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natsspammityspamspamham · 2 years ago

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Dino Watches Anime (Dec 21)

Happy Holidays! I've been spending my winter break watching anime like a loser. Some things never change...

I will be updating some stuff from my previous entry on this list (which was at the beginning of the season I think).

Series (mostly seasonal)

Wandering Son

This anime felt like a manga preview, and I'm not complaining. I just think they left it unfinished. Unfortunately, I don't think we would ever be able to get a continuation with this considering that it was allegedly "not well received" (although winning some awards). Alas, I enjoyed my time watching it and being called out during a few (a lot) of parts regarding puberty and gender identity. Its incredibly slow pace and pastel-like art style were very fitting. I would recommend it, but you do need to be in a certain mood to watch it (as it has very little comedy).

Spy x Family Season 2

Yeah, it's very good. I don't think I liked the tennis arc nearly as much as everyone else, but I still like this season a lot. I feel like everyone is either planning on watching or is watching it, so I won't spend too much time on this one.

Chainsaw Man

I do get the hype. This is a great show, but I honestly think this show is an 8/10. I think a lot of the supposed relatability of the main character is lost on me (aroace). It's a cool world with very interesting characters. The morally gray atmosphere and characters are refreshing to see from a Shonen Jump manga (where friendship is always the answer), and the art is absolutely amazing (yes, even the CG is pretty good). But I think something is missing for me (can't figure out what it is).

Akuyaku Reijou nano de Last Boss wo Kattemimashita

Yeah man, this show is sh*t. I already talked about it at length, but I also gave it a 5.5/10, so I think my friend's comment about me being a clown is incredibly realistic unlike having a structured magic system in this anime. Oh well, I guess if you like Yuichiro Umehara doing ASMR cringy lines, this show will definitely be on your list, but I was shaking my screen and cringing 70% of the time while watching this show.

Cool Doji Danshi

This show made an appearance on my "take" on the portrayal of social anxiety and pretty privilege in anime, but I feel like I'd need to watch it and finish it in a really specific mood where I wouldn't think even puddle-deep.

Pop Team Epic Season 2

That last episode was literally a 19-minute buildup for one punchline that was... alright. Yuuichi Nakamura dubs live-action actor Yuuichi Nakamura. Besides that, the episode doesn't hold any value to people who haven't watched the type of show it's parodying (me). The rest of the show is incredibly niche in terms of humour, but at least this show is aware that it's sh*t. There were a few moments that made me smile and maybe let out a chuckle, but watching Pop Team Epic is pretty much like buying a huge bag of trail mix just for the M&Ms.

Mob Psycho III

This is an absolute masterpiece. I didn't think the show could top the previous season, but here we are. I rated it a 10/10 even if Bones didn't animate a few things (it still felt incredibly cohesive). The only thing that brought it down was the Sakurai scandal, but that isn't any fault of the anime.

Bocchi the Rock!

You know, I really should've watched this before writing that post on social anxiety in anime because "she's just like me fr fr". Despite being over-the-top (this is anime), I find this interpretation, while drawn for comedic value, still incredibly realistic for its subject matter. Not only that, but it's got some good tunes and is like the antithesis to K-On (guys, these shows aren't remotely similar when you look beyond the superficial traits). Anyways, there's an incredibly good video about why it's good on YouTube already. I relate to Bocchi a lot (almost too much), so I'd highly recommend it for that alone, but I wouldn't blame you if you ducked out because she was too relatable. Also, I'd like to give a shoutout to the seiyuu who make this anime so much fun, especially Yoshino Aoyama who made that glitch scream.

Movies

Omoi, Omoware, Furi, Furare

This movie looked incredibly promising because of its creator, Io Sakisaka, who also wrote Ao Haru Ride. Despite not actually liking the Ao Haru Ride anime, I figured it was definitely worth a shot. What I got was a manga recap that was incredibly rushed and poorly paced (one summer festival lasts maybe 3 minutes before it abruptly changes setting). The character motivations make little sense, and they seem very shallow in terms of development, which makes their relationships feel incredibly half-assed. These things are crucial for shoujo romance anime, which are built on empathy and connections between characters. Although the genre can feel melodramatic at times, when given the proper time and care, the melodrama is far more palatable. However, even if the proper time and care were given, part of the plot is just a common p*rn plot. No joke. They even have the step-sibling trope, which is yikes. Overall, it was a very mediocre movie that did not meet my expectations at all.

Umibe no Etranger

When describing this movie, my friend said it sounded like "a cry for help." That's not inaccurate, and I would be lying if I said that this movie didn't annoy me at times. This movie is incredibly short and fast-paced, and at first, I thought this was caused by a similar issue to the previous entry, but surprisingly, the manga follows a very similar structure and pace. However, there were a few lines that were cut that didn't make sense to exclude (but it doesn't heavily impact the main storyline). The rating system also lied to me calling this PG-13 when there is an explicit scene in there (between two adults). I don't like how they make some BL characters incredibly whiny (especially when we're supposed to believe they're consenting adults). I feel like this movie really lacked proper development and time. The side characters were only given names and maybe one trait each, and I feel like they really could've done more with this story. Alas, the soundtrack was great, which helped elevate it, and the setting (Okinawa) looks great and full of life. There is a sequel manga, but I feel like making this film entailed that we would be more attached to these characters by the end so we would be encouraged to go read the manga.

Summer Ghost

This is another very short movie, and it really ain't that deep. Everything in this movie is predictable. Every single plot twist is like Dora the Explorer and didn't shock me, and ironically, I think they should've closed one of the plots better because it arguably looks like MC did not report something he was supposed to and may have just incriminated himself by putting his hands on evidence that should've been at least shown to eventually be in police possession. Anyways, the soundtrack carries this movie to no end, and the voice acting was also good. This is revealed early on, but MC is not explicitly mentioned to be close to death unlike the other two characters, so his ability to connect with the titular Summer Ghost makes less sense than it needs to.

Eve no Jikan

Technically, this has an ONA and a movie version with both being nearly the same minus a few scenes that should've just been included in the movie version (it would've added less than 10 minutes overall, I think). Because of this, you are kind of required to watch both to get the full story. Some comedic moments in this anime feel out of place since the story tells a tale similar to Hal (another movie about an android). It tells little tidbit tales of androids and how they get along with the humans they have been purchased by. There are a few episodes that stand out to me (4 and 6 of the ONA). It's the best watch out of this category (although that isn't saying a whole lot). It was thought-provoking and had some great voice acting, but I would've really liked a continuation. It felt like a passion project through and through (it's an original with no source material), so if you're interested in human-android relation like the previously mentioned Hal or Plastic Memories, give this package a shot.

#long post #dino watches anime #eve no jikan #summer ghost #umibe no etranger #omoi omoware furi furare #bocchi the rock!#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #pop team epic #wandering son #hourou musuko #akuyaku reijou nanode last boss wo kattemimashita #chainsaw man #spy x family

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shhhlikeme · 5 years ago

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Hello! I want to start off by saying you’re really pretty and your writing is amazing 🥺👉👈 Could I request a oneshot where the s/o of either Yamaguchi or Suga (which ever you prefer they are both my babies) get into an argument and the s/o ends up flinching out of habit during it, and maybe some cute fluff at the end?

Sugawara Koshi x Reader Angst Fluff !!!!

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A/N: Hello! EYEEE want to start off by saying im blushing thank you angel💖💖💖 of course you can. Request anytime I’m all ears and keyboard taps!

This is super fluffy so I hope you like it!!!!

Yams is my favourite but I haven’t written a Suga story yet and I have a little crush on him so I’ll pick him, yay! (Also, Suga’s voice actor in the dub sounds so attractive to me ugh)

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“Hey baby!” You walked into your boyfriend’s room that his parents let you into. You flicked the lights on.

can we all collectively agree that Suga’s parents are some Queen Elsa & Jack Frost looking mfs?!

Surprised because you didn’t tell him you were stopping by, Sugawara’s eyes lit up when he saw you

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He scrambled off his bed to you, giving you a chaste kiss.

You can’t tell anyone this, but Suga’s parents secretly invited you because they have been worried about their son

From their perspective, Suga came home everyday seemingly drained and depressed

He would mutter a hello to his parents, go straight to his room and lock the door

You didn’t know this, because your boyfriend was completely normal with you and with his friends from school

He was his regular cheeky self that you loved

But you couldn’t deny his parents anything and you wanted to see your baby so you agreed to come over one night after school to kind of “catch him in this act” that his parents described

You scanned your handsome boy’s face and it made you frown

He did looked drained. That’s not normal considering school had been out for maybe an hour and you just saw him during last period looking chipper.

He had lines under his eyes and his shoulders were slumped/lower than usual. Not to mention his eyes betrayed him because they looked like someone who was really going through it, even though you could see that his spirits lifted with your entry

You didn’t say anything, opting to poke his stomach instead and smile up at him

for someone’s whose weak spot is his ticklish tummy, the joy from his laugh didn’t reach his eyes whole heartedly like they normally did

You tested one last time.

“I made you tempura, just the way you like it,” You placed the wrapped dinner plate you bagged on his dresser, gauging his reaction.

Koshi appeared like he was a stage actor when he gave you a big smile and said thanks.

Your heart immediately sank then, because you knew his parents had been telling the truth.

There was something wrong with your Koshi. Very wrong.

Ok. Here goes.

You turned around to lock his room door and took his hand

You gestured for him to crawl back into bed which he seemed genuinely happy about.

You straddled his waist, sitting in a position where he couldn’t hide his face from you nor could he escape when this questioning started

“Uh oh. You only sit on me like this when you want “to talk.”

You nodded. He knew.

Your boyfriend liked talking about his feelings but not when they could potentially bring down the mood of others.... and with this specific circumstance where he was able to hide his sadness from you so well, you had no choice but to jump straight into playing hardball.

“Shishi.” You used the embarrassing pet name you made for him and he slightly blushed.

Marry him, aight?

“Yeah? You okay? I’m listening baby tell me.” He looked at you with his shining eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Suga didn’t miss a beat. He was well rehearsed. “Wait—me? This talk is about me? Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“Well why are you laying in your bed with the lights off at 4pm? You’re usually doing your school work at this time. That’s what you text me.”

Suga sighed. “I was just tired today, that’s all.”

“Shishi.....”

“Y/N, baby. trust me I’m fi-“

“Is it about volleyball?”

Koshi sat up quickly, cradling your back to make sure you were safe. He scooted backwards, making it so his back was leaning on his headboard.

“Can I please put you next to me?” He asked.

You mentally noted that he didn’t answer the question.

And that he wanted to get out of this “truth spell” position

So it was about volleyball. You ignored his question back and pushed forward.

“Did something happen? Is Daichi injured again? Or is Ukai quitting—“

Suga locked his jaw, looking away from you. “No no. It’s not that— I’m fine. I’m good.”

You couldn’t tell who he was trying to convince more: you? Or himself?

You pushed a bit further.

“Tomorrow is your Senior game, right? You, Asahi, Daichi and Kiyoko will be awarded for the years you put in, right?”

Suga, looking pained, gently moved you off his lap to sit next to him. He got out of bed and paced the room. You knew you were about to crack him but you weren’t too concerned because he needed to let whatever this was out. It’s bad enough that your baby was having such internal conflict like this. It was depressing him and he was dealing with it all by himself.

You stared at him and moved to sit up on your knees, prepared to deal the final blow.

“Are you sad about not playing, Shishi?”

The volcano that Sugawara had been trying so hard to keep in finally erupted at your words.

“SAD?! Am I sad?!” He practically roared at you loudly.

You flinched because it was the first time you have ever heard your boyfriend raise his voice in anger, let alone at you. You remember that he told you he’d only shown his team that side of him once during a game and they were shook, rightfully so. He was kind of scary like this.

“YES I’m sad! But mostly, I’M PISSED! EVERYONE expects me to walk on stage tomorrow and accept an award I had no part in contributing to?! I have been on this team for 3 years, 2 of those years as a starting setter and those two years accounted for bullshit seasons for Karasuno. The one year I sat my ass on the bench is the year we WIN! The year the crows got their wings back I AM SITTING OUT! No one wants to admit it but what the fuck does that tell you, me, and everyone, huh?! It tells us that I was the problem. I was the broken part: the gear that caused the machine to malfunction. The gear that Kageyama came in and fixed—2 years my junior. I’m pathetic, you know?! How many captains sitbon the fucking bench while I watch my best friends play the sport we all love equally? Then I have to walk around all day pretending I don’t feel this way because I am too busy stopping Kageyama and Hinata from pummelling eachother, telling Tsukishima to stop being so mean, mitigating Yamaguchi and Ashai’s panic attacks, Forbidding Tanaka and Noya’s anger issues and the reward I get for all it isn’t the luxury of playing like Daichi who does similar work. I get no reward. I pretend to be happy the Sugawara that I used to be. I’m not happy. The only time I take off that mask off is when I get home and by that time I’m so exhausted from keeping up the facade that staying in the dark until I have to go to school again and put the mask back on is the only way I can cope. So YES I’m fucking sad, Y/N. Sad is an understatement.”

you stayed silent as you listened to every emotionally charged word, letting him catch his breath

Your heart had been shattered around the 4 second mark of his speech, hearing the mental turmoil your baby had been going through in his voice

He was going through all of that pain...

And in spite of it he would still call you every night and listen to you talk about how annoyed you are at your little sister for stealing your shirt

He didn’t change for you because he didn’t want to stress you out and that made you feel like a failure as a girlfriend

After a few minutes of Sugawara calming down, you opened your arms for him invitingly

“Come here.”

Suga looked at you, obviously fighting back tears. Not being able to bare going through it alone anymore, he mounted the bed again, hugging you then maneuvering your bodies so that he was spooning you.

“I saw you flinch. I’m so sorry for scaring you.” He whispered as he kissed the back of your hair. “I love you. So so much, Y/N.”

You reached back to run a hand soothingly against the side of his face. You felt wet tears there and you repeated the soothing gesture. “I love you more, Shishi.....” You backed up so you were pressed closer to his warm body, reinforcing the fact that you weren’t going anywhere. “And Shishi when you’re ready... I can’t wait to tell you all the reasons why you’re the team’s and my....MVP, alright?”

Sugawara nodded into your hair before tightening his grasp on you.

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A/N: This is probably the post I’ve written that is the most realistic in terms of cannon character sentiment. As an ex competitive volleyball player I believe this is truly how Suga feels :( at least youre there to cheer him up!!

#haikyuu boys #haikyuu!!#hq sugawara #hq headcanons #haikyuu headcannons #sugawara koshi #sugawara x reader #haikyuu fluff #fluff #haikyuu stories #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu requests #sugawara x you #sugawara headcanon #sugawara x y/n #haikyuu sfw

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years ago

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A Forest Interlude Chapter 26 An Audience with the King

Summary: Eleonore (OFC) discovers a wounded man in the woods near her home and seeks to heal him. Little does she know that it is none other than the heir to the throne, Prince Hal of England.

Chapter: 26 of 27

Rated E

Warnings: smut, sex fluff, angst, oral sex, fingering, hand jobs

(spoiler - don’t worry, it will all work out okay in the end)

In this chapter: Henry give his verdict on their marriage

Read the entire story on AO3

@nrthmnsplbnd09 ; @nonsensicalobsessions @yespolkadotkitty@just-the-hiddles @from-hel-i-with-love livviedoo@hopelessromanticspoonie @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen@dangertoozmanykids101 @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @vodka-and-some-sass @shiningloki@hiddlesholic @isitmadnessrpg

It was something of an understatement to say that Hal was not having the best day. Between his embarrassing scene at the palace and his confrontation with his former companions, he was having to take a good, hard look at his behavior, and he was not enjoying what he saw. His youthful indiscretions were fine when it had only been his safety and good name that were at risk; he could fend off any affronts on either flank, he knew. But today those indiscretions had put Nell and their unborn child in harms way, and that he could not abide.

Hal had loved others in his life of course. He still remembered the devastation he felt when his mother had passed away, for instance. He felt a filial affection for Jon and, to a lesser extent, his other siblings. In his own way, yes, Hal loved his father. It was sometimes a bitter, self-mocking love, but it was love nonetheless. He even, deep down where he blushed to look, love that old rascal Falstaff.

None of that had prepared him for the sweeping emotion he felt for the beautiful woman now seated in the circle of his arms on the saddle before him. If any harm should have befallen her, he would have burnt the Boars Head to the ground with all of those thieving reprobates inside. Add to that the fact that she was giving him the greatest gift a man could hope for - a child, heir of his body and product of their love for each other - and that the japes of careless fools had also put the well being of the babe at risk. Hal felt his blood begin to boil again just at the thought.

It was not, all things considered, the state of mind best suited for a second audience with his royal sire. Hal tried to keep to a minimum his interactions with Henry. It seemed best for both their sakes since conversations usually left them both in states of heightened agitation. Two in one day was a disaster waiting to happen. At best Hal knew he could expect a dressing down over his actions earlier that day, at worst... well, just let Henry try to take Nell away from him! He would learn that Hal was not a tame cat to be ordered about at will, but a Lion in his own right ready fight to defend his own.

In this mood he rode into his father's courtyard, helped his obviously anxious wife to dismount, and handed his reins to an expectant groom. Nell looked up at him with eyes clouded with anxiety and he smiled at her, hoping to shield his own worry from her.

"All will be well my love, I give my word," he told her softly, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Tis not the way I hoped the time would come when you and I would once more meet the king," she sighed, giving him a shaky smile.

"Why no? How could we e'er improve on this?" he laughed, brushing her hair back from her face.

"For one, I might perhaps have worn a dress," she groaned.

"You look divine, my goddess, as you always do. Let any man say otherwise to me, and I will teach him better with my sword."

"Aye, that will ease our entrance to the court," she said with an eye roll. "Well, best to face the music and have done. Shall we proceed then to the lion's den?"

"Your bravery doth quite put me to shame. Onward, dear wife, to victory obtained."

Hand in hand, with a silent Renaldo shadowing their heels, they made their way down the twisted halls until they reached the entry to Henry's audience chamber. With a curt nod of his head, Hal signaled to the attendant to announce them. He would not repeat his faux pas of that morning and barge in unannounced. Better to pick his battles.

"His Royal Highness, Henry, Prince of Wales," the man intoned, "And Princess Eleanor to see you, Sire."

Well, Nell had been given her proper title. He supposed that was something. Wrapping his arm around her protectively, Hal sauntered into the room. A quick glance around showed it to be surprisingly empty of functionaries. Henry would of course have had advanced word of their arrival, the court was full of spies. Apparently it was a private audience with his wayward son that he desired.

"My lord and father, health be with you sir," he said by way of greeting, dipping his head in salute.

Nell stayed silent but dipped an elegant curtsy, prying herself free from his arm to do so. Henry slouched on his throne, eyes hooded as he looked over the pair. Renaldo, ever the vigilant servant, quickly dropped to his knee and then, at a wave from the king, took up his place beside and slightly behind the throne. As the silence stretched on, Hal let a small, ironic smile play about his lips, the one he knew Henry hated. His father sought to play power games, fine. He would wait the old bastard out.

"I am most sorry for the trouble, sire," Nell blurted out, stepping slightly forward. "I promise that I had it well in hand, but was yet grateful that you gave Hal help."

One of the king's eyebrows raised itself at her nervous outburst, and Hal closed his eyes briefly, unable to blame her. She did not have his years of sparring with the cold king to draw on. At last his father lifted his head and met Hal's eye.

“I see you managed to retrieve the girl,” Henry groused. “I can’t say that is an unmixed delight.”

"I am as always left quite humbled sir, by your enthusiasm for my joy."

"Presumptuous cub, who gave you leave to speak?" the king snapped as Nell elbowed Hal in the ribs. "Well now you know us guiltless in the crime, who was it then that took the girl from you? Or did she come at last into her wits and seek to fly from you all on her own? Tell me, Renaldo, where you found her out?"

"A drinking house in Eastcheap, good my lord," the guard said, with a quick glance towards Nell and Hal. "It seems the patrons of the public house did seek to make acquaintance of her grace."

"I do suppose it serves no good to ask if this be the same house that often times her loving husband hath been known to haunt?"

"It is the one, my king, I must confess. And that same rascal Falstaff, as he's called, did look to be the author of the prank."

"For which offense, too great for me to bear, I have henceforth exiled him from my life. If he or any of his merry band do seek me out then all that they will find shall be my door shut firmly in their face."

"He told the knight as much before we left," Renaldo confirmed when the king looked over at him, "in terms so stark they could not be misheard."

Henry rose from his throne and crossed to the window, staring out of it for some time. Once again time seemed to stretch on in silence. Hal could tell Nell was getting antsy again, and gave her hand a squeeze. She darted her eyes up to him and he shook his head slightly. He could understand her anxiety, he was feeling it himself. Unfortunately, any attempt to rush the king would only end in pushing him into anger. Finally Henry turned and walked back over, stopping to look penetratingly at Nell.

"For years God knows how I have strove to find a way to free him from the fat knight's sway. It seems instead of guards and royal writs I should have sent a pair of pretty eyes. If it is true that he has turned away from all these gross and undesirable ways, not just myself but all of this our realm would seem to be indebted now to you."

"I did no more than love him, majesty," Nell replied simply, blush staining her cheek.

"And if we are to talk of gratitude," Henry went on, ignoring her statement completely, "it seems mine must not end with this today. I hear from doctor Hobbs that it was you who cared for me when I was last beset."

Ah, there it was! The reason that there were no others in the room. He would not want any more people knowing of his seizures than absolutely necessary.

"I am right glad that I could be of help," Nell said. "Though Dr. Hobbs was not too long absent. I chanced to have seen something similar when I was learning to care for the ill."

"Your mother also, if I be correct, knew much of lore pertaining to the sick."

"She did my lord, and still knows more today."

"She and my younger son do think me blind, that I see not their shameful goings on. But I suppose at least in that one case I need not fear a wedding in the end. Which brings us back to you and the crown prince."

Hal, uncharacteristically quiet up until now, snapped to attention. His father met his eye and held it with an open appraisal. What he was looking for Hal was uncertain, but he seemed to find it at last, as he gave a nod of his head.

"I do not like the way you two were wed, in clandestine a manner gainst my will. I sometimes think your only goal in life is but to mock my wishes and my name."

"Oh do not think it father, tis not so. I seek to bring no shame upon our house, or any other way disgrace our name. I am a man full grown, my will's my own. But tell me, would you wish it otherwise than that the future king of this our realm, refuse to dance to any other's tune?"

"There maybe something there in what you say. When it doth comes to choosing your revolts, I must admit I greatly do prefer you to defy me for noble lass who bringeth out your chivalry and grace than for a brace of mottle pated fools who seek only to lead you into sin."

"Oh fear not sir, for this my lady wife doth lead me into heady sin enough!" Hal could not resist saying.

"Must you vex me thus you willful boy?" Henry growled, eyes flashing. "Tis pain enough to speak what I must say without you making matters harder still."

"And what, good father, is it you would say?"

"That since you have been married in the church, and Lady Eleonor is of fit rank, kin to the royal families of name, and seeing as she has in some small ways been of good use already to our throne..."

"Come, out with it sir! Say what you would say!"

"Keep silent, Hal, and let your father speak!" Nell snapped at him, with a glare to equal Henry's.

"I only hope that there will come a day when some of her wit doth rub off on you. But being as it may, know you my son, that I will to your marriage make no cross."

"Your Majesty, you have my deepest thanks!" Nell said, sinking once more into a curtsy and shooting Hal a speaking look.

"And mine, as well, my father, add to that," he hastened to say, the specter of fear at last lifting from them. "But tell me father, ere your fit did come, do you remember aught of what we spoke?"

"But little Harry, if the truth be told," Henry admitted, sitting back in his throne. "And that I do is shrouded in a haze."

"Then let me tell you once again, good sir. There is another reason to rejoice. For my beloved, clever little wife is even now expectant with our heir. And so you see, the marriage hath been blessed, and God as well as you do smile on it."

"I will not count the days upon my hands that you two have been married under God and in union have conceived this child," Henry remarked dryly. "I only will say that it pleases me."

"It pleases me as well, I must confess," Hal said with a cocky grin, embracing Nell and making her squeal. "And now, if you'll excuse us, majesty, it has been quite the day for my dear bride. If we may have your leave sir to depart, I wish to take her home and tend to her."

Only on the last words did he let his eyes go hot as he looked at Nell.

"Well, do so then. And god go with your both. But one last thing that I would ask of you. The lady is a princess now by right. See to it, would, you, she be properly dressed. The bills for this you may all send to me."

"Why father, there is naught would please me more!" Hal grinned, bowing his exit.

When the reached the courtyard, he tossed her up onto his horse.

"Well, lovely wife, is seems the day is one! How doth it feel to be a true princess?"

"A bit unreal, if I am speaking true. But Hal, how I do wish I'd worn a dress!"

"Think not of that, for I shall see to all," he told her, a glint in his eye. "And when I have a wardrobe made for you appropriate for my own sweet princess, you will not need to fear his grace's ire, for none but me will ever see it worn!"

Nell blushed and he grinned wider, imagining just what he would have made for her at his father's expense.

#The Hollow Crown #Henry V #Prince Hal #Prince Hal/OFC #Romance #Historical Romance #Historical AU #Fan Fic #Tom Hiddleston #Smut #Love #Angst #Fluff

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athenagc94 · 5 years ago

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Gust and Piper - Beginnings Part 2

A few of you said you were interested in another part to this post so here it is. Thanks to those who took the time to read it!

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

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The scratching of Gust’s pencil immediately stopped when he heard Albert slip back into the office. He glanced over at the clock on the wall. It hadn’t even been twenty minutes since he left and the walk to Pipes & Bricks Shop was at least half of that time. Normally, Albert’s consultations lasted for at least an hour, if not more.

“Back so soon?” He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms over his head. His back cracked and popped in response. With a groan, he spun in his chair and peered over the banister. Albert shuffled through some files on his desk. “Was she not home?”

“No, she was home,” Albert said as he reread a commission proposal, “but there wasn’t much to discuss. She loved the design you came up with.”

Gust’s stomach did a somersault. “Wait, she did?”

“I know, I was surprised too.” Albert hid a teasing grin behind his hand. Gust ignored him and crept closer to the edge of the loft. Albert continued after a moment, “she was adamant that she didn’t want any changes.” A giddy feeling bubbled in the pit of his stomach now. Piper liked it. His real work would see the light of day in Portia. The thought made his head spin. “I don’t know what you two talked about today, but she seemed pretty excited about the addition. More than necessary if you ask me.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you.”

Albert arched his eyebrow at him. “Then what did you two talk about?”

“We discussed my entry for the Vincent Design competition. Nothing more.”

“Right, right.” Albert set a few finished orders aside, only to replace them with a new stack. “And after that conversation, you just so happened to create a similar design for her, just because, right?” He shot Gust a knowing look.

Gust didn’t respond. On the one hand, he didn’t want Albert thinking he liked the builder, because he knew that was exactly what was being implied right now. He didn’t like Piper. That much was clear. He didn’t even know her. They’d exchanged more words this morning than they had since she arrived nine months ago.

“Oh, don’t sulk. It’s alright to admit she stroked your ego a bit,” there was a teasing lilt in his tone, “I bet it felt nice to have someone like your ideas for once.”

“People like my work,” Gust insisted with a sniff, “if they didn’t A&G wouldn’t get any business.”

Albert chuckled. “You know what I mean,” he said, “It’s draining, having your work constantly picked apart by clients. I get it. But you can rest easy, my friend.” He winked up at Gust. “This one is all you. Pipes wanted a Gust original.” The tips of Gust’s ears burned. A Gust original. Piper had said the same thing when she left. It brought a smile to his face.

He didn’t know Piper. He didn’t necessarily want to know Piper either. However, in their brief interactions and through his sparing observations, he knew she was relatively laid back. She took things in stride. Every commission thrown her way was taken with a smile. She’d been thrown in more than a few dangerous situations since arriving in Portia. People expressed their concerns, but she brushed them off with a laugh. Even Higgins’ incessant gloating didn’t seem to faze her. She was climbing the ranks as a builder, but she didn’t seem to care about being the best. In short, she excelled at not giving a damn about anything. He could use this to his advantage and have a little fun.

“Hey Albert?” The dark haired man hummed in response, eyes still on the form in his hands. “Do you think the builder would mind if we used a mix of marble, igneous brick, and ironwood for her extension?”

↢↢↢↣↣↣

“You’re in a good mood.” Ginger gave Gust one of her demure smiles as he stirred honey into his afternoon tea. “You only use sweeteners when you aren’t feeling bitter.” Gust ignored the petty jab at his temperament and drizzled a little more honey into his cup. It sank to the bottom of the amber liquid like glue. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion.”

Ginger rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she turned her attention back to the book in her hands, “It’s just I haven’t seen you use sweetener since Django commissioned you for a painting for the Round Table last year. You were happy back then too.” She shrugged. “But that’s none of my business.”

Gust hummed. “You’re right. It isn’t any of your business.”

Ginger didn’t respond, but he felt the smug energy that rolled off her in waves. She always basked in the knowledge of knowing she was right. She simply waited. They both knew he’d cave eventually and tell her why he was in a good mood. He couldn’t keep things from her for very long. So naturally, he found himself continuing. “But if you must know.” Ginger smirked. “If you must know, things are going well with the builder’s new addition to her workshop.” He took a tentative sip of his tea and grimaced. Maybe he’d added a little too much honey.

“I’m glad Piper’s letting you run wild with your creativity,” her expression softened, “I haven’t seen you have this much fun in awhile. It’s nice to see.”

“It is fun.”

It had been a few weeks since Piper had come to A&G seeking the expansion of her workshop. He tested the waters early on in the project. She’d willingly accepted the suggestion of using the strange combination of materials. She even provided some of the materials herself. So he got bolder. He pushed the boundaries of his design, but that didn’t faze her. She never pushed back. Like commissions, Piper took each new suggestion with a smile and a nod.

These days, Piper stopped by A&G more and more often. The construction for the South Bridge was underway and Piper was a main player in the preparations. She’d have a new batch of materials for them each morning. Normally, she’d spend her time chatting idly with Albert. He’d flirt with her shamelessly. She’d deflect it with a social grace he didn’t know she had. It was almost amusing to watch him flounder. She never used to venture upstairs, but these days she’d wander over to take a look at his latest designs.

At first, Gust tried to brush her off. He hated being interrupted. It ruined his creative flow. Despite his clipped responses, Piper kept coming back. She asked questions and Gust found himself responding more often. She listened to his tangents and seemed genuinely interested. When he would start a new project, he’d find himself wondering what Piper would think about it. A giddy excitement fluttered in his chest when he thought about showing her his latest work. It was more thought than he’d ever given her before, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“Gust?”

Ginger was looking at him now, concern laced on her knitted brow. How long had she been talking? He wasn’t quite sure when he had stopped listening. “Did you hear what I asked?”

“Honestly? No, I got swept off in thought again,” he admitted sheepishly, “can you repeat your question?”

Ginger shook her head. “You and your daydreaming.” She chuckled. “Would you be willing to bring my birthday present for Albert with you this evening? Dr. Xu said I shouldn’t be venturing into crowds right now. The excitement is too much for me, or something.” She gestured to the book in her hands. “He went through the trouble to get me this book, so I want to make sure he gets a gift in kind.”

The book was bound in pink leather. Gust recognized the title. Journey to the East. She mentioned wanting a copy some time ago. He had planned on looking for it when he traveled to Atara in a few months. He pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Albert giving his sister gifts without telling him, but he’d dwell on that later.

“I can bring it with me. I only plan on staying for a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a grateful smile, “but feel free to stay as long as you’d like tonight. It’s your friend’s birthday, go have some fun. I’ll be fine with Uncle Russo.”

He waved her off. “Albert doesn’t need me to have fun. He has the ladies of Portia to keep him company,” he took another sip of his tea, “He won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ginger huffed. “I think you should give Albert a little more credit. He’s your friend after all. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to have you celebrate with him.”

“I also planned on working on some of the pieces for our exhibition in Atara. There’s still a lot to do.”

Ginger rolled her eyes. “Well, when you put it that way, I think celebrating your friend is more important,” her expression hardened, “The exhibition is months away and I’ve seen you roll out masterpieces in less time. That’s no excuse to skip his party.” She pursed her lips at him and for a moment he swore he was looking in a mirror. The sheer contempt in her expression was uncanny. “You’re going to the Round Table tonight and I don’t want you back until after midnight.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be telling me to be back before midnight?”

“That’s not really a punishment for you, now is it?” She arched a knowing eyebrow at him. “You’d be thrilled if I gave you a curfew. You’d use it as an excuse to never see people again and I can’t let that happen. You have the freedom to go out and see people. I want you using it.” Gust winced. There was a brittle edge to his voice. She really wanted to go out this evening. He could see it in her eyes.

He sighed. “I’ll stay out for at least an hour or two.”

She considered this. “Fine, I’ll agree to those terms. Just try and have some fun.” With a sniff, she returned to her book and the argument was closed.

Part 3

#my time at portia #mtap #mtap gust #mtap albert #mtap ginger

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scotchsonic-blog · 6 years ago

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06-27-2008 Journal Entry #1

06-27-2008

Dear Journal,

I know I probably should have written in this sooner, since I got it as a gift last bday, and it's already been almost a year, but I felt I should write what happened this last weekend, anyway here it goes!

Me and Nathan we're playing some online games like we normally did Saturday night. Our parents have been friends for as long as I can remember and Saturday was date night. Nathan and I used to have a babysitter, but now that we were too old for that, our parents let us hang out all night, till they got home.

This night wasn't much different than every other Saturday, except this morning I woke up with cum in my boxers and sheets. I already knew what it was, thanks to older guys at school and Google tabs my dad sometimes forgot to close. but this was the first time it happened to me, and I had to tell someone!

Me and Nathan talk about everything, but I still thought it was awkward and didn't know how to bring it up. After we had finished a round of COD, we headed upstairs to grab another coke and chips. As I was grabbing the drinks, Nathan said he had to pee. I heard him go into the bathroom next to the kitchen, but strangely after a few min I didn't hear anything. Curious I went and saw he hadn't closed the bathroom door all the way. As I got closer I could see him in the mirror above the sink. As I continued to look, I saw that he saw him lick his hand and rub his spit on his dick. Then without warning his dick got hard and stuck up pretty far!

My heart was pounding and I could feel a warm feeling as my own dick started to grow and push against my gym shorts.

When I looked back up I saw that Nathan had picked up his pace and kept grabbing and scratching the head of his dick. Suddenly Nathan looked up and caught me looking at him. His eyes widened and he moved to close the bathroom door. I stepped forward yelling "wait!" But he closed and locked it before I got there.

After maybe 2 min or so, Nathan came out bright red. He walked right up to me and asked me to promise not to tell his parents. I said I won't and that it wasn't a big deal.

When we went back down stairs the whole mood was different. He seemed pretty upset. I broke the ice by telling him what had happened this morning. He listened intently and was quiet after I finished. He said that it had started with him earlier that year, and that it started happening more often, even though he wanted it to stop. So his brother showed him how to "jack off" so he wouldn't have to wash his sheets 3x a week.

I had heard term jack off before in school but there wasn't a lot of detail. Hesitantly I asked him if he could show me how to jack off. Almost relieved he agreed and we got started.

After watching him, the process seemed pretty simple: think about something bad and dirty, while touching your dick until you felt it get warm and grow. BUT don't stop there and keep going. I started to picture Mrs. Nettle, our teacher without a shirt on, but my thoughts kept going back to seeing Nathan lick his hand and rub his dick. Nathan asked what I was thinking about. I lied and said Mrs. Nettle, he smiled and said he was too. We high fived.

When my dick stopped growing, I still felt the warmness get stronger and hotter. Curious, I asked if this is what sex is. Nathan, said " no, this is just one type of jacking off" i asked what the other type was and he stopped rubbing his dick.

Nathan looked me straight in the eye and said there was another kind of jacking off that you could only do with best buddies. I asked if he would show me how to do that too and after a short pause he agreed, but only if I agreed to the rules. He said the rules his brother told him we're : " you never tell anyone else, NO MATTER WHAT, and you don't do it a ton, just sometimes"

Slightly confused I told him I would keep the rules. Nathan got down on his knees next to me and looked up to me grinning. "Watch this!" he said before grabbing my dick and putting it in his mouth.

All the sudden it felt like fireworks had gone off in my head. A sound I have never heard came out of my mouth which prompted Nathan to suck harder. I didn't really know where to put my hands so I rested them on Nathan's shoulders. He moved his head back and forth picking up momentum. The warm feeling I had felt before was replaced with a surging fire. I wasn't sure if it hurt or felt good or both.

Nathan then pulled away from me a thin translucent string of precum leaked down his chin. He smiled a lot and asked if it felt good. Enthusiastically said it did and he said it was his turn. He took off his shirt and instructed me to do the same. After I pulled off my shirt we were both standing naked in the game room. He laid down on the floor and told me to put my dick by his mouth while I sucked his. I did what he asked and felt his smooth dick slide into my mouth. I was worried it would taste like pee, but it tasted pretty similar to my finger.

Nathan let out the same noise I did and I felt his dick quiver in my mouth. Not long I after that, I felt him direct my dick into his mouth. The fireworks in my head resumed and I gaged on his dick. We went long this for a while, our breath getting shorter and more strained.

All the sudden I felt a stiring in my dick I quickly spat his dick out of my mouth and said that something was going to happened. I felt him take my dick out of his mouth. He told me that the white stuff is going to come out and it was called cum. I asked what i was supposed to do with it. He kind of giggled and said that I needed to swallow it.

This surprised me. "Are you sure?" I asked. He said he knew it seemed weird but it was what his brother said and it actually tasted pretty good. Semi skeptical, I said ok and put his dick back in my mouth.

It didn't take long to get back to that intense itch and seemingly inevitable end. Then within an instant, it felt as though I had summited a hill and could feel something flowing through my dick and quickly! I paused mid shaft and moaned the loudest I had yet. Something warm and really really thick came out of my dick. Nathan got excited and tightened his mouth while gulping down my cum.

He gasped on his last swallow and came up hovering over my head. Open your mouth he said. I obeyed and he spit some of my seed onto my face, which missed my mouth by a little, but I was able to lick it up. It was salty but made my heart pound faster.

Nathan stood up and said next time he'll show me something cool we can do with our butts:) I I'm really excited to see what he means!

Thats all for today! Hopefully I'll write in here more often! See ya!

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theloniousbach · 5 years ago

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A Listener’s Journal, #22: The Piano Trio in the 1950s

As I reminisce about my 50 years of hearing music, I go back even further, another five years or so, to a huge one. The Oscar Peterson Trio (with Ray Brown and Ed Thigpen) opened (?!?!) for the New Christy Minstrels (@#$%*@) at UMKC where my Dad taught. I was drawn to the music and ended up sitting behind the PA column onstage (I felt at home and I was a cute enough kid). It was magic. The Canadiana Suite was an early album and Ed Thigpen gave me some drumsticks I have to this day. And, piano-bass-drums is my basic unit, my entry point. Miles is a formative hero, but perhaps because of that, I've been slow to get to know other trumpeters. Tenor is the horn I know best but it's not necessary. Piano-bass-drums is enough, thank you very much.

Bill Evans with Scott LaFaro and Paul Motian is a pinnacle, sure. I also gravitated to Peterson, but he was already Oscar Peterson with album after album of great playing when I started buying him. Until this exercise, I never heard him (or Ahmad Jamal or Errol Garner) do the things that commanded that level of attention.

So I started with the three "Amazing" Bud Powell albums, then went to the Jamal at the Pershing album, then Garner By the Sea, and, a great new fine, a collection of Oscar Peterson recordings from 1949-1951 with Ray Brown or Major Helley. Garner was, I arrogantly thought, flashy and commercial, though the complete By the Sea release and another archival concert plus Christian Sands revival efforts prepared me for this exercise. Jamal's influence on Miles won major points, but I didn't explore much beyond a Greatest Hits (on Impulse) album--but he seemed slighter some how even if what I was supposed to listen for was precisely the spaces. The Bud Powell I had was at the Massey Hall Concert (okay, he's the pianist you call for such a gig) and with Mingus at Antibes when that band intriguingly didn't have a pianist unless it was Charles himself.

All this to say, they were revered names but I didn't (and still don't) know them in all the subtleties I know Evans. Or Monk. He is in a category all his own, except I should do a different but similar exercise with Monk, Elmo Hope, Herbie Nichols, and possibly Sonny Clark. And I'm not going to get to Tommy Flanagan, Hank Jones, and Cedar Walton. I've got a fair sense of the trio work of Miles' pianists Red Garland and Wynton Kelly. So this project can happily metastasize.

For now, pianists known more, if not exclusively, for trio work than accompaniment and therefore for burning the format on our/my ears. One last digression though is about Art Tatum who is a huge influence on these men. My folks had a two record set of him playing solo versions of gems from the Songbook. They were overwhelming Chopinesque ornamentations and all of them have those chops and deploy them in lieu of the horns. But Tatum tires me out.

Powell, particularly on the relatively early Amazing albums, ain't shy about calling attention all he can do, but if he's the bebop pianist, the one who could play on Parker at that level, I hear that level of melodic invention. And melody is what I'm gravitating to in Parker's playing and bebop chords are means to that end and not ends in themselves. These are shortish pieces given recording conventions of the time, so there is a concision that polishes it all too. Powell has more than enough power and speed, but I'm struck how it simply adds to the heft of playing. Part of that heft is the bebopper's, certainly Parker's, grounding in the blues. As with all these players, the Great American Songbook is another key jumping off place, a rich lode to explore. Powell, particularly here when there's promise not its tragic loss, is so inventive, so compelling. He certainly played in larger ensembles, so he stands slightly apart from these others. But I think that's true of his piano work too and his influence is broader than the piano-bass-drums ensemble.

Garner, on the other hand, is almost the quintessential piano trio leader. He has chops and ideas to carry a band. There's lots to listen to and I do disavow the flashy/commercial snap judgment, but I do think his impact is on pianists than the music as a whole. He is flashy and winning. The detail to explain away is "Misty" which is one of the most compelling and oft recorded standards. With this exception and Jamal's "Poinciana," these men are not known as composers. But, if we just immediately elevate "Misty" to the Great American Songbook then he--and one strong thread of the genre, think Bill Charlap--is a stylist and champion of these tunes. Together, they contribute to a popularity that is too easy to dismiss. I have though dismissed him and so welcome this exercise that will put him in play when I want to get back to some basics.

I expected to hear lots of overlap of tunes with Jamal, but they just make different choices from the standard repertoire. I don't read too much in which Gershwin or Porter each chooses--and it's not that I prefer Jamal's choices. But, I simply prefer Jamal's approach and see a wider influence than Garner has. It's not just Miles, but that space just opens up possibilities. With the band, Israel Crosby and Vernell Fourier have room that Garner doesn't allow Eddie Calhoun and Denzil Best (interesting that all of them, except Best, are better known for their work in these bands than elsewhere). There's a "Cherokee" where all three lead an uptempo verse, but each chorus slows into lush ensemble playing. Throughout there are gorgeous chords and fluid lines that build often slowly. He/they show us nifty facets of these treasured tunes. If "Misty" confounds my notion of Garner as an interpreter, not a composer, then "Ahmad's Blues" makes the assertion that Jamal (and Garner too) are not as bluesy as Powell or certainly Peterson. But I think that's mostly true--and I like how Jamal lets tunes unfold without the drive of a blues shuffle.

As I've said, Oscar Peterson had a wonderful impact on my very young ears His trio had a huge sound and an insistent often bluesy pulse. He could hit big chords, block or trilled arpeggios, to culminate a solo or part thereof, that knocked you back. Yes, there was Tatumesque flash but that drive was always present and kept things going and focused. What makes the "Debut: Clef/Mercury Duo Recordings 1949-1951" set such a treasure is that it was all there at the beginning, including when Norman Granz just happens (yeah right) notice that he's in the audience at a Jazz at the Philharmonic concert and asks him to play, thus getting around work permits (Peterson was from Toronto). The chords, the fluid ideas, the taste (he too is all over the Great American Song Book--and had I not found these recordings I might well have written about late 1950s collections of "Oscar Peterson Plays the Songs of [Tin Pan Alley Composer]." I will still happily explore them too, but this will be my go to Peterson for a long time.). It's the proper mix of flash and taste.

Much as I appreciate Powell's edge, Oscar pulls that back a notch but just brings more ideas to the table than Garner. Jamal is for a different mood, but it's a mood to indulge.

I want to relook at Parker in terms of melodic invention and Powell will be part of that deepening of what I can absorb from bebop. I can see other explorations of the piano-bass-drums ensemble in formation (Nichols/Hope/Clark or Garland/Kelly or Tommy Flanagan, maybe Horace Silver (I don't even know if there are trio albums),

But I'll be spending much more time with Peterson's duo and Songbook albums and Ahmad Jamal across the decades.(he has a wonderful very recent solo album "Ballades" that was an impetus for this little exercise).

#jazz #2019 #listener's journal #bud powell #oscar peterson #ahmad jamal #erroll garner

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inhalareexhalare · 6 years ago

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Dianne Is so Awesome but She Might Freak If She Saw Me Post About That/Whatever the Hell Is Happening to Me

I managed to speak with more confidence over the phone with my boss, Dr. Seth. And then I initiated a long conversation with Ms. Dianne that lasted for almost an hour until my boss arrived so we each had to return to our work hahaha

So many stories! I admire her capacity to be patient with people and her capability to keep conversations bright without sacrificing her own feelings. She is driven to be truthful to people, and not just the if-I-am-asked kind; she has the initiative to tell you things that she feels bothered about in you, but with genuine compassion that you don’t feel attacked at all.

She knows how to balance yourself with other people. She knows how to balance teamwork with self-improvement. Most of all, she never allows an external, material, temporary thing to be a basis of motivation. She believes in having a real sense of purpose.

She is the kind of girl who lives in the company of people. She thrives in it.

I admire how she can balance the energy of a conversation (I made sure to let her know this). She doesn't extinguish the negative parts, but she balances it out with her own positive energy. Allowing other people to remember to heal themselves in the process. Spreading a remembrance of hope.She does all this, and she does it without knowing. I can tell she enjoyed trying to really answer why and how she does it.

I don’t have to thrive in it, but I’d like to be able to at least develop it as a skill, so I can also bring people up.

She believes in positive reinforcement, in motivating people to get better by themselves, rather than punishment that might work short-term but in the end kills what matters most.

That is true. I should do my best too.

2019-01-15 10:08 Philippines Friday

To Karu:

i have a letter for you and it contains a bigger perspective to whatever the hell it is that is happening to me

i'm so sorry

After sleeping alone two nights in a row, (the first night with my blood vessels boiling, figuratively, from who knows why, after Karu announced he’ll be away to a beautiful place) I just heard from him (he called me just now) and I felt so...cold. Like, dead cold. I was bitter. Monotone. Indifferent.

I can very easily tell you about my loneliness, reader, and although I won't expound on it I can very easily give some trusted friends a primer about it, but Karu is different. Somehow I feel so restrained to do that, and it's something I'm doing to myself.

I feel so desperate to hide it. It reminds me of how I maintain an icy poker face when others used to bully me (and gave up soon enough because I was indifferent). Is Karu a bully to me? I don't think so. But it's there. The fear of revealing more than I am comfortable to.

So here’s what I found out, in letter form for Karu to read (o my lord i am so sorry you ended up with a person like me who has low understanding of her own emotions):

Why am I so bitter to you

when we speak?

It’s like I don’t want to show

the loneliness inside me

in front of you

I fully enjoy everything

else that is happening

but your voice reminds

me too much of something that I long for

and, in self-dialogue, the second part:

that makes sense.

bitter is a plant

that is taken cared of poorly

but you’re not a plant, are you?

you’re the number one care you have

so be okay with being lonely

be kind to yourself

water yourself as often as necessary

you don’t need to fear yourself

anymore

Also me, to Karu:

(he needs help to prepare gig clothes for tomorrow, so i’m probably the one available to do just that. he also said he’d be there with me tonight, but even that possibility is something i’m avoiding right now. i’m too scared to hope when i’m on bitter/sulk mode.

i usually enjoy doing stuff for him but i’m still transitioning from feeling bitter... it takes work. i won’t give up!)

is it oki if [lobo] gets some snack later? i know it's not good to indulge but i might get pissy and stuff doing laundry and getting pissed for no reason haha

From Karu:

Yassss! Although the only thing that needs manual washing is the white button down

To Karu:

unless i get too lazy to bring laundry bags to the laundry shop of course hahaha i honestly think that's more likely to happen XD

my sulky mode needs a lot of working on, and i won't give up, so that might change but this is my mood right now haha still trying to transition properly

From Karu:

It's okay. I can take the stuff to the shop. If I get home early, I should also be able to cook

[Karu] gonna take care of sulky [Lobo]

Will gib hugs toooooo

To Karu:

:< thanks

From Karu:

It all gud. I just have to get home hahaha

That’s exactly the hope I’m avoiding right now I’ll just let him read this entry later...

From Karu (cont’d):

Do we haz laundry funds?

[Karu] is gonna get paid tomorrow ehehe

We will also try to start surviving on 200 pur dei

To Karu:

yes

okiii

From Karu:

Awesome heeheehee

Pork steak, yes?

To Karu:

....*•-•* nod

To be honest, I only ever use this awkwardly-self-made-but-too-accurate emoji with Karu. My poker face has zero capability to do this face (or any other emotional face) but the feeling tends to only apply to Karu.

From Karu:

I'll go see if we can go that route today If not, I'll just think of something else hahaha

Upper limit for food is 250 and lower limit is 150. So I guess we eat less now when we get carinderia food hahaha

Lez get you some art materials and get me some goddamn lessons and yaw yan

Would you like some paint to play with?

Oh fuck I gotta change my strings soon btw. Maybe April or June :)

To Karu:

let's find pout i guess. eating less will probably help me appreciate food more. anything in excess makes us feel sick.

Yaw Yan's good.

painting materials are crazy expensive though

From Karu:

Pout?

To Karu:

out

punintended

freudian slip

lof yu

From Karu:

We can save up for art stuff :)

To Karu:

morp

I notice that Karu isn’t using the “:))” today. Change of brain?

or maybe it’s just the mood.

I’m stopping here, it seems to be irrelevant now lol

2019-01-15 10:50 Philippines Friday

Feeling these things, I was about to do a last-minute ditch a.k.a. escape from my (previously initiated) informal lunch date with the big group of secretaries today, until Dianne reached out her hand to me.

She actually didn’t, but I swear, that was what it was like to me. All she did, really, was beckon. I don’t even think she did it consciously/purposefully. But that. That evaporated all the doubt that I had left of joining them for lunch.

Her hand in my mind, reaching out for mine. And I took it.

It is good to have good friends. She knows a little about my social anxiety since I told her about it this morning to celebrate and explain my celebration, of my progressing confidence in front of Dr. Seth.

That was what led to us having a long conversation. Halfway, I was almost losing attention, but I willed it on. It was just my fear that was trying to pull me out.

And I made it okay. We made it okay. Her hand, my hand.

I can’t give up now.

This is also training so I can reach out to people who might have similar struggles as myself.

2019-01-15 13:49 Philippines Friday

Aaand he's not home.

Well, I expected as much. It still stings a little though.

It seems he forgot it's Friday again. I get out of work an hour earlier than usual every Friday.

Actually, I don't even think he's coming for dinner tonight. I'm tired.

Guess I'm getting my own food and doing the laundry, then play some mind fucking games later. That should prep me up for tomorrow's story writing.

2019-02-15 18:04 Philippines Friday

Then again, life is only filled with uncertainties.

If I can't even embrace this, I've no right to pursue something as weird as psychology.

(Though I'd only apply this mindset to myself. Tough love works with myself most of the time. If it's my own voice HAHA I'm such a prideful creature.)

Speaking of psychology, what if I happen to unconsciously use Karu at this point in time as a hiding place from myself? My bitter/sulk mode as well as my nighttime separation anxiety are both based on fear of being alone to myself.

Alone with my thoughts. My ultimate chaos. My infantile order. I can't escape order for too long and hide in my mess of chaos. Order is in order. It won't do to just have chaos. I have to systemically know myself.

I didn't know Karu before, but I already had these things a long time ago. I always knew it never was Karu's fault or mistake, but could this be something closer to the truth?

I truly love him, but sometimes I feel weir. Maybe in those "sometimes," I use the warmth of our togetherness as a form of escapism.

Remember the letter I wrote earlier today?

"You don't need to fear yourself anymore."

The last line. I was worried at first that it didn't fit in my poem, especially that my head and hand just sort of spat it out there unconsciously. I seriously considered whether to delete it,

but I couldn't.

A slip of the pen?

I feel like I am closer to my personal truth. If you feel or think though, reader, that something's amiss or inconsistent with my observations and analysis, by all means please share your insight.

For now, I'll keep note of this.

To begin with, when I first was infatuated with Karu, my intention was just all him. He interested me very much. He is my first love. (I'm really lucky to be with someone as willing and patient as him. He isn't patient at all for most things, but he is when it matters.) (I always had a hard time being in love with others. I was indifferent a lot before. I had a sexual crush on my adopted older brother at age 5, and then a mutual crush with a high school close friend that I turned down because I got bored when he confessed. I know, I'm fucked up. But those are tales for another day.) Annnyway. And then I transitioned into the kind of sober love, where it felt like a deep ocean where my infatuation before was just a puddle.

But it never changed the fact that my intention was to make him happy. To love him. To give him affection, attention, and care.

I mean, who enters a relationship thinking, "I want to be with you to become a better person."

NO ONE does! But we all should!

With the all-for-the-other mindset we have, we risk destroying ourselves and even the other in the process.

It's all very romantic and courageous and admirable to have so much passion in caring for another, but forgetting yourself is setting both of you up in a pretty ugly loop.

Point is, getting into any kind of relationship just so you could celebrate not being alone anymore... Sends quite an important message.

You're uncomfortable with being alone with yourself.

You are who you end up with until the end of your life. Might as well learn to love this self.

It's important to take care of your social life, but you need to be doing it for the right reasons.

But don't worry, and don't punish yourself. It wastes time. When you find yourself in misalignment, reconfigure, and start over.

It's never too late, as long as you have breath and you have mind.

Stay Alive, everyone! Never stop learning.

I have feelings. That are unpleasant. That I look for other things that might take it away. But they're never taken away. Only hidden.

It's only now I realize (again), I've been trying to banish something important in me. These unpleasant feelings were treated poorly by myself. I didn't give them enough time. I'm too impatient, too afraid.

But now I remember. To let things go, you've got to let them in first.

Change usually involves more of involvement rather than stepping back.

And besides, learning to be comfortable with who you really are? I'd think that's the true, real love.

2019-02-15 19:13 Philippines Friday

I got to open up a bit about how I am sad to Karu last night.

Also, it's been a while, so I knew he was bursting. I helped him release.

Of course, that made it easy to thaw my ice. But I'd like to be able to learn how to show him more of my loneliness with more willingness.

#chrono7 #social #dianne #balance #self #reflection #quote #progress #mission #marriage #poetry #bitter #sulk #sad

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exxar1 · 4 years ago

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Episode 2: The Unexamined Life (or Everything’s Fine Until It Isn’t) Part 1

10/11/2020

The last couple weeks since my first entry in this journey log have been fairly quiet for me. There’s all the usual shit going on in the outside world, and we’re now 23 days to the national election. But I’m not here to talk about that. This blog is about me and my journey, and this past week has contained a lot more self-reflection and ruminating. And since this is an election year, I decided to stage this log entry as a debate between me and myself and moderated by I. The main reason for that is because this is exactly what I’ve been doing for the past week, and I’ve come to realize two things:

1. Spending too much time alone with one’s thoughts can lead to a LOT of self-psychoanalysis.

2. That’s not necessarily a good thing.

Wednesday of this past week was particularly bad for me. I hadn’t had much sleep the night before (I usually average about 4 ½ hours per night, thanks to the two full time jobs), and I was feeling rather grouchy and annoyed as well as exhausted when I showed up for work at Walmart that morning. As I took up my usual post at the main entrance, steeling myself for another long, boring day of talking to myself, I started thinking about this blog and what my next entry would be. But then I also started asking myself why I was feeling so annoyed and grumpy. Here’s how the conversation went:

Picture this: a small, cozy study somewhere with lots of bookshelves filled with all kinds of paperbacks and tomes. A large picture window allows the afternoon sun to shine in and gives us a view of a downtown office park in Anywhere, USA. There’s a desk in one corner, near the window, and, in the middle of the room, is a large, high-backed armchair opposite a long, comfy sofa. I’m at one end of the sofa, and seated at the other end is also me. And I’m also seated in the armchair, pen in one hand, notepad in the other. Now, for the sake of visual and organizational clarity, let’s imagine that the “me” seated in the armchair is Patrick Stewart. (I’ve always admired Captain Picard from “Star Trek: The Next Generation. And yes, Patrick is in his Starfleet uniform from the “TNG” era.)

Seated at the far end of the sofa, opposite me, is Chris Evans. (Because, why not? And no, he’s not in his Captain America uniform. I’m picturing jeans and a plain t-shirt. He’s also a little scruffy since he hasn’t shaved in a couple days.)

And me, I’m in my Walmart shirt and jeans, feeling a little miffed and uncomfortable.

PATRICK: Good morning, everyone. Neal, Chris started this meeting by asking you why you’re feeling so grumpy. Let’s start with that.

ME: Well, for starters, I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I really don’t want to be at work.

PATRICK: Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Well, of course, I can understand that. But we all know there’s more going on with you lately than just that. What else is causing your mood today?

I glance at Chris. He just gives me a look that says, This is your session, dude. I’m just along for the ride.

ME: Well, Patrick, yes I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. (Slight pause.) I just realized it’s been two weeks since I texted with Alfred.

“Alfred” is the name of a guy I met on Tinder back in early June, two days after my birthday, in fact. That’s not his real name, of course, but I’m a fan of Batman, and Alfred seems like a good pseudonym for this guy.

PATRICK: Ah, yes! You’re right, it has been awhile. Hasn’t he been back from his Florida trip for about ten days now?

ME: Yeah. At least, I’m pretty sure. He said it was only for that weekend. I kinda wanted to wait this time and see if he would be the one to text me first.

CHRIS: Dude, face facts. He’s just not that into you. You know it, you just don’t want to admit it.

I shoot him a scathing look, and he just shrugs.

PATRICK: Now, Chris, let’s not try to be so blunt, shall we? We need to be considerate of everyone’s feelings here. Neal, do you think that this is true? You told Alfred a couple months ago that you were really into him and that you wanted to go on a second date.

ME: Yeah, I did. And he said he wanted to do on one too. But he also said – in not so many direct words, of course – that he was just too busy with work right now. He literally works seven days a week. Said he’s trying to catch up on his finances from the economic shutdown earlier this year. I suggested we go get a late lunch or early dinner after he’s off one of his early morning shifts. He said he doesn’t like to go out after work. Once he’s home, he’s too tired to do anything else.

CHRIS: And all you’ve done ever since is just text “Good morning, how’s your day, and goodnight.” You haven’t had a real conversation about anything since that one two months ago.

ME: Yeah, pretty much.

CHRIS: And now it’s been two weeks since you heard from him at all.

ME: (looking out the window, scowling) Yeah.

CHRIS: He’s not that into you.

I continue looking out the window. He’s right, dammit. This makes me even more grouchy and irritated. I can feel the other two waiting patiently as I stew in silence. In the outside world, I greet a few more customers as they walk in the door.

ME: (giving a resigned sigh) It’s probably just as well. I doubt he and I had that much in common to begin with. And there’s been so much that’s happened with me in these last 3 months that he probably wouldn’t understand.

CHRIS: So why does that bother you so much? You’ve never cared about having a boyfriend or being in a long term relationship. You’ve always been perfectly happy on your own.

I have no answer. He’s right again, dammit! Patrick just looks at me, his expression calm and patient, and I look out the window again. Why does this bother me so much now? I couldn’t even tell you why I created that stupid account on Tinder in the first place. I suppose I was bored, as I had a lot of time on my hands with not much to do. And everyone keeps talking about that app, how it’s great for hookups and general dating. And, at first, I didn’t make any connections with guys that appeared to be worth talking to. All of them were either in a relationship and looking for a threesome, or they just wanted to hook up, or they didn’t have any hobbies or interests that were even remotely similar to mine, or they weren’t even in my geographical area. (I could never figure out why Tinder kept showing me guys from Spain or Europe or Mexico when I had specifically adjusted my location settings in my profile to show me only guys from a 20 mile radius around my zip code.)

But then, a mere two days after creating that profile, Alfred matched with me. He swiped right on my profile first. (He made the first move, in other words.) Once Tinder notified me I checked out his profile. Age: 49. His pics and his description of likes and interests seemed pretty decent, so I swiped right as well. After we matched, I sent him a greeting, and – unlike ALL the other guys with whom I had matched in those two days (which wasn’t many) – Alfred actually responded to my message. We hit it off right away. We spent an hour chatting. We exchanged phone numbers and began texting regularly the very next morning.

We met for a first date a couple weeks later. I was super nervous, and, because there were only a few restaurants back in early June that had just reopened their dining rooms, we chose Farmer Boys for brunch at ten. I, of course, arrived about fifteen minutes early (that type ‘A’ personality trait, remember?), and Alfred arrived on time. There was the usual initial awkwardness and stilted small talk. But after we ordered, and after we both overcame our nervousness, we hit it off pretty well. There was no awkward lags or uncomfortable silences. He seemed really nice and outgoing, and neither of us hogged the whole conversation. We filled each other in on our respective bios, he told me about his job and I told him all about mine. We talked about Black Lives Matter and some of the other political stuff going on in the news at the time. I was still a democrat at that time, so we both seemed to have similar political views. Alfred hated Trump – and still does, as far as I know – and I told him that I didn’t really follow politics. I wasn’t even planning to vote. (You all know, of course, how radically that all has changed for me since then.)

Put simply, that first date went super well! It lasted almost two and a half hours, and we both agreed to continue texting and that we should do a second date soon. I left the restaurant feeling damn near giddy. Maybe 2020 wasn’t going to be such a shit year after all.

And we did continue texting. We had some really good conversations in the ensuing weeks. One of them was a rather heated debate about Black Lives Matter and the call for de-funding the police. Alfred was all for it, and I tried to convince him of the error of his views. We stayed civil with one another, and the fact that we could agree to disagree and move on was another encouraging sign. We greeted each other via text every morning, and signed off the same way every night. Throughout the day we would chat here and there, mostly during our respective break times at work, and the more I chatted with him, the more I started to fall in love.

But, as this was my first attempt at actual dating, I couldn’t be sure if he felt the same way about me. He seemed genuinely interested, but we had never had a face to face conversation since our first date. And since Alfred preferred texting to actual phone calls – which I was also fine with – I couldn’t get a very good read on him. Just the fact that he was always responding to my texts was a good sign, but our conversations were getting shorter and shorter. By mid-August we were reduced to – as Chris just now so eloquently put it – saying little more to each other than “Good morning, how’s your day, goodnight.”

So I decided to just go for it and put myself out there. I texted Alfred one afternoon as he was leaving work. I told him that I was really into him, that I had been thoroughly enjoying our conversations, and that the more we talked, the more I was falling for him. I waited anxiously after sending the text, one finger tapping nervously on the side of my phone. The symbol with the three dots in a shaded oval appeared on my screen and seemed to stay there for an eternity. When his response finally came through, I grinned with immense relief. He felt the same way! We chatted for a bit longer, and then I had to go to work.

But the end of August arrived with still no ETA on a second date. Alfred and I continued texting, but, once again, neither of us said much more than “Good morning, how’s your day, goodnight.” We were both working super long hours. I had been with Walmart for almost 2 months by now and had barely enough time between jobs to eat and sleep. But, even with my crazy hectic schedule, I still had an occasional evening during the week free. I brought up the subject of a second date a couple times with Alfred, but his responses were vague and non-committal. I even asked him once point blank if he still wanted to get together sometime, and he assured me he did. His work schedule was just super hectic at the time. I backed off, not wanting to create a fight, but my frustration rose another notch. I decided to give him until the end of September. If he couldn’t commit to a second date by then, we would need to have a heart to heart.

Then, in the third week of September, Alfred informed me he was going to Florida for a few days to help an old friend after her surgery. He was leaving Wednesday the 23rd and he would be back either Saturday or Sunday. I wished him safe travels and told him to get some rest since he’d been working like crazy for the last couple months. He thanked me and then we said our usual goodnights.

That was 2 ½ weeks ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.

CHRIS: Just text him.

ME: I don’t want to. I want to see if he’s still interested. I want him to be the first to text this time.

CHRIS: Ok fine.

All three of us sit in silence. I purposely avoid their gazes.

ME: Ok fine, I’ll text him.

Out in the real world I pull my phone from my front pocket and shoot off a quick greeting to Alfred: a simple “Good morning. (Smiley face emoji) How’s it going?”

ME: There. Now we wait.

CHRIS: What are you going to do if he doesn’t respond?

ME: (exasperated sigh) I don’t know! I guess you’re right. He’s just not that into me.

PATRICK: And that understandably upsets you.

ME: Yes, it does. And Chris is right. I don’t know why this bothers me so much now.

CHRIS: I know why.

ME: Of course you do.

CHRIS: It’s simple. You’re lonely. And not just regular lonely. You’re tragically, desperately, sadly lonely. You have been for years. That’s why you finally created the Tinder profile, that’s why you fell so hard when you met Alfred, and that’s why you’re so upset and grouchy today. You’re lonely, and it hurts.

I glare at him, furious. But then I have to look away because, suddenly, I feel like crying. And, out in the real world, I have to blink a lot to force back the tears. I smile and greet some more customers.

CHRIS: Sorry to be so blunt, but it’s obvious.

ME: All right, fine. So I’m lonely. Since you have all the answers, tell me why that bothers me so much just now. It’s never been an issue before. So what’s changed? Why now?

CHRIS: (shrugs) Actually, I don’t know. That’s a good question.

We both look at Patrick. He glances at each of us in turn, also puzzled.

PATRICK: That is a good question. Maybe we should explore why you chose a long time ago to not be interested in romantic relationships.

ME: (shrugs) I don’t know. I just…. I was never interested in having one. I was perfectly happy on my own, and I never saw the point of having a boyfriend. I was happier with the occasional hookup or the friends with benefits I had in college.

PATRICK: Mm-hmmm. You made a conscious choice when you were young to be alone, but now, at 42, you’re having a hard time living with that choice.

ME: (frowning) Well, yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.

CHRIS: I think I know why you made that choice.

ME: (rolling my eyes) Oh really? You just said a second ago you didn’t know.

CHRIS: I had to think about it for a minute. You were bullied and picked on when you were a kid. You never really fit in with the other boys. You were always happier playing dress up with the girls, or sitting under a tree at recess reading a book. We’ve talked about this before, remember?

I do remember. And, as usual, he brings up a valid point. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about those years in elementary school. I wasn’t a normal boy. I had no interest in sports. I did enjoy the occasional game of cops and robbers or tag, but most of the time I could be found under a tree with a book in hand or playing dolls with the girls in one corner of the playground. There was a few times when I would go to another girl’s house for a play date and I loved putting on dresses and jewelry and pretending to be the wife. This, of course, drew lots of ridicule and shaming from my male classmates at recess. I didn’t care, though – or, at least, I pretended not to.

However, in retrospect, I’m starting to see how that ridicule and being made fun of has affected me in different ways over the course of my life. In elementary school, I wasn’t a model student. I would act out in class and get sent to the principal’s office quite a lot. I had to repeat the first grade because I didn’t do so hot the first time around. (My parents attributed this to starting kindergarten too early.) It also didn’t help that I was smarter than most of my classmates. I’m not saying that to brag. It’s a simple fact. I caught on to general concepts and lessons a bit quicker than everyone else, and I was also an excellent reader. The school library was my second home, and I was always complaining to my teachers and parents that I could check out only two books at a time. By the time I was in 3rd grade I was joining the 4th grade class a couple times a week for math or reading lessons. And it was also about this time that I started expressing more interest in the girly things like dress-up and playing with My Little Pony horses. I even had a pony of my own – white body with a glittery, purple mane. It came with a pink brush and a barrette. (Damn, I miss those wonderful toys of the 80s!)

In later years, I’ve come to realize that all the bullying and ridicule in elementary school caused me to lash out in other ways – usually in class, but mostly at home. I was always fighting with my three brothers and my parents, and this got worse as I got older. By the time puberty hit – which, of course, was about a year earlier than my male classmates – I was used to being made fun of by the other kids at my school. I was also used to coping with this by retreating to my room at home after school to read or play with my “Star Trek” toys. Or I would pick a fight with my brothers who also loved to tease and make fun of me.

And then, as I entered junior high, I started to realize that there was something fundamentally different about me. All my classmates had begun expressing interest in the opposite sex, but I felt nothing when I was around the girls. (By this point, obviously, I was no longer playing dress-up with my female friends or going to their houses for play dates. My parents and I had agreed this was not a good idea, though I wasn’t entirely sure why at the time.) Around my male classmates, however, I was feeling something different. A couple of them I found attractive, in fact, but instinct told me I should never say that aloud or even outwardly hint at that attraction in any way.

I was also socially awkward in the worst possible way. It was probably because of all the torment in elementary school, but I had also always been a natural introvert. I was never the life of the party. And, because I was attending a private school, the same classmates who had made fun of me in 3rd grade for playing with dolls with the girls at recess instead of soccer with the boys were now my friends in 7th grade who were starting to pass notes to one another during class. I’m sure there was one or two girls that I exchanged notes with at some point, but I only did it to fit in with the boys. I had no interest whatsoever in whether or not the girls actually responded.

And, as if the first glimmer of homosexuality combined with super awkward, underdeveloped social skills wasn’t enough, I was also turning into a bone fide nerd in 7th and 8th grades. I was 9 years old when “Star Trek: The Next Generation” premiered in 1987, and I would watch it with my mom every week. I fell in love with that show from the start, and I was a geek long before it was cool. Nowadays, everyone is proud to be a sci-fi nerd, as the box office success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe can readily prove. But back in the early 90s, as I suffered through junior high, being a “Star Trek” fan was just one more thing to be made fun of by my classmates.

So, as a result of all of this, I started to create a mask for myself. I would put on a good face every morning, go to school and pretend everything was fine while enduring constant teasing and “good natured” ribbing from my classmates about all sorts of things, and then go home at night and fight with my brothers or parents about any number of things. (My brothers loved to make fun of my nerdiness as well.) Sometimes I would wear the mask at home and pretend everything was fine with my family, but in the solitude of my room, with the door closed, I would take it off and pretend that I was a Starfleet officer on the bridge of the starship “Enterprise”. No one on that crew made of one another. Everyone worked together in harmony, and they all celebrated their differences. In fact, being different was a strength, not a weakness. I so desperately wanted to live in that world that that TV show became an almost unhealthy obsession throughout the rest of my teen years.

In 9th grade I finally realized what was fundamentally different with me. I was gay. It was now the early 90s, and we had cable TV in our house. My brothers and I would sneak behind our parents’ backs to watch some of the prime time comedies that we’d been told we weren’t supposed to watch. The gay social movement exploded in mainstream America in the 90s, though it had been building momentum for quite some time before then. As with all things relating to nerds or geeks, it was not cool to be gay in the early 90s, especially if you were a teenager. Adults who dared to be out and proud faced discrimination at work and alienation from family and friends. Soldiers and officers in the American military were courts-martialed and stripped of rank for coming out of the closet. The surest way to end the career of any Hollywood celebrity was to accuse them in the tabloids of being gay.

In today’s public schools, it’s considered weird or strange if you’re NOT gay, or at least bi. Back then, I longed for someone I could talk to about this, but because I was attending a private school run by a Baptist church in a red state in a town with a population of less than 40,000, I had no support group whatsoever. There was no school counselor with a pamphlet on the local PFLAG group. There was no student club with other gay students that I could hang out with after school. There was no internet chat room where I could talk to an understanding stranger about my feelings and struggles. Fuck, there wasn’t even the internet back then. My only resource for exploring my sexuality was the public library across town, but back then there was precious little literature on the subject of being gay. And, even if by some miracle I was able to find such a book, I would have to sneak it home and hide it from my parents.

All I knew about homosexuality was preached at me from the pulpit at church on Sundays and Wednesday night youth group meetings. Not that the subject came up that often, and when it did, it was always in the context of Sodom and Gomorrah. For example, “Look at what God did to the Sodomites who were practicing idol worship and homosexuality.” Or, “It’s unnatural for two people of the same sex to be together. God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” (To my knowledge, that last quote was never specifically said aloud by any of my pastors or teachers, but the gist of it was stated in some form or another in a sermon here and there.) I also have an odd memory from early childhood of my father bringing up this subject during one of his nightly devotions with me and my brothers. I couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11, and I distinctly remember sitting beside my brother Jeremy, who was probably 8 or 9, and dad was reading us a Bible story. (It was probably just us older two boys. The twins would have been about 5 at this time.) I don’t remember what the story was, but I do distinctly remember Jeremy asking my dad, “What’s homosexuality?” This was my dad’s response: “It’s when men have sex with other men. It’s disgusting! It makes me want to puke!”

It’s strange how specific words or pieces of a scene can stick in your memory for so many years. I carried that vehement statement with me in the back of my mind for many years afterwards, well into junior high or high school. It’s how I knew I could never, ever tell my parents about what I was struggling with, and I got to the point where I wore my mask very well. I bided my time until high school graduation, and I almost made it to the finish line without any hiccups.

Almost.

My senior year was 1996-97. One of the requirements for me and my 9 classmates – the same group of kids who had tormented me relentlessly in elementary school, but with whom I was now close friends – was a Bible class called “Understanding The Times”. It was designed to equip young Christians with the necessary religious reasoning and skills to guard and defend their faith as they entered a Godless and corrupt world. An example of the topics in this class: abortion, homosexuality, rock music, pop culture & politics. My friends and I loathed this class. We made fun of these topics and assignments – as well as the teacher – outside the classroom. (The teacher was Mr. Ward – a true nerd in every way, especially in appearance. He was tall, pencil thin, with large glasses, a thick moustache, and a long nose. I still cringe when I think about the crush I had on him in my junior high years.) Being typical teenagers, we had already done our share of rebellious activities, i.e. the occasional weekend party where alcohol had made an appearance. (Actually, I should say “they” had done those activities. I was never part of the “in” crowd in high school, despite the microscopic size of my class, so I was never cool enough to be part of anything rebellious.)

By this point in my life I had become quite comfortable with being gay. I believed quite firmly and without a doubt that I had been born this way. I couldn’t really tell you for sure why, but I knew that. I knew it in my bones. And I was fine with it. I was, however, not anywhere close to being fine with all the religious bullshit that had been shoved down my throat for the last 17 years of my life. My brothers and I were born and raised in the church. My father insisted on all of us being present ANY time those damn doors were open for service. And I do mean, ANYTIME. Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday evening youth group, and especially anytime there was a special week-long revival event. That was when a visiting pastor or an evangelist would be passing through town and a good, old fashioned church service would be held every weeknight. I grew to loathe these special services, as they would often happen in the summer, and I could think of a thousand things I would rather be doing on a warm, breezy July evening than forced to sit in church and listen to some guy rant and rave about the sins of the world.

So, in the spring of ’97, as our graduation date neared, and as my friends and I endured this terrible Bible class where our teacher lectured us on the evils of premarital sex and rock music, I had finally decided that I had had enough. One of our assignments towards the end of March, about six weeks from graduation, was to write a paper on a topic that I can’t even remember now. What I do remember very clearly, however, was that I stated in this paper, in no uncertain terms, was that I was an Atheist. I did not believe in God, in Heaven or Hell, or pretty much anything in the Bible. I proudly handed that paper to my teacher on the day it was due and walked out of class feeling a bit giddy and anxious. I really didn’t think anything other than a failing grade was going to come of this.

One thing about teenagers: we really don’t think through the consequences of our actions.

I was called into the principal’s office two days later. Mr. Grayson was seated behind his desk and my dad was seated in front of the desk. My mind immediately began racing through the past couple weeks, trying to remember if there was something my friends and I had done that violated church rules. I had already forgotten about that stupid Bible class assignment. But when I sat down, and when Mr. Grayson read aloud what I had written in that paper, I started to think that maybe – just maybe – I had crossed a line. This is another memory where I have a clear record of the actual dialogue:

MR. GRAYSON: Neal, I’m going to ask you think once, and you need to think carefully about your answer. (Pause) Do you really, truly believe what you wrote here? Or was this just another way to get back at Mr. Ward?

I did think…for about 2.5 seconds.

ME: Yes, I believe it. A hundred percent. There’s no God, no afterlife, and I’m an Atheist.

MR. GRAYSON: (giving me a serious, measured look) I’m sorry to hear that, Neal. I’m afraid we can’t accept you here as a student any longer. If this was just some kind of acting out, or if you were just being argumentative, that would be one thing. But if you actually believe this, then there’s no place for you here. We’re going to have to expel you immediately.

He turned to my dad and they started talking, but I don’t remember what that was. All I could think was,

HELL-FUCKING-YEAH!!!!!!

I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. I practically floated out of that office, and I was grinning ear to ear all the way home. I even almost ran a red light because I wasn’t paying attention. All I could think was that I was finally free! No more preaching, no more lecturing, no more stupid Bible class! I was free of all of it!!!

Only later that afternoon, as I reflected on what I had done, did the full weight finally come crashing down on me. I wasn’t going to walk the aisle at my own graduation. Oh shit. Goddammit!

Goddammit!!

But, what was done was done. Yes, there was major fallout in all corners of my life – and my family’s lives – from my little act of rebellion. I eventually came to terms with what I had done, and, in all honesty, I have accomplished so much more in my life since then that has meant far more to me than getting expelled six weeks before high school graduation. Graduating Boise State University with a Bachelor’s in English, for one. And, ever since that declaration, I have been a proud and determined Atheist. I walked away from the church, the religion, the Bible – all of it. I wanted nothing more to do with God or any of his followers, and, until 2020, I’d been very happy with that choice.

And now…back to my little session with Patrick Stewart and Chris Evans.

ME: (still looking out the window, talking mainly to myself) It wasn’t just because of the religion or being gay. It was all of it. I’ve been ridiculed, bullied, and made fun of ever since 2nd grade. I’ve always been different in many ways. I’ve never, ever felt as if I belonged somewhere, especially as a teenager. There was nowhere to be my complete, truest self. Not even at home. I’ve always been the outsider, the outcast, the one looking at the “in” crowd and longing desperately, with all of my being, to fit in somewhere. Longing to be normal. But I’ve never been normal.

I turn to Chris.

ME: You were right. I’ve been lonely my entire life. Desperately, sadly, tragically lonely. I learned early on to build a wall around myself to protect me from the bullying and the cruelty of the other kids. And then, in junior high and high school, I fortified that wall, made it thicker and stronger. It was the only way to survive. And then, somewhere along the way, I became so comfortable with it that I didn’t realize it was even there. But it’s always been there, and I’ve kept everyone in my life at arm’s length. I never let them get inside the wall. Not even my family is allowed inside.

It was at this point that I became truly choked up and damn near broke down in the lobby of Walmart. I don’t know why it took 23 years to arrive at such an obvious revelation, but there it was. Even as I write this I’m having to pause and blink back the tears. I hate feeling this way. I hate that I now have to live with a vow that my younger self blindly, stupidly made. Almost everyone I know – including my brothers – is happily married with kids or, at the very least, in a relationship with someone special. I am alone. I have spent my whole life marching to the beat of my own crazy, wacked out drummer that I never bothered to check just exactly where it was I was marching to; or, for that matter, if I was even staying on the damn football field. And, as I said already, I have accomplished so much in my life since walking away from those troubled, angst-filled teen years that being single was never a big deal. I used to be thoroughly, genuinely happy by myself. I’ve never needed that whole, clichéd, stupid rom-com story: boy meets boy in meet cute, lots of misunderstandings and contrived plot points ensue, boy and boy end up happily ever after. Romantic relationships are ridiculous and unnecessary in order to live a happy, fulfilled life. I believed that then, and I still believe it now.

CHRIS: Uh-huh. So why does the fact that Alfred still hasn’t responded to the text you sent an hour ago bother you so deeply?

I’ve returned my gaze to the window, but Chris’ statement causes me to turn. I glare at him with such rage that he actually recoils.

CHRIS: Uh, never mind. Forget I asked.

ME: Fuck you.

I get up and leave the room.

My shift at Walmart is over. I’m headed home for a much needed nap and then some play time with my Nintendo Switch. I’ve had enough self-induced psychoanalysis for one day.

TO BE CONTINUED…

#christian #life #gay #bullying #teens

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biofunmy · 6 years ago

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In ‘City on a Hill,’ a Crime-Ridden Boston Before the ‘Miracle’

In Showtime’s new crime drama “City on a Hill,” Jackie Rohr is a cocaine-snorting, corrupt and racist F.B.I. veteran who longs for the days when the “bad men” were in power, and Decourcy Ward is a principled new assistant district attorney from Brooklyn, determined to “rip out the [expletive] up machinery” in 1990s Boston.

The characters — played with flamboyant vigor by Kevin Bacon and simmering fortitude by Aldis Hodge — shouldn’t like each other, or even be able to work together. And for much of the pilot episode, they don’t.

But one morning last April, as Bacon and Hodge filmed a scene for a later episode in Decourcy’s office — actually a set at Steiner Studios in Brooklyn — the mood was different. The characters were on good terms, maybe even kind of pals.

Decourcy shared his uneaten eggs with Jackie. (In between takes, Bacon joked about being too full to partake in the handsomely stocked craft services.) Both sported shiners on their faces but they didn’t give them to each other; Decourcy’s came from a confrontation with a church minister, Jackie’s from an “alcohol-induced haymaker” at the V.F.W. When their easy chatter was interrupted by a distressing call Jackie received on his period-appropriate oversized mobile phone, Decourcy expressed concern and moral support.

Decourcy and Jackie “don’t trust each other, but kind of need each other,” Hodge said later during a phone interview. “They both represent two sides of the same coin. One is a dark looking into the light, one is a light looking into the dark.”

That could be the tagline of “City on a Hill,” which takes place during a time when crime rates and racial tensions in Boston were exceedingly high until a coalition of community groups developed an anti-violence mission that would prove successful in the late ’90s.

[Read our review of “City on a Hill.”]

The show was created by the relatively unknown writer (and Boston native) Chuck MacLean, but it sports an impressive pedigree of Hollywood veterans, including the executive producers Ben Affleck, Matt Damon and Barry Levinson. It’s a sprawling ensemble piece that’s part procedural and part machismo-fueled interracial buddy tale: Decourcy and Jackie are brought together through their mutual interest in taking on a family of armored car robbers in Charlestown led by Frankie Ryan (Jonathan Tucker). By the end of the pilot, they’re swapping personal stories and strategizing how to build a potentially career-defining case over drinks in a bar.

Their dynamic may call to mind Tibbs and Gillespie or Murtaugh and Riggs, but the show’s origins lie in “The Town,” the 2010 crime thriller Affleck co-wrote, directed and starred in, which also centered on criminals in the working-class, heavily Irish Charlestown neighborhood.

Affleck was inspired to develop “City on a Hill,” he wrote in an email, after “doing so much research for ‘The Town’ and not being able to tell the scope and scale of the story the research yielded.” The series offers a more expansive means “to explore the city and in particular what was going on politically, socioeconomically, racially and culturally at the time I kind of came of age there,” he wrote.

Affleck tapped MacLean, a self-described “bum from Quincy, Mass.” with an unmistakable accent to match, who had worked with Affleck’s brother, Casey, on a script for a movie about the Boston Strangler that never got made. The veteran writer and producer Tom Fontana, who specializes in character-driven dramas set in distinct environments (“St. Elsewhere,” “Homicide: Life on the Streets,” “Oz”), was impressed by the pilot and came on as the showrunner and an executive producer after “City on a Hill” was picked up by Showtime.

While this high-wattage project is MacLean’s first foray into TV, his fascination with Boston history — his home in Los Angeles contains “wall-to-wall” crime and newspaper memorabilia stretching back to the 1930s — made him a good fit for Affleck’s vision.

“I didn’t want to spend five years talking about bank robbers and I don’t think he did either,” MacLean said. “So we started talking about the different things that were going on in Boston in the early ’90s.”

A lot was going on. The city was plagued by violent crime and racial tension, generating plenty of headlines that the series occasionally rips from, à la “Law & Order.”

It begins by citing the notorious case of Charles Stuart, a white Bostonian who in 1989 claimed that a black gunman attacked him and killed his pregnant wife. More than two months passed — during which the police went on a manhunt and Stuart eventually identified someone as the attacker from a lineup — before Stuart’s story fell apart. His brother Matthew went to the police and outed him as the real killer.

The incident exacerbated the already tense relationship between law enforcement and the black community. “The Boston police and the city of Boston — from the end of World War II, there was at least one time in every decade where they became a national embarrassment,” MacLean said.

“The Stuart one was the first time that I think the circumstances lined up that it was particularly bad, but then in the aftermath of it, it allowed for a lot of good to happen,” he added. “That’s the theme that I wanted to look at.”

MacLean, 33, was a child during the era of “City on a Hill.” But the journalist and author Michele McPhee, a writer for the show, was then a young investigative reporter at The Boston Globe, and recalls well the city’s struggles during those years.

“A little girl gets shot off a mailbox,” McPhee said. “Jermaine Goffigan — whose face I’ll never forget — he’s counting Tootsie Rolls from Halloween, still in his costume, when he gets hit by a stray bullet.”

“The city had had enough,” she added.

Jackie and Decourcy serve as the thematic entry point, their unlikely partnership an explicit allegory for the Operation Ceasefire program — also known as “The Boston Miracle.” Black clergy members, police officers, probation officers and outreach workers — once unaligned with one another — joined forces under the direction of the Harvard University criminologist David M. Kennedy to focus on black youth in high-crime areas. After it was carried out in 1996, Boston began to see a decline in homicides, and similar programs were replicated in other cities like Cincinnati with success.

“These two characters are polar opposites,” Fontana said. “But for at least a period of time, [they] need each other and are willing to overlook certain things in an effort to achieve something greater.”

The show’s creative team is primarily white, a liability for a story that aims to authentically portray a time and place defined largely by racial tension. (This season there was one biracial writer, J.M. Holmes, and one Latino writer, Jorge Zamacona.) But “City on a Hill,” doesn’t shy away from depicting its setting’s deeply ingrained racism: Within the first minute of the first episode, Jackie flippantly slings around the N-word.

“That was the world I grew up in,” MacLean said.

But, he added, he spoke frequently with Hodge and Lauren E. Banks, who plays Decourcy’s wife, Siobhan, about their perspectives. “As much as I wanted my story told correctly, I wanted everyone else’s involved in this to be told correctly,” he said.

Hodge said he “chimes in quite a bit” when it comes to the show’s depiction of Decourcy, who is partly inspired by Boston’s first black district attorney, Ralph Martin.

“That’s something that’s a priority going forward, just to get more black voices in the writer’s room,” he said. “Unless you’ve actually been the victim [of racism], you actually don’t know what it is.”

Stories about such fraught but fruitful partnerships risk turning a racist like Jackie into a sympathetic figure by having him work well with Decourcy. But in the early episodes, at least — the first 3 of 10 were made available in advance — the show is less about Jackie learning to not be a terrible human being than Decourcy’s struggle to take down the (white) status quo without becoming like it.

Decourcy is the “hero of the series” who must “deal with the devil” Jackie, MacLean said.

For Hodge, the question is: “How far will he go before he turns into Jackie Rohr?”

As for Jackie, a defining quality, Bacon said, is that he’s “so narcissistic that his belief that the ends justify the means” allows him to behave unethically. (The character is a loose composite of the F.B.I. agents H. Paul Rico, who was indicted on a charge of murder shortly before his death; John Connolly, who aided the mob boss James (Whitey) Bulger; and Dennis Condon.)

The creative team strove for authenticity in depicting the city of Boston as well, even though it almost never actually films there.

The pilot was shot in and around the city, but the production moved to New York once the series got picked up — exterior scenes were shot in Staten Island, New Rochelle, White Plains and the Bronx. (A few scenes have since been filmed in Boston.)

This decision came down to practicality: Boston lacks soundstages and the city is generally “much prettier now than it was” in the ’90s, said McPhee, who served as a kind of Boston credibility consultant.

“I was getting ready to eye-roll and say, ‘Oh God, we’re never going to get Boston,’” she said. But she was impressed with the attention to detail, adding, “There’s a set that represents [the] Bromley Heath [apartments] that I felt like I was walking through the halls of Bromley Heath.”

(“Believe me, it wasn’t my decision,” MacLean said of the move to New York.)

It’s too early to know whether there will be a second season of “City on a Hill,” though MacLean said he’s plotted out five seasons’ worth of material for the leads. According to Affleck, the plan is to move the action from Charlestown to Roxbury if the show gets renewed, and then to a different neighborhood each season, similar to the “The Wire” and its thematically distinct chapters.

“You meet two people from Boston who talk, they never talk about Boston — they talk about the neighborhood where they’re from,” MacLean explained. “The neighborhood is their vision of what Boston is.”

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are-scared-of-revolution · 8 years ago

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The N-Word and How To Use It

It's what blacks have always done since we hit America's shores: we take what's given us and we find a way to make it our own. By Bennie M. Currie

N-I-G-G-E-R. I'll never forget the first time I accidentally used that word in mixed company. It was 20 years ago at the University of Missouri, and I was engaged in lighthearted chitchat with Kent, my white roommate, when I casually called him a "nigger."

For a second I'd forgotten that I was not among my black friends in my old neighborhood in Saint Louis, where calling a buddy "nigger" was synonymous with calling him "brother" or "man." It was just another way to talk cool, using a word that had become a part of our vocabulary long before we were aware of all its varied meanings and usages.

I was barely conscious of my accidental utterance, but there was nothing casual about Kent's reaction. His eyes widened, and his body flinched as though he'd just absorbed a boxer's jab. Then he snapped to an upright position on the edge of his bed, narrowed his eyes, and pointed an index finger at me. "I'm not a nigger," he said, his tone implying that he thought I was a nigger. He never actually called me a nigger, but the mere suggestion was enough to put me in a fighting mood.

"Do I look like a nigger to you?" I shouted.

"But you just called me a nigger," he replied.

"Well, that's different. You can't call me that. Not ever."

Fortunately, our dorm mates stopped this exchange before I could throw a punch at Kent, who probably thought I was nuts. Actually I was simply too angry to realize that I was the one at fault.

By calling Kent a nigger, I'd exposed him to what my old neighborhood friends called a "black thing" he didn't understand. The "thing" is the love/hate relationship many black people have with "nigger," one of the most complex, perplexing, and emotionally incendiary words in the American lexicon. And to be truthful, black people are hardly unified in their understanding or usage of this piece of slang.

There have been times in my life when I've felt very comfortable using the word, but I've also struggled with its usage. And now that I'm a parent I cringe at the notion that my two children will someday have to try to understand what these six letters mean to them, their friends and foes, and the larger society. While my wife and I are readying ourselves for questions like "Where do babies come from?" I know that none will be more vexing than the first innocent query about the N-word.

I could take the easy way out and tell our kids that "nigger" is a bad word that good boys and girls should never use. Or maybe I could recite the old "sticks and stones" adage and tell them it's a name that can never hurt them. But neither tactic is likely to work, especially the second, since I don't believe it myself.

If my kids are destined to be introduced to a word born of racial hatred, then their parents should be the ones to do it. But television, the Internet, the school playground, and other competitors for our kids' attention may get to them first. Or a dictionary.

Last February Kathryn Williams, curator of the Museum of African American History in Flint, Michigan, was asked by a little boy, "Am I a nigger because I'm black?" She told the naturally curious child that a nigger was any ignorant person, then advised him to look up the word in the dictionary for reassurance. The kid paged through the venerable Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, where he found that "nigger" is a term for "a black person--usu. taken to be offensive." With only minor revisions, this definition has existed for nearly half a century.

This was a shocking revelation for Williams, who started a petition drive to pressure Merriam-Webster to revise the definition. Her campaign gained momentum last September, when Emerge magazine ran a brief article about it. Since then, scores of people have joined her, many of them contending that the current definition inaccurately explains the meaning of the word. Some of them also believe the racial epithet is undeserving of inclusion in a dictionary and want it deleted altogether.

I know why Williams and others like her are upset. Being called "nigger" by a white person or a white-run institution is a slap in the face for many blacks. It evokes thoughts of the sorry legacy of slavery and the racism that haunts the nation. And it hurts. When I checked out the definition in my own copy of the Collegiate edition I felt stung--particularly since I knew that dictionaries are almost as ubiquitous as Gideon Bibles.

I don't believe the publishers of the collegiate edition meant to offend anyone. Most likely, they were simply reflecting the confusion that stems from the paradoxical usage of the word among Americans of all hues, cultures, and generations.

Since my dorm-room experience, several whites have told me of their own struggles to understand the term--and to understand why a word that was used for centuries by white people to disparage and dehumanize their black slaves and today is a chief element of hatespeak (witness the Nigger Joke Center on the World Wide Web) is cool for blacks to use but taboo for them. They ask, How can any self-respecting black person stand to use it? Why do black kids call each other "my nigga" in such endearing tones, privately as well as publicly? Is this a "self-hatred thing"?

I say no. It's what blacks have always done since we hit America's shores 400 years ago. We take what's given to us, or thrown at us, and we find a way to make it our own. Blacks melded African rhythms and European music to create jazz, this country's only original musical art form. We took the parts of livestock whites didn't care to eat--intestines, tongues, ears, and feet--mixed them with our native African dishes and conjured up soul food.

In the same manner, blacks took the loaded term "nigger" and disarmed it by making it a household word. In fact, we went on to embrace it by using it to spice up poetry, rap lyrics, and many a comedy stand-up routine. A case in point is Paul Mooney, a comedian and writer (Saturday Night Live, Good Times, and In Living Color). He doesn't just use "nigger" to accent his stand-up act. It's often the focal point of his jokes. In one bit he complains about the flak he catches from whites who sometimes object more vociferously to his liberal use of the word than do many blacks. "Make that nigger stop saying nigger. He's giving me a nigger headache," he jokes. "Well white folks, you shouldn't have ever made up the word. You fucked up. I say nigger 100 times every morning. It makes my teeth white."

Chris Rock, who currently hosts a weekly HBO talk show, is another funny man at peace with his use of "nigger." While my grandmother has never heard of him, she and Rock assign a similar meaning to the term. The hot comic told B.E.T. Weekend magazine he uses it to describe "a certain kind of black person who wallows in ignorance and likes being ignorant." During a recent HBO special, Rock expressed this point of view with these one-liners: "Niggers react to books the way vampires react to sunlight." "Niggers always want credit for something they should be doing. 'I take care of my kids.' You're supposed to take care of your kids!" "Black people don't give a damn about welfare reform. Niggers are shaking in their boots."

Rock, who used to lampoon CBS anchor Bryant Gumbel for "talking white," recently apologized publicly for using such a label. But he doesn't plan to cut "nigger" out of his act anytime soon. "I'll stop when niggas stop," he said. "Niggas robbed my house, robbed my mother's house. Black people didn't do that." He adds, "I would love to have no reason to use the word. I'd love for it to be obsolete."

Richard Pryor, one of Rock's role models, was at the height of his legendary career in 1982, when he vowed never again to use the word to refer to another black person. He said he'd had an epiphany during a visit to Africa. He didn't see any "niggers" in the motherland and realized that blacks there had no need to use the word. Pryor shared his pledge with the audience during a stand-up routine that was later released as a feature film, Richard Pryor Live on the Sunset Strip. The statement inspired lots of blacks to make the same vow.

I haven't made that pledge, but before I saw Pryor's film I never thought twice about why I used "nigger." I'm less comfortable using it now, but because of my lifelong cultural association with the word, I can't foresee total avoidance. Because my kids have a different culture, I've never used it around them, and I don't intend to.

Since my kids aren't going to grow up hearing "nigger" under our roof, the question still remains: How should I explain this word to them? There's only one way to do it--candidly and carefully. I'll tell them that the word is a national shame and at times a painful reminder of their ancestors' struggle for freedom. And I'll explain that the term has a history just as relevant as Jim Crow, the Revolutionary War, lynching, or Watergate, which is why forcing a dictionary to delete it would be a mistake, would be censorship.

Meanwhile the people at Merriam-Webster are busy mulling a revision of their definition of "nigger," according to spokesman Steve Perrault. He wrote me via E-mail that it's too early to pinpoint when or if a change will be made, but he assured me the issue will be resolved before the dictionary's next scheduled major update, in 2003. "The problem for us is that it's not simply a matter of changing one entry," Perrault said. "If we revise our treatment of the offensive word, we also have to revise our treatment of the many other offensive words in the dictionary. That makes it a fairly major undertaking, and our feeling is that we want to be sure we're getting it right."

Sounds like a good idea. But does this really require much deliberation? I don't think so. The third edition of the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language already has it figured out. Its definition of "nigger" begins with the words "offensive slang...used as a disparaging term for a black person." As an illustration, a quote from James Baldwin follows: "You can only be destroyed by believing that you really are what the white world calls a Negro."

This interpretation seems fair and accurate to me. It's even suitable for the eyes of a child. And it may even enlighten a confused college kid or two.

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