping her safe from those who saw her as an abomination, including the girl’s own father. He was ashamed of what Hattie was, feeling that it reflected terribly upon him in the eyes of the coven.

In 1892, Hattie’s mother tragically died of typhoid fever, leaving her with her harsh and cruel father who treated her simply as a ward that he needed to feed and house. There was no love in their household any longer, her mother taking all of that with her upon passing. This caused the child who was once sweet and vibrant to become bitter and cold, growing angry over her father’s treatment of her. She hated being treated like an outcast who wasn’t worthy of everything the coven got to take part in together.

By the time she was 19, in 1889, Hattie had grown tired of the mistreatment from her father and from the coven that was supposed to be her family. It was then that she formed a plan, ready to free herself from this life that kept her feeling so chained. She waited until her father came home and told him in her sweetest voice that she had a surprise for him and to come into the kitchen. Once he entered the room she caught him off guard, grabbing hold onto his forearm, siphoning out all of his magic. Before he could do anything in response, the stepped out of the room and put up a boundary spell, keeping him trapped. Having magic coursing through her veins felt like a missing piece of her had finally been returned. With a word of farewell she used a spell that was one of the first she had come to know of, incendia, and set the room and the house ablaze. Escaping unscathed she left her past behind her, leaving the fire and her father’s death as a warning to the coven.

She traveled for a year on her own, enjoying all the freedoms that life had to offer that she never got to experience while under her father’s tyranny. There was so much more to the world than she could ever imagine. Even though her father’s magic had only lasted so long, it didn’t matter to her. Any life now was better than the one she had before. One night after dinner with a man she had conned into paying for her, Hattie found herself in a precarious situation, the man having grown quite angry after having being played. He was about to raise a hand against her face when his neck seemingly snapped on its own, his body crumpling to the floor. A voice spoke from behind Hattie, “Now was that any way to treat a lady?”, and that was the moment that she met Nora and Mary Louise, two siphoners who had been turned into vampires and were still able to keep using magic. Upon hearing of their stories and the family that they spoke of, Hattie knew that she just had to become a part of it all. They took her to meet Lily Salvatore who turned her after listening to all that she had been through and from then on she became the youngest member of their family of misfits.

In 1903, Hattie along with the rest of the Heretics, got on a boat in South Hampton, England to travel to Manhattan, New York to get back to the United States where Lily was from. On their way onto the boat, they came in contact with Lorenzo St. John, a man dying of consumption. Lily took pity on him and fed him her blood with the intention of turning him so he could join their family as well. Once they got to New York, the group decided to leave the boat (after killing all of the crew), and left the boat’s doctor there to help Enzo complete his transition. Deciding it was harsh to leave Enzo there on his own, Hattie offered to stay behind with the man and meet up with the rest of the family later.

However, plans quickly changed when Hattie looked out of a window on the boat and saw the Gemini coven ambushing her family. She watched in horror as they sent them to god knows where (the prison world) and decided that for her own sake, she had to flee, leaving Enzo behind to think he was abandoned. Luckily she was able to make it out without being spotted and got to safety.

From New York, Hattie made her way to Mystic Falls, intent on tracking down one of the Salvatore brothers to tell them what had become of their mother and her family, hoping that they would be willing to help her figure out how to get them all back. Before she had any chance of finding them, her uncle, her father’s brother, a prominent member of the Gemini coven had caught up with her. He snapped her neck and once she woke up again she was underground where he had weakened her with vervain and put chains on her wrists that prevented her from doing magic. Rather than killing her (as he saw that a punishment too light), he wanted her to suffer alone for all eternity. He chained her down to the walls and spelled the cellar so that no one would be able to enter and rescue her. There she would desiccate, alive but not truly living. In his eyes, it was the perfect revenge for what he saw as her crimes.

Present

Currently, Hattie is still trapped underground, wishing for one day to be set free and reunited with her family. After 115 years of desiccation, who knows what kind of person Hattie will be if she ever sees the light of day again. However, which her uncle long dead, the spell is broken and if one should stumble upon her she just might get her long awaited chance at freedom.

Connections

Lily Salvatore

In Hattie’s eyes, Lily became the mother that she had lost back in 1892. She was a good little daughter to her for the most part, but that’s not to say she didn’t have her moments of rebellion.

The Heretics

The Heretics are the family that Hattie always wanted. She loves them and wants nothing more than to find a way to reunite with them all.

Lorenzo St. John

The kinder side of Hattie took pity on the man who was dying of disease. It reminded her of her mother which was what prompted her to stay behind with him for the short amount of time that she did. She wonders often what has become of him and hopes that he has found a better fate than she and the rest of the family.

The Salvatore Brothers

After hearing of the brothers from Lily so long ago, they often take up time in her thoughts, wondering what they are like and if finding them could have changed her fate back in 1903.

[keywestlou]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLIE BROWN

Missed Charlie Brown’s birthday. It was yesterday. Sorry. Never the less, the loving spirit of the Peanuts comic strip was born in effect when it made its appearance 70 years ago on October 2, 1950.

Happy Birthday Charlie Brown! Happy Birthday Peanuts! Happy Birthday Snoopy! Happy Birthday the security blanket! And most of all, Happy Birthday to Charles M. Schulz who penned the comic strip.

First named Li’l Folks, the strip was later renamed Peanuts.

Friend even to Presidents. Charlie Brown mentioned occasionally by John Kennedy, Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush.

Today, the comic strip has 330 million readers in 75 countries. It is published daily in 22 languages.

It is thought Charlie Brown has been such a continuing success for so long because of Charlie Brown getting up and trying again after being down. It is called perseverance.

Charlie Brown was a trendsetter in pet relationships. Snoopy.  Pets were members of the family and truly best friends and companions.

Schools are open in most parts of the country. I thought the schools were being prematurely opened. I was wrong.

The kids are going. Nothing coronavirus wise of any significance is happening.

In all of Monroe County, there have been only 3 confirmed cases. The 3 located in the northern part of the County.

I got into wearing masks with Robert. He is a Junior at the Key West High School. He said masks were no problem. Everybody wears one and no one complains. The only time they may remove the masks is during lunch.

I checked with an emergency room friend in one of the most northern cities in New York. She says she has not observed any problems. She mentioned a 7 year old who came  into the emergency room this week. Not for a coronavirus related problem.

She talked with the 7 year old. The little girl was wearing a mask. She asked her if she liked the mask. The girl nodded a shy yes and then proudly said, “We have a mask break for one minute every morning and afternoon.”

Adults should have adapted to mask wearing as children apparently are doing across the country.

Our President is in the hospital. At his age, coronaviirus could be very serious.

I don’t know what it is, but I feel bad that Trump is ill and may die. My writings clearly suggest I like neither the man nor the way he is running the country. Think he is a bad guy. Recommend everyone vote for Biden.

I must add I doubt Trump feels bad about anyone or anything. He is the original I don’t like prisoners, I don’t like Muslims. His feelings regarding Jews is obvious. He stands for all the bad things America has become.

Yet, I feel sorry for the man and wish him well.

Frank Bruni wrote in a New York Times Opinion piece yesterday about Trump. The column: The Pandemic Comes For The President.  Its thrust was no one is invincible. Not even the mighty Donald.

Bruni wrote: “The Presidency and the President are always national mirrors, in many different ways at once…..Trump has shown America its resentments. He has modeled its rage. Now he personifies its recklessness.”

He wrote America is “infected,” it has become a “morality case.”

Every day it is something new about Amy Coney Barrett.

CNN Politics reported yesterday that in the late summer she and her husband were diagnosed with coronavirus. Her husband was asymptomatic. The Judge “felt a little under the weather but recovered.”

My concern is her tendency to be secretive. She has failed in many respects to make full disclosure re professional matters and her religion. Forget not she is 48 and being considered for a lifetime job. Nothing is secret under the circumstances.

The fact that she and her husband had coronavirus may appear non consequential on its face. It probably is. However in today’s climate where the major issue in the election is coronavirus, she should have mentioned it.

Marsha is a long time reader of this blog. From Syracuse, New York. We have never met, except through the blog. We have become good friends.

Marsha sent me a lengthy column she came across. No author. The words intuitive. I share come with you.

“I wonder…..why we all seem to be Russians waiting in line for toilet paper, meat, and Lysol.”

“Why we all look like we are in bad need of a haircut or a facial or a reason to dress up again and go somewhere.”

“There are no images of the first family enjoying themselves together in a moment of relaxation.”

“We are rudderless and joyless.”

“We have lost our mojo. Our fun, our happiness.”

“We have lost the challenges and the triumphs that we shared and celebrated. The unique can-do spirit Americans have always been known for.”

“We are lost.”

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Do whatever you can to help the cause. Few are they who are not touched by its curse.

There is an urban exodus. A return to the suburbs. A topic I have written about many times.

There are three reasons for the exodus.

The first involves technological improvements. People can work from home. The second the destabilizing threat of rising crime in the cities. Third and finally, people cannot make a living in the cities as they once did. Tied into the fact that city rents and living costs have failed to recognize that fact yet and make city living very expensive.

The urban exodus is expected to be an accelerating one over the long term.

A common example of the financial crush city living is causing, many live in flats with multiple roommates.

Key West is not the only City experiencing the dilemma.

Even great cities sometimes go away. They cannot seem to make it back. Goats were grazing in Rome’s Forum a few decades after the Empire collapsed.

On this day in 1995, O. J. Simpson was acquitted. “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.”

I watched the trial everyday for 3 months. Would not miss it.

I had rented a condominium at 1800 Atlantic for the season. Except for 2 days when I had to fly back to Syracuse for a sensitive hearing, I remained in Key West.

My days all the same. Up early. Walked the ocean along South Roosevelt Boulevard. Back to the condo. 1800 had a great pool. I took a cool refreshing swim and laid out on a lounge to sun dry.

Then my day really began. Watched the trial from the comfort of a barcalounge. Exciting! My eyes and ears remained fixed.

The evening was a late dinner somewhere. Generally at Square One. It had become a meeting place. We joined our local and snowbird friends most evenings there.

This is the fourth day in a row that Hackley has written in his 1855 diary about his piles. The poor guy had a real problem!

He wrote, “The piles will not stay up and are very sore. Bathed in the tub yesterday 3 times. Kept a piece of cotton with ointment on the parts and put some more Mustang Liniment on at night.”

I write about poor Hackley’s medical problem because I had a serious hemorrhoid problem twice in my life. Surgery for the first. The problem returned however.

Strangely, nothing seems to have changed as to how to medicate the problem. Every thing today as it was in 1855. I  lived in a hot bath, tried all kinds of ointments.

May Johnson continues to fascinate me. I make the following observation for the second time. Conservative school teacher May is not the quiet angelic type. She is not even good looking as the one photo I have seen indicates.

Yet she has the men here in Key West and away chasing her. Or maybe she is chasing them.

She went dancing at La  Brisa last night with Charlie and Fritot. They gave her a letter from Everest. He never comes home. Supposedly “her love.” They write and she goes out with others in Key West.

Even her mother appears upset with her meanderings.

After La Brisa, the three “went to Sybil Curry’s, lots of boys and girls there. Charles and I came home at 11 o’clock. KICKING TIRED.”

She warns that a “cyclone is brewing.” If it hits, it will be interesting to read about an 1896 hurricane from a person who was there. An

I have been self-quarantined for way more than 200 days. I gave up counting at 200.

Not a very exciting time.

Tonight is Cocktails at 7.

I met Cathy over the internet. Cathy lived in Key West in 1988. She read the blog and wrote me. We became friends.

A long distance romance, if anything. Cathy lives in Seattle, Washington.

Whatever, I have come to enjoy my one night a week having a drink via Skype with Cathy.

Her dog Lucy is part of the experience. Lucy always on Cathy’s lap. Lucy is blind.

Enjoy your Day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLIE BROWN was originally published on Key West Lou

[batbros-before-hoes]

Loving him was Red. Burning Red.

Prompt: Soulmate AU. Both you and your soulmate are born color blind until you meet each other.

Pairing: Reader x Jason Todd/Red Hood

Warning: Angst, tragedy, death, blood.

Author’s note: I’m secretly the biggest Taylor Swift fan ever so I casually slipped in some lyrics. But not enough to consider this a songfic. Sorry, not sorry that this fic is so long. I thought about making this a two-part series but changed my mind at the last minute. Needless to say, I may have gotten carried away. On a totally unrelated note, I’m from Canada so writing this fic felt extremely weird since we spell the words “color” and “gray” differently. That being said, get your tissue box ready and prepare to have your heart torn out of your chest in the most gruesome way imaginable.

The idea of having a soulmate has always been very abstract to you. Though the notion of soulmates has been explained to you time and time again, you never seemed to be able to grasp the concept.

Perhaps it’s because it’s merely impossible to describe color to a color-blind person. Since it’s literally impossible to imagine a color; when your parents and teachers told you about such an obscure concept you were unable to truly understand. Sure, the theory behind it all made sense. In your physics class, you had learned all about the different wavelengths. Heck, you had even gotten a perfect score on your exam!

Maybe your lack of comprehension regarding the matter derived from the fact that soulmates were extremely rare. Only select few were lucky enough to marry their soulmates. The odds were stacked against you. Even your physics teacher couldn’t see colors. The very person to teach you about the principles behind this spectacular phenomenon had never experienced it. Ergo, how could you possibly be expected to fully understand?

Despite your dearest efforts, having never known a life that wasn’t black, white and a million shades of gray, picturing the world in color simply couldn’t be done. You’d stay up late at night trying to visualize what it would be like to acquire this magnificent gift. Whenever you came across a lucky star or a birthday candle your wish would be to one day meet your soul mate. You dearly wanted to have that fairytale ending. All you ever dreamed about was to be the exception to the rule.

However, you never envisioned what the cruel universe had planned for you.

After graduating high school, you decided to move to Gotham city. Your parents weren’t in favor of their only child moving across the country to the crime capital of the world. However, you had been offered a full scholarship from the Gotham University in the program of your choosing. Your parents understood that this wasn’t an offer you could refuse. It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

You moved over to the big city during summer break. You had found yourself a small apartment a few blocks away from campus and walking distance from the grocery store. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was all you needed.

That summer you began to experience something rather strange.

It all begun at the farmer’s market, one Sunday afternoon. You were out buying some fresh vegetables when you accidently bumped into a stranger in the crowd. Suddenly, you could’ve sworn that the tomato in your hand shifted from a dark gray color to a dull red for a split second. But in the blink of an eye, the tint had faded.

You weren’t sure what had just happened, you didn’t even realize that the somber blackish red pigment was a color. Since this was your very first time ever encountering it. You probably would’ve even known what to call the color had you been aware of its brief appearance.  

The next time you came upon this strange sensation was a few weeks later at the library. You were reading your favorite book in the back corner of the old establishment, to avoid getting disturbed. Coincidently, that very same day Jason found himself at the library reading the same book in the adjacent aisle. Neither one of you noticed the presence of the other, since the large book shelved divided you. But it was close enough for your senses to grow faintly stronger.

You didn’t notice the effects that Jason’s mere presence had on you until a few hours later. You were at a coffee shop when you abruptly saw something odd in the corner of your eye. You swiftly turned around and immediately noticed that the restaurant’s logo had unfamiliar tone. The logo that you were staring at was the same color as the tomato that you had held in your hands a few weeks prior. A red so dark it could’ve easily been mistaken for black. The only difference was that this time it lasted a few minutes which gave you time to inspect it closely.

There was no mistaken, you knew exactly what you had seen this time. Naturally, you began to ask yourself a million questions. “Is it really happening? Who is he? Where is he? When will our paths cross again? Will they ever cross again? Where will they cross? Is he also freaking out?” Your brain was racing at the speed of light. All this excitement and intrigue made it impossible for you to fall asleep. Your mind kept playing out various scenarios of your enchanting encounter with this mystery man. You couldn’t help but wonder how it would all unravel. The only thing that you knew with absolute certainty was that your knight in shining armor was in Gotham.

The following day, you went out with a few colleagues for some drinks after a long hard week.

Since it was Friday, yourself and your coworkers stayed at the bar until last call, having a few too many drinks. The bar was located a few blocks away from your apartment ergo, you decided to walk home to avoid having to pay for a cab.

On your way home, you opted for the shortcut. To avoid lurking around the small dark alley, you picked up your pace. But it was no use. Waiting for you in the shadows was a group of lowlifes ready to ambush their prey.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” said the first shadow, eyeing you like a predator about to pounce. “Scream and I’ll cut your throat, bitch.” He threatened.

You felt shivers running down your spine leaving you paralyzed. “P-p-p-please.” You whimpered in absolute terror.

“Relax baby doll, we won’t hurt you. I promise, it’s just a game. Don’t you want to play?” Added the second creep.

By the time you realized that you had made a terrible mistake, the thugs had you surrounded. It was too late to escape and you knew it.

“I would love to play.” Echoed a voice from a nearby rooftop. “But I’m warning you, you’re going to lose.”

In a matter of seconds, the men were disarmed and knocked out by the fabled Red Hood. “Are you alright?” The red hood questioned slowly approaching you. “I can escort you back home if you’d like.”

“I-I’m just shaken up.” You replied. “I’m [Y/N], thank you for saving me.”

“It’s what I do best.” Said the masked vigilante arrogantly. “Now how about we get you home safely?” he then proceeded to wrap his arm around your shoulder for comfort.

As soon as your bodies made contact, the pair of you were hit with a jolt of pure raw energy. It was exhilarating, like fireworks! You felt your soul being kissed by a hint of magic. Colors bursting left and right. Like a euphoric symphony. It was undeniably love at first sight. It felt like finally coming up for a breath of fresh air after being dragged underwater. Neither one of you could say a word. Yet, somehow you both knew exactly what the other was feeling. While the rest of the world was black and white, you were in screaming color.

The walk home was enchanting. The raging colors were overwhelming. Not to mention that against all odds you had met your soulmate. You were in a trance. It all felt like a dream, the most exquisite dream you would ever have. You never wanted to wake up. For a moment, everything was perfect.

When you finally reached your doorstep, the silence broke. “Would you like to come in?” You offered hopefully.

“Of course. I would be delighted. Please, lead the way”

You fumbled for your keys still a little bit drunk, “Got them!” unlocked the door and waltz in, “Welcome to my humble abode!” you exclaimed.

“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay very long, duty calls. But I promise that I will make it up to you darling. How about tomorrow at 8 O’clock? I’ll pick you up?” Before you could answer, your masked vigilante had disappeared into the shadows.

If it weren’t for the alcohol in your system you wouldn't've been able to fall asleep. The events that had just occurred were allot to process. You were awakened by the sound of the doorbell. You rushed down in hopes of being reunited with the mystery man but instead found a large bouquet of red roses, a beautifully golden wrapped box topped with a red bow and a note on your doorstep.

You frantically ran out in your pajamas in hopes of seeing whoever sent you these gifts but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary outside aside from a wave of lyrical colors. After giving up the hopeless chase, you walked back into your apartment with the gifts.

You set the box on the counter and put roses on the dining room table to be properly displayed. Afterward, you sat down and carefully opened the delicate envelope. Inside, read a note that said:

Remember, 8 pm sharp. –XOXO

A smile grew wide upon your face as you gently set the note down and delicately unwrapped the beautiful golden box with the red bow. Inside, laid a gorgeous red silk dress along with a second note that said:

Thought I’d help you pick out something nice to wear on our first date. –XOXO

“Who is this guy?” You thought to yourself.

The rest of your day was spent attempting to find the perfect shoes and getting your: nails, hair, and makeup done. You were about to go on the most important date of your life. Naturally, you desperately wanted everything to be perfect. The butterflies accumulated in your stomach caused by a fusion of anxiousness and nervousness made you feel sick.

But all those feeling vanished, the moment the doorbell rang and you opened the door revealing a handsome blue-eyed gentleman. “Good evening Miss. [Y/L/N], you look stunning.”

“Good evening …”

“Todd, Jason Todd. But all my friends call me Jay.”

“Good evening Jay,” you say while blushing, “It’s so nice to finally meet the man behind the mask.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Jason then kindly escorts you to the limousine awaiting you at the end of your driveway. About 15 minutes later you arrived at your destination. An elegant restaurant located just outside the city lines.

Having recently moved to Gotham and not being familiar with Bruce Wayne’s long list of adopted kids you can’t help but ask Jason the most ridiculous question. “Did the Red Hood rob a bank in order to afford all these luxurious surprises?”

Jason chuckled and replied, “No, I’m Bruce Wayne’s adopted son. My father owns this restaurant along with numerous other small companies all operating under Wayne Enterprises.”

As the night progressed you feel more and more in love with this perfect stranger as you grew to know him better. He told you everything about himself. He told you about his family growing up followed by his adventures while living in the streets of Gotham. Then he told the stories about later being adopted by Bruce Wayne, taking over the robin mantle only to be brutally murdered by the Joker and resurrected by a madman. Jason even opened up about his rough time settling after being revived and his new-found alias. Despite having numerous questions, you simply listened to every word. You wanted to capture this moment. You wanted to remember all these wonderful yet tragic stories for years to come. You wanted to assure Jason that you would be there for him from now on. You wanted Jason to know that nothing bad would ever happen again because you’d be there this time by his side. You wanted to ensure him that he would never be alone again.

After dinner, he proposed yet another activity. “I know the perfect place but we have to hurry if we don’t want to miss it.”

Roughly five minutes later, you hoped out of the limousine and thanked Alfred once more. When you turned around your jaw dropped leaving you speechless. Jason had brought you to the most beautiful spot in the world. Just outside of the city was this lovely isolated piece of land. it was perfect. You could smell the fresh air, feel the gentle blades of grass brushing up against your legs, hear the birds singing a poetic melody and see mother nature’s majestic reflection in the still water.

That evening you witnessed your very first sunset. It was captivating. The way the colors danced together in the sky was mesmerizing. You were undeniably in love. Watching the sunset with Jason spontaneously became your favorite thing in the world. It felt like all your problems were lifted. Time stood still and all was quiet. No matter how terribly life in the big city treated Jason and yourself, when you would escape to this paradise you felt nothing but peace.

Jason and yourself would take a trip here every single day to watch the seemingly infinite horizon take away pain and replace it with pure ecstasy. Together, you would admire the flares of reds, oranges, pinks and yellows harmoniously waltz in the heavens.

Alas, Tragedy struck.

Without a warning, fate intervened and robbed you of you most prized procession. It mercilessly stole your one and only source of happiness. Fate was like a ruthless wind. A cruel cold blooded murderer. A violent storm, a force of nature not to be reckoned with. It barged in uninvited and left behind nothing but soul crushing agony.

One stormy night, while you were at home sleeping you heard your bedroom window crack open. However, this didn’t startle you, Jason routinely entered your apartment through the window after patrol. Thus, you didn’t open your eyes and stayed in bed to avoid being up for the remainder of the night. But this time was different. Jason’s body fumbled through the small crack and collapsed on your bedroom’s floor.

A loud thump woke you up from your semi-conscious state. “JASON!” you cried out.  “What in God’s name happened?” you inquired running over to his lifeless body. As soon as you reached him you immediately check his vital signs. Jason’s pulse was weak and his breath was shallow. “D-Don’t worry, everything will be okay. I-I’ll make everything better. J-just stay with me, Jay. Keep your eyes on me.” You frantically said.

“[Y/N], I love you.” Comforted Jason while gently whipping the tears streaming down your face simultaneously leaving an auburn streak on your cheek.

“No, no, no. Stay with me, baby. Don’t you dare leave me like this. I’m not ready to lose you, Jay. I love you.” You cried out while struggling to acquire help. Instinctively you began applying pressure to Jason’s gunshot wounds. But it was no use. A pool of blood had already formed itself. And Jason’s limp arm abruptly hit the ground splashing your face with blood.

Just like that, you knew. You knew he was gone. The love of your life had abandoned you. The thick crimson liquid stained the cold hardwood floor. The vermilion warm fluid ran down your arms. Jason’s blood left a scarlet trace all over both of your clothes. Red. Red was the very last color you would ever see. It burned itself into your mind. From that moment to the end of eternity you would be scared by the devil’s color.

It was ironic how red had once been your favorite color. Not only was it the first color you had ever scene. But it was Jason’s color. That entrancing ruby red used to remind you of the tomato from the farmer’s market, the logo from the coffee shop, the dress you wore on your first date and the roses that Jason had surprised you with. Cherry red, the color that once symbolized love had now become the color of demise.

A few hours later, when the sun rose you came to the terrible realization that you would never be able to go back to your special spot with Jason. The place where you could see the fire burning in the atmosphere. This broke your already shattered heart. Knowing that the sun would keep on rising and setting day in and day out but you would not be capable of admiring it was devastating.

Becoming color blind made you realize just how real everything was. That this wasn’t just some sort of nightmare. That Jason was gone forever. That you would never see your soulmate ever again. That Jason’s comforting voice was nothing more than a memory that would fade away with time. That his comforting touch wouldn’t be felt when you craved his warm embrace. That the smell of old books, leather, gunpowder, cigarettes and aged scotch would slowly vanish from the apartment you shared.

After Jason’s death, the world not only became black, white and a million shades of gray but it became somber. Your world became darker than ever. It was as if someone had turned the lights off.

[danellt9]

A bit of closure

Court is over finally. The defendant will spend 316 days in a treatment facility. I will write more about it later. Here are the statements we read. FYI "addressing the defendant" means addressing his back. Dina also spoke but I don't have her statement yet. Statement read by Denny Testimony Your honor, I want to thank you for the opportunity to address the court. I’d like to start by reading a note from Daniel teNyenhuis, Patrick’s brother who cannot be here today. Dan is a retired United States Marine who still works to keep our nation safe. While we are in court for the sentencing of the man who caused his brother’s death, Dan is at work defending us. These are Dan’s words - “Patrick John teNyenhuis was my first friend and will always be my friend. I knew Pat before I knew anyone else. I spent my formative years with him. He significantly contributed to my personality and character. I owe much of my success to his influence. Yes, Patrick John teNyenhuis did live a blessed live. Pat deserved every blessing he received, including his three girls, Danell, Sierra, and Camille. Pat earned his other blessings through hard work and dedication, including his career as an expert Physical Therapist where he routinely helped others in need. Patrick John teNyenhuis was a COMPLETE man in mind, body, and spirit; from his music and career, to his health and physical fitness, to his family and faith. During his life, Patrick John teNyenhuis met people from all walks of life through his profession and his hobbies. Pat could talk with crowds and keep his virtue; he could walk with kings without losing his common touch. The world is a lesser place without the skills, music, and wit of Patrick John teNyenhuis. We all miss him. --Daniel Joseph teNyenhuis I can’t do a better job than Dan to describe Pat or the impact his life had on everyone around him. Before I sit down, though, I want to talk about the impact his death had, and the actions that brought us all here today. It’s important that everyone in this room understand that we are not here by accident. Recently, following a court appearance, a member of the defendant’s family told us that they were praying for us, but it was an accident. That is a lie. Pat’s death was not an accident. He died because of the irresponsible, selfish and illegal actions of the defendant. The defendant chose to buy an illegal drug. he defendant chose to take that illegal drug. The defendant chose to get behind the wheel of a car and drive while under the influence of that drug and the sleep deprivation that resulted from its use. Whether it was intentional or not, the defendant then hit and killed Patrick. No logical person argues these facts. Where logic still fails us all is the lack of accountability being shown here, and the total lack of justice. The defendant will be back with his friends and family within a year, while Patrick is gone forever from our lives. Neither are things we can change. We have to try and accept them, and choose to honor Pat’s legacy rather than live our lives filled with anger over the unimaginably deep and painful hole he left behind. We will spend the rest of our lives following Patrick’s examples. When this legal process started, many of us hoped that the defendant would be accountable for his actions and would take responsibility. As we learned more about his long criminal history, we were forced to give up that hope. On April 20 of last year the Defendant forever changed the lives of our family and his own. The only hope I have left for some positive outcome from this terrible crime, is that it is not too late for everyone in this courtroom to learn from a better example. For that hope I offer the memory of Patrick. Patrick was a man who loved God and his family. Patrick was a man who worked hard, every day of his life. Patrick was a man who worked for everything he achieved in life and always shared what he had with those in need. Patrick was a man who often worked six days a week to provide a better life for his wife and children. Patrick was a man who had dreams and worked hard to achieve them. Patrick was a man who touched the lives of everyone he met. Patrick was a man who accepted the blame when he made mistakes and did everything he could to do better. Patrick was a man. Today I asked the court to do all it can to encourage the defendant to be a man from this day forward. To be a man and accept the terrible results of his crime. To be a man and work hard to change his life, so that this awful scene is not repeated. To be a man and work hard to give his children a better example. To be, a man. Your honor, I thank you. My Statement name is Danell teNyenhuis. For the last 24 years, I was Patrick’s wife. Our marriage began in 1992 and ended on April 20th, 2016 when you took his life. I am not a vindictive person. I know very little about you. I know you are a father and I know that you made a series of poor choices that resulted in Patrick’s death. There is no punishment that will make up for the loss my daughters and I have suffered due to your choices. Unfortunately, our legal system was unable to find a way to adequately hold you accountable. So, you will do your time and then have the rest of your life ahead of you. What will you do with the rest of your life? Let me tell you how Patrick lived his life. He was an amazing husband! We were truly partners in life. He helped with everything including doing the grocery shopping and most of the cooking. He also found time to make me feel special and loved. He made all of my dreams come true. He was a wonderful father to our daughters, Sierra and Camille. His daughters were his pride and joy! When they were infants he would get up with them at night, change their diapers and then bring them to me to nurse. When they began eating solid foods he made all their baby food from scratch. He attended sporting events, helped with science projects and truly enjoyed spending time with them. They are beyond devastated by his loss. In the next year one will graduate from high school and one from college. Someday they will get married and have children and he will miss these important milestones. Patrick was an excellent physical therapist. I know because he helped me rehabilitate after hip surgery. I also know due to the numerous patients who have reached out to me since his death. Here is just one of the many stories that have been shared. 2009 I had a surgery which resulted in damage to my femoral nerve. Patrick became my physical therapist for an entire year, 3 times per week, as he persisted to try to figure out the best therapy routine and exercise regime to help my femoral nerve regenerate and function. He did not know if the nerve was severed, crushed, stretched or who knows what, but he was relentless in the challenge to help me be able to use my right leg again. I developed the greatest respect for him, his physical therapy skills, his tenacity and determination to take on the challenge and master the results successfully for me, as well as for his professional skills and efforts. The therapy was successful because of his training, perseverance and knowledge. I was able to move and functionally use my right leg again. He told me that I was a rehab miracle. The truth is, the miracle was God’s divine intervention transferred through Patrick’s passion for healing, professional skills and caring personality for his clients, including me. He became not only my therapist but my friend during those sessions. Patrick was also a devoted son and brother. And he was loved by 22 nieces and nephews and numerous extended family members. He was a good friend to many but was also humble and felt he only had one friend. His funeral service was standing room only. He was a great provider for his family and he worked overtime most weekends to ensure that he could pay for his daughters to go to college. He was unselfish and spent very little money on himself. I could go on and on but I think by now you might be realizing how many people were affected by his death. In my opinion you have been given the gift of a second chance. Will you choose to continue the same path and risk making a poor choice again? My challenge to you is that you learn from this tragedy. Do your time and then change your life. Do something positive. Make a difference in the world. Share your story as a lesson to others. I am not ready to offer forgiveness. But, if you want to atone for this then make your life matter. Sierra’s Instagram post from 4-20-16: My world crashed down the second they told me you were gone. Every minute I expect you to walk through the door smiling and cracking a joke, and every second I wish you were telling me about your day while drinking some of your home brewed beer. I'm trying my best to reflect on all of our amazing memories together without breaking down, because I know you would want me to stay strong and you would HATE seeing me sad, but I don't know what to do without you. I love you so much Dad. You are one of a kind. Instagram Post from Camille on 4/20/16: RIP to my incredible, hilarious, talented, caring AWESOME father. This picture was taken last week on his 49th birthday at the Paul McCartney concert. I'm so thankful to have this and so many other great memories with him. For those of you who never had the chance to meet him, he was a great man. He went to every one of my sporting events he possibly could. He managed to make it his whole life without owning a smart phone. He once argued that his flip phone was better than everyone else’s iPhone because he could fit it in his mouth then proceeded to prove it by putting his phone in his mouth in the middle of Red Robin. I know that he wouldn't want us to cry, he'd want us to remember the good times and laugh. It's hard to imagine what life will be like without him here, but I know he is with God and always will be with me and the rest of my family in our hearts and memories. Thank you to everyone for your support in this difficult time, your thoughts and prayers mean a lot. Patrick John teNyenhuis 4/13/67 – 4/20/16

[sankofaspeaks-blog]

A Letter to my 20 Year Old Son

before i write this i want everyone who is reading this to know this is a letter for all sons. i want you to be able to talk to your son. i received a letter from my son the other day and it through me for a loop. I'm going to write him personally but i felt now what all parents feel when they are worried about their kids out in the them streets and don't see their future pass a four corner block or friends who won't help him grow into something that is meant to live not die. so, i write this with a heavy heart and a smirk on how life has a very weird sense of humor but if you can find the humor in it then all is well. so, let me talk to my son and with the blessings that it may help you talk to yours. truly yours Sankofa from the belly of a hungry lion.......i just wish i had one day to bring the ones back who want to help and tell their stories.........

Dear Son,

what's up young man? how are you? I'm hoping and praying that you're good over there in your own form of hell. you know i miss you and its crazy how we have come this far but yet have stood still. now, as for myself I'm ok and just taking it one day at a time and letting God do what he does. you know I'm not to religious but i know he exists. anyway, your letter was met with love and happiness to finally hear from you. its been a minute but your my blood so we will make it back to each other. now, the part about your letter where you still have feelings of wanting to be what landed you, me, your uncles, cousins and grandmothers and grandaunts into a small piece of hell. so, let me try and tell you a story because i remember you asking me why do guys who lived in those streets for so long and then when they get older they try and say they are done with living in those streets and i tried to explain to you as best i could because you seem to think if I'm talking to you its preaching and i never looked at it like that when i was your age. i looked it like it was teachings because its about something that i don't know. let me give you a little history on your father that you may not know. now, remember i told you that i was down Jamesburg 20 years before you got there. and let me tell you that when i was down there i was trying to chill because i had 3 1/2 years to do and guys down there only had like a year. anyway, one day a dude from Newark got into it for stealing a Atlantic City's guy's walkman and (you know in prison stealing is a no-no but we were all young and didn't look at it like that). so, anyway, the guy who got his walkman stolen didn't want to fight. so, two other guys from A.C. and Newark ended up getting into it. and i had to hold down the guy who started something and didn't have anything to do with it because stealing amongst men is a no no because your doing something and hiding your hand. anyway. with that riot i was sent to epison. from epison i get shipped out before i even hit the yard because of my age and the guys from the Newark having beef with the c/o's. i was shipped to Yardville corr. facility. where your at now. i was 17 years old.(Go to Blog to read rest. Altariq sankofa speaks gumbs.tumblr.com) I had no idea what my life would be once i got back on the streets because i didn't use my time wisely. i was fighting and taking my stress out on everyone instead of trying to get my head together. i ended up doing 2 1/2 years on a 3 1/2 year sentence and it all started from trying to back a thief. i got home and family was still crazy. took back to the streets. you was born a year later and i was in prison when you was born. i made it home on bail three weeks after you was born. i got to hold you in my arms for month and then i went back to the streets because i refused to be begging anyone for anything. four months later i was back in jail facing life in prison for crimes i didn't even do. i was told by a prosecutor investigator that since i refused to co-operate that i was going to spend my life in jail and MY SON WOULD GROW UP AND BE LIKE SPIT AND PEOPLE WILL WALK RIGHT OVER HIM. i never forgot her words that day in the room. i still stood on my principles but it bothered me that if i didn't find my way back from this darkness that her words will manifest itself into reality. so after being blessed by god i was sent home in 01. where now I'm not only a man who has made it back on the streets, i have no knowledge of what to do because i spent all my time fighting the cases or gang banging and trying to teach people about gangs. i came home and i swear to you i wanted to leave the streets alone. but not knowing anything and the pressure of being Killa Reek the man with a new hood i went back to the streets. i got to spend probably two months with you. i was locked back up three and half months later for trying to be loyal to my friends and the code and raising A GANG BEFORE RAISING YOU. i still ended up taking 10 years and having to go and do the time. i became so angry i couldn't see straight. i have been bounced all over this country for trying to be loyal to a code and people who don't care about me. you think those streets care about you? through all those time i couldn't pay someone to come to my aid and bail me out. friends stood tall at the beginning and then they fell off. I ended up catching another sentence while doing that time and had to find out 2 minutes before i was to walk out of the door to hold you in my arms. you was there you remember the pain you had when i didn't walk out of that door? it was all because of my actions but my so-called friends left me and told on me. and now i have now been locked up for 16 and half years and i can count on one hand how many people i can depend on. i have to endure dealing with the women who come in my life thinking that I'm lying because those before me have lied too them about what they are going to do when they get home. Picture trying to convince someone that your telling them the truth and they taking your word on blind faith but everything you say has that second guess. a man should never have his word questioned. because he stands on what he says out of his mouth. But how could you when your actions keep taking you away from them for so long? how do you judge them for wanting to live their lives which means you go on the back burner. its pain like no other. i have to endure that i don't know my old friends and barely know the new ones. i have to watch every one with a keen eye and make sure their hearts are pure. you want to live like this? i haven't seen your grandmother in over five years. i haven't seen my sisters in over five years. i have lost three brothers, two grandmothers and cuzzins and wasn't able to go to any of the funerals. and you think that even at the age of 20 you can tell me that you know what's ahead if you decide to continue to walk down this road? because at the age of 20 i didn't know nor did i care. and look what that mind set has gotten me? you think me being soft because i would rather choose peace over looking over my shoulder because i beat a guy up in the county twenty years ago? you think i want to not trust my old friends and afraid of my new ones? you think i don't want to lay up next to a woman and make love to her and be her protector? you think that i want to live in these cold cells where every warden takes even the smallest things you have and the c/o's treat you like your their child when you have over ten years over them in age? they don't want you having a lot of photos of your family! they don't want you to kiss your chick unless they look in her mouth first, you think that's cool? you think that the men who have been killed for their hood or for a person who soon as the dirt was on their casket they are forgotten about because life goes on. you think a man is soft because he wants to raise his kids and be something more than a number? you want to look up and see that the only stamps on your passport is because you flew from one state to the next in handcuffs? you want to know how it feels to want to love a woman but think that she will be gone in six months because doing time hurts all that are involved? my son, i will always love you and want the best for you even if you don't want it. all my life have been about being loyal and holding my love ones down to the best of my ability and they still cross me. family members are far and between. i don't have not one blood relative family member on my email. so is this something that you are inspiring to be? you want to live your life like this because you think its cool? they want to say i have changed and some may say soft because I'm choosing to put my life first and not the things that are taking my life. its what a man does. and any man will tell you this. we are dying out there and before i was apart of that destruction but i swear to you if i knew better i would have done better because my heart was never meant to be cold. you have listened to all the stories that are meant to make it sound cool. and for that I'm sorry because i was suppose to be there and raise my boy. it breaks my heart to hear that you are still locked up. a man job is to raise his son into the man that he should be. its not to force his life onto him. my job is to let you know what those traps are and make sure you stay firm on that road and never fold. and i have failed in that and I'm sorry as your father. not as a ex-gang leader. it has come home to roost and there is nothing i can do unless you choose to want to live. choose to want to be more than those streets. choose to listen to not the preaching but to the lessons. because that is what life is: LESSONS. every day you suppose to want to be better than yesterday. i want you to know i love you lil man. and i take the blame for the beginning of my lack of being a man. for not being there when you needed me. I'm so sorry for letting you down when your birthdays came i wasn't there. when you wanted to know about woman. when you wanted to know about friends. when you wanted to know how to deal with a bully. when you wanted a hug because you knew your pops was there. I'm truly so sorry for any of my part in the hurt that you felt and is feeling now. and i don't want you in here. i don't want to bury my son. i don't want to worry about what happens to you because you have taken a risk factor up from 50% to 75% because you have put yourself in situations that will bring you harm. What young men your age don't realize that everyday that you spend in here is the equivalent of two months on the streets. your life is on hold. and if your dead then that's entirely different story. its a form a of hell that ya'll don't see because you only see your age and that you can do five years three times and still be young! my boy i love you and i know your a young man and is still trying to figure out what is it you want to do with your life but trust this shouldn't be one of the options. use me as a example of what NOT to do. i haven't been with a woman for 16 and half years. i haven't gotten to walk to the store. i haven't been able to play video games. i haven't been able to eat what i want. i haven't been able to hug my mother without being told to let her go after a minute. i haven't been able to have more kids because i made choices i must pay for. so anyone out there let your kids read this if they think doing things that are illegal. if they think being in prison or coming to prison let them read this long message/lesson. to my son i love you and a gang member isn't something i wanted for you or for anyone kids. its why i wrote that book and i fight for the youth. that is the stories you should have been told about how i made sure ibn on the land made sure all the young brothers and sistas under 18 go to school and class. you should have been told about me protecting the kids in the neighborhood. you should have been told about me respecting everyone who i came across. and tried my best not to be violent at every turn. i want to see you live and trust me this is nothing but another form of death. its just a slower death. so my son take this as a lesson and not as me preaching. don't be like the old me be like the me who always came and got you when you was little. the one who didn't disrespect or hit your mother. be the writer i know you want to be. i love you so much my young son. who is now wanting to be called a gangsta by his father.:( thank all of you for reading this and I'm hoping this helps for you to pass to your kids and show them what can happen if they want to be like Killa Reek. peace to you and yours:) there is nothing with wanting to live to see your family grow old and become more than what it was. its apart of life. this isn't what life should be like. thank you King Sankofa... A letter to my Prince Sankofa with tears in my eyes!!!!

[oneness913-blog]

What did you do in 2017 that you'd never done before?

  Writing a grant, managing budget, crowdfunding, giving a serious (normative) gift to Sarasa (last year she was perplexed with a pair of glass sandal), Starting a master’s degree, making a pledge to become a teacher in Japan, Being a camp leader, BBQ on the beach with Sarasa, Volunteering, Spending a full week with the same kids, Paying for tuition, Getting on a train just to get a fresh air, Buying a monthly train pass, Watching the entire episodes of Doctor Who within two weeks. Hanging out with James’ sister. Keeping track of daily expenses (barely). Trying to recruit undergrads to form a squad to make an impact in child welfare. Going to a friend’s funeral.

New places I visited: Totsukawa village in Nara, Chikusa in Hyogo, Child Care home, reformatory, more than 30 different schools, Noto (Ishikawa pref).

Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

   My resolution for 2017 was, probably, to write reflections often, and that is exactly one thing I wish I had done more. All anxious feelings for the future is circular in nature and reflecting more through writing would have helped avoid it. I will totally make more new year’s resolutions, and will try harder to keep it. It’s about time to consciously structure life!

What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016?

-More music in life (didn’t know how music could uplift my feeling!)!

- courage and confidence to actually do things that are wanted by me.

-time to sit down and write

-daily planning of how to spend time

-more chats with friends from wes

-going to rando local meetup events

What date(s) from 2016 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

   -Sep 25 to Oct 1: A week of internship at a local elementary school made me absolutely fall in love with hanging out with 6th graders, and this led me to get elementary school teaching license.

  -Sep 15: Former Cross st. neighbor Matt Burgunder visited Osaka and we talked about deep shit over sake. This day was the day I heard I got a grant. Matt and I opened up and became closer, and that was awesome, fun thing.

  -Nov 10 Xian visited Osaka, and we ate a bunch of foodies and talked lots. I was very, very happy to be able to reconnect with Xian again, a while after graduation. We discovered that Pizza-okonomiyaki was the best thing to eat in Osaka.

   What was your biggest achievement of the year?

   -coordinating a US-Japan youth exchange program to tackle cyberbullying. The challenges included communication with a variety of people and institutions, managing budget, facilitating high school students’ discussions while simultaneous interpreting.

What was the best thing you bought?

  -a beautiful (?) pair of piercing for Sarasa. I feel like a boyfriend now. hahaha. And a work table from IKEA. It was Sarasa’s suggestion (or order) and was totally, absolutely worth the money. I can watch Doctor Who so much more comfortably.

Where did most of your money go?

   drinking and eating out with friends, coffee at cafes, traveling with Sarasa.

What did you get really, really, really excited about?

    Traveling to Kanazawa with Sarasa, giving her a (real) present for Christmas/Three year anniversary. This reflection has made me realize I am much more of a romantic (?) or a family guy than I thought. LOL

What song(s) will always remind you of 2016?

       Honestly, no song is attached to 2016.

Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder? thinner or fatter? richer or poorer?

I am slightly, but very meaningfully, richer. at least money wise, thanks to some of the project incomes. Sarasa says my tummy is becoming like a young child’s and I must hit the gym, and I have registered for a membership but have been lazier than ever. I should reflect on this later. Speaking of happiness, I am definitely happier because I are a little more sure of what I want for my career (teaching). Around this time last year I was debating whether I should fly away and disappear into rural cities in Mexico. Now I am serious thinking about finding a teaching-related career there. Sarasa is going to graduate and come back to Japan soon and that is making me feel so much more hopeful for the future. I probably got a little more used to long-distance. I have never recommended it to anyone though.

Having met a lot of young people and remembering each kid as a whole set of personality and face makes me feel like I exist in this world. The idea of educating to change the world is nothing compared to three or four real persons speaking to you in your head whenever you try to recall. Working with them has boosted my self-efficacy as well.

What do you wish you'd done more of?

Exercise!!!! I should have done more bouldering. I get shy going to gyms in general for an unknown reason but I’ll break out of the shell. Reading more books with some directions of learning would have made this year much richer in general. Both fiction and nonfiction. And going to bed early. I am definitely aging and feel exhausted after doing nothing until late at night.

On a side note, I wish I had double checked schedules before booking flights.

Plus, I wish I had studied Spanish. Maybe I’ll make that my New Year’s resolution.

What do you wish you'd done less of?

   Thinking (or talking to myself) without writing down. I wasted a lot of time lamenting the sad reality and status quo of people or norms I encountered on a daily basis, obviously in vain.

    If I write down thoughts and stay objective about them, I would have developed real plans to improve whatever I didn’t like, or at least be convinced and move on to newer topics of thinking. That’ll be my new year’s resolution

  Browsing through social media as if some posts will answer my questions. Now I know it won’t.

Did you fall in love in 2016? 

I feel like I know Jenna Coleman personally after watching Doctor Who straight up.

How many one-night stands?

     hmmmmm actually, zero.

What was your favorite TV program?

   To reiterate, Doctor Who is the best thing that happened. It is holding my mental sanity. Nigeruwahajidaga Yakunitatsu was helpful in seriously considering life in marriage.

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

Once Erin Chase told me hate is toxic. Since then whenever I am inclined to hate someone I try indifference instead. I grew indifferent to my relationship with a person this year.

What was/were the best book(s) you read?

   Kasai No Hito [people of family court]. It is a series of comic books that feature a family court judge who restores youth who committed crimes and resolves conflicts of married couples trying to divorce through using metaphors of plants. In the justice system where legal solutions are primary means to “resolve” issues, he is an inspiring counselor-judge who is always watering plants, hiking, and not doing much reading and end up saving lives of those who come to the family court. His words are oddly wise and that was my favorite part.

What were your greatest musical discoveries?

  I can’t think of anything.

What did you want and get?

   I wanted to find a topic of research or interest that is very grabbing. I didn’t find it. Instead, I learned a lot of small facts about child welfare, youth psychology, education systems, etc. And my relationship with Sarasa has become more stable.

What was your favorite film of this year?

Moonlight. I usually watch tons of scifi films, but this film led me to reinforce my interest in welfare. It was viewing black communities as just communities, not black communities. In other words, it invited me into the community and experience it.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

    I was facilitating elementary school kids’ discussions on how they are going to teach smartphone rules to even younger children in Kobe. I think they celebrated my birthday, and I was so happy. I turned 25, still unbelievable. 

What did you do for the New Year, Valentine’s, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, and any other holidays?

   New Year: I reluctantly and thus very slowly studied for an entrance exam to master’s program.

   Valentine’s: I forgot its existence, which exploded Sarasa and she almost broke up with me. So as a token of apology, I sent her a bottled wine with a photo of us in it. To make sure I forgot about it, I printed the date as February 15. LOL

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? 

  making new local friends to share intellectual and reflective discussions, or doing these things with friends scattered around the world. Now I know this is the most important thing to my life.

  What kept you sane? 

  Monthly hangouts with a friend from Wes. Every month, someone came to visit me. Yvonne, Xian, Matt, Sarasa, thank you! And my family’s constant support is always underrated. Caught up with my personal petty anxiety, reading New York Times and other critical articles on the devastating reality of the world, from changing political climate to humanitarian crises, woke me up and put me right. This was big. Also almost daily skype with Sarasa is the basis of my sanity.

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

  Jenna Coleman. It was my first time ever googling a celebrity’s name.

Who did you miss?

  Sarasa and all my friends with whom I share deep shit. I miss prof. Miller too. hahaha

Who was the best new person you met?

Sarah, who is helping out the US-Japan youth exchange program. She is always on top of shit and is truly excited to see the kids grow. Definition of trust.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2017:

   Sensation fades. Act before thinking, and you will feel joy.

What were your inner conflicts you could not resolve in 2017?

  It is the same conflict that I have been facing all years since college. Do I want to pursue teaching-related work or literature/history related work. But! Writing this made me realize I held a false belief that by getting a teaching experience in Japan I will lose chances to extensively read, write and discuss philosophy, intellectual history and literature in career. Whenever I get bored from finishing tasks related to teaching path, I feel awfully misplaced and am taken over by the nostalgia of intellectual conversations with friends at Wes.

  However, one thing that is clear is that I can continue reading and writing on history and intellectual history through working as a teacher. Let’s not forget that.

  Plus, is nostalgia a proof that I would enjoy going back to academia? What does it mean to read and write and discuss academically?

  Another  conflict I have always had is to live in Japan or in other countries... This has too many factors and everything depends, so I should get over this conflict and be always specific when thinking about locations of residency. And I want to use English, rather than Japanese, for my critical inquiry.

2018 2019               

-get licenses

-intl. exchange program experience

-psych research

-explore topics to inquire about (sociology? contemporary history?)

2020 --> 2022

-teach at elementary/reformatory

-Find what to do next

-Try to produce knowledge (research in psych? soci?)

2023 (age 31)

-PhD in Europe or US

or

-NGO in Mexico --> UNICEF and development career?

2026 (age 34)

-get a teaching position at a university (might not be possible though, with the rise of online education opportunities)

and -Found an organization that does something fun

or

-work for intl. organization while conducting research

2030 (age 40)

-??? cannot even imagine.

What did you like about the projects your worked on? What aspects of those projects do you wish to continue? What other projects do you wish you’d done more of?

1. AK Youth Exchange Project

I liked being paid for the work that helps solve problems that could lead some youth to suicide. It was fun to be the only culturally fluent person to facilitate discussions. Particularly, kids on my side are excited, and I enjoyed being able to be part of the team that can give them this opportunity to them. It feels great to be able to contribute to a local village initiative (Chikusa) that has educational resources that can enrich the lives that touch them. Using my skills to uplift kids with lower self esteem also made me feel good. Writing grant and answering many questions from the grant-giving organization was energy consuming, I think I was able to learn valuable lessons of what to say to whom so that I can invite them into my own world.   I did not like that I had to be swung from left to right by a couple of people who exert age-based authority. I also hate that I do not have a say to certain parts of the project because I am a student. I do not necessarily seek for the highest leadership position, at least I wish I was part of all conversations. I hated being treated as a person who does not have the deciding power. Particularly, the process of paying for my income was not sufficiently explained, and it is still delayed. Those in authority of protecting human rights in Japan are neglecting one of the most important duties. This drives me crazy, I get furious every time I give a thought to this. I will always exchange contracts when there is a salary involved. People really do not care. And be a person who cares. All of the delays could have been avoided if we all met regularly. The problem is that these people say they commit to this without having the necessary time or will to do so. I can’t stand having to be the only listener when I am the youngest. Hate it so much.I would like to continue working on giving chances for youth to think and speak freely about problems and participate in the ecosystem of politics. I guess this is sort of fighting ageism.I hope to do more of intellectualizing this practice-- maybe write a piece to analyze the ecology of this project? Why not! This may lead to a practice report to be published somewhere, talk to Prof. Bauman about it?I was very happy to meet some of the new team members. I would like to continue meeting those who have interests in making the world a better place for disadvantaged youth. It felt nice to connect to a scholar over many rounds of online conferences. I also love traveling, which is so important to my life. I would like to devise more projects that have travel components!! 

2. Getting a teaching license in elementary, junior high and high schooI liked that I had something that would give me a paycheck in a couple of years. One class on human rights was quite an informative and inspiring one in that it taught me precursors who were working for disadvantaged youth and family in rural Japan. That is one reason I can be proud of being a Japanese person.Most of the classes were terrible in that many scholars speak of their ill-informed self-indulgent lectures. Besides understanding the sad reality of malfunctioning academia in Japan, I learned nothing.I wish to continue learning the history of human rights-oriented teachers in the past, and present, globally. That is something that pushes me to work hard to work for disadvantaged people in general. My struggle, in the new lens I just through of, is my tendency to connect with those in the past, rather than those in the present. Or is that what I hope is the case to be the heroin of tragedy?I also have to admit that some classes from Seisa were quite informative in terms of history of education in Japan, as well as what the gov’t has done in shaping the direction of curriculum, effective teaching methods of science and math. That’s not nothing, probably useful skills, but I’m not sure if I can say I fully enjoyed it.

3. Seminars to children and parents 

I definitely enjoyed traveling on train! Train rides make me feel like I am important and so does wearing suits. Pay was very good and I am thankful for that. Conversations with school principals have been somewhat fun, although they aren’t really intellectual. Many of them seem to be swung by newspaper headlines instead of deeply analyzing the reality...  I also enjoyed speaking to an audience of parents and children. The content was developed by Takeuchi-sensei and speaking his content makes me feel like I am doing something good to society, but the thought that it is not mine lingers on. I guess I am learning how to speak, behave and stuff, just instruments. I don’t expect too much from this besides these learning and pay.  I did not like that it was not my original work and that the conversations aren’t so abstract. There isn’t many critical arguments, just questions for the audience. I wish there was more of an discussion that I could provoke in the audience, but to be honest most of the arguments are just plain normative thoughts. I want radical thoughts that change the way I view reality. I want change. I guess boredom overclouds me here.I would like to continue making money from these, but would like to dramatically change slides. At least for children, I want to engage more with them to check the possibility of radical and critical thinking.

4. Flattering Prof. Takeuchi’s students 

  I admit I find it rewarding to engage in conversations with them through critical assessment of the organization. I just complain how authoritarian and dogmatic the organization is in the form of constructive criticism, and I am not sure if some of the sophomores felt my negativity. Talking with sophomores is sometimes fun but I wish we had more of critical discussions on anything. Many students try to say things that please Takeuchi-sensei and I hate that. I would like to be more critical and original in any speech I make and I believe that is how I contribute in general.

I do not desire going to their spring camp and be part of their leadership because I don’t really see myself creating a youth organization where members are uncritical. I also want to discuss intellectual, more challenging things with people who have vocabulary. 

I would like to continue going to smartphone summits occasionally to hear the changing relationships between emerging technology and lives of young people. Besides that, I think I am done and now is the time to move on to my passion, using the communication skills I acquired from these programs.

5. “offline” summer camp

I definitely enjoyed investing my time and energy in working with some of the youth who are struggling with parental over-managing, lack of social skills, lack of communication with parents, etc. When it came down to was their social life problems. It was very inspiring to see that kids who lacked skills to engage with others in effective ways came to be able to do that in 5 days, through extensive chats, play, discussions and simply living together in nature. Structured counseling-like programs also helped them face their problems and claimed the courage to get over.

I enjoyed seeing how kids’ behavior changed, and their emotional energy, not fully expressed, was very pleasant to feel. The camp master’s lessons on “life” felt quite meaningful to be part of, like killing fish taking life and continue the circle of life. What is the point of life?

I was so happy to be able to connect to a girl that at first I didn’t feel would connect to very deeply. She seemed so shy, didn’t talk much, and didn’t show facial expressions. But she cried when I gave her a farewell letter. It taught me that being able to express is a skill that not everyone has the privilege to have. But so what? How much do I care about it? Maybe it was fun but I guess this is sort of like my hobby?

I did not like how youth services people had to call college facilitators over to a kid who was actually intentionally left alone because he was tired of socializing only to show their boss that kids are being cared for. I would argue that an intellectual, confident move would have been to explain fully to their boss that these college facilitators are strategic about engaging with kids, and ask them to articulate their strategies later. I know people aren’t perfect, but it made me angry and Prof should have confronted it. I wish there was more of a critical discussions, rather than top-down advising from camp leaders and adults to youth, honestly. I want more democratic organizational structures with high, and diverse abilities.

“You told me I should be kind to myself. But you should also be more kind to yourself.” -In a letter from a student.

She might have identified the darkness that clouds my path ahead, that I do not know how to satisfy myself. It is true. I do not know what makes me happy honestly. What makes me happy? Writing like this soothes me and makes me feel like I matter to myself. How can I make myself matter to myself?? That is the question this student taught me to think about.

Not sure if summer camps would be my thing, but I would like to continue engaging very deeply with others. Because by doing so, she tried to wonder about my nature and offered such an insightful letter to me. This is a very, very important question to myself. Care for self, and think about what to do that can make me care for myself.

Well but still the song-singing felt so touching and it restored my faith in some of the basic values of being in company with others, having nice friendships.

6. Facilitation for youth programs

  There were some moments I felt quite fulfilling when I was able to help kids be vulnerable and open up. It was also rewarding to compliment them and they seemed really happy and became confident in what they do.

  And the topics included addiction to cyberbullying and usokoku and those are serious concerns for youth. I felt that by being part of the programs that help youth and adults understand the status quo of cyber life, I mattered to the world. That is a great feeling. However, I wish I would be able to feel more Adrenalin pumping though. In other words, although I felt I mattered to the world, I did not matter to myself. To my self, I wasn’t great enough; should my assessment scale be changed or my actions changed?

I would like to continue participating in these programs to better understand both changing and unchanging truth about human lives. but what is actually it that would make me feel like I matter to myself?

7. Volunteer at Kodomohiroba

  This is one of the biggest reasons I feel I would enjoy becoming a school teacher. Every time, I stepped closer to opening up the students who are totally at a loss; parents have brought them to Japan with their reasons and put in school systems that do not have the sufficient support system. But some students seemed so happy talking with me who tries to connect with them through variety of means. It’s like the kids were waiting for me to touch their lives. Maybe they were waiting FOR me to touch their lives so that I can feel like I matter to myself. At the end of each volunteer, I always feel fulfilled, having done great things. Why? It’s not an academic discussion, but I just really enjoy that informal mingling with kids who have different backgrounds and see them open up to me. It’s kind of like me traveling to other countries and meeting with young locals (esp. Mexico) and connecting with them.

I will absolutely continue to volunteer at this organization and find what makes me feel that I matter to myself. Or just simply joy? Is a simply joy enough?

I also enjoyed working with people of various ages and occupations. It is an environment where I can stay faithful in people’s care for civil duty and philanthropy.

I did not like how understanding of students isn’t systematically shared. Maybe I would step up and suggest creating a database of students’ needs, study skills and backgrounds. A

8. Volunteer at elementary schools

It was as joyful as to forget my feeling of being misplaced. I liked my social skills developed a bond with many children. When it comes to building ties, the teachers weren’t an exception. Being able to connect with people as human beings is a rewarding experience. I was particularly happy that children found me interesting, and I found them interesting. With this mutual act of finding each other simply interesting, I cannot help but be nostalgic of the unforgettable sensation and the feeling of my existence mattering to myself through reflective conversations with friends. Maybe I like to be reflective and understand something deep in human thoughts? This leads me to think of reformatory education as one of my potential career paths again. 

I also enjoyed thinking about the role of music in children’s development. From music classes to sports day activities, music seemed to play a large role in facilitating the construction of ties among children. 

There isn’t much I did not like about this project, I think. I would like to continue visiting the elementary school and analyze in what way I want to work with people.

9. Working with UNICEF

I liked that I am working with an intl. organization. That’s cool because it is a symbol of globalization and celebration of cultural diversity. I enjoyed having conversations with some of the smarter people too. Working with UNICEF helped me contextualize seemingly trivial voices of youth I hear hear and there in the changing dialogues of human rights protection.

If possible I would like to keep learning about what is going on around the world. I would love to intern at either in Japan office, NY office or in Mexico to better understand what international organizations can and cannot do, and see how much I like being part of them.

What other projects do you wish you’d done more of?

-I wish I had done more reflective writing and talking. This is to identify project ideas that ring my bell. I am looking for ways to use my life so that I feel I matter to myself.

(Be concrete)

-reading history books for pleasure

-Investment

-read more in psychology, criminology, developmental psych, etc, especially reformatory education-related stuff

-Launch statistical analyses projects

-

New world of career in 2018?

-internship at ...

--> reformatory? can I work with youth on reflection?

-volunteer at...

-try to meet with ...

[declassroomedteach-blog]

Jailhouse Salvation 101

Jailhouse Salvation 101

(word count approx 1570)

By Gina Fournier

 The Merchant-Ivory movie adaptation of E. M. Forster’s A Room with a View features a poignant scene following a street fight that ends in murder.  Lucy (Helen Bonham Carter) comments that you witness something memorable and think you’ll never be the same, but then you forget and return to your old self.  I hope to do a better job holding onto my jailhouse conversion, from skeptical to convinced about the existence of God.  

 Disclaimer: My conviction has wavered intensely even before I finished editing this essay.

Thanks to my former employer and its bad actors, an institution I’ll call Land of Motown Community College, where I served as an English teacher, I’ve seen the best and the worst of pure Michigan humanity.  If God created humans, God sure must have a sense of humor.

Even a smattering of details from my story sound like a rollercoaster Lifetime movie no one wants to watch.  Since 2012, I’ve been sexist witch-hunted through an ongoing living nightmare that has included hack shrinks, illegal and involuntary lock up in a Catholic mental health ward and now incarceration for thirty-four days in a mid-Michigan county jail for a crime I did not commit. College administrators, union teachers, dirty cops, dirty doctors, dirty nuns and dirty priests, plus the state’s top most government officials, have participated in the protection of white collar criminals and encouraged my simultaneous downfall.   All this for me, so one man can prove his power over unions near union ground zero.

The U.S. Constitution’s first amendment makes clear that government is not to establish any official religion, not protect any particular religion from existing laws. Perhaps the founding fathers could foresee the distant future.  Nearly two hundred fifty years later, a female citizen has found cause to invert the phrase “God bless you” with blasphemy, attempting to redress grievances.  

I’ve never met the emergency room doctor who signed me into a Catholic looney bin for a week.  To my horror, I was held in a Catholic Siberia, it turns out, on campus with my all girl Catholic high school.  I was raised and violated by the same church, which now pretends it’s never met me.  Thirty five years ago, for Halloween, classmates mimicked the Robert Redford movie Brubaker to stage a failed, backboneless prison break.  These classmates, who have also turned away from my plight, dressed not in hospital gowns or orange as the new black, but plaid skirts and knee socks adorned temporarily with stripes. (Good girls, we stopped mock rioting when the nuns glared.)

Unfortunately, there is no law or principle governing the intersection of religion and families.   In my time of need, even my immediate and extended family has turned away, exponentially multiplying my distress.  My extended Catholic family has not advocated for me, though it would cost nothing except some skin.  The anger caused by this and so many betrayals envelops like nuclear explosion.

However, I realized something on day thirty-three of my lock up in the big house.  Because the ties between families and religion tend to act like strangleholds, my estranged Catholic mother is incapable of doing the one thing I want and need her most to do: to demand that Livonia Catholics honestly investigate me claims.  Because of my new found belief, I forgive my aging mother.  She’s only human and doing the best she can.  (Unfortunately, the damage done feels irreparable.  Forgiveness does not mean I can tolerate her presence.)

Through five solid years of loss, I have been cornered mentally and financially into a nearly impossible position.  But the kindest of strangers have helped me to survive.  Downstate, nice generous neighbors responded to my cries for help by giving. Up north, the same.   People have given money, food, house wares, helpful supplies such as wood, shoes, warm clothes, plus their time and honest well wishes.  I wish I would have kept better track of the names and faces of the many regular people who have been so kind, forming a lifeline, keeping me alive.

My fighting spirit has kept better track of my transgressors, including Fox News Detroit, which ran a sexist hack piece in 2015 cutting together footage I asked them not to shoot in order to make me look looser than loopy.  In search of more positive and helpful press, my creative and liberal mind encouraged me to tag my own, downstate old-ring suburban home with a metaphoric phrase that offended and confused.  “A religious figure criminally violated me!” Only my version was Twitter-short.  Basic sentence: subject, verb, object.  

Passersby assumed I was nutz.  I’m not. Unfortunately, the human resources’ labor attorney and architect of my nightmare is smart enough to know that once a crone-aged female is labeled crazy dangerous, most people won’t bother to parse the facts.  Just ask Hillary.  Voters elected a man without ethics, unwilling to practice stability, a sexual harasser, eager to “lock her up!”

I recreated my civil rights protest up north at a lake named after the largest city in New Brunswick. Maybe I watched too many episodes of Little House on the Prairie, after numerous rereadings of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books.  In middle age, without an income, I’ve been forced to gather wood and water for two years, for two winters, with a third approaching, in order to survive in my dead husband’s summer cabin, which is facing tax forfeiture, and soon.  In both iterations, I repainted my eye-catching sacrilegious phrase with “Act Peace.”  I’m not a bad person, or dangerous, or interested in spreading evil. But Fox News Detroit has been not interested in my actual story.  

While I was incarcerated, nasty locals ran down my mailbox to which my sign “Act Peace” was nailed, and then took the sign.  Two paintings espousing the Statue of Liberty have been stolen.  My sign about the connection between the dirty cop who put me in jail and Land of Motown Community College was stolen, I’d guess by the dirty cop.  My cries for “help!” with needed justice have been ignored.  Instead, community officials at this private lake community have bent the law with the help of dirty local county officials, who may try to re-arrest me over the care of my feces.  Yes, you read correctly.  My troubles continue.  Danger surrounds. This is not a pretty story.

(FYI. Please believe me. I’m still be getting my proverbial shit together, but I’ve always I properly and responsibly discarded my poop.)

Something wicked this way came, and stayed, but I pray to harness goodness and finally slay the beast on my back. I’ve been falsely accused of being suicidal and a danger to society within a country that has grown accustomed to men mass murdering and sexual harassing.  I know the pain of mental illness in the form of mental torture, so I feel very sympathetic to those, especially military veterans, who suffer from PTSD.  Mental pain is real.  And can be excruciating.  I realize no matter my idiosyncratic tendencies, finally winning a measure of justice will require the help of other people, and, well, by any name, I guess God.  I know that God may not intercede with my legal and financial problems but belief in a higher power does help with gratefulness and tranquility.

In jail, every day is a good day to die.  However, the smallest graces save a tattered soul and help a person carry on to the next long minute.   I want to thank the two women who ran Bible study every Tuesday.  Yes, you read correctly.  Unbeknownst to them, they gave me gold for a writer without means: a composition notebook, on my 54th birthday, which was an otherwise desolate milestone.  Moreover, these women of God showed me a respectable and inspirational version of Christianity.

On cable tv, my cellmates preferred back-to-back episodes of Cops, shows about zombies, the shallow high jinks of Jerry Springer, endless sci-fi.  (I prefer comedy and drama.)  The day I was eventually sprung from the slammer, my legal troubles abated but not erased, Unsolved Mysteries ran a segment on St. Pio, an Italian priest who was said to develop stigmata and miraculously heal.  Angered, under stress, I admit I acted out loudly like an ass (even by jail standards): “I hope they roast his nuts!”  

Many jail birds claim to accept Jesus as their savior, though none gave up their bottom bunk for the pregnant woman in our ranks.  Critically, I recognized around me the kind of souls who would have rejected Mary and Joseph. But I was forced to realize this was not a television segment that was going to uncover more Catholic dirt.  Although St. Pio may have self-inflicted his wounds, trapped in a county cell block, I dropped my bad attitude and truly felt in my body an undeniable wave of love.      

No surprise, in the short time since my release on PR bond, my nascent jailhouse conversion has been tested and wavered, fallen apart, and needing rebuilding.  Im not a saint.  My days are terrifying and unresolved.  But.  If I breathe calmly and deeply, and repeat my affirmations, what some call prayers, I recognize a connection between hope and light.    

House of Hope in Hersey, Michigan, offered me a composition notebook.  Any additional help readers may offer with legal defense, plumbing, back taxes, transportation, work or grace are appreciated. Thank you.  

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[declassroomedteach-blog]

Jailhouse Salvation 101

Jailhouse Salvation 101

(word count approx 1570)

By Gina Fournier

 The Merchant-Ivory movie adaptation of E. M. Forster’s A Room with a View features a poignant scene following a street fight that ends in murder.  Lucy (Helen Bonham Carter) comments that you witness something memorable and think you’ll never be the same, but then you forget and return to your old self.  I hope to do a better job holding onto my jailhouse conversion, from skeptical to convinced about the existence of God.  

 Disclaimer: My conviction has wavered intensely even before I finished editing this essay.

Thanks to my former employer and its bad actors, an institution I’ll call Land of Motown Community College, where I served as an English teacher, I’ve seen the best and the worst of pure Michigan humanity.  If God created humans, God sure must have a sense of humor.

Even a smattering of details from my story sound like a rollercoaster Lifetime movie no one wants to watch.  Since 2012, I’ve been sexist witch-hunted through an ongoing living nightmare that has included hack shrinks, illegal and involuntary lock up in a Catholic mental health ward and now incarceration for thirty-four days in a mid-Michigan county jail for a crime I did not commit. College administrators, union teachers, dirty cops, dirty doctors, dirty nuns and dirty priests, plus the state’s top most government officials, have participated in the protection of white collar criminals and encouraged my simultaneous downfall.   All this for me, so one man can prove his power over unions near union ground zero.

The U.S. Constitution’s first amendment makes clear that government is not to establish any official religion, not protect any particular religion from existing laws. Perhaps the founding fathers could foresee the distant future.  Nearly two hundred fifty years later, a female citizen has found cause to invert the phrase “God bless you” with blasphemy, attempting to redress grievances.  

I’ve never met the emergency room doctor who signed me into a Catholic looney bin for a week.  To my horror, I was held in a Catholic Siberia, it turns out, on campus with my all girl Catholic high school.  I was raised and violated by the same church, which now pretends it’s never met me.  Thirty five years ago, for Halloween, classmates mimicked the Robert Redford movie Brubaker to stage a failed, backboneless prison break.  These classmates, who have also turned away from my plight, dressed not in hospital gowns or orange as the new black, but plaid skirts and knee socks adorned temporarily with stripes. (Good girls, we stopped mock rioting when the nuns glared.)

Unfortunately, there is no law or principle governing the intersection of religion and families.   In my time of need, even my immediate and extended family has turned away, exponentially multiplying my distress.  My extended Catholic family has not advocated for me, though it would cost nothing except some skin.  The anger caused by this and so many betrayals envelops like nuclear explosion.

However, I realized something on day thirty-three of my lock up in the big house.  Because the ties between families and religion tend to act like strangleholds, my estranged Catholic mother is incapable of doing the one thing I want and need her most to do: to demand that Livonia Catholics honestly investigate me claims.  Because of my new found belief, I forgive my aging mother.  She’s only human and doing the best she can.  (Unfortunately, the damage done feels irreparable.  Forgiveness does not mean I can tolerate her presence.)

Through five solid years of loss, I have been cornered mentally and financially into a nearly impossible position.  But the kindest of strangers have helped me to survive.  Downstate, nice generous neighbors responded to my cries for help by giving. Up north, the same.   People have given money, food, house wares, helpful supplies such as wood, shoes, warm clothes, plus their time and honest well wishes.  I wish I would have kept better track of the names and faces of the many regular people who have been so kind, forming a lifeline, keeping me alive.

My fighting spirit has kept better track of my transgressors, including Fox News Detroit, which ran a sexist hack piece in 2015 cutting together footage I asked them not to shoot in order to make me look looser than loopy.  In search of more positive and helpful press, my creative and liberal mind encouraged me to tag my own, downstate old-ring suburban home with a metaphoric phrase that offended and confused.  “A religious figure criminally violated me!” Only my version was Twitter-short.  Basic sentence: subject, verb, object.  

Passersby assumed I was nutz.  I’m not. Unfortunately, the human resources’ labor attorney and architect of my nightmare is smart enough to know that once a crone-aged female is labeled crazy dangerous, most people won’t bother to parse the facts.  Just ask Hillary.  Voters elected a man without ethics, unwilling to practice stability, a sexual harasser, eager to “lock her up!”

I recreated my civil rights protest up north at a lake named after the largest city in New Brunswick. Maybe I watched too many episodes of Little House on the Prairie, after numerous rereadings of the Laura Ingalls Wilder books.  In middle age, without an income, I’ve been forced to gather wood and water for two years, for two winters, with a third approaching, in order to survive in my dead husband’s summer cabin, which is facing tax forfeiture, and soon.  In both iterations, I repainted my eye-catching sacrilegious phrase with “Act Peace.”  I’m not a bad person, or dangerous, or interested in spreading evil. But Fox News Detroit has been not interested in my actual story.  

While I was incarcerated, nasty locals ran down my mailbox to which my sign “Act Peace” was nailed, and then took the sign.  Two paintings espousing the Statue of Liberty have been stolen.  My sign about the connection between the dirty cop who put me in jail and Land of Motown Community College was stolen, I’d guess by the dirty cop.  My cries for “help!” with needed justice have been ignored.  Instead, community officials at this private lake community have bent the law with the help of dirty local county officials, who may try to re-arrest me over the care of my feces.  Yes, you read correctly.  My troubles continue.  Danger surrounds. This is not a pretty story.

(FYI. Please believe me. I’m still be getting my proverbial shit together, but I’ve always I properly and responsibly discarded my poop.)

Something wicked this way came, and stayed, but I pray to harness goodness and finally slay the beast on my back. I’ve been falsely accused of being suicidal and a danger to society within a country that has grown accustomed to men mass murdering and sexual harassing.  I know the pain of mental illness in the form of mental torture, so I feel very sympathetic to those, especially military veterans, who suffer from PTSD.  Mental pain is real.  And can be excruciating.  I realize no matter my idiosyncratic tendencies, finally winning a measure of justice will require the help of other people, and, well, by any name, I guess God.  I know that God may not intercede with my legal and financial problems but belief in a higher power does help with gratefulness and tranquility.

In jail, every day is a good day to die.  However, the smallest graces save a tattered soul and help a person carry on to the next long minute.   I want to thank the two women who ran Bible study every Tuesday.  Yes, you read correctly.  Unbeknownst to them, they gave me gold for a writer without means: a composition notebook, on my 54th birthday, which was an otherwise desolate milestone.  Moreover, these women of God showed me a respectable and inspirational version of Christianity.

On cable tv, my cellmates preferred back-to-back episodes of Cops, shows about zombies, the shallow high jinks of Jerry Springer, endless sci-fi.  (I prefer comedy and drama.)  The day I was eventually sprung from the slammer, my legal troubles abated but not erased, Unsolved Mysteries ran a segment on St. Pio, an Italian priest who was said to develop stigmata and miraculously heal.  Angered, under stress, I admit I acted out loudly like an ass (even by jail standards): “I hope they roast his nuts!”  

Many jail birds claim to accept Jesus as their savior, though none gave up their bottom bunk for the pregnant woman in our ranks.  Critically, I recognized around me the kind of souls who would have rejected Mary and Joseph. But I was forced to realize this was not a television segment that was going to uncover more Catholic dirt.  Although St. Pio may have self-inflicted his wounds, trapped in a county cell block, I dropped my bad attitude and truly felt in my body an undeniable wave of love.      

No surprise, in the short time since my release on PR bond, my nascent jailhouse conversion has been tested and wavered, fallen apart, and needing rebuilding.  Im not a saint.  My days are terrifying and unresolved.  But.  If I breathe calmly and deeply, and repeat my affirmations, what some call prayers, I recognize a connection between hope and light.    

House of Hope in Hersey, Michigan, offered me a composition notebook.  Any additional help readers may offer with legal defense, plumbing, back taxes, transportation, work or grace are appreciated. Thank you.  

   �!�-�`Pe��