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ouyangzizhensdad · 4 years ago

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Do you think that making Chinese food is cultural appropriation? I'm white and started making some of the foods I saw in the shows I've watched since the untamed, but now I'm worried I'm appropriating the culture.

Hi anon,

As a fellow white person, I am also someone who needs to critically reflect on how I engage with different cultures. I can't give you the definitive answer you seek, the clear absolution from any potential wrongdoings; in its stead, I can only offer to share my current thought process on this topic. I’d still encourage you to seek other perspectives, and many people have written or spoken on this topic.

I believe we must first acknowledge that, on the terrain of the internet, discussions regarding cultural appropriation have reached a certain... extreme where some people view all forms of cultural exchanges as inherently suspect. They purport that so long as you stay within the bounds of ‘your’ culture, you will problematic behaviours. That perspective is inherent flawed. That is, it relies on a vision of culture as ‘bounded entities’ that exist in themselves. In reality, the ‘stuff’ that makes culture is emergent, existing only relationally, dialectically--it is a not a ‘thing’ that moves through time but an idea which is constantly negotiated and reproduced in relation to power and changing material realities to remain relevant and intelligible. The boundaries of cultural and ethnic groups are fuzzy, overlapping, and constantly being reworked and made meaningful. As an illustration, many of the food I grew up eating was influenced by ingredients and recipes immigrants brought in the 19th and 20th centuries, yet these dishes were understood as 'typically ours’. And it needs to be acknowledged that most of what is currently considered ‘white people food’ relies on ingredients that were introduced to our diet through colonialism and the violent dispossession of indigenous peoples (and, often, the current day exploitation of workers in the South and of migrant workers). No food can be truly ‘traditionally ours’, whatever the purported ‘we’ ends up being brought into the equation, and no eating behaviours can avoid the historical legacy and continuity of violence and power.

Of course, as people who exist in the world, we know that there are cultural differences. Bakhtin’s insights on language through the tensions between centripedal (ie towards uniformity, a common meaning) and centrifugal (toward diversity and change) forces can be expanded to help us conceptualise how we make sense of the way a ‘culture’ is perpetuated through time as something meaningful in our daily lives. Uniformity allows intelligibility, sense-making, but diversity and change are inescapable by-products of individuals and groups repeatedly going through life, meeting and trying to create intelligibility and sense together in a world that cannot stay the same. It is at the intersection of these two conflicting forces that something can be different yet considered the same--that we can create continuity out of change. But something perhaps less emphasized in Bakhtin’s discussions is how much power and material realities work on these forces. Power influences both centripedal and centrifugal forces, if only in orchestrating circumstances that shape how one encounters ‘different cultures’ or reproduces their 'own' culture.

We live at a moment where the world seems to have reached an apex of connectivity--where goods, people, ideas (and viruses) move across distance and borders at speeds that defy comprehension. Yet the way goods, people and ideas move (through which canals and systems? in which direction? to the benefits of whom? at the expense of whom? to what reception or use? in the service of which institutions and ideologies?) or are, inversely, incapable or unwilling to move, is influenced by power and material realities. It is inescapable.

In a roundabout way, what I’m trying to say is that it's useless to try to live life in 'your lane' by turning to a baseline 'culture' because we simply do not have a baseline culture to return to that is 'safe' from the influences of other cultures or the taint of the historical legacy and continuity of violence. So how do I personally reconcile that with how I engage with content that is produced from different cultural contexts, and how I engage with cooking food that is influenced by different cultural contexts? For me the guidelines I take into consideration are respect, attribution and avoiding forms of dehumanisation. These emerged out of witnessing how other white people have acted as well as critically reflecting on how I have acted in the past, and trying to do better (including of course, by listening to different perspectives on the topic). [just in case, warning for examples of racism/micro-agressions] I've been in China with white people who would praise the cooking we were eating in the same breath they were making jokes about dog meat. I've witnessed in Japan a dude decide not to come to an izakaya with Japanese colleagues, fucking off on his own to Akihabara instead, because he was disappointed he couldn’t talk about anime with them--too obsessed with the idealised version of Japan he’d created in his head to treat the Japanese people he met as people. The internet is full of white people telling you how to cook food from places they've never been and taking credit for 'popularising' that dish or 'making it better'. That's not even talking about the tendency for food to become a mark of a cosmopolitan, metropolitan identity in the West--the open-minded, the liberal, the traveler, the hip white person up with the times and beyond the mainstream. Hell, I've even seen people who act as if eating ‘ethnic’ food prepared by immigrants is the singular proof that they were people who cared about immigrants' well-being.

Food is rarely just about food, even when consumed at home. At the same time, we’d be remiss in all these discussions of power to dismiss how food is also one of oldest things we, as humans, want to share with others--including strangers. Feeding is nourishing and giving, eating is accepting into ourselves something made by others. Most people appreciate it when the value of a dish that holds importance for them is recognised by others--although, of course, many might understandably also resent that they have been discriminated against or mocked for eating that same food. Every time I’ve been invited in an immigrant household or at events with mostly immigrants, I’ve felt this sense of almost trepidation emanating from them, waiting for my reaction, and satisfaction once I was seen eating and appreciating the food they had served me--as if the acceptance of the food that was tied to their identity was a form of acceptance of who they were. Of course this can’t be disentangled from past experiences where other people might have been disrespectful, dismissive or outright racist: but the excitement they had in sharing food that had meaning to them and seeing others appreciate it was genuine.

Beyond situations of clear cultural sharing, where we get closer to what appears to be ‘cultural appropriation’, I believe that we cannot act as if there is something inherently sacrilegious in the idea of adapting recipes or using a specific ingredients in new ways--that’s centrifugal forces at play, and they have provided us with many dishes we love today: from immigrant creations like butter chicken to things like spicy kimchi. We cannot work with the assumption that people will only react with hostility at the idea of other people cooking the food they grew with, even in ways that are different from how they’re traditionally used and are thus “not authentic”. I still remember an interaction I had in a Korean grocery store, once upon a time when I lived in a metropolitan city. A man in front of me at the cash register who had been buying snacks and chatting with the employee in Korean looked at my stuff and suddenly asked me if I knew the name of the leafy green I was buying. I wasn’t necessarily surprised because I had overheard in the past customers and employees commenting in Korean about being surprised about the ingredients I, a white person, was purchasing, thinking I couldn’t understand them. I confirmed to him that I knew I was buying mustard greens. He then asked me what I was planning to do with them, and I explained that while I didn’t think it’s a traditional or common way of using it, I personally liked to add them to kimchi jjigae because it compliments their bitter/strong taste and I like leafy greens in my soups and stews. He said it was interesting, and that he was kind of impressed. The employee chimed to tell me I should be honoured at the compliment because the man was actually a chef who owned famous Korean fusion restaurants in the city. That was clearly someone who took Korean food very seriously and clearly had a certain degree of suspicion regarding how white people interacted with it, but he was also curious and interested in seeing how I approached ingredients without having grown up eating them.

Another point of contention is also that we cannot ignore that food is a sensual experience and that, while tastes are greatly influenced by our environment, they are not solely so. I grew up hating most of the food my parents would serve me, and started cooking in my early teens to avoid having to eat it. Before I started cooking, I would often just eat rice with (in hindsight horrible) western-brand soy sauce instead of the meal my mom had made. When I ate Indian food for the first time during a trip at the ripe age of 16, it blew my mind that food could taste like this. Of course I never wanted to look back, and with each years I discovered that a lot of Asian cuisines fit my palate better than what I grew up eating or other cuisines I had tried. When I was a teenager we visited my mom’s friend in France and I hated what she served us so much I’d simply choose to nibble on bread, prompting her to try to stage an intervention for my ‘obvious’ anorexia. Yet, being in China made me realise ingredients I thought I hated had just been cooked in ways I disliked. Do my taste buds absolve me from any need to think critically about how I interact with food? Of course not. But sometimes the reason we want to cook certain recipes and foods is just that it tastes great to us, and we want to reproduce the recipes we enjoyed with the ingredients and the skills we have. Or, really, sometimes we just want to try new tastes because we do a lot of eating throughout our lives, and it seems a waste to limit ourselves to a narrow number of dishes for decades to come.

So that’s where I currently am in my thinking about this topic, as a white person who cooks dishes influenced by a number of different places but who is also not trying to cook in a way that is necessarily authentic. Some things that I keep in mind that you can ask yourself now that cdramas and cnovels have made you interested in Chinese cooking is: are you taking this as an opportunity to support immigrant businesses when getting your ingredients? are you supporting white creators when looking for chinese recipes (some suggestion of youtube channels: Made with Lau, Chinese cooking Demystified, Family in Northwest China, 西北小强 Xibeixiaoqiang, 小高姐的 Magic Ingredients)? are you being respectful (not reproducing harmful stereotypes in how you talk about chinese food and the people who eat it)? do you use your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about China and Chinese people that denies them, in some way, of their complexity and humanity? are you using your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about yourself?

In conclusion I will leave you with a picture of some misshapen baozi I’ve made.

#anon ask #caution: word vomit ahead

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mintvender · 4 years ago

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Oh! How about Going outside with them! I just need fluff rn lol

Here are some cotton candy to fulfill your cravings, love. Hope you’re doing fine 😊🌿

HaremAU!

BTS’ Reaction to Going Outside

Warnings: Nothing

Masterlist

Chrysanthemums: this particular flower has been said to symbolise fidelity, optimism, and joy. Aside from their beauty, this is a flower that is long-lasting, low-maintenance and quite affordable.

Kim Taehyung

With his constant attempts to avoid doing anything physical, Taehyung does occasionally enjoys the outside setting.

However, most of his time would be spent bathing in nature’s warmth rather than interacting with others. Just having these little silent yet peaceful moments really replenishes his mental stability. It is also a time where memories of the past would revisit him.

Spending time just enjoying your presence under the sun’s warm gaze, and talking about your guys’ memories really makes Taehyung cherish it even more.

Also, don’t forget to bring Yeontan with you guys. As the proud parent of Yeontan, Taehyung would feel so much pride whenever you play with the little pup.

It reminds him of the family that he can come to whenever he needs them and that there are still people who cares for him.

“ The landscape here is so pretty! How did you find it?... Yeontan! Run with Y/n!”

Kim Namjoon

Whenever you and Namjoon go outside, you both always end up in random bookstores littered throughout the different districts.

Spending your time talking about the manuscripts and writings that you both had previously read as you browse the stores.

Reaching out to grab what had interested you while tuning in to Namjoon’s conversation with the seller about the newly released medical books, you began to take out your wallet, preparing to pay for your guys’ items.

After deciding on what you wanted, you headed to the front of the store and payed for your items. Swiftly snatching the books that Namjoon had wanted, you turned around and exited the store after greeting the seller.

Hopelessly sighing at your attempts to prevent him room destroying the products, Namjoon greeted and thanked the seller before quickly running after you. On to the next store you both go.

“ You don’t need to do that, Y/n. You know I won’t accidentally rip the pages, it’s not possible... you can keep it until we get back.”

Jung Hoseok

Coming from a noble household, Hoseok was surprisingly quite comfortable with the outside world. Maybe it’s his natural ability to befriend anyone or the friendly vibe that he gives off.

Either way, it definitely attracts quite a bit of people, even with him dressed as a commoner. You also noticed that he seemed more relaxed here than in the palace, almost as if he had spent years living here.

Anyways, always pay attention to where he is since he can easily disappear when he gets interested in something. Having experienced it a few times, Hoseok does have some presciences to stay close to you but when he gets excited, all of those get thrown out of the window with him rushing to whatever like an overexcited child.

“ The lady at that stall was so friendly, she even gave me an extra bun! You can have it... gasp, Look! They’re performing something, let’s go over there and see!”

Min Yoongi

The amount of times Yoongi have ever step foot outside of the palace’s walls are in the single digits.

As a child, the vicious adults would constantly feed his curiosity by telling him all the myths involved in the streets, and how dirty it is.

As a result, he was quite hesitant in going out to the streets. However, Yoongi will go out as long as he is with you.

If you both are alone, without any guards or servants to accompany you; the trip will be quite interesting. Like a little child, he’s quite hesitant on venturing out so do expect him to be quite attached to you.

However, as he is in the public, he does have to maintain his little persona. To others, he might just look possessive of his companion, but to you, it was more like an act from an overly dramatic kitten. Though, you will have to make sure to keep that thought to yourself. After all, Yoongi has a reputation to uphold.

“ What is that? ... Food? Is it really edible? Is it safe to eat? Do I want to try? ... W-why a-are you buying them?”

Jeon Jungkook

What originally was him accompanying you changed to you actually accompanying Jungkook. With his mixed bloodline, the streets have always been a pleasure break for him, especially with how hectic and annoying the palace can become.

As a result, Jungkook really enjoyed spending his time out here during his childhood.

However, as he gets older, he found himself getting more involved with the harem, hence not having the time to enjoy these simple things.

As a result, the moment he heard about your little outing, he’ll be sprinting out the door and prepare for the departure.

Dressing in commoner’s clothing reminds him of the peaceful days as a child where he could wander to wherever without getting pestered at.

With the familiar earthy smell of the ground and the loud crowds, Jungkook practically dragged you to every stall positioned on both sides, pushing his way through the crowd while still maintaining that goofy grin.

“ Your maj—, n-no I mean Y/n, do you perhaps enjoy this?... It’s so pretty and delicate!... Let’s go and see why they’re crowding over there!”

Kim Seokjin

Convincing Seokjin to step out of his luxurious carriage is already difficult, but getting him to put away the roll of red fabric is practically impossible.

However, after pulling him out of the carriage, it was already too late to go back. So as a result, have fun with all of his nagging.

Being the rich merchant he is, Seokjin would pull you around pointing at every product while saying a sarcastic comment about their quality, as well as exaggerate his products to you.

With how loud he is, it is expected that every merchant would overhear your guys’ conversation and get offended by him degrading their product.

As a result of his obnoxious behaviour, the entire crew got chased by countless people, barely being able to get back to the palace in one piece. Looks like you will never do this with Seokjin again.

“ The quality of this candle is the worse I’ve ever seen. Mine is way better! Why are they looking at us like that?”

Park Jimin

Despite his not so pleasant view on the outside world, it is the only place where Jimin’s secret low esteem gets replenish whenever he shows off his flirtatious side. Having people falling head over heels for his appearance makes him so giddy that he would do anything to make the most of it.

However, that doesn’t mean that he will completely ignore your presence because you’re his main target! Constant little flirts would be sent your way as you both venture in the streets until you both entered the beauty section.

Completely forgetting his previous intentions, Jimin’s eyes sparkled at the countless jewelry and accessories that were displayed. Practically hopping to every store, Jimin excitedly showed you all the items that had caught his eyes.

Paying for whatever he had picked out, you happily watched his interaction with the seller, glad to see the little innocence he had buried deep inside him.

“ Your— Y/n! Look at what I found! Doesn’t this match my eyes? Quick, come! I just saw this really pretty necklace!”

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lastsonlost · 5 years ago

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BECAUSE THE CORONAVIRUS IS JUST HURTING FEMINIST AND ONLY FEMINISTS AND ABSOLUTELY NO ONE ELSE...

..........

Enough already. When people try to be cheerful about social distancing and working from home, noting that William Shakespeare and Isaac Newton did some of their best work while England was ravaged by the plague, there is an obvious response: Neither of them had child-care responsibilities.

Shakespeare spent most of his career in London, where the theaters were, while his family lived in Stratford-upon-Avon. During the plague of 1606, the playwright was lucky to be spared from the epidemic—his landlady died at the height of the outbreak—and his wife and two adult daughters stayed safely in the Warwickshire countryside. Newton, meanwhile, never married or had children. He saw out the Great Plague of 1665–6 on his family’s estate in the east of England, and spent most of his adult life as a fellow at Cambridge University, where his meals and housekeeping were provided by the college.

For those with caring responsibilities, an infectious-disease outbreak is unlikely to give them time to write King Lear or develop a theory of optics. A pandemic magnifies all existing inequalities (even as politicians insist this is not the time to talk about anything other than the immediate crisis). Working from home in a white-collar job is easier; employees with salaries and benefits will be better protected; self-isolation is less taxing in a spacious house than a cramped apartment. But one of the most striking effects of the coronavirus will be to send many couples back to the 1950s.

Across the world, women’s independence will be a silent victim of the pandemic.

Purely as a physical illness, the coronavirus appears to affect women less severely. But in the past few days, the conversation about the pandemic has broadened: We are not just living through a public-health crisis, but an economic one. As much of normal life is suspended for three months or more, job losses are inevitable. At the same time, school closures and household isolation are moving the work of caring for children from the paid economy—nurseries, schools, babysitters—to the unpaid one. The coronavirus smashes up the bargain that so many dual-earner couples have made in the developed world: We can both work, because someone else is looking after our children. Instead, couples will have to decide which one of them takes the hit.

Many stories of arrogance are related to this pandemic. Among the most exasperating is the West’s failure to learn from history: the Ebola crisis in three African countries in 2014; Zika in 2015–6; and recent outbreaks of SARS, swine flu, and bird flu. Academics who studied these episodes found that they had deep, long-lasting effects on gender equality. “Everybody’s income was affected by the Ebola outbreak in West Africa,” Julia Smith, a health-policy researcher at Simon Fraser University, told The New York Times this month, but “men’s income returned to what they had made pre-outbreak faster than women’s income.” The distorting effects of an epidemic can last for years, Clare Wenham, an assistant professor of global-health policy at the London School of Economics, told me. “We also saw declining rates of childhood vaccination [during Ebola].” Later, when these children contracted preventable diseases, their mothers had to take time off work.

At an individual level, the choices of many couples over the next few months will make perfect economic sense. What do pandemic patients need? Looking after. What do self-isolating older people need? Looking after. What do children kept home from school need? Looking after. All this looking after—this unpaid caring labor—will fall more heavily on women, because of the existing structure of the workforce. “It’s not just about social norms of women performing care roles; it’s also about practicalities,” Wenham added. “Who is paid less? Who has the flexibility?”

According to the British government’s figures, 40 percent of employed women work part-time, compared with only 13 percent of men. In heterosexual relationships, women are more likely to be the lower earners, meaning their jobs are considered a lower priority when disruptions come along. And this particular disruption could last months, rather than weeks. Some women’s lifetime earnings will never recover. With the schools closed, many fathers will undoubtedly step up, but that won’t be universal.

Despite the mass entry of women into the workforce during the 20th century, the phenomenon of the “second shift” still exists. Across the world, women—including those with jobs—do more housework and have less leisure time than their male partners. Even memes about panic-buying acknowledge that household tasks such as food shopping are primarily shouldered by women. “I’m not afraid of COVID-19 but what is scary, is the lack of common sense people have,” reads one of the most popular tweets about the coronavirus crisis. “I’m scared for people who actually need to go to the store & feed their fams but Susan and Karen stocked up for 30 years.” The joke only works because “Susan” and “Karen”—stand-in names for suburban moms—are understood to be responsible for household management, rather than, say, Mike and Steve.

Look around and you can see couples already making tough decisions on how to divide up this extra unpaid labor. When I called Wenham, she was self-isolating with two small children; she and her husband were alternating between two-hour shifts of child care and paid work. That is one solution; for others, the division will run along older lines. Dual-income couples might suddenly find themselves living like their grandparents, one homemaker and one breadwinner. “My spouse is a physician in the emergency dept, and is actively treating #coronavirus patients. We just made the difficult decision for him to isolate & move into our garage apartment for the foreseeable future as he continues to treat patients,” wrote the Emory University epidemiologist Rachel Patzer, who has a three-week-old baby and two young children. “As I attempt to home school my kids (alone) with a new baby who screams if she isn’t held, I am worried about the health of my spouse and my family.”

Single parents face even harder decisions: While schools are closed, how do they juggle earning and caring? No one should be nostalgic for the “1950s ideal” of Dad returning to a freshly baked dinner and freshly washed children, when so many families were excluded from it, even then. And in Britain today, a quarter of families are headed by a single parent, more than 90 percent of whom are women. Closed schools make their life even harder.

Other lessons from the Ebola epidemic were just as stark—and similar, if perhaps smaller, effects will be seen during this crisis in the developed world. School closures affected girls’ life chances, because many dropped out of education. (A rise in teenage-pregnancy rates exacerbated this trend.) Domestic and sexual violence rose. And more women died in childbirth because resources were diverted elsewhere. “There’s a distortion of health systems, everything goes towards the outbreak,” said Wenham, who traveled to west Africa as a researcher during the Ebola crisis. “Things that aren’t priorities get canceled. That can have an effect on maternal mortality, or access to contraception.” The United States already has appalling statistics in this area compared with other rich countries, and black women there are twice as likely to die in childbirth as white women.

For Wenham, the most striking statistic from Sierra Leone, one of the countries worst affected by Ebola, was that from 2013 to 2016, during the outbreak, more women died of obstetric complications than the infectious disease itself. But these deaths, like the unnoticed caring labor on which the modern economy runs, attract less attention than the immediate problems generated by an epidemic. These deaths are taken for granted. In her book Invisible Women, Caroline Criado Perez notes that 29 million papers were published in more than 15,000 peer-reviewed titles around the time of the Zika and Ebola epidemics, but less than 1 percent explored the gendered impact of the outbreaks. Wenham has found no gender analysis of the coronavirus outbreak so far; she and two co-authors have stepped into the gap to research the issue.

The evidence we do have from the Ebola and Zika outbreaks should inform the current response. In both rich and poor countries, campaigners expect domestic-violence rates to rise during lockdown periods. Stress, alcohol consumption, and financial difficulties are all considered triggers for violence in the home, and the quarantine measures being imposed around the world will increase all three. The British charity Women’s Aid said in a statement that it was “concerned that social distancing and self-isolation will be used as a tool of coercive and controlling behaviour by perpetrators, and will shut down routes to safety and support.”

Researchers, including those I spoke with, are frustrated that findings like this have not made it through to policy makers, who still adopt a gender-neutral approach to pandemics. They also worry that opportunities to collect high-quality data which will be useful for the future are being missed. For example, we have little information on how viruses similar to the coronavirus affect pregnant women—hence the conflicting advice during the current crisis—or, according to Susannah Hares, a senior policy fellow at the Center for Global Development, sufficient data to build a model for when schools should reopen.

We shouldn’t make that mistake again. Grim as it is to imagine now, further epidemics are inevitable, and the temptation to argue that gender is a side issue, a distraction from the real crisis, must be resisted. What we do now will affect the lives of millions of women and girls in future outbreaks.

The coronavirus crisis will be global and long-lasting, economic as well as medical. However, it also offers an opportunity. This could be the first outbreak where gender and sex differences are recorded, and taken into account by researchers and policy makers. For too long, politicians have assumed that child care and elderly care can be “soaked up” by private citizens—mostly women—effectively providing a huge subsidy to the paid economy. This pandemic should remind us of the true scale of that distortion.

Wenham supports emergency child-care provision, economic security for small-business owners, and a financial stimulus paid directly to families. But she isn’t hopeful, because her experience suggests that governments are too short-termist and reactive. “Everything that's happened has been predicted, right?” she told me. “As a collective academic group, we knew there would be an outbreak that came out of China, that shows you how globalization spreads disease, that’s going to paralyze financial systems, and there was no pot of money ready to go, no governance plan … We knew all this, and they didn't listen. So why would they listen to something about women?”

Remember this article the next time a politician brings up the draft again...

because I remember the last reaction.

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daisukissed · 5 years ago

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the better one | m.osamu

❧ pairing: miya osamu x gn!reader, slight miya atsumu x reader

❧ synopsis:

miya osamu was never the one to compare himself to his twin brother. he doesn't care if his brother gets more attention, is better at volleyball or is preferred over himself but as he watches you with your arms slung against atsumu's shoulders, mouth kissing him passionately like he's some sort of drug, he wishes this once, just this once, that he could be the better one.

❧ genre: angst, mild fluff

❧ warnings: none

❧ word count: 3.7k

Ding dong.

The door bell chimes through the secured walls of the Miya household, alerting everyone present in the vicinity.

Or just one, Miya Osamu.

The tall athlete stops at whatever he was doing, turning to wash his dirty hands instead in response to the door bell, feeling the cold water run against his skin.

Ding dong.

Another ring sounds off and the boy reacts quicker. He dries his hands off with his clothes, rushing his way to the front door. Twisting the metal doorknob, the wooden door opens it's way to the outside world.

You jump at the sight of the gray haired boy, a dark blue apron cladding his muscular build. It somehow suits him, you think.

"Um, is Atsumu here?"

The high school male observes your demeanor, recognizing you as his twin brother's girlfriend. He remembers Atsumu introducing you to him very briefly at school, the class bell interrupting the two of you before you could add anything else other than your name. He didn't really have the time to garner an opinion on you due to that.

Finally taking a good look at your face, he realizes that you're an exact image of his brother's type. It's no wonder how you managed to capture the condescending blonde's heart.

"Tsumu's buying groceries right now, he'll be back soon. Come on in." Osamu recalls, his muscular back already turned back into the house.

You follow his footsteps, taking in the nooks and crannies of the room. The softwood wall matches perfectly with the white ceramic floor, the furnitures within the area complimenting the both of them as well. It isn't the most lavish house nor the most special one but it's certainly the coziest one you've been to.

Taking a seat on the white couch in the living room, your eyes lock on the high school boy a few meters beside you, occupying himself in the kitchen where you can see the countless utensils lying around, a few rice grains sticking here and there.

"Ah! Are those the new samples you're working on?"

Osamu stiffens slightly at your sudden question, turning his head to face the numerous rice balls you were talking about.

"Yeah, I guess you heard from Tsumu?"

Giving him a sheepish smile and a slight nod from your head, you continue on your conversation with the light haired male.

"That's right..." You stop, contemplating whether or not you should say the next few words.

"He wasn't quiet happy with your decision, after all."

Osamu can't help but scoff lightly as a corner of his mouth twitches up in disdain, the glass plate that he was previously washing completely ignored, water gliding down the surface and to the drain.

"Sure he wasn't. Nobody was."

Osamu hates the fact that he could feel his own chest tightening, his words littered with a hint of stubbornness and... hurt?

Hurt. That's what he felt when his brother ridiculed his decision, when his parents gave him doubtful looks about his plans, when even his fangirls begged him to keep doing volleyball. It was as if the whole world was against him pursuing his passionー

"Well, I personally think that you made a great choice."

The whole world except you.

"Oi Tsumu, give these a taste!"

The young boy yells from a distance, making his way to the room beside his, a plate of filling rice balls in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

He doesn't know what changed or how it happened but his twin have been unusually supportive of his passion as of late, agreeing to support and help however he can.

Not taking any of his rare kindness for granted, Osamu constantly feeds his brother unhealthy amount of rice balls each day, asking for his thoughts and opinions.

Today was no exception.

Pushing the door handle with his elbow, he opens the door with a push of his body, careful not to spill the water nor the food he's holding.

Grey eyes immediately widens slightly as they are met with an unexpected visitor, their legs tangled up with another's as they try to wriggle their way out of the other boy's grasp.

Your cheerful laughter cuts short as you notice the young male in front of you. Putting the tickle war that happened just moments before to a stop, you give Atsumu who is hovering you a push, causing him to notice the said man as well.

"Sorry for disturbing, I'll-"

"Don't fret it, are those for us?" You give out a kind smile, waving your hands to shake off the boy's apology.

Osamu nods his head in uncertainty, eyes glancing towards his brother only to see a displeased look befalling him, probably from the disturbance of he and his girlfriend's time together. An uncomfortable feeling settle into his chest, making him regret his decision of barging into the room even more.

"I'm not eating any, I've been eating those for three days straight now."

Standing up from the sturdy bed you've been sitting on, you take the ball of rice made by the boy, one for yourself and one for your sulking boyfriend.

"Now, now, one more can't hurt." You say cheerfully, practically shoving the dish to the boy's face. Atsumu frowns to which you reply with what looks like an innocent smile, prompting the blonde to sigh in defeat and snatch the rice ball from your hand.

Seeing him take a huge bite of the triangular rice, you smirk smugly before giving yourself a mouthful bite as well.

Osamu stands still awkwardly as he watches the two of you dive into the meal, observing any slight change in expression on your face.

"This is the best you've made so far." Atsumu states, taking more and more bites despite his earlier reluctance.

You bob your head in agreement, eyes widening in shock at how well all the flavors mesh together.

"Itsch rweally gud!" You try to exclaim, words slightly muffled due to the amount of food occupying your mouth.

The small amount of nervousness in his body disappears completely when he's met with nothing but positive remarks, pride slowly welling up in exchange.

Seeing the elated look and chubby cheeks from your face, Osamu can't help but feel his own mouth curling into a soft smile.

You find yourself visiting the two siblings much more often now.

What used to be just the two of you became three, Osamu appearing more and more frequently in between the dates you and your boyfriend shared.

Silent movie nights turns into popcorn fights and unprofessional reviews, dinner with takeouts into massive taste tests of various riceballs.

It's a change that you nor Atsumu minds, honestly. He's glad that he could spend his time with two of his most favourite people while you're just happy to gain a new friend.

Ringing the melodious doorbell you've heard more and more of lately, you patiently wait for the recipient from the other side, swinging your feet back and forth as you stare at the white painted door.

It only takes a couple of seconds before a tall figure came to view, thick eyebrows lowered into a quizzical frown.

Osamu was for sure not expecting you to be at the front of his doorsteps when he opened the door, smiling at him innocently like you're supposed to be here.

It would've been okay if things were under different conditions.

If his twin, Miya Atsumu was actually home. Did you not know? Did he not tell you? He really couldn't believe that his brother would leave you without informing you about the youth camp. Just how ignorant could he be?

"Tsumu's not home."

"I know that?" You give him a matter-of-fact look, tilting your head in confusion.

More questions fill the boy's mind as he wonders about the reason of your visit. You never really came unless you were accompanied by your boyfriend so what was your point in coming when he's away? It couldn't be for his parents, you and Tsumu weren't at that level yet and of course, it couldn't be for him, you guys never really talked unless it was with the presence of his brother (much to his disappoinment). The two of you settle with friendly smiles and subtle waves instead whenever you passed by each other at school.

Choosing to squeeze pass the still boy instead of waiting for him to let you in, you invite yourself into the spacious house, the white walls you've grown familiar with welcoming you warmly.

"Can a person not spend time with a dear friend without their boyfriend?" You ask rhetorically, turning back to give your gray haired buddy an enticing smile as you raise the bag of store-bought rice balls in your hand.

If Osamu had known that letting you in that day would result to the constant pain eating at his chest, aching at every sight of you, he would've prevented you at all cost.

The unspoken boundary between you and Osamu was crossed the moment you spent your entire day in the boy's presence. The two of you were no longer threading the thin line between friendly gestures and close actions, already passing beyond that awkward phase.

Within the few days that the blonde was away, you and Osamu had already shared numerous inside jokes (none of them explained to Atsumu for entertainment purposes), countless shitty rom-coms (you complained about his tastes, to which he argued that you just don't understand the art behind itー as if there were any in overused clichés and sappy kisses) and of course, you couldn't forget the various spontaneous outings (the competitive arcade games, the midnight car rides, the trashy cooking competitions)

His days were slowly filled with you, providing him with a giddy and blissful feeling that he hadn't felt in so long. Even when his twin brother had finally arrived home, the two of you continued to spend your time together, no matter if the yellow-haired was present or absent.

It almost made him forget that you already have your heart set on his brother. Almost.

"Oh, so ya can't make it?"

"Yeah, Tsumu just invited me out. I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you next time, promise!"

Ahー of course, relationships come first after all. It's no surprise that you would choose to spend your time with your boyfriend in preference to your best friend. Anybody would do the same.

"Hm, sure. Have fun." Osamu mumbles, not being able to prevent a twinge of his bitterness seep out from his words as he ends the call, the monotonous beep being the last thing he hears.

Turning back from where he was heading to, the silver haired male walks down the lone and empty street back home, only the sound of faraway children accompanying his journey.

He feels like shit. Like there's someone kicking dirt into his heart, staining it with this ominous emotion that he wishes he could scrub off. It doesn't help the fact that the sun's setting down either, bringing down the mood even more as it bids goodbye to the land it shone for, the once warmly lit place diminishing into a gloomy abyss.

He shouldn't feel so disturbed. So irked, so agitated, so upset. That would just prove the insatiable feeling buried deep inside his chest, hiding in denial all this time. The feeling that eats away his skin, leaving him bare with nothing but his pride and ego to defend with. The so-called feeling named jealousy.

And Osamu is a person with dignity before a person that is jealous.

There is no way that he harbors any sort of feelings towards you that are more than platonic, that his heart skips a beat whenever you scoot closer and soars at the sound of your mellifluous laugh, or that he finds himself thinking of you in every corner of his house, like the spot you always sit on the living room couch and the kitchen mug you always favor more than others. He isn't supposed to find solace in the way you ramble non-stop about another series you've grown fond of, feeling himself relax at the soft lull of your voice, neither is he supposed to feel an evergrowing tenderness in his being at the sight of your face, always beaming in contentment, eyes so bright that it brings shame to the sun, like there's nothing wrong in this ruinous world. He can't.

Not when his brother is head over heels for you.

You've been spending less and less time with Osamu these past few days. He's always either holed up in his room, the kitchen or even worse, not even in the house at all, using the same repeated excuses that you've heard more than you could count.

"Samu's not joining again?" You inquire, plopping on the cushioned seat beside your boyfriend as he scrolls through a collection of movies displayed on the TV.

"Yeah, said he was goin' to study or something." Answered the blonde, his muscular build shuffling closer to you and a lean arm making its way around your shoulders.

"Study?" That's not right. Osamu would rather take a scooter to an ankle than actually study.

"I know, I was surprised too." The athlete responds in a tone of agreement. His fingers pause upon a poster of what seems to be a grotesque movie, the image of a bloody mask staring at you menacingly. Shifting his line of vision towards you, he asks for confirmation on his movie of choice and despite having mixed feelings about it, you agree. How could you not when he's looking at you like a child begging for ice cream?

The film starts off tense, the atmosphere heavy and surroundings gloomy. Fifteen minutes in and you're already on the edge of your seat, hands gripping at the strong boy's arm in fear of a sudden jumpscare. You take a glance at your boyfriend, observing any signs of distress or terror and sure enough, there were none. You're not even surprised at this point, Atsumu's a maniac for the thrill and pumps of adrenaline provided, you're not.

Just like Osamu.

You sincerely wished that he was present in today's marathon, wanting someone to share your hatred for horror movies with. With your constant anti-horror buddy being gone, you realized the huge role he plays in your overall experience. The continuous jokes he makes whenever the character does something stupid, the collection of curses spewing from his mouth that accompanies your obnoxious scream when something horrific suddenly pops out. Despite being scared shitless himself, you never actually see him reject any of your spoiled requests. He would always run you down on what happened when you're too scared to watch, Atsumu being too focused to do it himself. His explanations were confusing and all over the place (probably due to the fact that he himself watched through the slits between his fingers) but he gets the job done. Not to mention the times you would beg him to accompany you to the restroom, trembling arms linked together as you travel down the dark corridor leading to it (the one Atsumu insists on keeping the lights off, something about maintaining the mood), leaving him all alone once you got in.

It's those little stuffs that gets you feeling extremely grateful for your collected friend and when a bright idea suddenly shots into your mind, lighting up a lightbulb over your head. You push yourself off the couch, immediately scampering towards the simple and neat kitchen, switching on the lights by the counter.

Atsumu, who got disturbed at the sudden brightness and sounds of metal clanking, pauses the motion picture in action, giving you a bemused look.

"What are you doing?" He asks, watching you prep a variety of ingredients and condiments with raised eyebrows.

"Making riceballs for Samu! His brain's probably fried by now and is in major need for sodium." You explain, scooping a hefty amount of rice into a large bowl and salting it generously after.

The tall athlete smiles defeatedly at your thoughtfulness. He was almost frustrated, honestly but he knows better than to be jealous at your kindness towards his careless sibling. Stepping into the kitchen, he turns on the faucet by the sink, roaming his hands through the rush of cold water.

"Need any help?"

Osamu lets out a frustrated groan, laying his head on the cold hard table in hopelessness, folded arms serving as a cushion to lessen the pain and discomfort. His head's aching from all the numbers and letters he forced himself to absorb, mind too tired to comprehend anything anymore.

But it's better this way, anything's better than the constant thought of you; the slightly indecent snorts mixed with the melodious ring of your laughter, the soft gaze you occasionally give out, the one where you could feel the admiration just by looking at it, your eyes brimming with nothing but warmth and love. It's a shame that none of those belongs to him and he knows that it never ever will be. You see him as nothing more than a friend, your boyfriend's brother. Osamu himself acknowledged this already, even way before the two of you got close.

That doesn't mean it hurts any less though.

He wants to stop. Stop feeling so infuriated and defeated. So desperate. So pathetic. He'd do anything to remain rational and unbothered at your presence, to not have butterflies swarming inside his stomach and flowers blooming inside his heart. He needs to. Osamu will not let a single chance in having these emotions linger any longer. He'll get rid of the venomous bud you planted so secretly yet fondly, erasing it before it blooms into something more acidic; something that will burn through his skin, leaving him vulnerable with nothing but leftover bones.

And what better way to do that than avoidance?

It started off small, like cancelling your usual plans with him, making up blatant excuses to cover up his antics. Then, it was not joining you and Atsumu's table at lunch, choosing other group of friends to eat with. Finally, he stopped seeing you altogether, avoiding any sort of situations or places that could potentially harbor your presence. He was doing so well. Oh, so well.

Until a knock sounded off from his door, intruding his fatigued thoughts.

Until your figure came in moments later, bringing with you a savory and sweet smell, overfilling the room in mere seconds.

And of course, until you set the massive ball of rice on top of his table, its white grains and hot steam staring at him along with that lovable smile of yours.

You really just can't give him a break, can't you?

Snacks of all kinds and video games of different genres are splayed messily on the carpeted floor of Osamu's room.

You let a yawn escape effortlessly, bringing up a hand to cover your indecency while the other remains the hold on your black controller, taking a slight break on attacking the group of enemies in front of you before continuing to do so again.

"You really think we can finish this run by tonight?" You ask in a weary tone, hours of gameplay and shouting beginning to take effect on your body.

"Hm. Probably not." The boy to your left replies casually, hitting the pause button when he sees the look of exhaustion riding on your face, eyes softening at the sight.

You crash into the bed behind you, back leant backwards and arms stretching to its maximum height before falling down feebly. A sigh breaks free from your lips, hinting your utmost disappointment as you position your head to lay against the bed more comfortably, eyes closing when you found a good spot.

"All that work for nothing then."

The ash haired boy watches you rest in complete silence, taking in the littlest bits of details. As the blue light from the television's screen illuminates your skin perfectly, highlighting your features in his dark room, long lashes glistening like the stars adorning the night sky, he wonders, if you yourself, is a star as well.

And just like stars, you're impossible to reach.

Miya Osamu was never the one to compare himself with his twin brother. He doesn't care if his brother gets more attention or has more fans than him. Doesn't care if his brother's better at volleyball and is personally more sought out than him. Doesn't care if his brother's labelled as the better twin in general, him dulling in comparison.

But as he watched you slip your soft hand in between the other boy's calloused one, fingers intertwined and cheeks a rosy pink.

As you wrapped yourself against the boy's built body, leaning in until no space is shared between the two of you, providing a warmth that he could only imagine.

As your arms slung against Atsumu's shoulders, standing on the tip of your toes as you kiss him passionately like he's some kind of drug.

He wishes this once, just this once, that he could be the better one.

A head falls to Osamu's shoulder and he visibly stiffens a bit. Glancing sideways, the view of you in deep slumber against his body brings heat to his cheeks. He can hear his heart palpitating against his chest, the beat of it signifying his utter adoration towards your entire being.

He wants this moment to stay forever. The feeling of your cheeks pressed against his shoulder blades, the warmth radiating from your proximity, your soft snores accompanied by the sound of his running air conditioner. It was as if the two of you were the only ones left in this world, in his dimly lit room with no disturbance nor interference apart from the sound of faraway cars speeding the lonely city.

He wants it so bad.

Yet he knows that if he stays for even another second, he'll never let you go.

And he would rather go through this suffocating feeling a thousand times than to see the hurt on your face when you and Atsumu argues.

So ignoring the tightness in his chest, he picks you up in the most gentle way possible, carrying you to the athlete's room beside his and leaving with an evermore ache in his heart.

#haikyuu imagines #miya osamu #osamu x reader #haikyuu!!#miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fics #haikyuu angst #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #OSAMU FUCKERS COME GET YALLS FOOD <3 #remember fellas!!! we should never compare twins against each other!!!!!!#unless you're saying that osamu's the better twin 🥰🧚‍♀️💘

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1085

survey by -egocentricity-

On Myspace, what was in the last bulletin you posted? I haven’t been on Myspace for well over a decade; and even when I was there I didn’t have any friends added nor did I remember ever posting anything. Friendster and Multiply were a lot more popular.

When and where was the last time you took a picture of yourself? I took a selfie last Saturday in the dining room. It’s of me holding up the vape pen that Andi lent me for the meantime to show Angela, since she wanted to see what it looked like.

Have you ever been scolded by a mall cop? I remember being lightly chided once when I was like, 7 – I was leaning on a glass wall of a store in the mall, so the guard from that store nicely told me to get back up to be safe. Overall, I don’t think I’ve ever exhibited behavior in public that should’ve gotten me into trouble.

How often do you catch yourself daydreaming? Definitely not so much these days. I need to keep being preoccupied with work or other things to do/accomplish since my daydreaming always seems to end with thinking of scenarios that now upset me, like, idk, happier times with my ex. I’m tired of letting that happen and always being upset in the end, so I try to avoid getting lost in my thoughts anymore.

What's your favorite thing to think about as you're falling asleep? Idk about you but thinking in general keeps my mind up and racing lol, so when I’m trying to sleep I do my best to black out my mind so that I can doze off.

Is there anything that you want to do, but won't because you're too afraid? So I went to college with this girl - I believe she’s several batches older - who, as soon as she graduated, set out on a hitchhiking journey across the world. She’s been doing it for four years, and I believe she has finally made it to Europe after being stuck in Kazakhstan for a year due to Covid. She’s amazing and her spirit is so fucking beautiful. She has a Facebook page that I actively follow detailing her experiences; but as great as her journey has been, I don’t know and I highly doubt that I can set out for such a demanding, commitment-heavy challenge myself.

Who was the last person to yell at you? My mom is the only person who does that, but she hasn’t done so in a while.

Who gets up the earliest in your household? The latest? My dad, since his work starts the earliest. I will sometimes hear the car engine purring by 5:45 AM. The latest would be my sister, since she stays up the latest as well. I think she’s up by 8 AM, but she doesn’t show up outside of her bedroom until 10 or 11.

Have you ever had a pet walk across your keyboard while you were typing? No, and I am glad that’s the case because both of my dogs are too big and I fear that they could actually snap my laptop in half.

What political issues do you think deserve less attention/worry? No political issue deserves any less attention than others. Political issues always mean that someone is on the losing end and I don’t think it’s fair to compare and decide which ones can be put on the backseat.

Anyway, I do believe it’s not so much the issues that should be compared, but the people in politics who are given the spotlight. Here in the Philippines especially, a lot of celebrities want to have their own political careers (and usually win a seat) despite their zero experience and the media gobbles that shit up all the time, which is disgusting. Related to this, I hope the media makes a consicous effort to wipe Trump out of the headlines once he’s out of office.

Which political issues are you most passionate about? I dunno if I can measure that since I’m pretty vocal about a lot of things. What I can tell you is that in the political issues I have a say in, I always side with the marginalized and the oppressed. IPs, POC, LGBTQ+, immigrants, factory workers, jeepney drivers, contractualized employees, activists, student-activists...my heart has always been with them and their cause.

You're going to your favorite foreign country; what landmarks do you go see? I’m not sure if I have a favorite country, but I’m very picky about landmarks in general anyway. I’d rather experience the local life and eat at smaller local places and go to lesser-known beaches and stuff.

What is the longest amount of time that you have spent away from your home? A little longer than a week, and this was usually when I traveled abroad.

Did the last movie you watched have any emotional effect on you? Yeah, so much so that I was unable to finish it and I had to show up at dinner while still fresh from crying.

What motivates you to go to school? Not applicable to me anymore, but I suppose this can be easily rephrased to mean work. Honestly, my main motivation is the desire to have a perfect record at work lol. I’m super neurotic about this and I hate the idea of being absent or late. Money comes second; I rarely buy stuff for myself so I mostly don’t even realize the money coming in to my account every two weeks. Then third is the desire to be good at my job because I do want to get promoted and rack up more positions as I go along.

How much caffeine have you consumed in one day? The most cups of coffee I’ve had in one day is 3, and that was not an enjoyable experience ha. Right now, I’m on my first cup of coffee.

Are you more hyper and up-tight, or laid back and relaxed? I guess it depends on the situation. I can definitely exhibit either, but my behavior will vary based on the people I’m with and/or how comfortable I am in a certain situation.

When was the last time you heard someone talking about you? Around a week ago. My parents were having dinner separately and I heard my name being mentioned in a few sentences.

How did you pick out your last outfit? I wanted an outfit that was chill and easy to carry around, but would still make me look like I put some effort into picking it out.

When buying shoes, what do you look for in the product? I admittedly like brand names, so that’s the first thing I look at. I also like to keep up with what’s trending, so I look at items in a brand’s catalog that I see more and more people wearing. If it matches with my own personal style, then I keep an eye on it/purchase it altogether.

What happened to cause the last mess you made? The last and current mess I have on me is my work desk, which I’ve since abandoned in favor of my bed + portable desk as my new workspace. Idk, over the Christmas break I just ended up stacking up so much shit on the desk until it became a little too cluttered. I’ve cleaned it up here and there to make the space look neater, but there’s still a lot of stuff.

Are you embarrassed to bring people into your bedroom? Not embarrassed; I just find it unnecessary. My bedroom is too small to host guests and the only times I’ve let someone in there is when I had a significant other. I prefer people to stay in the living room.

When was the last children's birthday party you attended? It was my third cousin Isabella’s 7th birthday party at a Jollibee. Her family has been living in Australia for a while, but I guess they wanted to host a party with their Filipino family so they flew back here to stay for a few days. Because she is my third cousin and because she’s been living in Australia all her life, I don’t actually have any sort of relationship with her lmao but I still made an effort to greet her and stuff.

Are you good at reading other people's body language? Yes, to the point that it contributes to my overall anxiety.

If you're sick, do you go to school or do you stay home [usually]? I rarely get a fever so when I do it feels like actual death. For that reason, I usually have to skip the day and focus on feeling better.

Does chicken noodle soup really make you feel any better? I never had it whenever I’ve felt like crap in the past. I don’t really like soup though, so on a personal level I doubt it would have any effect on me.

What is one meal that you like to eat whilst sick? I don’t have a go-to meal because again, I rarely get sick.

Think of the last survey you filled out; did you enjoy it? Sure, it was easy to digest and it’s the kind that you can take over and over again.

Have you ever fed bread to ducks or geese? I’ve fed bread, but to fish in the sea; not ducks or geese since idk if we have either here other than in zoos. In our trip to Mactan in 2010, I remember how we were allowed to pay a certain small amount to get bread from the resort and proceed to feed the fish swimming around in the beach.

Is it hard to imagine you were ever as small as a 1-2 year old? Yeah, I definitely feel that way sometimes.

What set the tone for your mood today? Eh, I wouldn’t say I had an overall mood today, honestly. It was a normal day at work, maybe a little more uneventful than other days; and I was on top of my tasks so there wasn’t anything to dread or worry about. I was just concentrated on getting the day over with and wasn’t strongly attached to any emotion.

Have you ever set out to ruin someone else's day? I don’t think so.

Have you ever felt like the whole world was against you? It happens sometimes.

The name of the last video game you played? Mario Kart 8 probably? It’s been a while but it’s all I play if I do play a video game, so it’s a safe guess.

The name of the last board game that you played? We whipped out my old box of Trivial Pursuit last November when we didn’t have electricity and internet because of the typhoon.

What was the last thing that you told yourself? I don’t remember the last time I talked to myself, but like two minutes ago I was starting to feel sad so I silently reminded myself to think of positive things.

How many times a day do you wash your face? At least once, in the morning before I start work. I’ve learned that cleaning myself up, even if it’s just splashing water on my face, super helps if I want to start working in a good mood.

Do you remember your D.A.R.E. officer's name? I didn’t have one of those, anddd I’m sure we didn’t have that program here.

Someone throws hot coffee on you; how do you react? It’s taken me a whole goddamn week to finish this survey, lels. Anywho... I think out of instinct I would scream out in extreme agony first? And I’d probably spend the first immediate seconds to try and process what just happened. I don’t know if I would fight back because I’m pretty sure the burns would be hurting too badly for me to focus on revenge.

Is there a high school or college that you would rather be attending? I attended one school from kindergarten to college, and I can’t imagine having attended anywhere else. I had one dream university and I ended up attending it.

Have you ever lived in an apartment or duplex home? Yes, both. My parents lived in an apartment for a few months when I was a newborn. From ages 2-10 I lived in my childhood home, which is actually a duplex. The other house belongs to my grandpa’s late sister and her family.

Has anyone ever commented on your weight? Sure, but I care so little about my weight that they don’t really have an effect on me. The most common one I get is to “eat more.”

Where do you stand when it comes to sexual intercourse? Erm not really lmao. Just do it?? Idk. And just make sure consent is mutual and that you aren’t doing it out of pressure.

Name a show from the 90's that you miss? I guess ‘miss’ is the wrong word since I never watched it while it was ongoing, but I do love Friends. I’m excited to see what they have planned for the reunion episode.

Who provokes your sarcastic side the most? Bad co-workers, but luckily I haven’t had to pull that side of me in a while.

Have you ever thought about joining the military? Never.

When you were little, did you ever stare at disabled or "different" people? Being a kid, I probably did but never thought anything of it during those times. My mom certainly would��ve whooped my ass if I tried to comment anything mean or be a smartass.

Could the contents of your bedroom get you in any trouble? The one thing that would piss my mom off are my vape pens. I still have Gab-related stuff in my room that I’m too lazy to throw out, but I doubt I will get into trouble from those anymore because there has been no relationship to speak of in the last four months.

Do weather patterns sometimes have an effect on your health? Not on my health, but on my mood.

If it snows a lot where you live, do you experience cabin fever? It doesn’t, so idk what this would feel like.

When was the last time someone disapproved of something you were doing? Not entirely sure; this hasn’t happened in a while. Admittedly, as a people pleaser, I thrive on doing what people would want me to do lol.

How good are you at getting along with other people? On a scale of 1 to 10, probably a 9? I’m super nice to everyone and in the end it only really boils down to whether I have chemistry with them or not. If I fail to feel comfortable around someone I’m more likely to stay formal, but I do try to be lively and crack jokes with everyone as much as I can.

Do you consider yourself to be approachable? I want to be and I always try to come off as such, but my resting bitchface hurts that chance sometimes haha.

Do you know anyone that's a little emotionally unstable? Uhm, no one comes to mind.

Have you ever felt like you were going out of your mind? Yes.

Has anyone ever suggested that you might need "help"? I don’t recall being told this by anyone before. But with the way I broadcast my anxiety and sadness from time to time, I’m sure people have thought of it.

Do you take offense to things easily? Yeah you can say that. I’ve always been more sensitive than most.

How do you respond to cheesy pick-up lines? As with any pick-up line, I inwardly roll my eyes and move on.

Do you like to give people a taste of their own medicine? It’s such a waste of time and energy for the most part, so no. But if I feel petty, I have no problem doing it.

How was the service at the last restaurant you visited? It was...fine. Nothing to write home about. It was unlimited Korean barbecue and they actually had a system in place where they gave us a link to some internal website they kept, and we could simply order from there to minimize contact with the servers. I will say that I never got the kimchi jjigae I had ordered, but it was fine because I was full by then lmao.

Are you ever jealous of happy couples? No. I mean, I guess I’m reminded of my loneliness when I see couples in public, but I don’t get jealous or angry. I just shake it off and try to focus on myself.

Describe a thought that is sticking with you today? That I can’t wait for Friday.

Lately, who has spent the most time on your mind? I’ve been thinking more of my anxieties than certain people, tbh.

In a car: air conditioning, or roll the windows down? Air conditioning. Though sometimes it’s nice to have the windows down, especially when I’m driving within my village or up a mountain.

When was the last time you did anything to your playlist? I made an angst-themed playlist over the weekend.

Is there a new song or band you've discovered? Massive Attack. Hayley Williams did a super great cover of their song Teardrop, so I checked out the original version which I also ended up enjoying. Olivia Rodrigo too, who I found out is part Filipino yay!

Which teacher gives you the most homework? My Journalism Ethics professor will probably rank the highest on this list.

What type of personality do you find most annoying? Idk, condescending ones maybe? There are a million kinds of personalities lol, but yeah I hate those who make you feel dumb, and feel good about doing so.

How did you hear about Bzoink? If my memory serves me correctly, my 10 year old self just wanted empty about me surveys to answer. Bzoink was always one of the first websites to come out if I searched for surveys on Google.

How long did it take you to sign up for an account - if you have one? I don’t think I ever made an account on there since I was too shy to share my answers.

Are you punctual? Yes, very.

Have you ever howled at the full moon? No.

Have you ever seen yourself on camera? Like if I’ve seen photos of myself??? I would be very surprised if anyone can say they haven’t.

Do you give any consideration to what's said in your horoscope? No.

When was the last time you felt like you were being followed? This has never happened before, thankfully.

#survey #surveys

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rapeculturerealities · 5 years ago

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#cissexism #gender binary #coronovarius #COVID-19 #financial #parenting #marriage #sexism

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countryshitposts · 5 years ago

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I Won’t Cry For You

Germany suffers alone.

Trigger Warnings: emotional, mental, and physical abuse, child abuse, vomiting, eating disorders, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt

"Frankreich please, I swear I really didn't hear it!" Germany reasons with his wife, his soft voice with reason has turned to a hysterical and almost-wail, but instead of convincing the woman in front of him it only gives him an uncomfortable glance and a shift of position, but her gaze becomes stern and firm, making Germany squirm a little.

"Allemagne, you were the only one left here in the office", France says in her 'mature and adult' voice; Italy would always try mimick it to make Germany feel better but now he wants to throw something - preferably soft - at her to distract her and run from this confrontation. "Surely you know what happened to why the safe is open and our money just vanished into thin air?"

Germany sputters a little; he tries to think of a good excuse to try and put himself in an innocent light - like he is - and stop Frankreich from tearing him apart piece by piece.

(He remembers all the eyes on him as he and his twin sister was revealed in this large crowd of cheering Germans, cheering for Reich and complimenting his 'children' and how East will hold his hand tighter when they are regarded as his. Ost had almost spoken out of a party, to answer a woman Third Reich, that cruel man, was not their father but West arrives in no time and ushers her into her bedroom to calm her down.

He wonders how she is doing behind the wall, seeing dozens of houses and buildings runny and downed. He stares at them for a moment, before moving on.)

"What, Allemagne, have nothing to say?" He hears her snicker and he shivers, remembering the cold room in the middle of the night with a gun on his fingers and Third Reich's laughs echoing in this closed room with absolutely no lights whatsoever. "I was right, and still am; you and your father are nothing but spineless cowards, only trying to stir trouble away from you but it doesn't and it comes back to bite you in the ass. Useless."

Germany's eyes widen, but he only keeps his eyes on the floor, lips trembling, tears threatening to spill out and screaming when they're not unleashed with a torrent, polished black shoes scratching the smooth and shiny floors with the light showing his thin, pathetic self.

(He hates the way his appearance was like- how it was all thin and delicate with no skin whatsoever and he'd try to change it but in the end he gets more and more hurt.)

But he cannot deny it; Frankreich is right of him. She is right, he is useless, he is nothing but another miserable soul in earth that was put there just to be another life form that sucks the air out of earth and waste it for his own gain. It is what Reich says; a spectre of useless things being thrown to the pages of the books being burned in the town square while others revel.

When France leaves, the tears in his eyes drop like rain; in tiny, unnoticeable small drops like a drizzle, before becoming more numerous and backing sheer amount of size as it becomes a waterfall in his face.

West silently walks his way into the building, ignoring the thrums of people he passes and they ignore him too, an invisible spec of light to behold. He opens the door to the office, and, much contradictory to the silent spell he is creating. He sits besides Italy, who was talking to Greece and not paying the slightest bit attention to him. Then again, he has always been invisible until he speaks, and that it when everyone would yelp and remember and regard that he was, in fact, there.

He opens his documents to observe the requirements of the day, pen full of ink as he starts to scribble the daily memoirs for the day. He tunes out for a little, not listening to the dramatics of everyone, the little hand waves everyone would do every so often but he does not pay attention to the slightest bit of movement or word.

That is, until, France ruins this moment of serenity.

"Allemagne was the only person in the building when the alleged crime scene happened", France says, and West's handwriting turns ugly for a bit before going back to its default style, his hands still shaking. "So, technically, that makes him our number one suspect."

He stops writing, as he feels everyone's eyes upon him, and he looks down at the ground, hating the confrontation happening, remembering the audience's eyes on he and Ost as Reich parades them in town, looking proud and almighty.

(Reich had beckoned him to sit with he and his allies, once. Reich asks West many a question to the point he could not keep up with all of them and stumbles on his words; Reich had called him an underdeveloped child and sends him on his way, but the pang was still there.

It always is.)

"Frankreich, listen to me-"

"You can't just fabricate another alibi, West; sooner or later you're going to lie yourself into a corner and be done with it."

"Es tut mir leid Frankreich aber-", he falters; he questions to why he is speaking in German, despite the fact that everyone here despises him and one time France had hit him when he spoke in his tongue. He reasons it is due to his nervousness and anxiety, his whole body shaking but he tries not to show it.

(It was a complete reverse to what went on in Reich's household.)

The beads of sweat were basically hugging his skin, making it all warmer as he fans himself with his suit, silently asking how it had grown warmer in the course of minutes.

France laughs. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue le crètin?"

His heart stops; he remembers the insults that Reich had hurled in his way, remembering the hands and raising of fists and the cold and dark room in which he and that tyrant were always locked in as he tries not to spill any tears and minimise the shaking of his body, blonde hair covering his eyes.

He stands up, feeling his stomach plead to him for them to release the half-digested remains he had eaten in breakfast; scrapes of food he had found on his cupboards as he struggles. Germany throws a hard look at France, and, without waiting for her reaction to this, immediately runs out of the door, nausea in his veins.

He runs, his feet still light and nimble on the floors, making small squeaking sounds but wad not loud enough to alert anyone of a nearby person. He had practiced his light feet from sneaking out to meet Ost in her room, to taking food from Reich's plates and then for just not frightening or making anyone aware of his presence at all. His mouth was burning, bile covering his tongue like the millions of souls that Reich had murdered reaching out to him in his dreams.

(He had dreamt of them many times in the past, their screams of fury and horror, their protests and screams to make him confess that it was his fault, oh his fault. It is his fault that he had caused their deaths, and he tries to fight back and say he cannot do anything but they let out horrible and gruesome noises until he is on the floor, sobbing, covering his ears and confessing that yes, yes, he murdered them all.)

Germany opens the door to the bathroom, immediately running to the first stall - almost tripping - and hunches his back over the toilets, making retching sounds as his throat burns, bile creeping up his throat and seeing the remains of his breakfast in the toilet makes him vomit even more. He sobs a little, trying to compose himself, shaking even more after he unleashed a torrent of his remains. He shakes, as he stands, wiping the edges of his mouth with the back of his wrist, before looking at himself in the mirror.

He makes notes of his now messy blonde hair, sad green eyes showing how much he had cried this day, the messed up suit. Germany exits the bathroom, looking at the direction of the office where he had ran off to and the exit. He turns on his heel.

He has no motivation to go back to the meeting.

Germany desires for a drink, but he abstains from that thought; he cannot return to a meeting by simply being drunk, no, he would make an ass of himself even more, and will be the subject of ill-willed jokes for months. He would pass bars that offer the best of beers, but he shakes his head from that thought- he had also realised that he left his wallet in the coat rack at the front of the building, and he swears silently at the loss of it.

(At least he won't go wasting his fortune on little drinks, that is a plus.)

He finds a park bench he can sit in, looking absolutely miserable, not minding the others' staring and the looks they give of him, of him displaying the vibe of an employee who was fired from his job.

Germany would usually stare off into space if he cannot get the slightest bit of the revelries of being drunk- the way his eyes will dilate, his mind bring him into a different world just as bad as this one, and his limbs going slack as if he had fallen asleep in all of this. The voices in his mind would make him imagine gruesome thoughts, and he lets them control him like a puppet with strings, since that is what he is, right? Nothing more, nothing less. At least he would not deal with the consequences of a hangover in the morning, head pounding and stumbling as he makes his way downstairs and visit the pharmacy store to buy painkillers.

The guilt inside of him is easy to be played with, and he lets everyone take advantage to the softest of pleas to the most direct of them all.

He does not fight back as he gives them what he wants.

He stands from the bench, feeling himself drained from thinking of these thoughts. He throws a glance to the people at the park; elderly men and women feeding the ducks, young couples having their first dates in underneath the trees while the children are playing and their parents are setting up the picnic table in a relaxed manner.

Sometimes Germany wishes he can be as relaxed as them; not these contorted limbs that had always been aching and hurting and making him want to cut them off one by one until he is limbless.

Feeling utterly sick to his stomach, he leaves the park to go look for a way to calm himself down of the insult.

He breaths in- t'was just an insult; he has no right to get angry or sad or offended by it.

It just brings back some horrible memories.

But horrible memories are meant to be sidelined to make way for happier and joyous memories.

(It is bold enough to assume he even has one.)

And horrible memories shouldn't be brought up on the dinner table; that's just going to make everyone hate you more instead of pitying your sorry face.

So he keeps them bottled up; only using them as a leverage to get some exquisite excuses from his mind and sometimes his line of work, whenever it gets stressful for him to even function.

(He'd have days like these- days where he is plagued by the ultimate failure and outcome of his mind that he cannot even begin to process the fact that he has a life other than being sad and lonely and being mad for the fact that his father up and abandon them to snap and become the most evil man he has ever witnessed.)

West kicks a rather empty can back to where it had come from, an abandoned and moldy alley with no light coming from there. He stares at it for a little; how he had unknowingly kicked a priced vase from its foundation and how Reich had heard that shatter and immediately fumed once he sees West's frail figure trying to pick up the broken pieces of the vase but ends up cutting himself, pricking his fingers and drawing in an amount of blood. He had remembered the insults and words thrown onto his face as he tries not to cry, but he does and Reich even grows more furious, his hand raised to hit him.

But it never did, instead he was laughing and making fun of the way West's body quivers in fear and tells him he's only joking; no need to overreact.

But West knows that he will never hesitate to hit him even in his most simplest of mistakes.

He now desires for a smoke, but he has neither the cigarettes nor lighter to even light one- he swears once again, now really regretting not bringing his wallet with him. He wants to get blackout drunk by now.

He passes by a fine-dining restaurant, with everyone seeming like they are having a good time with their friends and family, and he pauses his feet, looking through the glass like it is an ideal dream- unreachable, yet it can exist if he can just try. He remembers his father, feeding he and Ost with the scrapes of food he finds in the streets, and he feels content with even the single particle enter his stomach. Then it is replaced by a memory of Reich giving him only a meal a day; if West ever dared step out of his boundaries he will never be given a meal that day and will be left to starve.

(West had objected to this the first few times, of course.

"Papa would let me eat despite the fact I broke a frame!", he had said in front of Reich, who was smoking a cigar, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"The only frame you'd be breaking is yours- except for the fact, it is already broken." Reich laughs at his joke as West's eyes immediately go downward.)

He jolts at the sudden memory in his mind - stop giving him painful memories you useless sack of membrane - stepping backwards and landing onto somebody's arms, and he looks up to find a concerned man and woman - perhaps husband and wife - looking down at him.

"Are you alright, young man?", the man holding him asks, and West steels himself and gets up from where he was being aided from; he did not need to be babied, that perspective of his life had come to a close once his father had turned.

(Germany must confess, but he wanted to be held, nurtured, cared for and loved in someone's arms once again, back to the times someone actually loved him before two people had the complete and utter gall to take them away and place him in a different surrounding where his sister hates him and everyone is against him.)

"I'm fine", Germany replies to the man, stepping back a little, "just a little... dazed."

"It's just... you've been walking 'round the place with quite a solemn look, like something has been on your mind."

Germany shakes his head and smiles, knowing full well it is plastic. "Really, I am fine- I just have a lot of things in my mind right now."

The man nods, "All right, off we go then. I do hope that you sort out whatever issues you are dealing with right now." With that, the couple walks off; leaving Germany in his thoughts once again and completely solemn.

He wonders if there are any vacant high-scaled buildings he can break in in the middle of the night.

Germany wakes up screaming after a nightmare. He gets up from the bed, unconsciously throwing his nightly glass of water to the walls, its shattered wails of glass desecrating his night - or day, he has lost time really - and screams even more when he remembers the horrible sounds of shattered glass to the screams of his people running rampant to Ost telling him they both need to jump out the window to escape the wrath of the enemies. West throws his sheets upon himself, utterly shaking from head-to-toe, trying to make himself relax, all his joints swollen and throat in pain after the high screams from his nightmare.

(He doesn't remember his dream; all he knows was that at first everything was white and then it faded to a crimson red of the blood his alleged victims had owned and the blue-stains signifying his tears.)

West gets up from his bed and unwraps himself from his blankets, looking around cautiously like the ghost of the past has been left behind to haunt him forever. Yet the ghost of the past is him; he is a living memory of what Reich had done, and he will be the one to blame for the next century or so.

(Sometimes he'd jump back from a reflection of him- scared at how he looks so much like his father to the point it is rather jarring.)

West was not fond of handling steak or kitchen knives at three in the morning, with his skin full of thin lines are tingling underneath his long sleeves, thirsting for the sharp metal to bury deep into his skin but he denies them with all his might despite the fact he eyes it- eyes the way it shines underneath the kitchen's ceiling light, calling him, tempting him to come have a taste of what the knife can do.

He sighs a little before ultimately giving up at making himself a snack at three, knowing full well he could not trust himself with a knife. Or any sharp object in general.

He decides not to eat anything at all, remembering the way he vomited out contents of his stomach at a single mention of the awful and horrible things Reich had done. Of course, has not eaten anything since yesterday, preferring having an empty stomach retching over the toilet trying to spill its contents into the bowl than a full one- his appetite would immediately become lost.

So Germany blankly opens the television and spends the rest of his free time before going back to his work place of pure torture. Not like he'd find a good movie or show to watch; he sincerely thinks that real life was much more entertaining than a measly motion picture with scripted words and actions and romance to top it all off.

(The way he sees it, he feels as if the romance of all the complicated movies and series he has seen are rushed; a handsome, dashing man and a damsel in distress falling in love, kissing passionately at the very end to show all that they are a couple, they are together, and everyone will be happy of their love. All the while, Germany would clench at his fists hard and crush the utter soul of what he is holding.

He had love. He had love a long time ago, before it came crashing down like tidal waves pinning him down to the deep blue sea and forever rendering him without his sister and father to guide him endlessly.)

He lets himself melt into the suffocating couch, sighing a little from how soft it feels on his back, contradictory to the fact that he can still feel the bruises Reich had caused on it, still throbbing with pain every time he presses them onto a hard surface. (Which is why his chairs on every meeting is stacked with pillows; he knows he cannot have his back mangled from both work and a painful past.)

He then stiffens when he hears a gunshot- then it starts to multiply a lot in his ears, amplifying it to the sounds of many a soldier screaming and ordering in German, then a shot towards he himself, a scared and trembling boy who tries his damnedest to lift the heavy armed weapon on his arms as he, with quivering feet, try catching up with the older men who were completely ignoring him to save their own asses.

"Bitte... lass mich alles vergessen." He silently prays to no one in particular; he has never had believed in a single faith after his childhood came crashing down to reveal the outside world in the most sickening and twisting of ways, twisting his mind until he cannot make up what is real and what is not anymore. "Bitte... bitte..."

His nerves start to rack as all of his senses were now on fire, trying to claw their way into his skull and he grits his teeth, opening and then closing his eyes again when he sees that everything around him is as dark as the death of the night, no stars nor light was there to guide him. He tries to stand, but his legs had turned as soft as jelly, and he stumbles with a hard thud- but it doesn't hurt him, only giving him a slight amplifying when his heart starts to beat, faster and racing like they were trying to catch up with his nerves settling into him. He tries to feel his hands, but they were numb, like they were settled deep into a blockade of ice where they stayed for an hour or two before completely being submerged frozen. His chest was heaving, pounding outwards like there was a beast inside him waiting to be let out so they can murder him. He can feel the wetness of his cheeks, though, and opens his mouth to let out a muffled sob but nothing comes out (if something did come out he'd choke it back down).

He tries to calm himself down - which was now a daily occurrence - because he knows no one will acknowledge him, no one will care that he's having panic attacks in three in the morning and trying to control himself from taking the knife and giving himself a variety of cuts and bruises along his skin.

No one will care.

And that's a fact he has to live with.

"You have the nerve to show your face here again?" Germany's green eyes slither towards the towering figure that was Frankreich, always high and mighty, always proud, and always antagonizing him no matter what he has to do. His eyes go back to the documents he was writing.

"I work here, Frankreich", he says softly but can still be heard by everyone in the room, "please leave me be."

He hears the woman laugh, her laugh just as warm and thick with honey as her voice. "Ah, so the la mauviette learns how to talk back to his higher-ups, hm?"

He ignores her, despite the fact he knows she doesn't have an inclination towards being ignored, loving the attention, loving the spotlight that may sometimes be meant to others.

(One time he sees Italy and France arguing about something he cannot hear, except for the fact that France was complaining about how she 'didn't have enough screen time' and Italy looking genuinely apologetic.)

"Rèponds-moi- I do not want to be ignored."

The sounds of scribbling paper fills the room, the entire office becoming eerily quiet for Germany's taste, and he wonders if France did have a specific touch on the building to let everyone know that drama was happening.

"RÈPONDS-MOI, SALE ALLEMAND!" Her shriek, which is an octave higher than her voice, makes West's handwriting sloppier as he jumps from his seat with his hair a mess from the jolt. His shaken eyes turn back to France, jaw locked, eyes murderous and bloodshot, her fingers on his desk.

(No, this did not bring him bad memories of Reich, absolutely not.)

"Ah, so I can get your attention from shouting", France says, a tiny smirk dancing across her face, a malicious intent in her eyes. "What? Scared I'll come to your room and murder you in cold blood?"

I am not afraid of murder, Germany wants to say but bites his tongue, knowing he'd provoke France even further than he did before.

"You are", she says with a small chuckle as she retracts her fingers from his table slowly, like she was going to raise it and scratch his face with her nails. "I think I know what else will frighten you."

She raises her hand, clenched to a fist, and Germany gasps; all of a sudden the warm air around the room has been shattered, replaced by the familiar chill he has always felt whenever he was around, whenever his shadow lurks in the darkness, watching, eyeing him and whenever he shows up in his delusions that are called dreams in his slumber. And he remembers those tainted red eyes of madness, showing no remorse as he strikes East after she had misbehaved his order, and then him, cowering in fear underneath the staircases but he receives a blow, horrible and it repeats and repeats, the blows becoming more and more painful as pain blossoms into his body while he apologizes, knowing full well Reich would never listen.

"ES TUT MIR LEID!" He did not know when he had stumbled into the ground, out of his chair, into the cold and hard floors, sweating, chest heaving and breath quickening, seeing the shadow of the ruthless dictator he had come to despise all his life, and not France. "Vergib mir! Bitte! Hit me but not her!" He starts to choke and sob, a river of tears running down his cheeks, gritting his teeth.

(Was he aware that he was foolishly breaking his own walls in front of people who dislike him? Perhaps, or he is hallucinating he was in his room once again talking to a shadow of that man.)

He screams when he feels someone's hand on his shoulder, and scrambles back like a rat against all human touches and wanting to get away from them. "GET AWAY! DU BIST NICHT VATER! Ich will meinen Vater! WO IST ER!" His eyes sesrch frantically at the sea of faces, trying to decipher who was the kind and caring father that had raised him over the years with his kind smile and lively attitude, and breaks down into sobs, crawling into a fetal position when he cannot find him.

(France hears Allemagne repeat Weimar and Ost's names, crying his heart out as he puts his face into his hands, his fingers digging into his skin. All the while, she did not know what had triggered this, and she looks at her fist with a confused look.)

The whole room is now full of nerve-racking sobs, when the man in front of them reverts back to a young boy that wants his family back.

Austria hears impatient knocks on his door, and he sighs, sitting up from where he was sitting and pinching the bridge of his nose, silently deciding whether to abandon his music composition briefly or answer the door. He decides to come downstairs, in his bathrobe and hurries down towards the door, where in which the troublesome knocks were resonating.

"Darf ich Ihnen helfen?", he asks calmly, until he fully registers who was at his doorstep-

France looks at him awkwardly, feet shifting from left to right and hands on her back. "Puis-je te demander quelque chose?"

France takes a sip of her cup of tea which Austria had brewed, placing it on the tray on the small coffee table as she puts her hands on her lap daintily.

(Austria knows that her dainty and fragile features mask the she-wolf of a woman that she is; that her innocent looks and pure smiles can mean something else and everyone who has fallen under her spell has suffered a terrible fate, a poisonous apple.)

"Third Reich", Austria spits his name out of his mouth, like a forbidden curse. "You are aware of the fact Weimar turned into him, correct?"

France rolls her eyes, "Of course I know. I wasn't born yesterday you know."

"Well, you see, the twins are quite attached to their father; something you can never relate to." He flicks his finger, a tiny snap as his eyes carefully flickers to a portrait of Liechtenstein. "When they realized their father was replaced by a terrible and god-awful man, oh, were they devastated."

"Well, from the way Allemagne was crying of his father today I can see it." France mentally slaps herself after she lets the remark slip out of her mouth, and now Austria was glaring at her, holding his cup of tea.

He sighs, "Well, I cannot critique you; I made no help to both of them, with the delusion of still being in power." He sighs a little, guilt lingering in his voice as he fixes his glasses. "Why do you need my help again?"

France's leg starts to bounce, "Because, Austria, I want to know why Allemagne overreacted to me almost hitting him yesterday."

Austria's eyes give off another slight irritation, as if not wanting to talk about how everything all went wrong yesterday.

(He was, of course, there, obviously- he had just gotten back from the coffee room only to see West on the floors with everyone standing like a deer in the headlights and France nowhere to be seen. He and Schweiz had to soothe Germany out of his fetal position and support him while walking. The nerve-wracking sobs remind Austria of Confederation and he was close to sobbing as well.)

"If you were such a 'smart' woman as you put it", Austria puts finger quotations on the word 'smart', much to France's dismay, "then you would know how much harshness Reich treated those twins of Weimar."

France leans uncomfortably into her chair, looking at the steam rising from her cup of tea like it was a phantom offering her something else in the cup, a woman giving her a thousand knowledge in one life time. She sighs, "Look, I know me and the others were at fault for his demise-"

"It's not entirely your fault too", Austria cuts in, "it is partially also Weimar's for accepting the ghost in his head telling him of promises so he can take what was his."

"Alright, back to the topic", France swivels, "I've noticed something peculiar about Germany. About the way he's always really silent that when he speaks everyone just jumps because they're unaware he was in the same room as them; the way he jumps when someone makes a loud noise; the way he asks people if this seat or place is taken despite the fact that he actually is seated there; and just yesterday, when I tried to hit him he just spent half an hour on the floors, grovelling, until you helped him up."

Austria thinks for a moment, lips pursed as if contemplating how this situation had gone to a topsy-turvy. "Have you ever considered that this net behavior of West can stem from years of hurt and pain?"

France blinks, "I thought he was just anxious and shy-"

"You thought wrong, Frankreich", Austria says, glowering a little. "You'll always assume even the most basic of things. I've seen West being hit and belittled by Reich, while that disgusting man had enjoyed his pain and misery." His face shows more regret once again. "But what do I know? I turned a blind eye on them all. The next thing I knew Reich was dead in his office, West is in the Allies' custody, and East is now with the Soviet Union."

France sighs a little, "Listen, I've done something horrible to Allemagne, that I can tell; and I want to... help him."

Austria scoffs, gripping the handle of his cup hard. "Help? I think you've done your part on helping the poor boy. You think hitting him will make you feel satisfied at the fact you made a boy grovel at your feet? That is not helping; you are doing the same thing Reich did."

"And what did Reich do?"

The man in front of her chuckles, like he has seen a hilarious move right in front of him. "Isn't it obvious? He hits, starves, and misuses the twins to the point they are broken beyond belief."

"I... I didn't know that bastard would do that to his own children!" France tries to find some evidence so she can prove herself justifiable of why she had tried to hit West in the first place. Her mind gives her a conscience instead of a reliable excuse though- she wanted to hit West to see how much his mind will topple over and break him like the fragile glass in abandoned buildings and even in her own home in which she drunkenly throws all of her glasses of wine into the walls.

Österreich glares at her with a magnitude of a thousand suns looking to strike her down. "Now you know, and now... I do not know. If you would've given the boy a chance, then he would not be scarred by days past. He would not wallow in guilt on what has become in his life and how he should make it up to every single one of you. I can only be here for him for a short while before he goes back to his home in a pitying manner, before he goed nd play with that razor blade-"

France's heart stops for a second as she jolts up from where she was sitting. "Wait... Allemagne hurts himself?"

The sadness in Austria's eyes increase as he looks back at the cup in his hands. "He does; I tried so much to get him out of those manners but he would not listen- he keeps telling me he will kill himself when the timing is right, when the sea meets the sky."

France feels more and more feelings of guilt churn inside of her; who is she to mock the German family when even she was just as terrible as they are? And she remembers the awful things she has told about West and his sister and father, even right in front of him or in earshot like she has no care for his feelings and treating him as a person even lower than she.

She stands, "Thank you for the small talk, Austria, but now I have to go."

He gives her a small wave of farewell as she closes the door behind her, cup of tea already cold.

The air at the roof of the building was quite cold and chilly- like the cold floors that Reich would press West upon or the even harsher winters in which he is thrown outside after pushing Reich's buttons too much so now he has to sleep in front of the door he has been kicked out of, with thin clothes and freezing to death as he tries to plead with Reich to take him home.

(He'd cry and weep as he shakes with the shattering snowflakes as the tears on his face freeze up as his body becomes frozen and he crawls into a sitting position to conceal the warmth that still resonates within him.

Reich would only open the door when he is unconscious and would take him in like the loving father figure he is, wrapping him up in blankets and hiring the best doctors to help heal him. When West came to, he would shout at Reich but he'd simply laugh and say he has saved his life from the hazardous cold of the winter season.)

He takes the burnt out cigarette that has been stuck on his mouth for long as he drops it to the ground and steps on it as he grows closer, tantalizingly closer to the edge. The wind becomes colder and stronger, screaming at him to back away unless he deserves the terrible fate he's always did and steps on the edge to see what lies beyond the top of the very building.

West's eyes scan the neighbouring buildings, full of blinkering yellow lights that show people going on about their mundane but impacting lives, at how, in introspection, these lives are not worthwhile in the history books and that only the people living their lives fully know what has happened; not even their closest relatives will know of their deepest secrets and dreams and fears, only the speck of imagination that came out of their mouth is the only knowledge their closest companions will absorb of. He looks down at the speeding cars, wondering if he falls down from this great height and be flattened by the ashphalt road, will the cars zooming in such a high or moderate speed stop when they see some large thing fall from the sky in heaven's grace? Or would they simply ignore and accidentally run over his mangled corpse?

His polished dark shoe is camouflaged with the dark sky, as he taps to create a small cadence before his untimely - but expected - death. He takes a deep breath - his last - closing his eyes and to calm his beating heart, which was protruding from his chest and wishing to escape.

Not to worry, he tells his beating heart, you will be free after I fall off this building.

West takes a cautionary step outside the edge of the building, his shoe touching thin air, trying to see if it can carry him away from oblivion, away from its taste, trying hard to seduce him into the dark side, lips tainted with past lovers. He exhales, letting out all his stress, trauma, hate and sadness that has been plaguing him like a sickness in all the years after Reich had been created (his father was a fool).

So he leans- leans into the very edge, waiting for his inevitable death to sweep him into the afterlife, where he belongs.

A hand holding on his wrist stops him, and now he is frozen on the edge, like the sculptures of a fountain he has seen numerous times before. And then he is pulled back, pulled back to the bittersweet tastes of imminent death, his eyes looking back down to the ground waiting patiently for him, trying to comprehend that a body would not drop to their hard bed that easily.

Instead of fighting, he feels numb; like the only safe way to close the curtains of his life is down. He cannot feel his hands, like he had just inhaled another fresh bag of cocaine and spread it all over his systems like a fresh batch of flour had just rubbed off into him. West then feels himself coming to his senses, as he is brought back to the world of living he hated and will always hate and into warm arms that scoops him up like a swan.

"Allemagne, can you hear me?" The voice was sweet, pure but with the touch of concern in it, like she cares, oh she cares at how far West has fallen down. Her hands finds West's cheeks, warm with tears he did not know had appeared on his face during his time being saved by the light that has always hated him ever since he was born. "S'il te plait dis quelque chose, Allemagne."

West stares up at the night sky, stars blinking and twinkling all above him like they will shower him with gifts, gifts that will never make sense in a lifetime. His eyes search the skies, to find the constellations moving to form his sister, his dear sister that had pushed him away when they had reunified, smiling down at him just like in the old days, when spring felt warm in his hands as it devours the icy winters, touching the frozen wasteland that had become second nature. The constellations move again to form his father, his dear and loving father he had loved from the beginning to the end of his life, anger suddenly dissipating when he remembers the real reason why he became desperate, clutching at short straws before succumbing to the deepest and darkest desires of his mind, working like a needle for him to grapple at and sew his own life story.

(He reminisces about the small but comfortable apartment they had once lived; he was always never alone, he was always never sad nor angry, especially when it was with their father and Ost, so happy and so peaceful, until like a picture they were torn apart by the great grand scheme of things.)

And he sees her, burning like a supernova under the stars, the sun expanding and expanding and expanding until it wholly occupies the space where all life exists, her troubled face looking down at him with such intensity that he could not bear look at her eyes of hurt, knowing he's disappointed her, over and over again.

Frankreich's hands feel like the sun underneath his tear-covered cheeks, ultimately caressing him and then taking him by her arms, like they were the best of friends, the worst of enemies, dying in battle. "Je suis vraiment désolé." There she goes again, cradling him like a small and vulnerable infant unready for the world to take them out, but he enjoys it, he enjoys her embrace, he enjoys everything about this feeling, as if he had not felt it in a long time.

So he stays.

Es tut mir leid Frankreich aber- i'm sorry France but

Bitte ... lass mich alles vergessen- please, let me forget everything

Rèponds-moi- answer me

Vergib me- forgive me

Du bist nicht vater- you are not my father

Ich will meinen vater, wo ist er- i want my father, where is he

Darf ich Ihnen helfen?- may i help you

puis-je te demander quelque chose- can i ask you something

S'il te plait dis quelque chose- please say something

Je suis vraiment désolé- i'm so sorry

#mine #countryhumans #writing #GerFra #countryhumans germany #countryhumans france #countryhumans austria #countryhumans weimar republic #countryhumans east germany #tw: suicide attempt #tw: child abuse #tw: emotional trauma #tw: abuse

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slytherin-boys · 5 years ago

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Cute headcanons about my boi Severus when he was little.

His mom taugh him how to sew, so he sew his own clothes with fabric he finds in dumpsters. He once made lily a dress.

He likes to pick flowers and give them out to homeless people.

Eventually he learned how to make flower crowns.

He feeds stray animals with lily's help.

He once made petunia a dress but never gave it to her.

He'd stay up late on Christmas to see santa claus.

He learned how to cook by watching & helping lily's mom cook.

He and lily took turns trying on her parents clothing.

Sev made flower crowns for lily's family, he made sure petunia's was perfect cause he wanted to try and get along with her for lily.

He spends his time wondering around stores and talking to some of the employees.

Most stores give him his own nametag so people know his name.

He wears a long coat jaket that lily's dad gave him.

He likes to braid people's hair.

Once at hogwarts he'd play with malfoy's hair whenever he got nervous.

He'd sneak into malfoy's room and climb into his bed when he gets nightmares.

Narcissa took a picture and has it framed.

Sev likes to talk to narcissa or andromeda about his day.

He draws all the things or people that make him happy each day.

He once drew Hagrid and showed it to him.

He was very confused and worried as to why hagrid started crying.

He shows all the drawings to Lucius.

Lucius has all the drawings sev ever made hidden away to keep them safe.

He'd follow lucius around the manor during social gatherings.

Sev would wonder into Abraxas's study and sit with him.

Abraxas doesn't mind so long as he's quiet and doesn't cause trouble.

He doesn't let Abraxas drink alcohol nor does he let Lucius.

They both tried to drink in secret but sev can smell it on their breathes and he'll start to cry.

Eventually alcohol was banned in the Malfoy household until Severus was older.

He'd steal their clothes, mainly their shirts, to make his own up until they took him shopping.

They lost him several times cause sev kept getting distracted by things and wonders off.

Abraxas had to carry him after losing him for the 5th time that day.

Lucius took a picture and keeps it safe in his studies.

Sev yells at them when they yell at dobby.

He and Lily spend the summers together.

Sev spends winters at Malfoy manner.

He judges narcissa, andromeda, and bellatrix's dresses that they choose to wear for social events.

He claims the color doesn't match them nor does the style.

He does this too during the events and Lucius has to keep him by his side so he doesn't say anything that'll get him hurt.

He likes to drag him outside to watch the stars.

Sev first went into the forbidden forest cause he saw a few flowers that he thought andromeda would enjoy.

Abraxas was later contacted by the school and he later grounded Severus for it and then grounded lucius for not keeping a better eye on his brother.

Sev couldn't stop smiling cause albus said he was calling his father and it was Abraxas who showed up, his smile only grew when abraxas called told lucius he was his brother.

He tells Narcissa embarrassing things about lucius.

He tells them to lily as well and she uses it to blackmail lucius into letting her enter the slytherin common room and to keep her safe when she's in there.

He and lily spend their times reading a book or playing wizard chess.

Neither of them win but they have fun.

Sev has made flower crowns for most of the other slytherins.

Lucius has threatened to kill whoever refused the flower crown or destroyed it.

Sev practically forces any slytherin to read to him by pretending to cry when they first say no.

He practically gets them to buy him all sorts of sweets so that he can share with Lily when she visits.

He likes to watch madam pomfrey work, sometimes he'll help out.

He also helps out in the library and sits with madam pince.

She reads to him whenever she has time.

He and lily sneak into the kitchen to bake.

They've caused several fires.

They are banned from the kitchen.

They go to Hagrid and he's more than happy to assist them in baking whatever it is they want.

Sev made Hagrid a flower crown.

Hagrid wears it whenever he and Lily visit.

The Malfoy manor is filled with injured animals Sev and Lily find.

Abraxas doesn't like having them around but he can't say no to Severus.

#severus snape prince #half blood #half blood prince #young slytherins #slytherins #hp au #hp headcanon #hp #hp text post #shit post #random

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maatryoshkaa · 6 years ago

Text

Stray Kids as Roommates | Thread

some roommates-to-lovers fluff coming at you!

Bang Chan

You guys are the pair that n e v e r sleep

Turned his room into a home studio; probably would have thrown out his bed and turned his room into an office if you hadn’t stopped him

You often fall asleep to the sound of his humming and tracks muffled through your bedroom wall

You see the most of him during exam season, while pulling all nighters

He’s always in the kitchen making his 14th cup of coffee when you get up to go to the bathroom at 3 am

Lots of deep, meaningful conversations over late night snacks

You swear you’ve heard him talking to his Goku figurines during the unearthly hours of the morning

You’re the only one Chan lets ruffle his fluffy dandelion bedhead in the morning

Takes care of you more than he takes care of himself

Always asks you how your day went when you get home and insists on listening even when he’s been awake for over 48 hours

Always there to give you advice and comfort you when you’re feeling down! A living breathing mental health hotline

Walked into your room when you were studying for finals at 2am

You were in your pajamas, hair a mess and eyes barely open

And that was when Bang Chan decided he was in love with you

Ah, the couple with matching bags under their eyes.

☽ Read the rest of the boys under this cut!

Woojin

Fried chicken takeout for dinner is a big Friday night thing

Kind of like a big moral support teddy bear, his hugs are the greatest

You steal half his closet in the winter because his hoodies are the comfiest

Literally the dad of your household

Checks up on your health and how you’re doing every now and then

Pushes you to finish your work and makes sure you’re not procrastinating

Honestly, your grades are soaring thanks to him

Helps you with homework

Your parents love him

Always saves and brings you good things to eat

Tucks you in at night when you can’t sleep nyahh i’m soft

And a couple times, when you wake up shaking from nightmares, homesickness or stress, he’s always there to comfort you, lying there until you fall asleep again.

“Woojin?”

“Yeah? Shh, don’t worry, I’m here.”

You always sit outside the bathroom and listen to him sing in the shower

Until he suddenly opened the door in nothing but a towel and you couldn’t face him for weeks

He thought your furiously blushing face was the cutest thing he’d ever seen and teased you about it,

Until you finally kissed him to make him shut up

Hint: it worked wonders.

Minho

Saturday night dance battles are a t h i n g

Doesn’t do any chores unless he notices you’re feeling tired

Tried to cook once and probably accidentally gave the both of you food poisoning

Remember when he cooked rice cakes in the unwashed metal pan I’m--

Likes you a lot more than he lets on

Like, you’d mention craving a certain food or not having saved up enough money for something, and voila, the next day it’d be sitting on the kitchen table.

“What? It was on sale, just lying around. Don’t think too much of it.”

Clowns you for every little thing, but the moment he hears someone make fun of you, it’s on sight

Bicker like an old married couple, lots of back and forth catfights

Evenings falling asleep on the sofa, both tipsy and giggling while his two cats snuggle up around you

Arguing over who the cats love more

Endless crackhead antics; the neighbours probably hate you

Insists on walking his cats around the apartment complex, when in reality he just wants to spend more time with you

Everyone already knows you’re basically dating but you’re both too stubborn to admit it

Probably hooked up once or twice, or more than once or twice ;)

Changbin

Honestly when you first got him as your roommate, you were terrified

Because this 5’6 ball of dark is intimidating as frick

Realized how soft he really was when he whipped out his Munchlax plushie

Petty arguments with him are impossible because he speaks so fast

So you just let him win

Makes you kill the spider

Always manages to convince you to watch horror movies at 1 am

Probably as an excuse to have you in his arms if you get scared ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) he thinks he’s slick

Perfected the “stretch and put his arm around your shoulder” move

Made a special playlist for everything you do together: good vibes for breakfast, upbeat jams when doing the chores together, chill indie mixes for cozy evenings in doing work

Insists on helping you around the house

Bringing you fresh ice coffee, cookies, and convenience store hauls whenever he gets off work

“B-but the Peperos were on a buy one get one free sale 👉👈”

Suggests playing the pocky/pepero kiss game to which you smack him in response

But you end up giving him a quick peck anyways, and he freezes, stunned

You run off, face red, Changbin chasing after to you with a wicked grin

“What was that? Is that buy one get one, too, because I want another oneeee!”

Hyunjin

The chillest roommate, but when he gets hyper oh m y

I ain’t gettin no sleep cos of y’all, y’all not gettin sleep cos of me

You have to wake him on the weekends because this boy would sleep until the evening

You want to let him rest, though, since he’s always out and working so late ;(

Secretly takes so many candid, soft pictures of you and saves them as his wallpaper

Loves to take you shopping and dress the both of you in matching #OOTDs

Hypes you the heck up

“She’s sister snatched today! Skin glowing, outfit on point -- oh look at that SMILE! Do the thing again -- oh my gosh. You’re killing it, y/n!”

Gives you fashion advice and beauty tips, although you keep bugging him for his skincare routine cuz damn

Probably share skincare products

Always do face masks together but fail at keeping them on because the two of you keep laughing at the stupidest things

Sometimes he has to put you to bed when he comes home late, and you’ve fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to get back

Can’t resist kissing your forehead sometimes when tucking you in

At moments like these, he finds himself wishing for a sliver of a chance that you might feel the same way he has

He’s honestly so damn obvious though, getting you matching “roommate” things when he goes out -- plushies that remind him of you, little snacks when you’re down, cute accessories, you name it

This boy also forgets that he talks in his sleep -- and is very hard to wake up

So one morning, you’re leaning over his bed, about to shake him awake, and hear him mumble

“y/n, y/n, y/n...i like you sooo much...what do i do?”

You nearly choke on your toast, effectively waking the boy up, and he stares at you, half-awake and mortified.

“What? Did I--did I say something in my sleep?”

The smug, blushing smile spreading over your face is enough to send him diving back under the covers as you begin to tease him

Jisung

So comfortable to be around, he’s basically your best friend from day 1

Except for the fact that he’s so. Damn. LOUD

Noise complaints filed from the neighbours, the landlord, the neighbour’s dog, you name it

Another soft bean whose bedhead you love to ruffle

I mean have you seen My Pace dance practice? That boys mane has a mind of its own--

Brings you lots of cakes and pastries from cute bakeries when you’re stressed

A responsible boi™ ! always helps you out around the house.

Grocery shopping together? What a concept

Except he piles the cart with chips and snacks when he thinks you’re not looking

Lots of late nights binging movies on Netflix

This boy loves moves

But he loves them even more when he watches them with you ;D

Afterwards, you’re both too lazy and comfortable to move, so you end up falling asleep cuddled up against each other

Always runs away and hides when you ask to see his songs

You find scraps of hastily scribbled lyrics and ideas strewn around the house all the time

Little phrases like “i think i love you” and “my heart beats impossibly fast when i’m with you”

So you manage to collect enough to bring them to him and tease him about it

Jisung gets all quiet, though, instead of whining like he usually does, and you quickly apologise, thinking you’ve gone too far

You reassure him his writing is amazing

“It’s not that.”

He finally looks you in the eye, the intensity of his stare making your heart stop for a moment.

“They’re about you.”

Oh, how the turn tables.

Felix

i hate him sm, blease

Why did you even agree to room with him

Rooming with Felix is a one way trip to insanity -- we going ✈️✈️ acid trip

You can hear him yelling yeets and yeehaws when he plays Fortnite while you do your homework, and you swear you’re t h i s close to putting his head straight through his screen

Video game marathons when you’re not busy though, you have to admit, are the bomb

Probably convinced you to make TikToks with him

Makes you do all the viral challenges, including the couple trends

Honestly the most fun guy to be around ever

Your daily dose of memes and sugar

Knows when to be down to earth and serious, though!

Gives the best massages when you’re overworked and runs you a bath, promptly ordering your favourite takeout and making sure to feed you

Building pillow forts together on rainy days and snow days, and having sleepovers!

Binging vine compilations together during said sleepovers

Sending each other memes at 1 am when you’re both simultaneously procrastinating on homework

You basically became a couple without really going through the confession stage; it just sort of happened

“Hey, ‘lix?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I think I kinda like you.”

A sideways smirk. “Well, yeah, you’ve dealt with me for this long.”

The best-friends couple: soulmates, and, more importantly, partners in crime vine

Seungmin

Sweetest roommate!! Honestly you feel bad for even asking him to do chores

Has a bit of an evil side, though

One second he’s flashing you an angelic smile, the next he’s roasting you for your selfie skills on your recent Instagram post

You make one (1) complaint about the living room being messy, next thing you know you wake up and it’s spick and span

Cooks?? Really hecking well?

Sometimes you wonder if you signed up for a roommate or a housekeeper

Your apartment is so clean

Taking evening strolls together after dinner and taking pictures at the park

Walks you to and from work/school like a little puppy, and gets anxious if you’re late coming home

Doesn’t know how to show how much he cares about you and gets frustrated with himself

So he indulges in the little things, like packing you cute little lunches with sticky notes on the containers

Little notes around the house on days he stays out working late, like make sure you’re eating! And don’t sleep too late!

Honestly, you fell for him the moment he first smiled at you

Once, he was working overtime nonstop, and you didn’t get to see him for over two weeks

When he finally came home on time, you couldn’t help tackling him in a big bear hug

After he got over his initial heartbeat racing a thousand miles per hour, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, hugging you back tightly

No words were needed, you missed each other’s presence so much, it seemed to say itself

I love you, and I missed you.

Jeongin

Is this boy even old enough to rent out a room? He is babie

So incredibly shy when he first meets you, but warms up quickly

Owns animal-printed pajamas and onesies

You both had a mini celebration when he got his braces off, complete with banana milk and animal crackers

You are both babie

An early bird, always wakes up before you

You wake up to him shaking you and laughing at your scrunched up face

“Wake uuppp, y/n, you’re going to be so late!”

“Ergghhhh.”

Can’t clean to save his life; always ends up breaking something or knocking things over

So he’s in charge of doing the laundry

Had a fat mental breakdown when he realised that meant your underwear

Your apartment is littered with figurines and plushies that both of you collect and don’t have the heart to clean out

“Jeongin, where are y----” you stop. “Why are you lying face down on the ground?”

“...we’re out of banana milk.”

Another hidden evil bean who clowns you for everything you do once he warms up to you

Baby boy!Jeongin switches to Savage!Jeongin in a matter of seconds

Also makes you kill the spider

Helps you cook, but only if you tell him how to do everything or he’ll freak out

Putting mukbang channels on the TV while eating together and watching in comfortable silence

Loves watching you eat and has a million derpy pictures of you saved on his phone

Poor boy has no idea how to tell you he’s falling head over heels with you

Accidentally blurts out “I like you” during a screaming contest

Lots, I mean LOTS of awkward laughing as Jeongin feels his face heat up, watching yours do the same

The longest moment passes, and Jeongin is getting ready to disassociate when you’re finally able to open your mouth and scream back,

“I like you, too!”

Baby boy found his soulmate.

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darquedeath4444 · 5 years ago

Text

Price (Chapter 1)

My Hero Academia

Pairing: Ochako-centric (For now)

Summary:

In a crueller world, Ochako realizes that hoping will never get her anywhere. She willingly takes her first step into villainy and is unknowingly led the rest of the way in by a man who buys her loyalty. Years too late she realizes the truth, and she can only hope that if she cannot be a hero in all senses of the word, maybe she can at least be one for those she cares for.

Chapter ONE

Uraraka Ochako grows up wanting to be a hero.

She is born to two loving, doting parents who are honestly the best parents anyone can ask for. They might be on the poor side financially, but Ochako finds she does not mind, not when they are there to greet her in the morning with wide smiles on their faces and tuck her into bed at night with said smiles still unwavering.

Her family owns a construction company, and things had been rough for years. She is gifted with a quick which allows her to control gravity, and when she first learns this she is ecstatic because it will be very useful for her parents’ line of work.

Her parents, however, tell her that she is free to do what she wants, that she does not have to continue their family business, and Ochako stops and thinks because perhaps there are other ways to help.

Then, one day, she sees a particular interview on the news. The man being interviewed is a hero, who just saved a bunch of people who had been held prisoner by a villain trying to rob a bank.

A hero, she knows, is someone who uses their quirk for justice and the good of others, and because it is a job, they get paid for it.

Ochako’s chest warms and she just knows that this is what she wants to do. She will become a hero so that she can help her parents and everyone else who needs help. She does a little research, and all she needs is a few years, to grow a little older, so that she can enter a school to become one.

But the world is unfair and slightly crueller than Ochako realizes. It isn’t patient enough to give her just a little more time, and doesn’t discriminate who it sinks its fangs into. Her parents, who are nothing but loving and supportive and just want to live a good, happy life, slowly but surely become its latest victims. It is the cruellest murder of all, one where everyone knows death is coming, but they can do nothing about it.

Their lives come crumbling down around them just like the walls of their house and Ochako can do nothing but watch as soon, the only thing holding up what remains of their world are the smiles of her parents as they tell her, promise her, that things will become better one day.

Ochako smiles back and agrees, but she becomes tired of waiting for ‘one day’, because ‘one day’ will never come, not to her household, not if she does nothing but wait for it.

She loves her parents and does not doubt they love her, but they are wrong. Nothing will become better if they wait for it, she has to make it better.

She has no time to wait, no time to waste waiting, not when the world is already at their doorsteps with a knife. Her quirk might not be the most impressive thing around, but she knows that if she can utilize it properly, she will be a formidable force.

Gravity is what roots everything to the very earth they all stand on, after all, and she can negate it.

The first time she does it, it is largely curiosity. She is at a dagashiya, one she often stops by to look through but never actually buys anything. She has been hungry all day, because her parents had had to rush out to work early in the morning, and while they told her to eat anything in the fridge, she feels bad because she knows they haven't.

The store is run by an old woman who is mostly unaware of what goes on, and the packet of mochi she takes is past the expiry date. She still feels bad, her steps slowed by fear and the stolen goods a little heavy in her pocket.

A few more times and she learns that her quirk helps. It reduces the weight of the loot in her pockets and makes her steps lighter as she skips out of the store.

The first time she almost gets caught is also the first time she attempts at another store. She does not know that the things standing on either side of the doorway are anti-shoplifting alarms, and she triggers one when she steps out, a bar of chocolate hidden in her hoodie.

She was careful to pick a time where there are little people around, and the storekeeper blinks when he rushes over and sees her frozen on the spot because she hadn’t thought this through.

“Uh, hey, kid, did you take something?”

Ochako’s hands feel clammy, but she shakes her hand. “No,” she says. “The alarms just started ringing.” Then, in what she hopes is convincing childish panic, she widens her eyes and bites her lip. “Did I do something wrong? Am I going to be arrested?”

The man looks like he doesn’t know whether to trust her or not. “I’m just going to pat you down, okay?”

Ochako nods, and the guard does just that. He finds nothing, and he stands up. “Welp, must have been a malfunction,” he says, and he sounds a little more friendly. “Where are your parents, kid?”

“At work,” she tells him.

The man nods sympathetically. “I see. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

Ochako grins and waves him off, then makes sure there is no one else around before she presses her fingers together. The chocolate bar falls into her grasp from above and she hurries off.

Once she has started, she finds she cannot stop. No one suspects much of the cute, cheerful girl and she becomes good, too good. A part of her mind is always thinking about values and escape routes and targets, and she has to consciously stop her hands from reaching out towards the pile of apples that could probably feed them for days if they are as careful with them as they are with everything else they own.

She is careful to keep her targets to products they already own, or stuff they usually buy, so she can sneak small quantities of her steals to the small supply of it they have at home.

She never gives in, however, not when her parents are around because they are trying so hard for her and she doesn’t want to know how they’d feel if they find out she has given in to stealing, even if she, too, is doing it for them.

The local museum is open once everyday months for free, and Ochako often finds herself going. Her parents had been called out on an emergency at work so this time she is alone, but the people at the doors let her in without much trouble.

There is a limited time Egyptian exhibition, and as she walks around the showcases holding artifacts made of pure gold, all she can think of is how much that’d be worth.

Not that she is in any position to even attempt to steal it, but the thought of the money she could get from selling something so sparkly makes her stomach lurch in ways she doesn’t know is good or bad.

She clears her head and tries to simply enjoy the cultural significance and the sheer history on display, but the thought dances teasingly at the back of her mind.

She is on the third floor, in one of the gift shops, when the ground suddenly crumbles without warning.

It is not an explosion, more like a sudden sinkhole, and Ochako just manages to cast her quirk on herself as the entire building crumbles down.

When Ochako comes to, she is caged in by two large slabs of metal that probably saved her from the smaller pieces of debris raining down on her. She is small and manages to crawl out from the gaps between the metal, and finds herself on top of crumbled walls and floors.

She does not see anyone else around, but she can see the sky from where she is. The sun is still up, so unless she was unconscious for a day, it has barely been a few hours at most.

She feels tears well up in her eyes as she feels herself beginning to panic, and she forces herself to not cry.

The heroes will be here soon, maybe they are already here.

She does not know how long she had been down here, alone. She considers using her quirk on herself multiple times, but it makes her so queasy she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to get to the top before becoming sick anyway.

She begins looking around, and when she finds a part of a shelf from the gift shop lined with snacks, she grabs a packet and wolfs it down. Something red and shiny catches her eye just as she has finished stuffing a few extra packets into her pockets and she carefully digs through the small bits of debris, almost cutting her hands on shattered glass, and picks up the large, red gem the size of her palm.

She had seen this in the exhibition. Was it real?

Suddenly, she hears footsteps and voices. Panicking, she shoves the stone into her pocket. The sounds go quiet for a moment, and then there is a sudden rush behind her.

“Don’t move!”

Ochako freezes at the sharp warning and spins around. The man’s firm glare widens in shock when their eyes meet. A second hero, a woman, appears behind him and she, too, goes stiff.

“What-you’re just a kid!”

They’re heroes.

Ochako stumbles back, relief and fear gripping her. Had they seen her stealing?

The man finally seems to shake off his shock. “Did anyone mention a missing girl?”

Ochako takes in a sharp breath. They hadn’t.

“No one reported a missing kid,” the woman says. “Unless, of course, there was no one to report her.”

“You okay, kid?” The man slowly reaches out towards her and Ochako forces herself to stay still. “Hurt anywhere?”

Ochako shakes her head. “I’m okay,” she says.

The man smiles kindly. “That’s good,” he says. “We’re going to come over there, okay? We’re heroes, we’re not going to hurt you.”

Ochako nods. “Okay. What happened? The ground suddenly started shaking and the whole building exploded!”

The woman hops over the debris first and crouches down in front of her. “We suspect a villain raid,” she explains. “Probably after the Egyptian stuff.”

Ochako keeps silent. Probably. She’s only ever shoplifted before, and they had still caught her attention.

“Anyways, I’ll call this in, okay?” The man raises a hand to his earpiece. “Hopefully, we can get someone in here to get-”

Suddenly there is a small explosion above them, and in the next second, the two heroes in front of her are impaled cleanly through by large tendrils of what looks like metal. Blood splatters onto the ground in front of her and Ochako stumbles back in horror.

Someone lands heavily in front of her and Ochako slowly looks up.

The man looming over her has dark red hair and piercing yellow eyes. His face is covered by a metal mask and he wears a long, white coat that slowly settles from its flailing as he straightens himself.

“Never expected a brat to try an’ snatch our loot,” the man mutters thoughtfully. He leans down and grabs her by the front of her clothes. Ochako gasps and instinctively grasps at the hands as they lift her up like she weighs nothing.

“Let me go!” She plants all five fingers firmly down onto the limb holding her up, and the surprise is just enough to make the man release her. Ochako lands on the ground with a grunt and lets out a scream when the metal tendrils from before stabs into the ground beside her.

The man now has a thoughtful glint in his eyes as he stares down at her. The other end of the metal is firmly held in his grasp, and he uses it to drag himself back down to the ground. “Your quirk, brat?”

Ochako hesitantly nods.

“Huh. So, what’re you doing here?”

Ochako panics, and the fact that she hadn’t actually meant to take anything flies from her mind, leaving behind the fact that she had considered it, if only for a second.

“My parents-my parents need the money-”

“Your parents sent you in?”

Ochako desperately shakes her head, suddenly scared the man would go after them after he kills her. “No! I didn’t actually mean to take anything! They don’t know anything!”

The man continues to look down at her like he does not know what to make of her. His quirk obviously allows him to control metal, though there is no saying that that is all he can do. Even if he is floating, he can easily kill her.

Ochako cannot run. She steels herself and meets his yellow gaze as best she can.

“How old are you, brat?”

“Eight,” she replies honestly.

“You really are a brat huh.”

If this conversation had been between her and one of the neighbours, Ochako might have made a comment about the number of times the man repeated the word ‘brat’. It isn’t, though, so she bites her tongue and prays that whatever he is thinking, it is enough for him to let her live.

He killed the two heroes like it was nothing, she does not doubt for a second that his current gravityless state will stop him if he decides to get rid of her too.

“I lead a small group of thieves,” the man tells her after a while. “We run heists like this once in a while.” He continues to stare down at her. “Tell you what,” he finally says. “I’ll buy your loyalty.”

Ochako blinks, confused. “What?”

“You want money for your parents, right? We don’t have anyone with a quirk like yours, might be useful to have around. We’re thieves, an’ good ones at that. You’ll earn way more than if you run around by yourself.”

“Hence buy my loyalty.” Ochako tries to think, but her brain cannot keep up with anything going on around her at this point. She had gotten caught by heroes, only for said heroes to be killed by the actual villain, who is now offering her membership into his band of thieves.

Still, she knows there is only one answer. Everything she has done up until this point has led to this, and sooner or later, she will be caught and be forced to stop forever. She cannot pretend it didn’t happen, after all.

Or, she can tuck herself underneath the wing of a man who clearly knows what he is doing.

If he plans to kill her anyway, there is no reason for him to offer her such an opportunity, right?

“Okay,” she says. She swallows, then repeats a little louder, “Okay.” She presses her fingers together. “Release.”

The man lands neatly on his feet and smirks. “Your name, brat?” He asks.

“Uraraka Ochako,” she tells him.

“Huh.” The man fiddles with his mask, as though wondering whether to take it off or not. Finally, he decides on taking it off, and Ochako stares at the dark markings covering the majority of his face. Scars, perhaps.

“Keep that stone, we’ll say it’s a welcome gift,” he tells her. So he had seen her. He had been watching the entire time. He smirks. “The name’s Wolfram.”

Ochako always wanted to be a hero, but she finds out a little too late that the world is just slightly not patient enough to wait for her, and she blinks, and realizes she has become anything but. Still, she won’t let it stop her. If she cannot become a hero for everyone who needs help, well, she’ll settle with being a hero for her parents. She will do anything to give them the nice, untroubled lives they deserve.

Anything.

Chapter TWO>

Chapter List

#My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #MHA #BNHA #uraraka ochako #fanfiction #writing #Ochako centric #with appearances by others #lots of tomura probably #katsuki and shouto too

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betterinspire-blog1 · 4 years ago

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toongrrl-blog · 5 years ago

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The Mommy Myth: Threats from Without (Part One)

*TRIGGER WARNING FOR ABUSE*

This will be a doozy folks...

Razor blades in apples and cookies during Halloween. Day cares run by child molesters and Satanists! Flammable pajamas! Car seats not installed properly! Cavities from bottles! Child Porn! Kidnappers! Toys choking kids! Alar in apple juice! Peanuts stuck in windpipes! Stalkers! Rapists! Radiation from household appliances! Murderers! Gangs! Fetal Alcohol Syndrome! Car jacking! Tylenol causes liver damage! Milk Cartons with missing kids! If you fuck up just a little, your kid is screwed!

Welcome to the 1980s where childhood danger became the new obsession along with designer goods, buns of steel, big hair, cell phones, and greed being good. In many decades that traced the growth of mothers in the workplace (check the 1940s), there was moral panic about juvenile delinquents and latchkey kids going bad, there were 19.5 million working mothers by 1984, also 6/10 women with children under eighteen. Mothers of preschool children working had doubled since 1970 and it was 15% higher for African-American women because unemployment for black fathers was 10.2% compared with 5% for white fathers. And these women were not making the big bucks to afford clothes and lifestyles seen on Dynasty and Falcon Crest, where they’d mostly work in retail, clerical, service, or factory positions and daycare workers earned less than most clerks of liquor stores.

In 1984, aside from the fictitious case of the disappearance of Barbara Holland and the re-appearance of the thought to be dead Will Byers the previous year, there were two media events that captured the public fascination with child endangerment: the McMartin daycare scandal and the premiere of The Cosby Show (it was a more naive time) which was a typical sitcom except it featured two parents who worked outside the home in white-collar professions and focused on an African-American family. It showed the contradictions of what 1980s moms lived with: you can’t trust your kids with just anyone or leave them alone, you can have a demanding job and the loving family made for tv, act as paranoid as an FBI agent, be the spontaneous mom, and be constantly aware.

These media panics also happened around the same time the Reagan Administration was a big thing; he was aided by the regressive STOP ERA and Religious Right which led to a huge anti-feminist backlash in policies and the media. Women’s magazines scared moms about what could go wrong with their kids and exploited the fears of the public. Around the same time the McMartin daycare scandal was a thing, the government refused to fund daycare centers for millions of kids and was a result of such coverage. The War Against Women had started and programs benefiting women and children were in it’s crosshairs as being “too expensive” and “trickle down economics” will help anyways. So while the Chrysler Corporation and the Savings and Loans industry were given financial life rafts, programs like WIC (Womens, Infants, and Children) were cut mortality rates for infants of color (which declined in the 1970s) started climbing again and family leave was virtually non-existent. Parents magazine published a later-debunked warning in 1982, that children in daycare will become hoodlums. Moms were also warned kids will pick up lice (also in Little League or in the classroom) from daycares.

The roots of this sensationalization of childhood perils stared in the mid 1970s with it’s peak a decade later, where Ladies Home Journal dumped Bruno Bettelheim for Geraldine Carro’s “Mothering” column where she was a mom giving guidance to other moms where she acknowledged that “motherhood rates mixed reviews” and she promised to offer opinions rather than impose them as “For too long, we’ve been living by other people’s books” and featured short pieces with titles on how to pick a pediatrician or teach the kids to cook safely. What was meant to soothe and offer empowerment ended up striking terror with warnings about all the things that could kill kids and that summer camps were the sources of “close to 100 deaths and 250,000 accidents” in 1974 and moms were urged to investigate the camp’s accreditation, the camper-counselor ratio, the number of life preservers in boats, all the codes were met by state standards, the lifeguards had Red Cross training, and all the counselors were experienced. Imagine what happened when Friday the 13th and Sleepaway Camp came out...

If you tossed your baby in the air, you could risk whiplash and hemorrhage of blood vessels feeding into the brain. But kids can’t get new babysitter and crib on the same day or kid will freak and kids got poisoned a lot from eating plants and flowers. Also kid’s sleepwear had to be flame retardant but washed with warm water, high-phosphate laundry detergent, no soap or bleach, no fabric softener or they will be rendered non-retardant. Ages where kids need to learn swimming was disputed, even Santa was scary or teaches them to lie, buy simple toys, costumes needed to be flame retardant and have reflective tape strips on the costumes and bags, kids needed flashlights or can only trick or treat in the daylight hours, kids can’t wear masks anymore, and all treats need to be examined. Then in 1977, Carro asked how parents can protect kids without making them fearful. Hrrrrmmmmmm......

There have been missing children before in the past, even in that sweet long ago when people hardly bothered to lock their front doors at night, one of the most notorious early cases that have been exploited by the media was the Etan Patz case where 6 year old Etan was kidnapped in downtown New York City on May 1979, before getting on his school bus, there was a huge effort to find him locally and in the media but the case has remained unsolved until 2010 when his killer was found and it was 9 years since he was declared dead. Perhaps the most influential case was that of Adam Walsh, son of John Walsh from America’s Most Wanted, who was kidnapped from the toy department at a Florida store and was made into a TV movie. In March 1984, the missing for a month ten year old Kevin Collins made the cover of Newsweek magazine. The media had exploited these tragic cases with wildly exaggerated figures soon circulated in the media, what was a small number of cases became sensationalized to make people think kids were being snatched every time they took a breath.

On March 28 1984 NBC’s Tom Brokaw reported “The fear is thick around Denver these days. A number of kidnappings have made everyone nervous--parents, children, and police.” Parents were driving their kids to school rather than let them wait on the bus stop and left the school after seeing their kid enter the building, such stories hardly explored what could be done as a society and community to protect children. No you were on your own.

Late March 1984, headlines talked about a daycare on Manhattan Beach, California, this daycare being McMartin Preschool where seven nursery teachers were arraigned on over 100 counts of child molestation. Virginia McMartin, age 76 and on a wheelchair, presided over the day care center where she and her family members allegedly drugged, fondled, and molested at least 125 children and killed cuddly animals in front of them. 90% of Los Angeles residents surveyed believed that Ray Buckey and his grandmother Virginia to be guilty. Children were interviewed by therapists where they were videotaped and used puppets. As it turned out, the children were badgered by therapists who used leading questions and threats to get the kids talking. From 1989 to 1990, California received at least 440, 000 reports of child abuse, 84% deemed to be unfounded, and 8,448 of the cases were defined as sexual abuse. Suddenly, as the media warned, you couldn’t trust very many people with your children. In other news, the founder of Children’s Theater Company in Minneapolis, John Clark Donahue was forced to resign after allegations of molesting three boys and Little Rascals Day Care in North Carolina became notorious when it was the owner and cook (owner’s conviction was overturned). There was news of fathers molesting their daughters. On May 21st, there was a Los Angeles teacher brought to court on charges of molestation at the elementary school and both ABC and CBS reported that a religious boarding school for boys in Walterboro, South Carolina had beaten and abused boys. Then in June, CBS and ABC reported on a fundamentalist commune in Island Pond, Vermont that was raided with 100 children taken from their homes because it was alleged their elders and parents abused them. The FBI got involved, saying groups of people abuse kids and circulate a book titled “How to Have Sex with Kids”. Obviously these stories had the subtext that no place was safe. In 1985, CBS announced that a church run day care had children suffering broken bones linked to violence (a total of eleven broken arms and legs) and Missouri exempted church run centers from licensing.

Even “Rockwellian”, small-town, Christian (and White) American places were dens of abuse. Jordan, Minnesota featured 24 defendants (factory workers, housewives, and a grandma) who were part of a “sex ring” and charged with more than 400 counts of sexually abusing dozens of children including their own kids. As Michaels and Douglas noted, a central theme was the failure of government agencies to oversee day care centers and catch molestation in time but Reagan’s administration kept their fingers in their ears singing “La la la can’t hear you la la la”. Geraldo Rivera did a sensationalist show on Satanism that played on adult fears of their teens. And Priests were being outed as having molested altar boys and other young men, like a priest in Henry, Louisiana where he admitted sexually abusing at least 35 boys and was sentenced to 20 years hard labor. The media was talking childhood abuse more seriously with 22% of adults saying they were victims of sexual abuse as children who never told anyone or when they did, nothing was done to the abuser.

Back to old Virginia McMartin, follow-up stories assuring people that child care centers weren’t dens of rampant abuse weren’t publicized for example. Raymond Buckey’s defense attorney found two doctors who said that one of the children told them that it was his own father who “poked” him in the anus and the boy’s mother Judy Johnson who circulated the charges against them was known to be mentally ill and had trouble distinguishing between what’s real and what’s not. She also accused a Los Angeles school board member of molesting her son and claimed kid was injured by an elephant and forced to drink baby’s blood. The children initially denied abuse, Kee MacFarlane the therapist had the kids name gas station attendants, community leaders, and store clerks as molesters and she came up with the name “naked movie star” for a game the teachers supposedly made the kids play. Jurors viewing the tapes of the interviews were appalled and it turned out Kee had an affair with Wayne Satz, television reporter for KABC who broke the McMartin story. After nearly 6 years and $15 million, Ray Buckey and his mother were found not guilty and there was a hung jury and still not found guilty. Sadly he was viewed as a loner who liked to go commando in shorts and a mama’s boy with more shorts than brains. Virginia died in 1995, Peggy McMartin Buckey died in 2000, and Ray Buckey who was incarcerated for five years during the trials later went to law school and changed his name and moved elsewhere to have a family. Meanwhile in Jordan, cases were falling apart with one couple getting aquitted and vowed to regain custody of their three sons. Only one person plead guilty: James Rud, who lied and implicated others.

“It was all Momma’s fault!” I’m exaggerating but the public imagination linked day care centers with child sexual abuse, molesters targeted kids from “broken homes” (read single moms not like dysfunctional families with distant parents) and you couldn’t trust Mr. Wilson next door. The subtext clearly targeting working mothers or moms considering going into the workplace and leaving their kids in programs after school before picking them up. Of course Susan Faludi in her book Backlash, revealed that kids were twice as likely to be abused at home than in day care but media panics tend to focus on what’s juicy rather than facts. In her study of working moms in magazines, Kathryn Keller stated:

Each negative image of day care and the implication behind it that women should not be working but should be at home with their children was countered by a positive image.

Moms were surrounded by mixed messages that served them guilt and paranoia, it was nice that issues that were swept under the rug were given the attention they deserved, but it was used as an indictment of non-traditional family structures and women not feeling they have to sacrifice their autonomy at the service of their families or stay in terrible marriages for “the good of the children”. It’s best I leave this dreary part (before heading to sitcoms and humor and magazines) with Tamme Dawson from GLOW to empower all women and snap back at the powers that be.

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