#the bar is really on the ground- most of teaching the lower and middle grades is classroom management literacy and comprehension

[just-rogi]

btw... mtel practice test number two done... crushed that bitch! the Comm/Lit one is supposed to be the easiest but still it felt nice to get a 90% gonna take the humanities practice tomorrow but i suddenly feel way better about this

[dantelionwishes]

life is full of ups and downs downs downs downs dow

loredump under the cut. not kidding when I say its gonna be long!

oh shit you actually clicked keep reading thank you for your interest 😭😭😭

YOU KNOW THE DRILL tw // suggestive dont read ahead if youre uncomfortable with the topic of aphrodisiacs! 

MIDDLE SCHOOL 

before anything, I gotta explain he was born to parents who had an infatuation quirk (makes them hardcore fall in love with you) and an infection quirk (transmits a virus via saliva)  

developed his quirk late, since they usually get it by the time kids are four 

most people knew him as quirkless before the first incident 

in middle school, his class was preparing for a school play, he and his classmate got cast as the main lead prince and princess 

coincidentally, they both had a crush on each other and had a scene where they kissed

technically they weren’t supposed to, since its just a play, but one time they were practicing in private and wanted to try kissing “for real”

so they shared a super giggly cute middle school first kiss but well UNFORTUNATELY FOR HIM HIS QUIRK HAD WELL DEVELOPED– 

BADABING BADABOOM YOU HAVE AN IMAGINATION USE IT

the only way for the quirk’s effects to go away is to come at least once or pleasuring yourself until it goes away

I DO NOT WANT TO IMAGINE IT BUT. IMAGINE BEING A TEACHER AND FINDING A MIDDLE SCHOOLER WHO DOES NOT KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING TO HER AND AN ADULT IS FORCED TO TELL HER HOW TO MAKE IT GO AWAY LLLLIKE–

rip now that I’m thinking abt it, I don’t even think anybody would even kNOW HOW TO MAKE IT GO AWAY so lets imagine she painfully stays that way until they figure out how to make it stop :^(

there’s a big fight that happens between the teachers, principal, and parents of both parties 

of course the crush’s parents got mad and called their kid a fuckin uhhhhh sexual predator or some shit despite also beING THE SAME AGE AND NOT EVEN KNOWING ABT HIS OWN QUIRK LIKE HELLLO

obviously an incident like this is going to spread like wildfire but the principal does not want something like this to leak, especially since it was not on purpose and was a total accident 

the other kid’s parents and some teachers did not feel comfortable however, and sato was forced to drop out

but not wanting to spread the gossip about their son’s quirk and the incident, they leave the town and move someplace else

thankfully, the principal gives the sato family his good grades and a recommendation to a decent highschool for the trouble

they’re originally from osaka, but moved to tokyo 

this is where they start taking precautions with sato, basically teaching him to be careful with his saliva 

it was easily taught and learned esp since the mom was already like that around him and others everyday anyway!! she has to take care of her saliva-based infection quirk, after all 

HIGH SCHOOL

he got enrolled into a regular highschool in tokyo

no hero course, no support course, no business, just a regular ol’ school

if before, he loved surrounding himself with people, this was where he was forced to develop a lonely disposition to protect himself and others

at least his parents were very protective and supportive of him and they were generally a happy family!

but in school, pretending to be quirkless was just as difficult, getting bullied or pitied for having no special abilities 

his excuse for wearing a mask all the time was because his mother had a virus-related quirk, and had to be careful 

one day his dad was suddenly got really, really sick

the more he had an excuse to wear a mask because he didnt want to get whatever disease his father started to develop 

sato started thinking it could be his mother (but why?) the results didn’t say anything about an unknown virus killing him (which is his mom’s quirk), and that his father really did contract a strong yet very normal disease 

while on his second year in highschool, his father, yozo sato, died 

apparently, without him knowing anything about his parents, his mother, oba sato, was actually under the dad’s infatuation quirk this whole time

she realised she wasn’t really in love with him when oba had accidentally allowed a drop of her saliva to fall into the meal she was making him, making him sick, and therefore making him weak enough to deactivate his quirk on her 

oba, back in her college years, wanted to marry someone else but yozo, who had a crush on her wanted her to himself, used his quirk to make him fall in love with her 

so in revenge for making her put up with him all these years to the point of marriage and having a kid, she continued to do this to his food 

her quirk doesn’t make anybody sick enough to die, but it made her husband’s immune system weak enough to the point that it contracted a real, serious disease which he ended up dying from instead 

sato only finds out the real story when he graduates from highschool, days right after his graduation the mom confesses it all 

she does say she truly loves him, but can’t stay around him knowing he was technically “unconsensual love”

sato gets reminded of what his quirk does, and true enough, that’s what him and his quirk turned out to be (a sick combination of his mom and his dad) 

they cant bear to be around each other after that revelation and decide to just not see each other again 

COLLEGE YEARS

he enrolls into an education course, inspired by the kind principal who helped him finish his middleschool-highschool education when it all started going downhill 

sato struggles paying for his college fees esp since he doesn’t exactly have his parents supporting him anymore, nor any contact with immediate family 

he has a lot of part time jobs that go all around the clock, he continues pretending to be quirkless so he gets bullied, and has to deal with all that emotional baggage plus being alone so…….clearly my man is TIRED as hell 

his side job hustles include: convenience store cashier, bookstore attendant, bar bouncer, and rookie gym trainer (he went to the local gym long enough for him to get recommended a job as a trainer)

college was that point where he starts developing a hardcore yearning for a companion because oh my god hes so lonELY (but cant)

ANYWAY SO

there’s this bully guy who always picks on him in college (for being “quirkless” and a loner and overall a fuckin weirdo with a mask)

tbh sato doesnt really give a shit he’s so used to it but he doesnt have his mother as an excuse to wear the mask anymore, this is where he starts forming the “I have bad breath” excuse 

“口臭い” (kuchi kusai) translates to “bad breath” or “stinky mouth” so sato unlovingly gets nicknamed “kusato”

one day he’s walking around the campus at night and finds the bully with his gang cornering another quirkless student, with plans of assaulting her 

sato was never the hero type, and was about to ignore the commotion as to not get involved, but something in him moved on its own and he found himself face to face with the gang 

he confronts them, but the bully mocks both him and the girl for not having powers to stop them anyway 

SIKE BITCH sato’s able to easily strike the other two guys, knock them off their feet enough to be able to tug the to-be victim aside, telling her to report them, before asking her to run away as fast as she can

none of the guys want that (they’re all students) so they have a full on brawl (and this isnt hero academy, its a totally normal university so I wouldn’t assume these guys had very impressive quirks)

except the main bully actually has a pretty decent quirk (he’s like a kinda half human half dragon with sharp claws, scales, and dragon eyes) and gets to injure sato with his sharp claws, seriously injuring his face

a part of his ear is also sort of sliced off, which is how his mask gets accidentally removed in the process 

the dragon bully grabs him by the collar and starts angrily shouting at him for ruining his night, being able to do all this shit without a quirk and all and all other derogatory speech 

“Well? what do you have to say for yourself?!“ 

Sato stays silent before spitting right into the bully’s mouth 

The bully drops him immediately, about to angrily fuck him up for doing something super fucking gross but WHOOP WHOOP YOU KNOW WHATS BOUTTA HAPPEN the quirk works immediately and the bully is a TOTAL MESS on the ground 

Im going to TLDR this part cos its…obviously nsfw but like: sato fully embarrasses him in public (beside the bully’s two colleges nonetheless) 

sato stays in the hospital for some time to heal from his wounds 

fortunately, afterwards, the bullies all get expelled 

unfortunately for sato, he also gets expelled for engaging in bad behaviour, and the bully did say what happened to him (and the college principal did not want his…dangerous quirk on campus) so as to lower any incident, all four were expelled 

at least without having to pay for college fees anymore, he could fully focus on paying for food, shelter, and clothes 

minus of course the hospital bills needed to pay plus he got a sick ass scar from it anyway HAHAHAHA BSDJHJRHDHF

ADULT LIFE

he had a lot of jobs here and there, but was more or less doing best as a trainer at a local gym where people weren’t allowed to use their quirks and strengthen their body regularly 

a few years went by and he eventually shrugged off everything that happened in his final college years but one day someone familiar walked into the gym! It was the fellow college student he saved!!!

she became a policewoman who wanted to get stronger in this quirkless friendly gym and hadn’t given up on her dreams of being a “hero,” inspired by how sato saved her that day

sato never really saw himself as some hero, he was left many nights alone thinking about how easily he could become a villain with his quirk, so hearing that really made him happy 

he trains her as her gym coach and she eventually asks him to join her patrol this small part of the city from a gang that was currently going around doing crimes since he’s good at it anyway, saying she could use some extra hands hehe

so yeah!! he does this side gig with her where he patrols alongside her looking for gang crimes and such c:

AND ONE DAY. [WISTFUL SIGH] ONE DAY. HE FINDS SOMEBODY GETTING MUGGED BY A GANG MEMBER AND SAVES………A CERTAIN MAN–

thank you for reading all the way here!!!

feel free to ask for questions or for any clarifications 😭😭😭!!!!!!

[purplesurveys]

831

When you were a kid...

Were you happy or sad when you found out your babysitter was coming? I didn’t have a babysitter. My grandparents took care of me and my siblings and cousins when we were growing up; and if they were both busy I was usually the one expected to care for everyone. Which was okay with me, since I was the most ~motherly~ one in our little group anyway.

Did you have a boyfriend in kindergarten? I studied in an all-girls school from kinder to high school. Outside of school, also no boyfriends. The boys at my neighborhood were super rowdy and hated girls, so I didn’t like hanging out with them.

Did you ever play hopscotch at school? For sure. I was a little mischievous - I would steal a bunch of chalk from the classroom so I can doodle a hopscotch court on school grounds for me and my friends to play on. I definitely wasn’t the most goody-two-shoes kid in the beginning, lol.

Did you refuse to eat your vegetables? Yeah, hated them. We have this local brand of instant noodles that have pieces of carrot in it, and I remember grouping all the tiny carrot bits at the edge of my plate. I didn’t learn to feed myself until I was around 8 or 9 though, so prior to that my elders would just include vegetables in all my meals and I’d have no choice.

What did you usually dress up as on Halloween? Some basic costume like a witch or pirate. My mom wasn’t super into Halloween and would just get us costume packs from the toy store. I wanna be the complete opposite for my kids.

What was your favorite television show? As a much younger kid I was into Hi-5. When I got a bit older I liked Pokemon, SpongeBob, The Fairly OddParents, My Life as a Teenage Robot, etc. Then when I got slightly older I started watching the real-life shows too, so like That’s So Raven, Suite Life, Drake and Josh, Zoey 101, Hannah Montana. Did you have D.E.A.R. time in school? (Drop Everything and Read) Yes, a few times each year. When I was still a bookworm it had been one of my favorite segments in school because I got to see other kids reading, which was my favorite hobby then. But by the time I was in high school and stopped reading, I remember always struggling to find a book to bring because I didn’t read anything anymore D: If I remember correctly, I think Athenna lent me most of the books I brought for DEAR time since at the time she was into John Green and YA in general. Did you ever read the 'Magic Treehouse' series? No. I googled it to see the cover, and I know as a kid it wouldn’t have interested me enough to pull it out of its shelf. How about the 'Bailey School Kids' series? Nope. Kids my age were into the Geronimo Stilton and Mr Men/Little Miss series. Do you remember the first movie you ever saw in theaters? Yes, it was a Stuart Little movie when I was maybe 3 or 4. I’m guessing it’s Stuart Little 2, because Google says it came out in 2002 and I was 4 years old then, so it checks out. Who was your best friend in elementary school? Angela was my best friend in some grades, but you know how kids are...once they vibe with someone else, they’ll hang out with them 24/7. Angela was a way more sociable kid so she got close with everyone, while I remained terrible at making friends. If she wasn’t my best friend at the time, I had no one. Did they continue to be your best friend in middle school? We don’t have middle school but I’ll guess that this is like Grade 6 and 7 for us? Anyway, no. ~Middle school~ was worse for me because this was when cliques started to form and material trends became the basis for being visible, e.g. owning a Blackberry, wearing Nike Roshes, getting side bangs lol, etc. I had none of those, so I was left behind both in terms of visibility and having friends. I only had a best friend again by the time I entered Grade 7, in which time I met Gabie and the ball started rolling from there. Did you ever watch 'The Land Before Time' movies? No, I didn’t. Did you ever watch the show 'Arthur'? I don’t think it aired here, so no. I did read Arthur books though; they were one of my favorites. Did the tooth fairy give you a lot of money? I honestly thought the tooth fairy was real. I never told my parents whenever a tooth would come out because I thought it was none of their business. That said, they just genuinely never knew to put money under my pillow because my dumbass never told them hahaha. I’ll never forget how crestfallen I was when I woke up to no money though. How often did you visit your nearest grandparents? I lived with them until I was 10. I only visited my other set of grandparents whenever my dad would come home from abroad, so I didn’t and haven’t ended up being close to them. Did you ever play with 'Little People' toys? Never heard of them but when I looked it up the toys looked familiar, so we probably did. How about Polly Pockets? Yes. Did you collect anything when you were a kid? Pokemon cards and pogs, heh. I also had my fair share of notebooks. Did you get an allowance? No, my parents didn’t teach me how money worked early on. I was a packed lunch kid until high school, and when I did ask for money I – and I’m not kidding – would only get a ₱20 bill, which was only enough to get me a tiny snack. What was your favorite sport to play? What is it now? Track, but then it shifted to table tennis when I joined the table tennis club initially out of peer pressure. What foods did you not like then that you do like now? Chicken curry, definitely. Were you into American Girl dolls? No. What was your first pet and what did you name it? It was a goldfish but I don’t remember whether I named it Goldie or Fishy, lol. Did you ever read the 'Junie B. Jones' books? No. What did you want to be when you were a kid? All the things I wante to be were astronaut, firefighter, veterinarian, and writer. What was your first word? Your first sentence? (If you remember) My parents didn’t keep track of either...I definitely would with my own kids. Have you moved into a new house since you were a kid? Yes, several times. When I was an infant we briefly lived with my dad’s parents in Manila. My mom couldn’t take the poverty and pollution there so we moved to a city in Rizal, where my mom’s parents + some extended family live in a duplex. At one point we switched houses in that duplex, and the unit that we switched to was where I lived for most of my childhood until we moved to our present house by the time I was 10. Were you friends with your neighbors? As a child, yeah. I was mostly friends with the girls though because like I said, the boys were super rowdy and sexist in that they never let us play basketball with them and stuff. Did you enjoy exploring your backyard? We didn’t have a backyard. Did you bake cookies with your grandparents? Sometimes! I would mix the dough and turn them into balls. :) What was your biggest fear when you were a kid? Flying cockroaches, because we had a lot of them in our old duplex unit. I also had an irrational fear of catching TV ads at night because I found them too loud and too vibrant. Who did you look up to most? My dad because I barely saw him as a kid. When he was lower down the ladder at his job he’d be gone six months and only stay with us for one. It wasn’t until I got to high school and he had a much higher position that he was away for only four months and home for one and a half.   Did you ever play the 'Reader Rabbit' computer games? I don’t think I’ve heard of that. Did you have a swing set in your backyard? No but we had a relative who had a playground at their place, and we’d go over there often. I spent a good amount of my childhood going as high as I can on their swings. How about a sandbox? Same relative had a sandbox too! It’s my favorite part of a playground and even during playtime in school I would usually be found alone in the sandbox. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike? I’m 22 and still don’t know how... Did you ever spy on your neighbors through the window? Sometimes. Our houses were very close to each other and their open window is right across the part of our house that also has an open window, so sometimes we’ll fool around and peek. Were you a teacher's pet in kindergarten? No, but I gave my teachers a reason to remember me because I was the kid that peed their underwear everyday and had to go home in shorts. I’ve always been shy and even as a kid I was unable to ask permission to go to the washroom. Did you ever build a treehouse or a fort in your yard? No, ours was too small to build anything like that. Did you ever find anything interesting in your yard? No, just different types of bugs and caterpillars. Did you ever have 'themed birthdays'? Kinda? My 7th birthday party was mostly a plain, theme-less birthday party, but so much of the decorations and giveaways were Bratz-themed because I was into Bratz at the time. Did your parents let you drink soda? They would have let me but I personally never liked it. Did you ever watch 'The Powerpuff Girls' or 'Dexter's Laboratory'? I watched Powerpuff Girls but not Dexter’s Laboratory. Did you sleep with a blanket or stuffed animal? For the most part I preferred cuddling with a pillow. Did you ever have a night light? For some points in my childhood, yeah. Ultimately, I preferred lights out though. Did you watch 'Winnie the Pooh'? Nope, just read Winnie the Pooh books. Did you ever have an imaginary friend? What was their name? I named them Katrina but I wasn’t imaginative/creative enough, so when seven minutes passed after I created her and she still wasn’t talking back to me, I gave it up haha. What kinds of games did you play with your friends during Recess? Dodgeball was a favorite. We had a big field just right outside our classroom so we’d all go out, pick our teams, and play for the whole 30 minutes. We’d do it for lunch, too. Fortunately our teachers never barred us from playing, because I guess they knew it counts as exercise for us too. Did you dream of being a princess or did you not really care about that? Not really. I wanted to be an astronaut more haha. The only princess-y things I did were to wear my blanket around my neck like a cape, and to wear a tiara on my 7th birthday party. Did you have a special name for your pacifier? What was it? No. Did you watch 'Blues Clues'? Yesssssss. I grew up with Steve and Joe. It was such a fun show to watch. What kind of car did your parents have? I don’t remember the make anymore but we had a black sedan until I was around five. It was mostly broken-down and had no aircon, but it was my dad’s first car so it was his absolute baby and I never had the heart to complain about the car’s flaws to him. He eventually sold it and we had a blue Mitsubishi Lancer after. Did you ever flush anything down the toilet by mistake? I don’t remember ever doing that, thankfully lol. Were you afraid to sleep by yourself? No, I think I was excited to start doing it. Growing up in a cramped duplex, I shared one bedroom with my entire family until I was around 9; so when we moved to our own home, I was the first one to call dibs on a bedroom. What was your favorite subject in elementary school? Language, which is a class where we were just taught basic English grammar. I loved reading as a kid and got fluent in English early on, so I was always a top student in that subject. How often did you go to the park? We don’t have parks. What was your favorite kind of cake as a kid? Chocolate cake from Red Ribbon. Did you ever want to grow up? I never actively ‘wanted’ it because I was already kinda forced to grow up early, what with all the issues happening at home and me having to shield my siblings and cousins from whatever screaming match was happening inside.

[proxylynn]

Dreemurr Academy #9 (FellSwap Sans)

Dreemurr Academy, a prestigious closed-off college for monsters and humans alike of all ages and worlds. This includes myself, though I'm sort of an in-between. I'm Lynsie, the human anomaly. I'm a human, but I can do magic like monsters. I'm an oddball. That's the thing about making a school that is open to multiple alternate dimensions. Weird things are bound to show up. Even a bunch of the same person. From what I saw on orientation day, the same faces are scattered around all around. To fix these type of issues, everyone that has a multiple or doppelganger is given a school name so there's no confusion. Other than that, it's fairly normal. The hierarchy is the simple. The Deans are made up of the same people, skeleton monsters that go by the name of Gaster. One is a teacher of the Sciences, goes by Wingding. He's a kind and understanding man but is known to pull a prank or two. They all speak in a typeface sign language but use telepathy magic so others understand. It's been said no one has ever heard their real voices and those that have are no longer at the academy. Another Gaster dean teaches Home Economics, he goes by Wingy. He's a bubbly sweet guy that loves his work. Nothing makes him smile more than seeing the joy on a student's face when they take pride in being able to do something they first thought they couldn't. Another Gaster dean teaches the studies of Magic, he is called Fall. At times, he can be cynical, malicious, and sarcastic. He has a commanding presence that exuded gravitas, authority, and control, able to keep a class quiet without effort. Yet there is a kindness to him, it's rarely seen, but not unheard of. Another Gaster dean teaches History, his nickname is Dings. A cold, bitter, and sometimes childish man. He tends to hold grudges against troublesome students and is extremely spiteful toward those whom he dislikes. Yet those that can take his punishments are rewarded with his respect. He is a teacher that commands respect and whose grades are earned with doom hanging over your head. The Professors are also skeleton monsters, but not all are the same person. The Psychology professor is a guy named Papyrus but goes by Stretch. He's the favorite among students because he's so laid back. He chews a toothpick in class to suppress his urge to smoke, but we all know he does so when on break. He's really good at reading students and helps out when able. All in all, he's the cool teacher. The Literature professor is a Papyrus that is called Fell. He is the one teacher everyone dreads. Very strict and old-fashioned. He does not tolerate interruptions and will humiliate those he feels need to be taken down a notch. Such things take their toll on him and often squeezes a stress ball that he keeps on his desk. But he is a very passionate man when it comes to his work and takes his subject seriously, even though this makes him into a bit of a grammar nazi which is why many students get low grades. The Biology professor is a skeleton called Sans that sometimes goes by Classic, whatever that means. He is very cheesy and comes off as lazy, making puns that have people cringe yet secretly love them. He is very protective of his students and will go out of his way to help them. He does not tolerate bullying of any kind and can be quite scary. He's the second favorite among the students. The Physical Education professor is also a Sans that goes by Pain. He is also a stern and old school type of teacher, only he tends to be crueler in the humiliation of students that are unprepared. While his scope is all around, he prefers the darker side of the study. Using borderline violence to weed out the weak that think taking his class is an easy A. There is mercy in his dojo, but it must be earned with blood, sweat, and tears. The Students are broken into four groups based on which part of the four years they are currently in. The first years are called freshmen. Second years are sophomores. Third years are juniors. And fourth years are seniors. There are some variations on this topic, but this hierarchy of college students is still readily recognizable by everyone. Me? This isn't my first rodeo but not my last. I'm a sophomore and have gotten the gist of who's who and what's what. I get along with students and teachers. I've always been a middle ground type of girl. I didn't come looking for friends, but they just seemed to find me. Funny enough, my buddies are the brothers of the professors. Stretch's brother is a freshman, his name is Sans but goes by Rascal. Fell's brother, also a Sans, is a sophomore like me and goes by Edgy. Classic's brother is a Papyrus, a freshman that goes by Papy. And Pain's brother is a sophomore Papyrus by the name of Slim. I've always been a tomboy. I prefer the company of guys. They're different and fun, even if they can be a bit odd sometimes. Rascal, as the nickname implies, is the school clown/prankster. He likes to test his limits and challenge authority, even dishevels his uniform to assert his individuality. He comes off as a slacker, but secretly very deep, clever, and loyal to a fault. He likes taking his brother's class so he can improve his skills with messing with people, mostly his brother as he disrupts his teachings when he sees a chance. Edgy is shy around new people and slow to open up, enjoying a laugh with friends when able. Though he appears weak or even nerdy because of his glasses, he is far tougher than he leads on. He doesn't take crap from anyone. When alone, he's angsty and borders on straight up angry. Getting a pissy attitude when annoyed. Like his brother, he is very passionate about literature and does his best to impress his brother, going so far as to become the teacher's pet. Papy is easily the most lovable guy in the whole school. Very cheerful and optimistic, he tries his best no matter what. He doesn't like conflict and tries to keep his brother out of trouble when the teacher pulls a prank. I find it sweet of him to take his brother's class even though he doesn't particularly enjoy it, just so he can stay close to him. Like I said, this guy is a lovable soul. Slim is easy going. He doesn't take things too seriously and never breaks a sweat over hard exams. The only thing that breaks his cool is his smoking, he really gets tense if he goes too long without his fix. He's incredibly smart and instinctual, good traits to have when dealing with his brother. While he does attend his brother's class, he merely does so as a request of his brother who likes to make sure he doesn't slack off due to not being challenged enough. All of them are oddly related to each other in some form. Gaster's, Papyrus's, and Sans's are brothers. Yet I see them all as different people. I value them. They're helping me even if they don't know it. I am not so confident in myself. I tend to isolate myself, go at things lone wolf style. It's how I've always been. Then I met them and slowly my world began to expand bit by bit. I'm still not comfortable with others. But with them, I can step out from behind my mask for a bit, and really be myself around them. Today is a typical day. Classes have been their typical medium level of difficulty, nothing special really. Yet the final bell has chimed and I'm still in school. No, I don't have detention, that's not a thing in college. Study hall then? Nope, I'm not there either, though I should later so as to be ready for next week's exams. No, I'm surprisingly in the gymnasium and working out. Years of shitty public school that don't care about your health or education have left my body in need of as much exercise as can get. At first, I didn't think I was in that bad of shape, then I tried doing a pull-up on day one and couldn't even get my head near that damn bar after ten minutes of hanging there like a poster cat. That's when I decided to fix that because frankly, it makes me feel pathetic. Now I do anything I can that I see as a better alternative. Need to go somewhere? I walk or bike. Got to get to a higher floor? Stair climb that bitch! You see where I'm going with this. Luckily, I also have help from a kind of personal trainer. When I first entered his class, Professor/Coach Pain was less than thrilled about me. If I recall correctly, after I got winded running a couple laps he said I was a 'redundant horse'. Meaning, the will is there to work but lacking the ability to do anything, much like if a racehorse had only three legs. While this did hurt, I used it as motivation. I was relentless in showing him that I was determined to not give up, no matter how many colorful insults he used to break me. This earned me his respect and with that, we were able to make a little deal. He'd agree to train me after hours as long as I clean up the gym. Needless to say, we've been doing this for about two years now and he sees me as a proud pet project. "KEEP IT UP! YOU'RE DOING GREAT." "Yes, sir." "DON'T SLOW DOWN!" "I'm not trying." "COME ON, YOU WEAK PILE OF SHIT! I SAID TWO HUNDRED PUSHUPS, NOT ONE FIFTY!" "I'm doing it! *sharp gasp* Get off my back!" "DON'T BACK SASS ME! IF I WANT EXCUSES, I'LL GO TELL PAPYRUS TO PICK UP HIS FUCKING SOCKS!" "Argh! No, I mean literally, get off my back! *wincing* I think something snapped!" Normally I meet his demands, even when he adds himself to my weight set, but not today. He gets off me and I drop with a sharp groan. "OKAY, WIMP. WHERE'S THE DAMAGE AT?" "The lower back. Just above the dip of the coccyx." He feels under my tank top along my back and I jolt at the sudden pain that hits when he applies some pressure. "*sigh* YEAH, YOU PULLED SOMETHING. FEELS LIKE A LIGAMENT TO ME. HAVE YOU BEEN LIFTING ANYTHING HEAVY LATELY?" "I helped a new student move into my building. They didn't have much, but the few things they had were crammed with stuff that didn't seem heavy." "YOU IDIOT. WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED TO PUSH YOURSELF LIKE THAT? BECAUSE I KNOW I DIDN'T." "You know me. I don't back down just because something's hard." He just shakes his head in disappointment. "YOU CAN BE SUCH A DUMBASS, YOU KNOW THAT?" "I've been called worse." "SEEMS THIS PART OF TRAINING IS DONE FOR NOW. CAN YOU MOVE AT ALL?" "I should be okay in a bit..." I roll myself over so I'm flat on my back. "Just let that part relax before we go hardcore again." "*scoff* YOU HUMANS HAVE SUCH PITIFUL BODIES. IT AMAZES ME THAT YOU DON'T ALL BREAK LIKE FINE CHINA." "No argument there, sir. *weak sigh* I envy you." To that, he looks at me funny. "HOW SO?" "You're a magic skeleton. You don't need muscles to move. Tendons to hold you together. Fat to make energy. Skin to shield your form. You are pure, bare bones. You boggle my mind with how you work from an evolutionary standpoint, but then again, that doesn't really matter. You're perfect." That floors him and at the same time strokes his ego. "WELL, THAT IS TRUE. A BODY AS PERFECT AS MINE IS A BLESSING TO BEGIN WITH. BUT WHY STOP THERE? *flexing* TRAINING HAS ONLY INCREASED MY VALUE. *pose* THESE BONES HOLD MORE POWER THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY IMAGINE." I smirk. "I don't know. My imagination is mighty limitless." I slowly try sitting up, inching ever so gently into a normal 90° angle with a few weak winces. "ANY BETTER?" "Still sore. But still good enough to keep going." "DON'T PUSH IT. PUT ENOUGH STRESS ON THAT THING AND YOU'LL BE IN A SLING FOR AGES." "I meant swimming. It's how we always end things and it's easier on the body. Less gravity in water with added mobility." "KILLER IDEA. NOW, DO YOU NEED ANY HELP?" "Nah, I can make it to the pool. And if I can't, I can always crawl or roll." "...GOOD TO KNOW." Normally I'd swim in my swimsuit, but with my current back issue, moving around like that to change would be a stupid thing to do. So in light of not wanting to fuck my back up and go to the hospital, I'm swimming in my gym clothes. Rolling is not a preferred option, just a last resort, but I am able to crawl my way over to the pool. Though I do feel a bit weird because I can sense Pain watching me as I do so. I'm used to him watching me, but this...This feels different as I slide into the lukewarm water. Ah, the water. It's my home away from home. As weak as I was on land, once in the water there was no match. Sure, I'm not the top swimmer. These monster girls named Undyne and monster boys named Aaron, most of them make up the swim team, but I like to think I'm okay by comparison. I can move like melted butter in a hot skillet. And he knows it too. Once I'm in the pool that 'redundant horse' turns into a 'seamless otter'. I know, he's not the most creative in metaphorical animal comparisons, but they make sense anyway. Pool training consists of his more intense training. The endurance workouts are based on time instead of distance. The speed workouts include 50-yard swims for sprint and Olympic, and 100-yard swims for longer distance training. And the technique workouts help improve my swim mechanics and include both kicking and stroke drills. The one-arm drill is always a fun starter. Swim 25 yards with the left arm only, followed by 25 yards with the right arm only, then swim 50 yards with both arms. This teaches you to develop a more even stroke. When performing the kicking drills, I try to drive the kick from my hips with knees slightly bent. Think of dancing the twist but with a slower motion so you are incorporating more of your thigh muscles. This will help develop a more powerful kick. Of course, we don't do this kind of stuff every day. It's important to take a day or two off between each workout to rest and recover. I swim continuously for 30 to 35 minutes; starting slow and building speed. The last five minutes being a hard effort but not all out and with no more than 90 percent max heart rate effort. Warm-ups are usually by swimming 400 yards easy then 50-yard sprints with a 30-second recovery between each sprint with 10 to 12 sprints before trying to add an additional 50-yard sprint each week, up to but not exceeding 18 sprints total. Swim 100 yards becomes super easy after all that but that's not all. Then there's doing 6 x 25 yards at 45-second intervals; swimming at 85 percent max heart rate. Cooling down with 300 slow laps and then warming up with 300. Then 200 yards pull with buoy, kick 200 yards as we enter the main set with eight 100-yard sprints with 1-minute rest between intervals, adding an extra 100-yard sprint each consecutive week up to, but not exceeding, 16 total sprints. Cool down with 200 yards easy then warm up 300 yards easy. 200 yards drill, 200 yards kick, 500 yards pull with a buoy. Trying to breathe every three strokes for 100 yards, while for the next 100 yards trying to breathe every 5 strokes, and then repeat. Also trying to alternate sides when taking a breath with the goal to increase lung oxygen intake and learn how to breathe on both sides. Cool down with 300 easy. That's when we dial it back at the end of the week to maximize taper. Warm up 300 to 400 yards with the main set of eight 50-yard sprints with 30 seconds recovery. Cool down 300 yards. 800 yards easy swim. And that's my month in just the pool, not counting all the normal gym workouts he puts me through. In short, this is Olympic level training. For example, to qualify for the 2016 Summer Olympics, a swimmer had to be able to swim the length of a pool in about 23 to 26 seconds. That's 50 meters or a few feet longer than the length of a football field in LESS THAN 30 SECONDS! The typical training schedule is working out in the pool twice a day, six days a week. But since this isn't anything more than him helping me to not be a lump of blob goo, we don't hit this as much. But that doesn't mean that the pool workouts aren't intense as fuck. The sprinting workouts focus on developing power and speed in the water. So sometimes I might sprint while hooked up to a power rack, a device that adds resistance as I move through the water so that I have to work even harder to keep going. I also do kick sets to work the legs and pull sets to isolate the arms. We work controlling my breathing with hypoxic workouts, which require me to limit breathing or hold my breath altogether. This also clocks in some serious distance, to the tune of 6 to 12 miles of swimming in a single workout. Sprinters have to train to develop their aerobic capacity, which means doing a lot of yardage. What's yardage? Are you sitting down? Something in the neighborhood of 10,000 to 20,000 meters (6 to 12 miles), or 100 to 200 laps in a single workout. Training outside the pool is no joke, either. We lift weights, run, do yoga, Pilates, you name it. Literally, everything we do on land is meant to complement some aspect of swimming, so typically training outside the pool is coordinated by Pain. But this doesn't mean he aims me to get all buff. The key to lifting as a swimmer is to get stronger so you have more power in the pool but to stay as lean as possible and not put on too much muscle mass, which makes you heavier in the water. Shoulder stabilization exercises, which are essential to building the strong, durable shoulders swimmers need to swing their arms over their heads over and over. Beyond that, most swimmers' lifting programs will be designed around the stroke they specialize in, I specialize in the Breaststroke. Doing lots of heavy squats and lunges and core exercises work for the breaststroke, and shoulder and arms workouts to help upper body for the freestyle stroke. All that training means lots of eating, which is usually a girl's worst nightmare. If you're going to be swimming twice a day, lifting weights three times per week, and also doing sprints, yoga, and Pilates, you're going to need a lot of fuel. It's estimated that female swimmers eat 3,000 to 5,000 calories per day and male swimmers about 5,000 to 8,000 per day during training. To put that in perspective, a 25-year-old guy who is 6'0'' that weighs about 165 pounds and exercises a few times per week would need about 2,400 calories per day to maintain his weight, and a 25-year-old woman who's 5'5'' and weighs about 140 pounds and works out a few times per week would need about 1,900 calories per day to maintain her weight. After about a month of this, Pain starts to taper me or adjust my activity level so that I'm fresh and ready to go all out on personal reward day. During the taper, we stop all training except the pool workouts, and the pool workouts are tweaked to be less demanding. But outside of the pool workouts, I will sometimes give up all activity, no matter how low intensity it is. Maybe just veg out in bed for a day and watch anime, or hang out with friends till into the late hours. You know, fun stuff. It all helps in recovery, but what really relaxes me are massages and a good cracking at the chiropractor to stay healthy and strong. However, because of the pain in my back, I don't end up lasting very long. Maybe close to an hour at most before something gives. "*gasps* Timeout! Fuck! *blurbles*" I barely have enough time to paddle back into the shallows as my limbs give out and I end up grasping on the pool edge rim to keep from going under. "WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT'S WRONG?" "I can't...I can't feel my legs." He jumps in and grabs my right leg. Lifting it, feeling it, and bending it. "CAN YOU FEEL ANY OF THIS?" "Just barely. It's numb with a pins and needles tingle. Like when you lay on a body part and it falls asleep from lack of circulation, then when you get off it and blood flows again giving a little boost to the misfiring nerves and making the tingling seem worse, but eventually, the nerve signals begin to flow properly again. Yet, as far as I know, nothing is cutting off circulation." "SO YOU DON'T FEEL THIS?" He pinches the skin. "Feel what?" "HMMM...HOW ABOUT THIS?" He stabs into the flesh with the points of his finger bones, drawing slight blood. "A little bit. Not a lot, but a little." "INTERESTING. IS IT JUST THE LEGS? CAN YOU MOVE THEM?" "I don't know. The top half feels fine. This could be a temporary paralysis. Right?" "HMMM...IT COULD BE STRESS RELATED. TOO MUCH MENTAL CRAP CAN EFFECT THE BODY PHYSICALLY." "Damn it...*sigh* Human bodies are so lame!" "NOW I WOULDN'T SAY THAT..." Carefully, he removes his fingertips from my skin and rubs tenderly into it. Seeing if he can "JUST LOOK AT YOURSELF. WHEN WE FIRST MET, YOU WERE FAR FROM THIS STRONG BUCK THAT YOU ARE NOW." "You do know that bucks are male deer, right?" "DON'T CARE, MY POINT STILL STANDS. YOU WERE A GLOB OF FRESH CLAY, READY TO BE MOLDED INTO ANYTHING. AND WITH MY GUIDANCE, YOU HAVE BECOME SOMETHING MORE THAN JUST NORMAL RUN ON YOUR BRAIN KIND OF GIRL. YOU'VE GOTTEN A BODY THAT ONLY THE STRONG CAN GET AND IT SHOWS. MMMM DOES IT SHOW..." "Uh, what?" "YOU'VE BECOME SO TONED. SO WELL DEFINED. EACH STRONG MUSCLE CAREFULLY HONED TO BE POWERFUL AND YET DESCRET. NO ONE CAN TELL BY LOOKING AT YOU JUST HOW STRONG YOU REALLY ARE. THAT IS OF COURSE, TILL THEY FUCK UP AND YOU HAVE TO KICK SOME ASS." "But you're wrong." "HUH?" "I've always been strong. Muscles mean nothing compared to inner strength. Sure, you can't pick up heavy shit with inner strength, but you can carry the weight of the world and all its troubles with it. And that's the strength I've ever needed." There is silence for a time. "ARE YOU OKAY? NOT BULLSHITTING OR ANYTHING, I'M LEGITIMATELY ASKING IF YOU'RE ALRIGHT." "Regardless of my answer, you won't believe me. Besides, any issues I have I'll discuss with Professor Stretch. After all, he is the psychology professor." "SO, WHAT? YOU DON'T THINK YOU CAN CONFIDE IN ME?" "Why? What's it to you?" "BECAUSE I CARE, DAMN IT!" I'm rendered stunned as he drops my leg and pulls me to his chest from behind. "S-sir?" "YOU STUPID GIRL. WE'VE SPENT THE BETTER PART OF TWO YEARS TOGETHER. ARE YOU REALLY TRYING TO TELL ME THAT YOU DON'T SEE ME AS ANYTHING MORE THAN JUST YOUR TEACHER?" "Pain...That's not it." "THEN TELL ME. TALK TO ME. I AM MORE THAN JUST A COACH. I'VE HELPED TO MAKE YOU INTO WHAT YOU ARE NOW. SO SPEAK TO ME." "I can't." "WHY NOT?!" "Because I like you!" Oh, the awkwardness. "Y-YOU...LIKE ME?" "*sigh*...Yeah." "WOW. YOU SOUND REAL HAPPY ABOUT IT." "I'm sorry. I don't mean it like that. As bad as it makes me sound like a cheesy high school sitcom cliché, but I suck when it comes to feelings and junk. I've never really been able to express myself without worrying about the consequences, so I end up bottling my feelings and tossing that bottle far into bottomless abyss that is my subconscious. Yet lately that's getting harder to do." "OH? DO TELL." If I could move I'd so be trying to flee right now. "I tend to dream of things." "REALLY? WHAT KIND OF...THINGS~?" There's a teasing air to his voice and it makes me want to cringe at how vulnerable I am. "DO YOU DREAM OF ME? ARE THESE DREAMS NAUGHTY~?" "Don't be so cocky." "THAT DOESN'T ANSWER THE QUESTION." "I don't have to answer if I don't want to." "FINE. BUT THAT JUST TELLS ME THAT YOU, NO PUN INTENDED, HAVE WET DREAMS OF ME." I'm used to his brother and some of my other friends making puns, so of course, this makes me snicker. "Well, I will say some of them really made a splash." That makes him blush with a cringe. "DID YOU REALLY NEED TO MAKE A PUN?" "Oh no, am I in hot water?" "STOP IT." "No need to boil over sir." "STOP." "Wow, you look steamed." "I SAID STOP!" "Or what?" "OR THIS!" Tilting my head towards him, he slams his mouth to mine and shuts me up. It takes a moment for my brain to register what is happening and another moment to realize I'm kissing him back, not that he seems to mind by the sound of him softly moaning in content. Slowly he pulls back, letting the feeling linger on my lips and to take in the satisfaction of having me blush so hard. "HAD I KNOWN IT WAS THIS EASY TO RENDER YOU SPEECHLESS, I WOULD'VE DONE SO MUCH SOONER." "Not sure if you're flirting or just being honest there." "A BIT OF BOTH. BUT IF I WERE TO TRUELY FLIRT, YOU WOULDN'T STAND A CHANCE IN BEING ABLE TO CONTROL YOURSELF." "*scoff* You're ego is so massive it's truly what is filling this pool." "HEH HEH...CUTE." "Don't call me cute." I scoop up some water and swing it at his face. Pain gasps and stumbles backward, letting me go as I keep splashing him as I move back to the pool wall for support. My legs still won't respond but I can at least somewhat stand on them. Suddenly, he retaliates with a splash of his own across the surface to push a large wave over me, a daring look in his glowing indigo eyes. I know that look, that's the look of someone about to do something stupid. So before he can make another move, I retaliate with more splashes of my own. Thus a war begins. He laughs with a grin as we keep splashing each other over and over again. It's getting harder to shield myself with one arm, but I do my best to splash back in defiance, even if it's sloppy. Part of me feels like a child at a playground, completely letting loose by playing this up more and more as you give in to the way this feels. I can't remember the last time I simply went with the flow and enjoyed the moment. Eventually, he stops mercilessly splashing me as he's managed to bring himself closer to me and the room for splashing is now too limited. My back now firmly pressed to the wall, water dripping off my flushed face, and an ethereal luminescent glow from the light of his eyes colors the rippling surface of the water. It's only after making eye contact does he brings his hands down on either side of me, caging me with no escape and I feel his breath on me as he leans in closer, keeping his eyes locked on mine. "YOU CAN BE A REAL PAIN IN THE ASS WHEN YOU WANT TO BE, YOU KNOW THAT?" I blink a few times before snickering. "And you're a literal Pain. But for real, if that's an example of you flirting than you really need to bone up on your studies." He sighs and headbutts me, earning him a yelp from me and surprise from how loud the clacking sound was. "What the fuck was that for?!" "FIRST OFF, THAT WAS FOR BEING STUPID AND FOR MAKING PUN OF ME. AND SECOND, I HAVE YET BEGUN TO FLIRT." "Oh, then, by all means, coach casanova, woo me. I'd like to see something more romantic than a skull bashing." "YOU MOCK ME NOW, BUT LET IT BE KNOWN I DID WARN YOU AHEAD OF TIME." "Yeah-yeah. Whatever you say, sir." Bringing his hands up, he cups my face in his palms. The callous structure of his fingers slowly grazing over my cheekbones as his eyes follow this movement, enjoying the softness of skin on his fingertips. I try not to show any emotion from his actions, having seen this as a contest of wills, if he really wishes to court me then he has to earn it...But what's a contest without a little competition? My hands pierce through the water and gently hold his face, copying his movements. I see in his eyes that look I know all too well from training with him, that never back down and never surrender look. Oh, it is so on! "I thought you were going to flirt with me?" "ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS." He pulls us together like magnets and I close my eyes as my lips press over his mouth. Even though we have kissed but a short time ago, nothing has made an impact more than the deep kiss we share now. It's as if the world has fallen away from beneath me, the water has dissipated in the air, and the only thing that matters is this simple action, locking us together in silent agreement that everything has changed. Nothing feels as heavy and as powerful as this. As I hold him gently between my palms, pressing him closer and deeper to me as I part my lips, I sigh with content as I slowly move over his mouth with my own, completely drinking him in much to his enjoyment. "MMMM...MY CHARM HAS GOTTEN TO YOU ALREADY I SEE~" "Heheh...Not quite. You're not the only one that knows how to make someone swoon~." "IS THAT A CHALLENGE~?" "You bet your bony ass it is~." "WELL THEN...CHALLENGE ACCEPTED~!" He pushes against me in response. I find myself leaning back against the wall as he suddenly leads the way in our little battle's dance, almost as if he's quickly able to let loose everything he's held back for who knows how long. Now with the lines of student and teacher have been forgotten, he's finally able to show me exactly what he's been thinking of when he watches me workout. And it takes all the strength within me to stop my eyes from flying open in surprise as his kiss paces from kindly gradual to passionate and teasingly demanding. Suddenly, I realize I'm sinking further into the water as my legs are beginning to bend, but that's when he grabs a firm hold of my shoulders and pulls me closer to him. And by the way his hands are clawing at my skin, I can tell that he has no intention of letting me go anytime soon...Which I don't mind one bit. "Thank you." "IT'S LIKE I TELL YOU EVERY TIME WE TRAIN...I'VE GOT YOU." "Awww...Then allow me to return the favor~." I wrap my arms around his neck and heatedly kiss him with passion. His hand snakes away from my shoulder to bury itself deep in my hair and pushes me against his mouth as he guides my lips apart, filling it completely with his tongue. My mind is starting to haze and dip into the unknown. I feel heart begin to pound as my hands start to wander, trembling fingers find their way to caress the back of his skull while others lace themselves in the vertebrae of his neck and tickle each bone with careful interest. He kisses like he's waited for this from the very beginning and vaguely I wonder if this is true. But no coherent thought is found as he seizes me completely to his control. "SUCH A GOOD GIRL...MMMMMM...I'LL MAKE YOU MINE~." "I'd enjoy it if you try...Sans~." Dropping his teaching name to speak his true name in such a sultry tone sets him off. He urgently tugs my hair back, throwing my head back as my lips break away from his. I gasp a breathless plead for more but am quickly stifled into silence as he grazes his mouth over the skin of my neck until he bites a responsive area that forces a moan out of me. My fingers dig into his bones as he moves his mouth over the skin, biting and sucking at that one sensitive spot that is driving me insane! Just barely I can feel my toes curl and my eyes flutter at the feelings he is giving me. Damn it, he's gotten to me so easily with this neck action and I hate that I'm giving into it! But after a good amount of time, he gradually pulls back to glance at the mark he's made and stares at the physical proof that he's scathed my skin. He sharply sucks air in through his teeth with a shaky shudder. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW CLOSE I CAME TO CLAIMING YOU. TO FUSE SOME OF MY MAGIC INTO YOUR FLESH FOR ALL TO SEE THAT YOU BELONG SOLELY TO ME." "What stopped you?" "TO QUOTE YOU, MY INNER STRENGHT. TO MARK SOMEONE AS A MATE IS NOT A THING TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. THINK OF IT AS THE MONSTER EQUIVALENT OF A HUMAN MARITAL CONTRACT." I just stare at him. "Yeah...No do that, please. That's too big a leap." "NO SHIT. IT'S WHY I HELD BACK. WHO DO YOU TAKE ME FOR? MY BROTHER PAPYRUS?" "Hey, Slim is a great guy. And he does a lot to make you happy, lay off him." "LAY OFF HIM? ...FINE." "Really? Wow, I didn't think it was that easy." "THAT'S NOT IT." "Then...What's up?" He leans forward to press his mouth against my ear, catching the edge of the lobe away from the earrings between his sharp teeth as his wandering fingers gradually wade through the water and slide down the curves of my body. "I'D MUCH RATHER LAY ON YOU INSTEAD~." I pout at his remark but close my eyes anyway and try to relax to his attention. "YOU WORK SO HARD. IT'S MADE YOU SO TENSE. LET ME TAKE THAT AWAY. LET ME MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD. LET ME HEAL YOU~." He lets loose a throaty groan against in my ear as he slips his digits past the hem of my gym shorts and slowly pushes his hands along my thighs, making me shiver. Maybe he has a point. Not about the sex stuff, but other thing. If my current pain and paralysis are stress related from being wound up so tight, then perhaps a little physical release wouldn't hurt. It's worth a shot at the very least. "Okay. But be gentle with me. I'm, um...Inexperienced in this kind of stuff." I feel so embarrassed, and the look he has only makes it worse. "YOU'RE A VIRGIN?" I just nod. "OH...WELL THEN...I SHALL DO MY BEST. BUT ONLY IF YOU GIVE ME THE OKAY." I'm taken by surprise by his kind yet roguish eyes and it fills me with warm trust. "I give you consent." "VERY WELL THEN. YOU JUST RELAX AND I'LL TAKE CAKE OF YOU. BUT JUST A HEADS UP, THIS MIGHT GET...INTENSE." I can tell in the raw tone of his voice that he's not lying and I mentally brace myself for things to come. His hand dives deeper, going into my panties and I hold him tighter in shock which makes him snicker. For a second, I wonder what's wrong with my body as this weird feeling is stirring inside me, and right now I'm not if I should say anything about it. But before I can find the words I want to speak, a sudden unrelenting force is pushed between the folds of my sex, moving expertly over my clit and almost instantly a sharp intensive bout of pleasure pierces through every inch of my body as I tremble beneath his fingers. "Oh...oohh...oooohh...!" The pool water makes his fingers slippery and fast, penetrating me without difficulty to massage my insides, all while I uncontrollably arch further into him. My entire body tingles like lightning, the incredible strength in my core is pulsating harder and harder, threatening to take me to all new ethereal levels the likes of which I've never known before. He watches intently, eating up my building pleasure and taking pride in that it's all because of him. He licks his teeth hungrily as his voice rips through his throat in a low growl. "CAN YOU FEEL IT YET? THAT BURING NEED DEEP INSIDE. A FEELING THAT SOMETHING IS MISSING AND YOU HAVE TO GET IT TO BE COMPLETE. YOU FEEL IT, YES?" "Yes! Please...I need it!" "HEH HEH HEH...GOOD GIRL. MMMMMM...YOUR VOICE IS SO ATTRACTIVE WHEN YOU'RE NEEDY. BUT I BET IT SOUNDS EVEN BETTER WHEN YOU MOAN~." His movements become less teasing and gradually get faster into the perfect rhythm. I feel my heart pumping with fiery blood as I quietly plead for mercy in silent whispers. "OH NO, THAT WON'T DO. I WANT TO HEAR YOU. YOUR PLEASURE. YOUR NEED. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT." "P-pain...P-please..." "TUT TUT, NAUGHTY GIRL. THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAID." He pinches my clit and I scream. "Sans!" "*deep chuckle* MUCH BETTER. NOW...LISTEN AND DO AS I SAY. CUM FOR ME." I'm so used to obeying him, be it from school or personal training, that when he gave that command my muscles tighten and the heaviness in my core suddenly burst into an intense explosion of bliss. Sweat blends into the water as it drips off my quivering body. I claw my fingertips over the back of his shoulders while trembling against him, riding the waves of my first climax amongst the small waves of the water bump us. "Fuuuuck...Is this real life?" I sound messed up, words come out in garbled low moans that are just barely coherent. This just makes him laugh. "THAT, MY DEAR, IS WHAT IS CALLED AN ORGASM." "*mumbles* You have magic fingers. *drunken giggles*" "TELL ME...WOULD YOU LIKE TO FEEL THAT AGAIN?" "Oooh, pretty please?" "EAGER THING YOU ARE. I LIKE THAT~. SO DON'T WORRY, MY LOVE DRUNK PET, I INTEND TO GIVE YOU THAT AND SO MUCH MORE~." His fingers slip out of me and he pulls my shorts down along with the underwear before doing the same to himself, revealing his magic indigo member which lights up the pool even more. I'm so sensitive still, the movement of the water alone as he helps to get this ready has me mewling and it spurns him on to do this even more. "HOW ARE YOUR LEGS? ANY BETTER?" "I can move my feet, but my knees are still weak." "YOU'RE WELCOME." I laugh at his cockiness as he skims his hands over my thighs then lifts me up just a little higher against the pool wall for better bracing. I keep his lustful gaze as I clutch onto his shoulders and he moves my legs apart. Now in position, his hands float beneath me as I'm held at an agonizingly close distance from him and now there's only one thing left to do. He eyes me with desire, I nod once more in case he needed to know again that this was alright with me, and with that acknowledged...It happens. He enters me. "O-Oh fuck..." "THAT SEEMS TO BE YOUR FAVORITE WORD." "Don't mock, just bone." "FINE. BUT YOU HAVE TO STOP MAKING PUNS." "Deal." He buries his face against the base of my neck, catching shoulder skin between his teeth as he groans and slowly grinds into me at a slow pace. Every small thrust, every tiny jab he makes within me is met with a powerful response deep in my abdomen. My fingers draw lines over the back of his skull, his hands grab a tight hold of my thighs, and I stifle the urge to scream as the head of his erection suddenly hits a bundle of nerves deep inside. "Oooh shit...Sans...Why are you so big?" "ALL THE BETTER TO FUCK YOU WITH, MY DEAR~." I'd smart off about that if I wasn't chocking on moans. My sex is as sensitive as I've ever felt it before, and it's driving me crazy! And I wouldn't mind it if it weren't for his smug expression. "YEAH...THAT'S MY GIRL...MMMMMM...YOU LIKE BEING FULL...OOOOOH...I LIKE FILLING YOU TOO...GOD, YOU FEEL SO GOOD ON ME..." "All the better to please you, sir~." "SO NAUGHTY. YOU CAN KEEP IT UP SO LONG AS YOU OBEY." "I can try, but I make no promises~." "GOOD. *shudders* SO GOOD...GOING TO PICK UP THE PACE..." His thrusts gradually speed up, faster then faster, filling me more and more, sending my mind into space at the feel his length grazing the sensitive nerves in my core. Never have I experienced something as powerful and as intense as when he thrusts into me, faster, harder...Losing all sense of himself in me, his tongue hanging carelessly out his mouth and the sight of his contorted expression, burning bright with an indigo flush setting his face aglow, sends me careening over the edge. "Sans...I'm...Ooooh...I'm close. Sans...Aaah!" "SAY IT AGAIN. *groan* SAY MY NAME. TELL ME WHO YOU BELONG TO. WHO IS GIVING YOU SO MUCH PLEASURE!" He orders, pushing himself mercilessly into me until the feelings stirring deep within me start to spiral deliciously between my legs and he can barely take looking at my submissive expression. Gasping out whimpers as drool trails indiscreetly out my can't seem to shut mouth and my eyes rolling back in pleasure, yeah, I'm a mess. His raw voice is laced with uncontrollable lust as he grips a hold of my waist in his impossibly strong skeletal arms. I grasp a tight hold of him, nails digging into his bones as I leave lines over his skeleton. A sharp gasp synchronizes with his harsh thrusts and in between the delicious rhythm of his movements, I try my best to make sense of my spiraling thoughts to answer him. "Sans! Saaahns...S-sans..." This is it. I can feel climax coming, reaching to its absolute limits, and Pain feels it too. His member pulsating with the urge to release. It's impossible now. He can't hold himself back any longer if he even was to begin with, not when he can feel my body tightening around him in all the right ways. Suddenly he cups my face in his hand as he forces me to look directly at him. In his sockets that at any other time are filled with annoyance and anger, there is unfathomable desire. In his eyes which normally can burn an everlasting hole in your soul, there's a passion to love me as tenderly as possible. I can feel it in his hands, holding me like I were fine marble. And the feeling of being wanted by him finally tips me off the fucking cliff. "CUM WITH ME. I WANT TO FEEL YOU MERGE WITH ME." If he spoke more, I know not. His words to me blur out with all other sound, everything goes silent and the world flashes out in blinding light before slowly coming back. My short visit to Heaven has me return to a sight that sets me off more. He releases everything he's held back from me all this time. He relentlessly fills my body with his magic sex juice as I feel my climax quivering tortuously over his member. The waves of the water crashing against the both of us as his fast-paced thrusts push them back and forth against our forms until we both stiffen, giving in to the intensive release of our orgasms. The sheer power of dual climax is like nothing I've ever experienced before. I'm careening through euphoric plains of being, as if I've shed away this human skin and fractured into millions of pieces against him, blending in with the water to melt into liquid. And as my mind spins alongside his, I wonder what has to be going on in that skull of his at this moment. A soft indigo light burns from within his chest, just as a weak pink light glows from within me. Through the misty haze of orgasm, I can see it clearly now. As our bodies connect, so do our souls. It's as if both of our forms have collided together, experiencing the ethereal feeling of sharing one existence. And I breathe deeply as if it's my last breath...I could get used to this. Thankfully Pain doesn't let go when I collapse on him. All the training and sex have me completely drained. My arms fall limply over his shoulders and his hands catch me in his embrace. He's so warm, in a wet and comforting sort of way. But deep down I know he's still a ball busting tight ass that likes to make me mad so I can try to prove him wrong. Funny how now I see that as incredibly sweet. It will probably still piss me off, but it's still sweet of him. It shows he cares. And if he's willing to do so, then so should I. I press my lips against his neck vertebrae and smirk when his bones heat up in response. I delight in the synchronized pace of our heavy breathing. We're both spent but most likely yearning for more. It's too little and too much all at once. But we do need rest. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and bruised. Best save the fun for later for now. I affectionately hold him close to my trembling body, eventually feeling his length fade away from deep inside me as he makes his way over to the ladder and with one swift motion he lifts me out of the water onto the side of the pool so I don't drown from muscular exhaustion. He wasn't kidding about having a strong body for a skeleton. "I TAKE IT YOU CAN AND CAN'T MOVE NOW." "*yawn* Pretty much." "WE SHOULD ADD THIS TO OUR TRAINING REGIMENT." "Totally." He moves some hair from my face and rubs my cheek, making me smile. "BE RIGHT BACK, TOUGH GIRL. I CAN'T TAKE YOU HOME WITHOUT YOUR PANTS, NOW CAN I?" I giggle with a weak nod and push myself further away from the pool before I pass out, but in my last moments of consciousness, I see him dive into the water and pop back up to proudly hold up my panties. Oh my god...He's fucking adorable! That's it, I've made up my mind indefinitely now. I'm in love with you, Pain. Nothing will ever be able to change this fact, even if you tried.

[loudlytransparenttrash]

Time To Reform Black America

A big reason why the black communities today are failing to progress and keep up is not because of racism, it is not because ‘the legacy of slavery,’ it’s not because of white people or Donald Trump, it’s because they are brought up as if the year is still 1917 and they can’t let go. It’s a symbol of black empowerment to teach the kids about their history which is great, but it’s also important to seperate history from present day which so many fail to do. Black children are coaxed into watching old newsreels of black civil rights protesters being hosed, beaten, and dragged off to prison. They watch Norman Lear-like sitcoms and get told stories and read accounts of black America before the civil rights movement and the assassination of MLK. Such things would fill any child with horror. Yet you would imagine it would also encourage them to feel grateful and excited to live in times of equal rights and treatment and liberty for all, as it does with any other race or civilization looking back on its tragic and troubling past.

Yet most blacks who do realize this are usually the odd one out among other black Americans. In every race-related debate, whether it’s Black Lives Matter, any of the police shootings, the Million Man March, Ebonics or affirmative action, most blacks start every conversation with fierce conviction that even 150 years after slavery and decades after the Civil Rights Act, the white man’s foot remains pressed upon all black Americans’ necks. Challenging this idea is called racist, we are told to just “shut up and listen.” For most black Americans, the rapid increase of the black middle class, of interracial relationships and marriages, and of blacks in prestigious positions including our President for the past eight years, has no bearing on the real state of black America. Further, they believe, whites’ inability to grasp the unmistakable reality of oppression is itself proof of savage racism, while blacks who question this claim are called self-deluded uncle toms. Individuality is rare in black America. 

Black leaders and movements mouth the ideology of victimhood for political advantage, “Confrontation works,” as Al Sharpton has calculatingly observed. But most rank-and-file exponents of the “racism forever” worldview really mean it. Their conviction rests on several core excuses, carefully passed from person to person, generation to generation at all levels of the black community. These myths and severe distortions of truth are the biggest obstacle to further black progress in today’s America, adding up to a deeply felt cult of victimology that refuses to be held accountable and move on with the times. Some subscribe to it fiercely, most accept it as a valid point of view. The black leaders and the voices of black lives matter, who launches into a tirade about the War on Blacks, receive nodding heads all over as they absorb this indoctrination.

You’d think that a group committed to advancement would find empowerment in fighting new challenges such as the ones plaguing their own communities but instead they focus on challenges that have already been fought and won decades ago or ones that simply do not exist. But many blacks, inevitably, suffer from a classic post-colonial inferiority complex. Like insecure people everywhere, they are driven by a private sense of personal inadequacy to seeing imaginary obstacles to their success supposedly planted by others. Once the 1968 Kerner Commission report fueled that tendency by positing that American racism was an institutional, systemic matter rather than a merely personal one, black leaders and thinkers gripped on tight and black Americans still hold onto this idea as if their lives depend on it being real.

In the grip of this seductive ideology, blacks have made the immobilizing assumption that individual initiative can lead only to failure, with only a few exceptionally lucky exceptions. Yet many groups have triumphed over similar or worse obstacles, including millions of Caribbean and African immigrants in America, from Colin Powell to the thousands of Caribbean children succeeding in precisely the crumbling schools where black American kids fail. Indeed, thinkers such as Thomas Sowell and Stephan and Abigail Thernstrom argue that American blacks could have advanced, and were advancing, even without the civil rights legislation of the sixties and the racial preferences of the seventies, since black unemployment was at an all-time low in the mid-sixties, and the black middle class was already growing fast. But these facts can’t outweigh the almost narcotic pleasure that underdoggism provides a race plagued by self-doubt. The victimology cult has in turn engendered a cult of black separatism. Inspired by the Black Power movement of the 1960s, which violently rejected whites as terminally evil, today’s separatism, in the same vein, flirts disastrously with the idea that, because white racism ineluctably drives black people outside the bounds of civic virtue, blacks shouldn’t be seriously punished or morally condemned for criminal behavior. If they call their violence a reaction against racism, anything goes, regardless of any other factor such as the truth. The consequences of this are rising all throughout the country today, as they have done in the past and it’s a real concern.

The worst result of black America keeping themselves in a separate realm to its “oppressors,” is the widespread cult of anti-intellectualism. Consider even in middle-class suburbs, increasing numbers of middle-class black students tend to cluster at the bottom of their schools in grades and test scores. Black students whose parents earn $70,000 a year or more make median SAT scores lower than impoverished white students whose parents make $6,000 a year or less, while black students whose parents both have graduate degrees make mean SAT scores lower than white students whose parents only completed high school. Why? All through modern black American culture, even throughout black academia, the belief prevails that learning for learning’s sake is a white affair, spelling properly and talking properly is a white thing and therefore inherently disloyal to a proper black identity. Studying black-related issues is okay, because learning about oneself is authentic. But this impulse also implicitly classifies higher education as irrelevant, which is the direct cause of the underrepresentation of minorities in the hard sciences and other major fields. But hey, it’s okay, affirmative action resolves that, we can just hand out some scholarships and lower the bar to the ground, enforce racial quotas and hey presto, we have equal representation to keep the race baiters happy. 

The sense that the properly “black” person only delves into topics related to himself is also why you can count on one hand the number of books by black Americans that are not on racial topics. The belief that blacks and school don’t go together gained strength in the mid-1960s, when black panther separatists rejected traits associated with whites as alien, and black students, in this spirit, began teasing their fellows who strove to excel in school as “acting white,” a much harsher taunt than merely dismissing them as nerds and this trend has continued well into today. The “acting white” charge, which implies that you think yourself different from and better than your peers, is the prime reason that blacks do poorly in school and why the drop out rates are so high. The gifted black student quickly faces a choice between peer group acceptance and intellectual achievement. Most, out of an utterly human impulse, choose the former. Even if they open themselves to schooling in college or later, their performance all too often permanently suffers from the message they long ago internalized that “the school thing” is an add-on, not a mix-in.

The prevailing orthodoxy lays the blame on other factors, of course, but none of them withstands scrutiny. The fact that the children of working poor immigrants, including Asian and Indian and many other non-whites, who often do well in school and actually do far, far better economically and academically than whites, disproves the claim that their working-class roots deny today’s newly middle-class blacks to teach their children to excel in school. The success of Southeast Asian immigrants’ children particular in the same terrible inner-city schools in which black students fail disproves the Jonathan Kozol gospel that it is the “savage inequality” of school funding that makes black kids fail. Claude Steele at one point made the famous and influential argument that middle-class black students only underachieve in school because fear of confirming the stereotype of black mental inferiority makes them choke up on tests. There may be a grain of truth to this but again, all accountability and blame is shifted onto somebody else while the convenience and safety of victimhood is indulged in. 

Victimology, separatism, and anti-intellectualism underlie the general black community’s response to all race-related issues. The response to affirmative action is a case in point. Blacks see it as a policy that appropriately bends the rules for a group of people who believe are owed something, a notion that today, when middle-class blacks are a massive and thriving group in American society, can only seem plausible through the lens of victimology. The defense of affirmative action on the grounds of “diversity” is an expression of separatism. Since there are not enough black students to be admitted to selective schools on the same merits as the other students, beyond a certain cut-off point blacks are being valued for their skin color rather than their academic accomplishments, everything MLK was against. This is a state of affairs, moreover, that requires a strong dose of anti-intellectualism to accept without discomfort. And the same anti-intellectualism rests content with the flimsy reasoning behind all defenses of affirmative action: that it is immoral for colleges to require a top-quality dossier from the black child of a doctor and a corporate manager simply because he’s black.

Today, these three thought patterns impede black advancement much more than racism and the dysfunctional inner cities, the broken families and black on black crime and black educational underachievement will persist until such thinking disappears. In my experience, trying to show many black Americans how mistaken and counterproductive these ideas are is like trying to convince a religious person that God does not exist: the sentiments are beyond the reach of rational, civil discourse and I get that, it’s almost impossible to overcome but just as we reform religions, I think the black narrative is also in much need of reformation as well, it is severely outdated. There was a time when fighting and decrying institutional racism was the main task at hand, and blacks of today’s generation owe gratitude to those who did it, their comfortable and privileged lives would be impossible without the sacrifices and efforts made by everyone who was a part of the revolution. Today, though, these people are well-intentioned relics of another era, an era they in their moment helped us to get past. Our main concern must be with new generations, who can fulfill their potential only in an America where victimology, separatism, and anti-intellectualism don’t flourish among black Americans. There are two main paths to this goal.

First, it’s time for well-intentioned whites to stop pardoning “understandable” the worst of human nature whenever black people exhibit it. The person one pities is a person one may like but does not truly respect. Second, it’s time for our selective educational institutions to eliminate affirmative action in admissions. This policy may have been useful in the 1960s in creating a black middle class. Today, however, it can only be classed as discriminatory. To achieve in any endeavor, people need incentives. As long as top colleges exempt black students of all classes from serious competition, their admissions officers shouldn’t wonder why so few black students submit top-class dossiers. Only without such a policy will parents, teachers, and school boards, genuinely alarmed at drop-offs in “diversity” in institutions of higher learning, start to help black children become truly competitive for selective schools. What happened after California ended legalized racial preferences in 1995 is a case in point. Programs exploded throughout the state to prepare minorities to be competitive and to eliminate their financial barriers to college.

Eliminating affirmative action will also help dispel black college students’ resentment-tinged anxiety that their white classmates dismiss them as affirmative action picks. It will promote richer interracial contact among students poised to become the nation’s leaders as they will then all be truly on an equal playing field. The black student who can confidently claim to be on campus for the exact same reasons that white and Asian students are, they would be less likely to feel defensive and indulge in victimhood and less likely to be paranoid about their white classmates being covert racists. I believe the time has come for such changes. Sure, these ideas will be condemned, branded racist and repulsive but I also know it has to be said. There was a crucial and damaging change in black ideology in the mid-1960s which we are at risk of not only repeating but making even worse today. 

Perhaps twenty years from now mainstream black thought won’t be such a taboo and more blacks will stress individual initiative and integration. And perhaps the national media will get on the bandwagon too. Let’s hope by then, we won’t feel that any talk of black personal responsibility needs to be balanced by victimology and blaming others. That’s when we will know that we are past the coded fraud that passes for interracial discourse today and have made the kind of progress that yesterday’s civil rights’ leaders would recognize and applaud.

[goonlalagoon]

Lessons in Falling || Leagues and Legends

Currently on a binge of writing fanfic for @ink-splotch‘s Leagues and Legends series, and decided to dust off something I wrote back in November but didn’t get around to posting...so here’s the Red/Leaf Modern Martial Arts!AU absolutely nobody asked for and I wrote anyway in a combination of NaNoWriMo “whatever it never needs to see the light of day” and grading stress...no real spoilers for Beanstalk or Echoes, and definitely none for RtD. A few lines are directly quoted from Beanstalk.

(Read on Ao3)

“Falling’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of.” - Liam Jones

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

White (grey)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“The first thing to learn in any combat,” Red says calmly at the first session, “is how to take a fall.” He smiles at them, a little sharp. “So, are you ready to learn to fall?” Leaf nods in puzzled agreement, and doesn’t think I already have. In the future he will - corny jokes and self-deprecating rolled eyes, remembering the way his heart had maybe skipped a little bit of a beat when the other boy had handed him a flier with a passing glance at his fading black eye.

But for now, he nods in puzzled agreement and tries to focus on what the red-belt is saying. He hadn’t managed to catch the boy’s name when the instructor rattled off a list of names and assigned someone to taking care of Leaf and Jack for their first session, so just mentally labelled the boy as Red, because of his belt colour.

Jack had insisted on coming along to at least the first session, an unspoken agreement that this could just be some elaborate trap, and Leaf is glad for the company. They’d been in and out of fights throughout the previous term, dealing with bullies and the kind of people who thought ‘I was drunk’ meant they could throw a punch at anyone who annoyed them, rather than ‘hey, maybe I should stop after three pints and not break someone’s nose for breathing too loud’. They’d also gotten into a few over hissed slurs and supposedly funny stereotypes, sharing resigned glances at Halloween and putting up with far too many ‘Juan’ jokes. It wasn’t entirely unthinkable that someone was trying to lure Leaf into a situation where he’d be without Jack to lend a hand, even if it seemed like an over the top ploy. The fact that they’d only managed to find any information about this particular martial art after hours of Googling hadn’t boded well, but they but they both had reasonable confidence in Jack’s ability to bodily throw someone across a room by this point.

Red falls forwards as though pushed by a ghost, tucking into a roll that makes him a blur of brown skin and red and white cloth, winding up on his feet with barely a whisper. Leaf feels his eyebrows shoot up, impressed. Red looks at them calmly. “See? A good fall saves you from getting injured and puts you back on your feet.”

Jack smiles, small and sharp, and falls - much more dramatically, but with the same careless ease he brings to everything except the one riding lesson he’d tried at Leaf’s insistence. Leaf swallows hard, and trades glances with the scrawny kid with a belt that had at one point been white who had trailed across the room after Red. The kid pulls a face. “I hate it when they’re a natural.” Leaf privately agrees. “I’m Grey. Better get this over with.” The boy drops into a much more ungainly roll, stumbling as he stands up and shrugging absently as though he really doesn’t care. He tugs his belt back around into place with a huff, and Leaf wonders what happened to the belt to get it quite that far from white.

Leaf crouches, feeling like a fool, and tries to roll with the same fluidity as Jack and Red. His head thumps against the ground, then his spine hits every vertebrae on the way past until he reaches the point when he thinks he should be magically on his feet, and instead lies staring up at the fluorescent light. Jack’s face appears in his field of vision, and he grins tiredly, already feeling that this is going to be a regular theme. “Guess I need to practice falling, huh?” Red nudges Jack out of the way with a hint of a scowl. “You and Grey run through a few more rolls. I’ll take Leaf through step by step - you were supposed to wait for me to take you through it.” Jack looks a little sheepish, while Leaf tries not to feel too foolish at having gotten carried away rather than waiting to be taught. As the other two obediently wander off, Jack chattering away happily, Red inspects Leaf for any sign of injury. “You okay? There’s a trick to it, like everything. C’mon, I’ll show you.” He pulls Leaf to his feet, and if his hand feels a little warmer in Leaf’s than he would have expected - well, they have been exercising, it’s only to be expected.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Green

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Leaf knows he’s got it wrong as soon as his balance tips past the point of no return. He is falling, just as he’s supposed to, but he realises too late that he’s trying to put the wrong shoulder forwards. He grits his teeth, and feels the impact roll flat along his back rather than shoulder to hip, noisy and ungainly. At least his head doesn’t thump against the ground, but that isn’t much consolation. He stumbles to his feet, hoping his blush isn’t noticeable but knowing it will be, and tries to act like he isn’t fazed. He can’t bring himself to glance over to where Red is watching the grading, and the only person he can see is Laney, one of the purple belts who’s partnering someone from a different dojo for their grading, and Laney has an absolutely unreadable poker face.

He tries telling himself it didn’t matter, but it does. Falling is the most important thing to get right. If you can fall without hurting yourself, you can get back to your feet and try again. He knows a grading isn’t the end of the world, that this is just a hobby, but it feels important. He wants to be good at this, and he wants all of Red’s efforts to teach him to mean something. Jack bumps his shoulder gently as they move to put the mats away, knowing him well enough to guess what he’s thinking. “You did fine.” Leaf shoots him a doubtful look, resigned to being told he’s failed. “Seriously, Leaf, for a white belt the roll was fine, and everything else was good.” Leaf grimaces. “You’re a white belt too, and your roll was way out of my league.” Jack grins and shrugs, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “I fell over a lot when I was younger, I’ve had a lot of practice.”

The examiner agrees with Jack, it seems, because the next session Leaf is told he’d passed. Red hands him a slightly faded green belt with a grin. “Here. New ones are ridiculously pricey, and they get dye all over your dogi unless you’re careful. May as well recycle mine, yeah?” Leaf beams, running his fingers over it gently, and ties it in a precise knot. Jack has produced a belt from his bag, declaring a friend had given it to him when they heard he was grading, ‘...thanks anyway Rupe’. It’s even more faded than Red’s, but Jack doesn’t seem to care that it’s tatty at one end.

The post-training trip to the local fish and chip shop feels like more of a celebration than the friendly post-grading drink had. Tucked into a booth between Jack and Red, Leaf thinks perhaps he just feels like there was something to celebrate, rather than just the fact that he’d made it through the grading in one piece, bar a few bruises. He also admits to himself, quietly, that perhaps it’s also because Red doesn’t have to run off home to finish an essay this time, then shies away from the thought.

While Leaf goes to fetch more chips from the counter, someone in the group decides to start up the karaoke machine in the corner. Jack and Red are deep in what is probably a fascinating conversation about the history of martial arts in different countries, but someone shoves the microphone in Leaf’s hands and puts his favourite song on, so he shoves the basket of chips on the table and joins in. Somewhere in the middle of the fourth song, he glances round to find that Jack and Red’s conversation has come to a lull. Jack is investigating the different sauces available, while Red watches in fascinated horror at what he’s prepared to try eating chips with. Leaf laughs and waves a spare microphone at Red. He knows the other boy will refuse, as he has every time anyone has asked him to join the singing, so turns back to the screen to pick up his cue.

He almost drops the microphone when an unfamiliar singing voice joins in, glancing to his side to find Red, looking slightly self-conscious. Leaf grins, and Red shrugs. He has a decent singing voice, low and warm, and Leaf wonders why he always refuses to join in. Three songs later, they’re both starting to sound raspy, so Leaf grabs Red’s wrist and drags him over to the counter to get a drink.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Blue

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ After a few months, Leaf has started to simply assume he will be working with Red. When they pair up for stretching, the other boy is always to his right in the lineup and already turning to him; when senior grades are assigned to coach the lower belts, Red is somehow in charge of whichever group Leaf is in more often than not. Jack is rarely working with him, nowadays. It was clear from the start that Jack knew what he was doing with the basics and the fundamentals, though no one is quite certain how or why. Jack tends to work with Rupert and Laney, learning techniques a belt or two above the green belts’ syllabus and giving blithe answers that don’t really explain anything but sound like they do when asked where he learnt it all.

Some days, Leaf is jealous, just a little. This does not come easily to him, no matter how much he wishes it would. His body doesn’t seem to understand what he’s asking of it, and he knows even his best techniques are formulaic, blocky, and horribly unreliable. On other days, Leaf doesn’t mind in the slightest, because it tends to be just him and Red, and all of Red’s careful attention is on him. Leaf long ago gave up on telling himself the excessive warmth of Red’s hands and the flush in his own cheeks was simply the result of exercise. He feels his heart skip a beat when he gets one of Red’s rare smiles, and hopes it isn’t obvious that he feels like a lovesick puppy.

It was not an easy realisation. Red is calm, collected, and a finalist; Leaf thinks he’s not about to be interested in getting into a relationship with an excitable first year, if he’s interested in a relationship with another boy at all. Leaf feels a little adrift, a little scared, and a little guilty. It’s a physical sport, and he catches himself craving brief contact and stolen moments of attention, and worries about whether acknowledging he likes the way Red’s hand feels when it’s wrapped around his for balance when they do warm up kicks is somehow unfair to the other boy. He hates that he feels jealous when the red belts train together, or when Red looks after Grey and the few new beginners, white belts already less than pristine and turning grubby grey, and someone else gets the approving nod Leaf judges his progress by.

But in the end, he can’t help his own feelings. He just looks forward to training and wishes it was more than three times a week, and reminds himself that Red doesn’t owe him anything, not even his attention.

Still, he is glad when Red and Rupert casually invite him to join their study table in the library over the break, provided he’s quiet and contained. They’ll delight in his exuberance elsewhere, Red explains, but not when they’ve got an essay to finish in under two hours, thank you very much. Rupert is, as always, more polite about it, simply stressing that they take regular coffee breaks to stretch their legs and talk without disrupting the quiet of the library. Leaf jokingly avoids speaking at all the first time he joins them, but it backfires when they proceed to communicate only by note for the next three study sessions. Rupert smiles politely as though there’s nothing at all amiss about writing a note to ask Leaf to pass him a sheet of paper, but Red’s eyes gleam with humour and Leaf is certain that at least one bathroom break is so he can go crack up at the joke.

Eventually Rupert sighs heavily, and whispers “My pen is out of ink. Could you pass me an ink cartridge, please? I keep a stock of them in that cubby hole” and even though it isn’t that funny both Leaf and Red collapse into laughter, and the librarian throws them out. Rupert follows soon after, still sighing, with their bags and books. Leaf knows him well enough by now to know the quirk of his eyebrows means he’s laughing too. He’s just better at keeping a calm face. Red drags them both off to a coffee shop he knows that tends to be quiet and has enough plug sockets.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Purple

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the ground rushes towards him, Leaf knows he’s falling wrong again. He is weightless, flying, and the ground is coming towards him too fast, and he knows, he knows before he hits the floor, that this is going to be bad. The impact is almost a relief, the moments before stretching into infinity, mere seconds lengthened by dread. He tries to roll, arms bending to take the impact, angling to roll from shoulder to hip as Red has tried and tried and tried to teach him, but he doesn’t manage it. He thinks that he feels each vertebrae hit the hard-packed ground, a new point of pain marking his progress from falling to fallen across his back, and then he stares at the sky, winded.

He can’t breathe. It’s panic-inducing, all the air in his lungs gone and gasping, gasping like a fish out of water, but not being able to fill them again, and his back hurts, but his arm is worse, so much worse, and he can’t breathe. There’s no one to pick him up, either - no Jack to haul him up, no Rupert with friendly concern, no Laney with a hint of impatience and a barely perceptible appraisal, no Red to offer a hand and a quiet correction. There are no concerned faces to peer down, just empty blue sky.

It’s Laney who finds him, somehow. Idly, Leaf wonders how. Later he realises that this part of the path is her favourite walk back from lectures, but when she kneels next to him with a worried frown, phone already halfway to her ear, he’s too deep in shock to think. He thinks she actually looks shaken, but he puts it down to shock when he remembers - no one has ever seen Laney Jones shaken by anything, and he can’t imagine that someone who’s taken a bad fall would throw her.

An hour later, they’re told his wrist is broken from the fall, and he’s got a few new bruises that didn’t come from the dojo. Someone kicked him the ribs at some point, and he vaguely remembers it getting even harder to breathe while he was on the ground, staring at the sky. The impact itself he can’t quite recall. His head is aching, but the doctor orders him not to sleep. Laney pinches him sharply every time his eyes start to drop shut until a nurse declares he’s okay to doze off.

When he wakes up, for a confused moment he thinks he’s in the dojo after all. It seems as though everyone is there. Jack is folded into a chair, brick red hair on end where he’s run frantic fingers through it. Grey is reading a book, but glances over the top at Leaf and gives him a little nod of quiet acknowledgement, then looks back at the page without saying anything to give him time to come around before answering questions. Laney and Rupert are reading the doctor’s notes, while Heather and Gloria exchange furious whispers about what on earth happened.

Red isn’t there, and Leaf feels…betrayed, even though he has no reason to. He is not owed this boy’s attention, or his care.

Jack notices he is awake, and is gabbling out apologies before Leaf can even smile at his friend. Leaf isn’t quite certain what for, until he finally realises that Jack thinks he should have been there. Leaf coughs when he tries to laugh, but eventually manages a weak smile. “Hey, shut up, Farris. Like even you can do anything about my terrible rolls.” Something flickers at the back of Jack’s eyes that Leaf hasn’t seen before, a seriousness he doesn’t associate with his permanently smiling friend. Jack shrugs. “I’d’ve kept you from falling.” It sounds something like a promise, and something entirely else like a plea, so Leaf just grins and says he knows he would. As she’s leaving, Laney thumps Leaf’s leg, something a little sad in her expression. “My brother always said falling was the bravest thing you could do. Don’t let this scare you out of trying again, alright? Only cowards never fall.” There’s a twist to her tone on the last few words that makes Leaf think she’s quoting something, or someone.

She’s gone before he can say the thought hadn’t occurred to him, or to say he’d never realised she has a brother. He doesn’t quite let himself think he’s already fallen as hard as he ever could, with both feet firmly on the ground, but only because he’s still trying a little not to let himself realise quite how far he’s fallen for Red.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Red

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“They didn’t call me.” It’s the first thing Red says when Leaf opens the door, before he’s really registered who was knocking. Red is flustered, dark cheeks darker still with exertion, and he’s actually leaning against the door frame for support. “I had an exam and they didn’t call me.” He’s actually gasping for breath, and Leaf can’t remember seeing him this - this dishevelled, even after a two hour training session. It dawns on him that Red lives on the other side of the city, and apparently ran all the way over to the university dorms.

A knot of something bitter and sad loosens in his chest. Jack peers to see who he’s talking to, then grabs a book off his bedside table and nudges Leaf out of the way. “Excellent, I need to return this to pipsqueak this evening before it gets too late but didn’t want to leave the walking wounded alone. Make sure Leaf eats something, alright, Red?” He’s gone before either of them can protest. Watching his friend stride away, barefoot, Leaf can’t help but feel that just maybe he’s being set up. Red looks at him, anxious. “Haven’t you eaten anything?”

Leaf rolls his eyes, embarrassed. “We got back like twenty minutes ago.” Red nods and glances at his phone, and Leaf stares. “Wait, Jack only texted you when we got - you ran here in twenty minutes? Sit down before you collapse.” Red shuffles inside obediently, looking a little embarrassed. Leaf pointedly extracts a Tupperware of soup from the bag Rupert had passed to Jack, full of healthy food and a few of Leaf’s favourite snacks. Leaf still isn’t quite certain how Rupert knows everyone’s favourite and least favourite foods, but he’s gotten used to being passed his favourite kind of cereal bar on the coach home whenever they go to a training seminar, along with a stern reminder to drink plenty of water and rehydrate. Red watches like a hawk until Leaf has eaten half of the microwaved soup, before relaxing a little. Leaf curls up and nods at the foot of his bed, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. “Y’know, that desk chair is super uncomfortable.” Red smiles a little in agreement, and moves to sit on the bed, a precise, careful two feet between them. Leaf concentrates on eating his soup without spilling it on his duvet. More for something to do than because he’s hungry, he reaches into the bag to see what else the blue-belt packed for him.

For a brief, surprised moment he thinks that Rupert may actually have forgotten that Leaf absolutely cannot stand flapjack with raisins in it, before he remembers that it’s Red’s favourite for some twisted reason Leaf will never stop mocking him for. He holds the box out with a grin, and Red flops dramatically back on the bed with his arm over his face, laughing. Leaf thinks it might be the most relaxed he’s ever seen his friend. “Those - the - ugh, why am I friends with these people?” Leaf laughs, a bubble of happiness that everyone seems to have just assumed that Red would…that Red would run across the city to check he was okay. And he had. Leaf tells himself firmly that he’d have done it for any of them, but it’s hard to believe it when Red is either blushing or somehow still flushed from his run.

“Right, I should go, and you should sleep. Don’t - don’t scare us like that again, alright? I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I got Jack’s text.” Leaf smiles wryly. He hadn’t exactly intended to wind up in hospital in the first place. Red grimaces a little, and shuffles his feet as though uncertain what to say next. “Anyway, I’ll drop by again sometime to see how you’re doing. And once you’re back at training, you’re going to learn how to fall.” He doesn’t seem to be thinking when he leans over and presses a kiss to Leaf’s forehead, because he freezes, eyes widening with panic. “Uh - I -” Leaf grins, heart skipping a beat. He feels weightless again, but this time the ground isn’t rushing towards him. This, he thinks, is what a fall feels like when you know you’re going to roll and it isn’t going to hurt, or maybe just when you suspect there’s no landing, no impact, or at least none worth worrying about now. “I already have.” He mutters, shy, and kisses Red before he loses his nerve.

[quandqry-blog]

Muse Sheet

Everything you need to know on Franklin Mendel/Quandary under the cut.

General Info

Full Name: Franklin Mendel

Name Origin: Franklin - liberally free-thinking (Middle English); Mendel - comforter, guardian (Yiddish)

Nickname: Frank/Frankie - self-explanatory, really; Mend-All - as one of the more...grounded associates, Franklin’s established himself as quite the handyman in Nygma’s ranks and a jack-of-all-trades, taking up various roles when required. 

Alias: Quandary - a state of perplexion and uncertainty over what to do during a difficult decision, typically of a moral nature.

D.O.B.: 19/07/87

Place of Birth: The Bowery, Gotham City East, USA - the lowest of the low, the worst Gotham has to offer. Bordered to the north by Crime Alley, the Bowery is home to Crown Point, a smaller inner-district ridden with crime, homelessness and prostitution. Underdeveloped and laden with the circulation of illegal drugs, police activity is at a minimum within the Bowery, while independent gangs rule the streets. 

Ethnicity: Sicilian - born to Sicilian immigrants, Franklin identifies strongly with his roots, identifying more with the culture and history he was born into than that of the US he was raised within. 

Religion: Roman Catholic - he was raised as such by his parents up until adolescence, where he started to assume a more casual degree of practice. While he acknowledges the concept of Catholicism as part of his heritage, Franklin isn’t an especially strict follower of the teachings, and would likely be considered a lapsed Catholic by most.

Place of Residence: The Cauldron, Gotham Central, USA - known for it’s organised crime, the Cauldron was run by Mickey Sullivan and the Irish mob - a sub-organisation of assassins who operated beneath Falcone - until Holiday wiped them out during Thanksgiving. As a gesture of goodwill, the territory was transferred over to the Sabatino crime family, Gotham’s oldest Italian mob, where it developed a reputation for housing and producing the city’s most feared hitmen.

Brief Description of Home: Franklin rents a top floor apartment on the outskirts of the Cauldron, consisting of a general living area and a sorry excuse for a bathroom tucked behind the door. He’s made a few repairs here and there to ensure everything’s functioning, but, if it weren’t for the blanket over the sofa - no bed, you see - or the coffee pot by the window, you’d be hard-pressed to believe anyone was living there. It’s poorly lit, cast in dreary greys and browns, and you’d be able to cross from one side of the room to the other in about three steps. Hardly ideal, but, in terms of putting a roof over his head and a minor base of operations, it serves its purpose.

Brief Description of Local Area: Much like your typical Gothamite, Franklin’s desensitised to the morbid ways of life within the city. Murder, theft, folk going missing overnight - hell, the middle of the day - are so commonplace, they’re scarcely worth fussing over - and, when you consider just how brutal the Cauldron can be, well, everything’s scaled up to eleven. Paranoia runs rampant in the streets, with friends turning each other over to the mob for a hefty fee, and blood will be spilled over petty disputes. Still, it’s ideally situated for ease of access to other areas of Gotham, and the Stacked Deck’s a fairly decent watering hole, if you can stomach the clientele. 

Current Occupation: Henchman - well, if we’re being official. It’s a fairly broad term, so he’s dabbled in his fair share of laundering, theft, murder, extortion, blackmail, getaway driving, etc. in his service to the Riddler. 

Income Level: Ehhh, it’s flimsy at best. He doesn’t have a conventional job, so there’s no money being made in his name. Whatever he does earn with Nygma tends to be split ten ways with other crooks, and deposited into cliched we’re obviously criminals swag bags, so, you can bet he’s not seeing a dime of that from all the times he’s spent behind bars...Good job he’s low maintenance, huh?

Education Level: As an orphan growing up in the East End of Gotham, Franklin never had access to nor the opportunity for a formal education. He was sitting around the sixth grade when his parents died, but everything he learned from that point on came from a significant degree of self-learning. Rarely would you find the urchin without a book, lost within the depths of literature and the human psyche. And, street smarts sure go a long way.

Do They Drive?: You’ve heard the saying like a duck to water, yes? Well, Franklin’s got a knack for that sort of thing, being able to adapt and account for numerous setbacks in areas he’s barely familiar with. He’s got a Mercedes S63 Coupe from Johnny Sabatino, as a gesture of their friendship and familial ties, but he’s rarely ever found himself needing to drive, when the labyrinth of Gotham’s a much more efficient means of crossing the city. He’s not beyond taking up the role of getaway driver when required, though. 

Sexual Orientation: Demisexual - while he’s not beyond acknowledging someone’s attractive and breaking into a sweat on the subway, Franklin predominantly experiences secondary sexual attraction, in that a foundation of trust and familiarity must be laid out before considering any partners. Unfortunately, this may come across as being fairly prudish, or not getting laid ‘enough’, but, for Frank, the attraction/appeal simply isn’t there until he’s made the connection, at which point, the notions become a tangible force.

Romantic Orientation: Aromantic - while the definition of aromantic varies between individuals, for Franklin, the concept of romance seems arbitrarily and inconsistently defined. It’s foreign territory, uncharted land. An entirely abstract notion. Now, he’s experienced passionate friendships which fall outwith typical ‘platonic’ boundaries, but the concept of romantic idealisation and elevating one person over another on account of some trivial feeling seems well and truly illogical. His love is based on practical conditions - constancy, loyalty, trust, action - not chemical highs and giddy emotions.

Physical Appearance

Height: 6′1″ [1.88m]

Weight: 187lbs [85kg]

Body Type: Franklin has a fairly lean, nimble physique - while proportionate and somewhat defined, he’s not especially athletic. Shoulders, chest, calves, quads - they’re all there, present, accounted for, but not to the extent of, say, a model or trainer. It’s a practical mass, gained through everyday labour and hardship, not the product of ego or vanity. 

Eye Colour: Dark Green.

Hair Colour: Light Brown 

Hair Style: Fairly short at the back and sides, with just enough heft to naturally quiff at the front.

Skin Tone: Light Olive - not as prominent as, say, other Sicilians, but definitively not white, either.

Prominent Features: He’s got an arrowhead-esque range of moles upon the head of the left deltoid, and a nasty scar on the inside of his bottom lip, courtesy of the Sabatino initiation process.  A tattoo of his parents’ initials on the inside of his left ankle, and one at the base of spine - domando, Sicilian slang that combines the Italian for query and demand. A few scars and bruises here and there from the previous week’s scrapes, but nothing too permanent or long-term, ‘til next time.

Dress Style: In spite of his line of work, Franklin isn’t a flashy sort of guy - if anything, his wardrobe’s the goldilocks zone of comfort and practicality, while maintaining that dreary pseudo-noir Gotham aesthetic. Long sleeved sweaters, cotton shirts, military jackets, grey denim, contrast jumpers, shirt jackets, leather boots, etc. etc. Greys, browns, greens. Everything you’d expect from a mobster-turned-Riddler henchman.

Accessories: He wears a brown leather watch on his left wrist, and used to carry his mother’s engagement ring around on a silver chain, but pawned it off in his youth for petty change during an all-time-low.

Grooming: Besides a light stubble every now and again, Franklin’s fairly well-maintained - not to the point of excess, mind you, or devoting too much time to his appearance; mostly the I woke up like this, groggily ran a brush through my hair and voila! look. You know the type.

Speech and Language

Rate of Speech: Franklin has a fairly fast, almost erratic, means of communication. It stems from finding difficulty in making the connection between his thoughts, what he wants to say and actually saying it in a way you’ll understand. By extension, if he’s ever explaining something, he’ll typically make a conscious effort to slow down, to ensure you’re keeping up - it may come across as condescending at times, but, hey, you’ll know all about it if he is.

Accent/Dialect: He boasts a fairly prominent New Jersey dialect, with the trademark diphthong and underlying slur. On paper, coffee and chocolate become ‘caw-fee’/’chawk-let’, park and dark become ‘pah-k’/’dah-k’. He’s aware of the negative stereotypes surrounding the dialect the ‘lazy’ pronunciation of vowels and absence of r’s, but he’s not going to go out of his way to mask or distance himself from it. Far as he’s concerned, it’s part of who he is.

Tone: The tone of his voice is comfortably within the middle ranges, not especially high, nor particularly deep; somewhat rasped in the lower regions, heavily accented when caught in the moment. Rarely will you ever hear him raise his voice, either, for there’s a distinct sense of control and reservation at play - it’d be illogical for him to be saddled by emotion and impulse, so you’ll find he conducts himself with a calm, authoritative air.

General Speech Pattern: For the most part, Franklin’s just your everyday Gothamite - he may be in Nygma’s employ, but he’s not going to run around using flowery language, accusing everyone of being imbeciles, flaunting his intellectual superiority through antiquated words. He values words, he values meaning, so he can often come across as being fairly reserved in terms of interaction, for he's pretty damn selective in what he says, speaks only when there’s a point to be made or a conversation of value.

Mannerisms/Demeanour: In contrast to Nygma’s theatrical flamboyance, Franklin’s much more...reticent. It may be mistaken for a brooding, stoic disposition, but he’s much more sure of himself and his ability to get his point across without the grandeur Nygma so readily employs. He’s calm, cool, collected. Patient. Not so easily riled. Truth is, he often finds himself cringing when Nygma gets in the zone, since the whole ordeal’s so painfully obnoxious, but, hey, gig of the century.

Typical Posture: He’ll typically stand straight and proportioned, but not rigid. Circumstance may see him slouch a tad if he’s been lingering for a particular length of time, but, generally speaking, he’ll remain upright to the best of his ability. 

Common Gestures: Franklin has a tendency to fold his arms so that each thumb rests under the bicep, while his fingers lightly tap upon the top. It’s not so much a sign he’s uncomfortable or anxious, more...a means of occupying himself, stimulating his mind and body, where it’s otherwise lacking. The occasional foot-tap makes an appearance, too.

Everyday Behaviour/Habits

Finances: As mentioned during the ‘income level’ section, every penny Franklin makes comes from his criminal activity with Nygma. There’s no need for him to be cautious or prudent with regards to his spending habits, for he spent so much of his life on the streets anyway that the concept of money seems pretty damn nonsensical. If he wants something, he can simply take it, for he’s already damned as far as a criminal record goes. Besides, he’s not exactly high maintenance - he’s pretty much living on microwave meals, take-outs, a few repair materials and strong black coffee.

Vices: Franklin’s partial to the odd glass or two of Amaretto, with a large bottle tucked away in his apartment. One’s kicking about somewhere in Nygma’s HQ, but its current whereabouts are, as yet, unknown. He’s also dabbled in weed from time to time, but nothing so extreme as to impair his judgement or performance. Nor does he bolster an addiction.

Daily Routine: It’s nigh impossible to map out a typical day for Franklin, since so much could change on the turn of a dime. He’ll roughly wake for around 8-9am, take a leak, brush up, etc. etc., keeping his phone nearby in the event Nygma calls, then grab breakfast on-the-go as he paces across Gotham to find intel of his own, people to extort, victims to test. Nygma’s not exactly running a criminal empire, so Franklin doesn’t need to be on his hands and knees 24/7 for him, he’s got a life outwith being a henchman. Having said that, should he not be required, he’ll be left with a significant amount of time to fill, prompting him to either make some repairs back home, check over everything at HQ, or take one of Nygma’s traps for a spin. Coming home, it’d be your standard washing away the blood of your victims, watching mostly-static over a microwave meal, then curling up on a ratty sofa with no remorse for the people he killed. Not his fault they didn’t have what it takes to survive. Clearly didn’t want to live enough.

Skills/Talents: Critical thinking; innovation; diplomatic; articulate; intuitive; adaptable; integrity; polyglot; mechanical engineering; woodwork; psycho-analysing; philosophical; light-footed; silk touch; quick-witted; driven. 

Weaknesses: Franklin doesn’t do too well when it comes to being called out or contradicted - his thoughts essentially haze over, struggling to overcome the sudden obstacle, leaving him pretty damn stuped. While boasting a mean right hook, he’s also not the most skilled fighter, meaning he could easily go down if outnumbered or overpowered. 

Hobbies: Woodwork; learning; geocaching; poker; hiking; orienteering; camping.

[More to add.]

[jernal]

the playground

When I was in grade school there was a playground in the schoolyard that had monkey bars that were impossibly tall. They curved up and down like a cartoon wave. The most talented third-graders could hang upside-down without even locking their ankles; they were fearless and capable. Every time I tried to unlock my feet and trust my knees to hold me on their own, keeping me from crashing down on my head and snapping my neck (I worried about this in the third grade), I felt my weight shift and locked my feet back in place in half a second. I never learned to hang upside-down on the monkey bars properly. 

Across the street from the school was a public park with a tennis court, a soccer field, and a bigger, better playground. It was made of wood. And nails, metal bars and metal chains. It had a tire swing made of an actual black rubber tire that burned your skin in the summer. The chains pinched your hands but you had to hold on for dear life because the asshole kids who were pushing it (the worst/best ones stood in the middle and whipped the tire around them like the moon in orbit and right before the let go and jumped out of the way they’d pull one of the chains one last time, sending the tire spinning viciously) had no chill at all. Sometimes three kids would squish onto it. This wasn’t considered unsafe and the adults supervising didn’t intervene; no one hardly ever got hurt. The main structure was a sprawling monster, aged enough that the wooden planks were basically splinter-city. The tallest part reached higher than the adult’s hands could reach and the only way to climb up was an unstable chain ladder with wooden planks that ended at the edge of the floor. You had to dig your fingers in between the floorboards and pray to god you could scramble up over the side and not fall (to your death, potentially snapping your neck) because this actually did happen sort of often. This playground was the best one in the neighbourhood because it was so scary - only the bravest big-kids could really hack it. There was a smaller play structure in the sand patch next to it for the little kids. It was short and safe and shaped like a boat and next to it there was a swing set that was lower to the ground and had those black rubber diaper-looking seats so it was harder for kids to fall out. They still did, just less often. 

Playgrounds now are made of plastic, almost entirely plastic, and sometimes metal. They are shorter and they have stairs. Stairs!! Stairs are not fun, they’re an inconvenience found inside most buildings. They have little mushroom pedestals raised a foot off the floor so even an uncoordinated potato couldn’t be injured from a fall. Worse, there is no sandbox. The ground is gravel, maybe, but more often it’s some unnatural rubbery substance that sort of bounces back a little bit when you step on it. They have alphabets, or animals, or little clinky pianos built into the walls. Parents are afraid their children might tumble onto the mushy turf or not share the ladders or slides. Kids don’t often get inch-long splinters, sprained ankles, concussions or broken collarbones at the playground anymore. In the first grade I thought I could defy gravity and ultimately fell off a slide, breaking my own collarbone. There was an exercise ball involved. They don’t step on sharp objects hidden in the scary, scary, sand. 

I think my trouble with the newer, safer models are limiting. There’s the obvious: there are fewer risks which is good for safety and safety is important. They limit creativity and exploration. Trial and error. Learning from mistakes, learning your limit, realizing danger and consequences from recklessness. We learned those things young thanks to the way we played. Do kids still learn these things? We could invent a dozen different ways to get to the top, to cross the beam, to climb and swing and maneuver around these structures. Breaking the rules by walking across the top of the bars instead of swinging hand-by-hand. 

Playgrounds in my childhood taught me to be afraid of falling and dying. To not trust my feet or my centre of gravity in general. That other kids will spin me ruthlessly on a tire till I throw up if I let them. Playgrounds today teach kids that the world is mushy and plastic? How to play Mary Had a Little Lamb on a piano? I’m not sure if one is better than the other but I wish both existed, so kids could choose to play on the wooden playtower of great height and great risk or on the boring mushy plastic thing.