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galaxina-the-pyro · 5 years ago

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Here, have some PnF School related HCs!

-Phineas isn’t the best in school, not because he doesn’t know the subjects, but more due to the fact that, as a creative kid out to break boundaries, school simply doesn’t interest him. He’s not the best at following instructions, and will often lose points in assignments for taking creative angles. He excels at math (to the point of correcting his teachers on a few incorrect equations), and his weakest subject is Grammar. He never fails a class, usually passing at a C point average. He does do well on tests, however (to the point where he has been accused of cheating).

-Phineas claims he can understand subjects better when Ferb (and Isabella) explains it to him

-Ferb and Baljeet always get A’s in their assignments, and take their study time seriously (Baljeet most of all; Ferb doesn’t mind getting anything lower than an A, but will feel shame if he feels he could’ve done better, while Baljeet will go into panic mode if he gets anything less than A+).

-In hindsight, Ferb is actually far more intelligent than Baljeet, but prefers to stay in the same grade as his brother; he was even given the option to move up grade levels, but politely refused

-In spite of Isabella eye rolling Baljeet’s fear of failure, she has similar meltdowns when she fails an assignment (to which Baljeet offers zero sympathy; do unto others, baby)

-Baljeet attends Highschool with Candace, Stacy, and the others, though Buford still manages to bully him even at such a radius. He does, however, tutor students in the school his friends go to, so he always sees his friends during after school activities.

-Phineas and Ferb always end up in the same classes every year...except for the school year after the canon series. That marks the first time both of them end up in different classes.

-There are school related patches for the Fireside Girls to earn, and as the episode “Ferb TV” states, being a part of the Fireside Girls gets you extra credit in middle school

-Out of all her friends, Isabella is part of the most extracurricular activities, including but not limited to, Debate Team, Junior Student Government, Mathletes, Glee Club, Drama Club, and of course Soccer

-Isabella is the head editor of the school newspaper, which she names “The Danville Eagle” (not to be confused with “The Fireside Gazette”)

-Isabella is the most prone to daydreaming during class, and often zones out; usually this is due to Phineasland, but her mind tends to drift to other places as well.

-Phineas, on the other hand, always distracts himself with drawing during classes, whether it be blueprints, or doodles in his textbooks - he often has his pencils and pens confiscated

-Buford tends to be the one most likely to interrupt the class for some reason or another; apparently it’s a requirement in The Bully Code, but everyone is certain he does it purely out of boredom

-Django and Jenny are both homeschooled, though Django does end up going to highschool with Phineas and the others

-Jenny only takes one college class before dropping out to continue her hippie/protest lifestyle; ironically, she starts a business that goes very well involving the buying and selling of...well...a certain type of plant, per se

-Buford has the lowest grade point average among his friends, but excels in art-related activities (and contact sports, of course); it’s very possible that he’s smarter than he lets on

-Buford is the only person among Phineas and Ferb’s friends who doesn’t join the school soccer team (this is due to confusing the sport with football)

-Recess time in the Dwampyverse is longer than recess in the real world (they already have longer Summers, so why not?), explaining how Phineas and Ferb can still complete certain Big Ideas during that time; they usually come up with ideas during or before lunchtime

-According to “When Worlds Collide”, Candace isn’t allowed to bust her brothers during the school year, but manages to find a loophole that allows her to attempt to bust them during Weekends (bar that she and her brothers finish their homework beforehand), and School Breaks. Linda often ponders over rewriting the Bust Accord, but is a mother of her word.

-Phineas and Ferb have a teacher who hates their existence, and is literally their antithesis; he sees their creative activities as a form of rebellion, and craves structure and discipline. On the other hand, he’s a total sadist and a crackpot who’d give Denzel Crocker a run for his money. Phineas and Ferb, much like towards their sister’s busting attempts, pay him no mind and probably treat him better than anyone else does.

-Phineas and Ferb are always paired up in school assignments; they’ve never gotten a perfect score on it in spite of how impeccable each project is, due to the assignment involving both participants giving short lectures. As we all know, Phineas always does all the talking, thus deducting points (this was a headcanon stolen from someone else, but I forget who)

-Phineas and Isabella’s favorite subject is music, Ferb’s is history, Baljeet’s is math, and Buford’s favorite subject is theatre (though he’ll always tell you it’s football, even though it’s not an actual subject)

-Ferb and Baljeet are on the A honor roll, Isabella is an AB honor roll (her weakest subject being history, the only subject keeping her from being on the same level as Ferb and Baljeet), Phineas is a C-average, and Buford is an F average (though he always gets just enough passes to make it to the next grade with his friends)

-Out of all the Fireside Girls, Gretchen excels the most in school, while Katie is on the lower end of the spectrum alongside Buford

-Candace always tries to sit next to Jeremy during classes they’re together, but someone always steals her seat before she can

-Candace’s favorite class is music class, like Phineas and Isabella, and is on the AB honor roll; her least favorite subject is home economics, due to always failing assignments while also somehow, someway setting herself on fire

-Candace’s grades are better than Phineas’, but worse than Ferb’s. Out of the three Flynn-Fletcher children Phineas has the hardest time with school

-Doofenshmirtz becomes a school teacher regardless of the Prof. Time/secret agent nonsense; he either becomes one due to community service, as a coverup for being an agent for OWCA, or by complete and total accident due to teleporting Vanessa’s real highschool teacher to another dimension

-He ALSO somehow becomes the defacto school counselor (I think he’d be really good at it, darn it); a lot of the kids seem to vent to him a lot for some reason (he thinks it’s the universe making him pay them back for ranting to Perry for so long [they also like to vent to his daughter, too, isn’t that weird?])

-Either way, Vanessa will always have him as a teacher, much to her dismay; the difference is whether Candace and her friends are ALSO a part of his class or not

-Doofenshmirtz sometimes does fun little experiments with Phineas, Ferb, and their friends, and has even helped them with a few of their projects after school

-Doofenshmirtz still uses his Inators during class, though he claims they are specifically used for GOOD this time around...even though they cause a whole slew of problems

-Due to these Inators, Perry has to involve himself and save everyone without revealing his identity to Candace or his other owners should they and their friends somehow get involved with the chaos (thank the great Platypus Lord for Stacy and her being somehow skilled at covering his beaver-butt)

-At some point, the entire PnF cast unintentionally reenact the events of “The One Thing”; Adyson is the one who steals antique photos specifically because they’re “the one thing you can’t replace”

-Phineas and Isabella have study dates together (Isabella is the only one who calls it a study date, however, though technically Phineas never corrects her, so it’s pretty much a study date, don’t you dare take this away from her, Ginger!)

(I’m probably gonna add more later, but feel free to add some of your own school-themed headcanons~.)

#phineas and ferb #headcanons #pnf #phineas and ferb headcanons #hcs #Phinabella #school

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revolutionary-demosthenes · 5 years ago

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So to start off, here are some mini-bios of people who I’ll be talking about! This is going to be a long post, but it will make it easier to understand my future posts if you don’t know some of these people. I’m covering: Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, Francis Kinloch, Lois Manoël de Vègobre, Johannes Von Müller, Charles Victor de Bonstetten, Alleyne Fitzherbert 1st Baron, St. Helens, and Thomas Gray.

John Laurens: You might’ve heard of him if you listen to Hamilton. John Laurens was born in Charleston, South Carolina. His father was Henry Laurens, a prominent South Carolinian who co-owned the largest slave trading house in North America, “Austin and Laurens.” Yeah. He pretty much was a terrible father and a terrible person. He would later become president of the congressional congress. His mother was named Eleanor Laurens. Her death when John was 16 marked a significantly traumatic event in his life, however in general, John Laurens was very well acquainted with death. He was the fourth child born in his family, but he was the oldest by the time he was four years old, his older siblings all dying at young ages. One can only speculate how these early losses affected young John, or Jack, as his family called him.

John was most likely tutored at a young age. He grew up in very privileged circumstances certainly, as his father was one of the most well-known and rich South Carolinians of the time.

As John grew up, he became very studious and serious. His father viewed him as the most promising child of the Laurens children, and prayed he would not fall prey to gambling or women. At nearly thirteen, we find our first piece of evidence suggesting John Laurens might be gay. His father Henry Laurens writes, “Master Jack is too closely wedded to his studies to think about any of the Miss Nannies I would not have such a sound in his Ear for a Crown…” In other words, Henry Laurens noticed his son’s unusual lack of interest in girls. Of course, one could read it as a passing comment on how studious his son was, or just thankfulness that Henry’s ‘best’ son didn’t seem to be ‘tempted’ in any way, but this does still confirm that as a young teenager, (and some point out that this is the time when many boys go through puberty, and therefore discover their sexual interests,) John was NOT interested in ladies.

As John grew even older, his father decided the time was ripe for some education in Europe. Some speculation has occurred that right before John left for Europe he painted a collection known as Pope Brown Collection of South Carolina Natural History. It contains 32 paintings of natural organisms, including many types of birds and plants. This is not confirmed, but it is of interest to many that John Laurens was a very good artist, and probably quite interested in art. Many have heard of the (in)famous turtle drawings John did. In truth, though John did draw the soft-shelled turtle for naturalist Alexander Garden, he most likely did not have an uncommon affection for that particular animal.

So, John soon found himself on a boat to Europe with his younger brothers, Henry jr. and James, known as Jemmy. They eventually settled in Geneva, staying with a family friend.

But before we even get to Geneva, it is worth noting a passage from a letter by Henry Laurens. This was written while John was briefly enrolled in a school in London. While complaining about the many crimes and indulgences of the city, he mentions “…and every black and execrable Crime had gain’d in the City is equally astonishing and shocking.” Now this simply could be another thrown in crime in the long list that precedes this, but in those those days ‘black crime’ was sometimes a code for homosexuality. So was John exposed to homosexuality in London the way Hamilton was at Nevis? This could provide some context for his later relationship with Francis Kinloch.

In 1772, the Laurens boys arrived in Geneva. John studied a multitude of subjects, and polished up his French. While he fretted about finding his brothers proper schools, his Uncle James Laurens was concerned about a different aspect of his time. Geneva, which had been a theocracy at one point, was now very open to new, more secular ways of thinking. John assured his Uncle that he was not influenced by any of his teachers not being ‘classically’ Christian. But it may not be a coincidence that the place where John most likely had his first homosexual relationship was a place more open to new types of thinking and concepts, especially in terms of religion.

What exactly was this first relationship? To establish some context, we must return briefly to Charlestown, South Carolina. The Kinloch family lived there and did know the Laurens’s. The name ‘Kinloch’ appears in some of Henry Laurens’s papers, and apparently Francis Kinloch’s sister made John ruffles for his travels to Europe. But in 1774, as John was dutifully studying in Geneva, his father wrote to him “From a hint which Waag dropped at Bath tis expected by the freinds of the young Eatonian that he will find a freind in you at Genevé, tho none of ‘em have Said a word to me on the Subject.” This “freind” is in fact Francis Kinloch, so it may be that he and John had met before.

John and Francis became very good friends along with one of Laurens’s tutors, Luis de Manoel de Vegobre. There is little documentation of the Kinloch-Laurens relationship whilst the latter was in Geneva, but once they were separated many letters were exchanged, several quite romantic sounding. What is quite possibly the most passionate line Laurens ever wrote to a lover is contained at the end of a letter to Francis. “We may differ in our political sentiments my dear Kinloch but I shall always love you for the knowledge I have of your Heart.” Kinloch was a loyalist, influenced by his guardian Thomas Boone, while John Laurens was obviously a patriot and the two debated hotly via letters.

Another aspect that must be looked at when considering the Laurens-Kinloch relationship is the amount of trust in the relationship. The level of trust is apparent when we see John first express his abolitionist views in a letter to Kinloch, “I could talk much with you my Dear Friend upon this Subject,” says John, referring to slavery. “and I know your generous Soul would despise and sacrifice Interest to establish the Happiness of so large a Part of the inhabitants of our Soil_ if as some pretend, but I am persuaded more thro’ interest, than from Conviction, the Culture of the Ground with us cannot be carried on without African Slaves, Let us fly it as a hateful Country_ and say ubi Libertas ibi Patria…” Kinloch responded that he supported the ideas, but did not see how fellow Southerners would adopt them. This only illustrates more clearly that though there were serious conflicts, theirs was a loving and trusting relationship.

When John was forced to leave Geneva, (and he did want to stay… one wonders if Kinloch had something to do with this. It may have been other reasons, like that John felt freer from his father or enjoyed his rich social life.) he wrote a plaintive letter to Kinloch, telling him, “If my Letter is a little confused, dont be surprised at it, for I am quite like a creature in [a] new world…”

However, as if John hadn’t lost enough family in his mere nineteen years, his brother Jemmy lost his life that summer. The boy had apparently tried to jump to John’s window and had fractured his skull. John was with his brother through the horrible night. He wrote to his uncle James, “At some Intervals he had his Senses, so far as to be able to answer singe Questions, to beckon me, to form his Lips to kiss me, but for the most part he was delirious and frequently unable to articulate. Puking, Convulsions near very violent, and latterly so gentle as to be scarcely perceived, or deserve the Name, ensued, and Nature yielded.” It is notable that soon after this, John Laurens sent a letter to Francis Kinloch, whom he hadn’t corresponded with since late the year before, 1774. This again illustrates that though the relationship was not flawless or without conflict, Laurens trusted and confided in his friend/lover.

Now studying law at Middle Temple, John received an extremely upsetting letter from Francis Kinloch. Apparently Kinloch was ready to move on from their romance. He starts the letter with an almost deceptively affectionate opening, “Whatever may be your idea of my manner of thinking in political affairs, don’t let that hinder you from telling me yours, and I promise to be as free with you: we hold too fast by one anothers hearts, my dear Laurens, to be afraid of exposing our several opinions to each other.” But Kinloch signs the letter “be certain I shall never forget you.” Apparently John saw this as Kinloch being done with him, and as a result did something that would change his life forever.

One of Henry Laurens’s business partners, William Manning, was in London the same time as John, and apparently young Laurens came to call occasionally and enjoyed the company of Manning’s children. This is where he met Martha Manning. There is one piece of evidence to suggest that they were courting for a time, however all we know for sure is that Martha became pregnant around the time the last Kinloch letter reached John, and John Laurens was forced to marry the woman, certainly not because he loved her. “Pity has obliged me to marry.” John wrote to his uncle. It could be that if they were courting prior to the pregnancy, the relationship was one-sided, or was an attempt for John be seen as straight.

Though John was now married, he was yearning to leave his unhappy marriage and fight for America. An ardent patriot and abolitionist, he longed to go overseas and join the army. Henry Laurens tried his best to hinder his son’s want, but found that John was no longer a child he could bend to his will. So, John boarded a ship to America, not knowing, and possibly not caring, that he was leaving his wife behind.

Henry Laurens, being a very prominent Carolinian and future president of the Continental Congress, managed to get his son an excellent position as Aide-de-Camp to general George Washington, though John was not officially appointed the position until October 6th or 7th. He joined the staff in August 1777, and met Alexander Hamilton, a man who would change his life forever.

Alexander Hamilton:

In quite a contrast to John Laurens’s privileged, if morbid childhood, future Founding Father Alexander Hamilton was born out of wedlock on the tiny island of St Croix to Rachel Facuette and James Hamilton in either the year 1755 or 1757. (There is great debate over his birth year. Hamilton himself used 1757, but a large amount of evidence from his childhood points to 1755. For time’s sake, we will use 1755.) Hamilton adored books and writing, but was hindered in his intellectual dreams by the grim circumstances he was brought up in.

Hamilton had a single brother, James, also born out of wedlock. When Hamilton was 12 his mother died of smallpox, quite common at the time. Alexander was also sick, however he recovered, albeit he always had health problems most likely connected to the early brush with mortality.

Where Alexander grew up, blacks outnumbered whites by a ratio of nearly 8:1, so there was existential tension in the air, a constant fear of sugar plantation owners that the slaves would revolt. Indeed, the slave owners were so cruel to their slaves that things Hamilton witnessed as a child appear to have given him a permanent pessimism about human nature. In addition to the rich white landowners and enslaved blacks, there was a population of poor whites and criminals. St. Croix was a place where outcasts in society at the time were sent as well. This included people accused of sodomy (homosexuality). Ron Chernow writes in his biography of Alexander Hamilton, “Hamilton had certainly been exposed to homosexuality as a boy, since many ‘sodomites’ were transported to the Caribbean along with thieves, pickpockets, and others deemed undesirable.” This may explain why Hamilton seemed more at ease with his sexuality than Laurens, who grew up in a more strict, to say the least, household.

After his mother’s untimely death, Alexander and his brother lived with their cousin Peter Lytton. Unfortunately, very soon after the arrangement began, Peter took his own life, leaving the boys with practically no place to go.

Alexander managed to get a job clerking for a prominent businessman. It is no stretch to assume that this is where Hamilton began his economic studies. While Alexander managed to get a good job, his brother was stuck being a carpenter and competing with others for work. Ron Chernow points out that this is again an example of Hamilton’s superior intellect pulling him out of ditches.

When Alexander was seventeen, a horrible storm shook the island of St. Croix. Hamilton wrote a beautiful and moving account of the hurricane, and this led to people raising enough money for him to enroll in King’s College in New York City.

Louis Manoël de Vegobre:

A Swiss lawyer who met Francis Kinloch and John Laurens while in Geneva. His early life is pretty elusive, as he does not even have a wikipedia page. He was a math teacher, and John Laurens’s math tutor. John Laurens taught him English, and both Kinloch and Laurens seem to have taught Vegobre to love America, as he grew despairing when he heard about the challenges of the war in America. The book, Evolution of a Federalist: William Loughton Smith of Charleston (1758-1812) says of Vegobre, “When the first rumblings reached Europe, de Vegobre wrote Laurens: ‘Poor America!—you cannot believe how much me heart is moved on its account; you, and after you Kinloch have raised in my mind such a concern for your native country! I am as much affected for what happens to it, as if I were an American…. English friends, I will, I will see you in your country, before I die!’”

Vegobre was likely in a romantic relationship with Kinloch. He wrote to John Laurens in December 1774: “Let me tell you what are these pleasures whose you are the first cause. I began to understand speaken; I read Spectator, Clarissa, Milton and Shakespear, besides some philophical books. Never, never in my life I have been so well entertained as I am when I read Milton; and why? First, for Poet’s excellency, and secondly and chiefly because I read it with Kinloch. My beloved, my dearest friend is Kinloch; how happy am I, when I teach him some part of natural Philosophy, when I read with him both English and French Poets, when I talk with him about various matters plainly and heartily as with a friend! Let me say again: Kinloch is my beloved, my dearest friend.”

Charles Victor de Bonstetten (Karl Victor von Bonstetten in German):

A writer from Switzerland, he was educated partly in Geneva, where he would develop the liberal beliefs that alarmed his father enough to make him return to Bern, where Bonstetten was born. He introduced the people of the Ticino Valley to potatoes.

He appears to have had a romance with Johannes Von Müller and Thomas Gray (I will be posting about the Gray- Bonstetten relationship very soon)

Johannes Von Müller:

A historian who’s life goal was to compile a giant master history book on Switzerland. He was a teacher of Greek, and later appointed office by Napoleon himself. He wrote many history books, and traveled throughout Europe throughout his life.

Letter from Müller to Bonstetten: “Any mistakes I may make in the future will be your fault; that is only if you neglect your letter-writing – your friendship can never grow cold – might I let myself be surprised by a passion. Tell me why I love you more as time passes. You are now incessantly in me and around me. My dearest friend, how much better it is to think of you than to live with the others! How is it possible to desecrate a heart that is consecrated to you? I need you more than ever; over and above these immutable, laudable plans for a useful life and an immortal name I have forsworn everything that is considered to be pleasant and delightful – not only pleasure but love, not only revels, but good living, not only greed, but ambition. B. is everything to me, you make all my battles easy and all abstinence sweet. Thus you live in my mind and especially in my heart. You write to me often, but it does not seem enough to me; you often address only the historian, and do not embrace your friend often enough.”

Thomas Gray:

I stumbled upon this man while researching Bonstetten and Müller. I came upon the book My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters Through the Centuries. I saw that one of the essays in the book was entitled Thomas Gray & Charles- Victor de Bonstetten. Intrigued, I clicked on the essay, and then from there I somehow managed to find the archive of a full biography of Gray. Thomas Gray was an English poet. He was/is pretty famous, but not super well-known, partially because he did not publish much in his lifetime. Thomas Gray’s childhood was marred with sadness. He had nearly a dozen siblings, but none except him lived past babyhood. He stayed with his mother once he had left his father, who was abusive. He was born in 1716 and died in 1771.

Francis Kinloch:

John Laurens’s first boyfriend. He was also born in Charleston (then Charles Town) and educated at Eton College. After this he went to Geneva, where he met John Laurens. He later hosted what I call Kinloch’s Gay Retreat, in which he had Johannes Von Müller, Charles Victor de Bonstetten, and Alleyne Fitzherbert, 1st Baron, St. Helens stay with him.

Alleyne Fitzherbert, 1st Baron, St. Helens:

I haven’t been able to find anything gay about him except he was apparently lord of the bedchamber for George III, and find words.info says this about lord of the bedchamber: “A Lord of the Bedchamber's duties consisted of assisting the King with his dressing, waiting on him when he ate in private, guarding access to him in his bedchamber and closet and providing companionship.” So… possible? Maybe, but King George III also had like 20 other Lords of the Bedchamber. Also fun fact: Mt. St. Helens is named after him!

Hope this was informative!

#Alleyne Fitzherbert #Francis Kinloch #John Laurens #Thomas Gray #Johannes Von Müller #Charles Victor de Bonstetten #Alexander Hamilton #This will kinda be the basis for most of what I post #Kinloch's Gay Retreat #King George III #queer history #1700s

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poptod · 5 years ago

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Baby, My Love is Yours (Kenny x Reader)

Description: His words make your heart ache, and you put the entirety of your trust in him.

Notes: Male coded/MLM. I’m a huge fan of gender neutral fics (as shown by my AO3) but, when it comes to gay characters, I don’t like taking that away from them.

Words: 3.5k, sorry it’s so short

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086324

Based off this song (I wrote and sung it)

In all honesty you haven’t known him for very long - at most, a few months, though your grasp on how time works is rather weak. If only you could pinpoint the exact date when you met. Of course, when you first met him, there wasn’t exactly a spark, or a flame, between the two of you; not even within you alone. He spoke anxious but excited, every topic lighting an excitement in his eyes, but you didn’t notice. Not until your fifth meeting.

You’d moved back to your hometown after a long trip of moving around the world, and found yourself not fitting in at all like you had before. At the age of seven, close to every kid had the same interests - having fun, playing, simply burning away the energy till that joy couldn’t come so easily. Nearly ten years later you find yourself in a place you know so well but would never again understand. You were probably the only family in town that had left the state, and that difference cut a deep separation between you and your classmates. You saw the world, and every person in it as entirely different and wonderfully unique from yourself, while many others only knew the people they’d known all their life.

Luckily, there was one person who welcomed you back rather warmly - your old friend, one of your best friends: Larry Gold. An enthusiastic boy too deep in fiction to see that the world didn’t revolve around the stories he knew, but the best shot you had at having any sort of friendships in your old, unfamiliar town. Second day back at the school he came up to you, frowning somewhat.

“You look sorta… familiar. Did we - did - were you here a few years ago?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with his hands at the mostly empty classroom, the students having long gone with the ring of the bell. “Sorry, if not,” he adds. “I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“No, uh, yeah. I was here, like ten years ago? I dunno. I’m (Y/N), you’re…” you blank for a second, before remembering his name. “Larry, right?”

“Yeah! Wow, I… wow. It’s been a while. Where’d you go?”

You catch him up on the way to the lunchroom - Montana, then to Switzerland, then to Korea, to Scotland, before moving to Italy - then Germany, and finally back to the States.

“Holy shit,” he laughs, filling his tray up with the horrid looking lunch ‘meat’.

“It was a bit tough, to be honest. How do you fare?”

“Could be better, could be worse,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “I got a best friend at least, he’s probably sitting over…” he looks over the crowd, before settling on a boy sitting alone in a corner, “there. That’s Kenny.”

You nod, not really seeing who exactly he’s looking at till he’s leading you over, and you sit across from him and Kenny.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you start out with - simple enough. “I used to live here.”

Kenny doesn’t seem much for words, sitting straight up and stock still, before Larry nudges him with his elbow and whispers something indistinguishable above the raucous crowd. Stuttering he offers his hand, which you shake with a smile.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.

“I’m - Kenny.”

Lunch runs smoothly, and when it finishes Larry pulls you to the side of the rushing students.

“He’s usually not like that. But he is a weird guy, just a heads up.”

Chuckling you nod, not taking his advice. Weird never bothered you, as long as it didn’t harm anybody. In fact, it’d probably do you good - befriending someone unlike the other teenagers around you. Even if you weren’t ‘new,’ you still stick out like a plant amongst rubble, or a snowstorm in summer. Abnormally tall, with clothes too expensive for the school you attend and a very clear ‘Pridefully Gay’ patch on your jacket. Doesn’t bother Larry, that or he can’t see past the end of his nose; you went with the latter.

Kenny ended up being a joy to have around once he actually gained the nerve to start talking. The two of you bonded, rather unsurprisingly for you. A ‘gaydar’ wasn’t something you put much stock in, but there were obvious signs when someone was gay, and Kenny emitted near every sign of a boy so deep in the closet he’d find shoes from 1987. You didn’t bring it up, though, ever one for chivalry. If he wanted to come out, he could do it on his own time, and you certainly didn’t feel the need to talk to Larry about it - he’d asked about your patch, and expressed a decent amount of discomfort about homosexuality.

“I get it if you don’t want to be friends anymore, but that’s a dick move,” you told him, to which he quickly agreed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, it’s just… you aren’t gonna get, like, a crush on me or anything… right?”

“No. I only like attractive men,” you told him, sparking a snort from Kenny, whom you hadn’t realized was listening.

It wasn’t until the fifth time the three of you had decided to hang out outside of school that you suddenly fell under a charm you’d previously believed didn’t exist. Sitting in the middle of Larry’s living room (your house was too far away, and Kenny’s house was apparently too strict), you were simply doing homework, you working on English, Kenny on math, and Larry on history. Fiddling with his pencil, Kenny sits next to you, and across from the both of you sits Larry.

“Why do we have to write a poem for English? Isn’t it enough that we have to do presentations on friggin’ Jane Eyre?” You grumble, running your hands through your hair.

“Having trouble?” Kenny asks, leaning to look over your shoulder.

“Everything I write sounds stupid,” you mumble, your head falling from the grip of your hands and landing with a dull thud on the table.

“Then just write something stupid,” Larry adds, helpfully, but still engrossed in his own homework.

“Here, I, uh,” he looks at you, blushing (as usual; you’d gotten used to it) before digging into his backpack and pulling out a journal. “You can use one of mine.”

“What? No. That’s cheating,” you insist, turning back to your empty paper. Kenny and Larry share a glance, but his attention comes quickly back to you.

“At least take one of my ideas? They’re on the back page,” he says softly, pushing the notebook into your line of sight, giggling slightly as it comes to cover up the entirety of your own blank journal. With a sigh and a chuckle, you relent.

“Fine, but I owe you,” you mutter, looking over the ideas. Kenny just shrugs, and turns back to his math. You’re horrid at math, and the equations he’s completing in his head send you for a whirl. If you ever start failing that class, you know exactly who’d be the best tutor.

Notes made mostly of scribbles and vague definitions litter the back page - “Made of glass,” one corner says, but it’s missing the last s. ‘Mold and melt ‘neath such wretched hands,’ ‘searching for endless trivialities,’ ‘raised on masochism.’ It’s all rather dark, and when you’re sure Kenny is fully absorbed in his work, you flip through the pages to his poems. Not to steal them, that goes against your moral code; just to read. The poems are in an even messier fashion than the jotted notes - they’re put into blocks, numbered and unnamed. Arrows point to which part connects to which, and some have notes to the side, brackets combining them, and pencil scratches blurring out the wrong words. On a few pages he clearly attempted to write about women. There are scribbles about their beauty, but it’s so vague it could be about anything. Some of the fragments are simply fragments - unconnected lines of poetry.

‘I was love, helpless love,’ you read in your head. ‘And though I do care for you, I cannot put my shame on you, and I’ve lost all that matters.’ Helplessly you search for a clean poem, something you don’t need to piece together like a million letter puzzle. Continuing your search for an idea, an inspiration, or perhaps a glimpse into the elusive personality of your new friend, you find a poem that’s definitely about boys, and it’s more loving than any other that you’d read so far. In the first part of it, he describes the boy he pines for, but it’s not incredibly specific - it mentions hair color, eye color, some skin imperfections, but not enough to pinpoint who it’s about. Then, it gets dark.

‘How bold of me to dream, to wonder. I beg you to let me waste your time, and let me burn away in your light -‘ there’s a scribbled out part - ‘I thought by know’ (it’s misspelled) ‘I might hold you, like endless apologies of existence - feel my heat as your own. But as the sky descends in heaps of empty meanings, I found I said nothing to you at all.’ The last bit is hard to read - it either says ‘empty meanings’ and ‘I found,’ or ‘endless apologies,’ and ‘I fear.’ Either way, you’d seen enough - enough to make your heart race when he looks back up at you with a smile softer than anything you’d ever known, even in the entirety of all you’d travelled through. Your mind stutters, continuing to blank even as Kenny turns away. Had you just wandered through his soul? It felt a very private notebook. Turning back to the last page, you chose a random idea, ending up with, ‘I pray to thee, sweet love’s a parasite.’

From that moment on, your life continues on as normal, with one massive disruption - you’ve got a hideously thumping crush on one of your best friends. That brings us to the present; he’s sitting far too close to you, emotionally ripe from getting kicked out of his house that afternoon, and he’s practically begging you for solace. Not with his words, thank God, but every movement he makes is needy and his chest weighs heavily against your own as he breathes softly. He’s barely touching you, but his heat manages to reach you, crowding your space without allowing himself the comfort of your touch. Larry’s mom had called you, rather late that evening, and explained the situation to you.

“I think he’s crying. I don’t want Larry helping him, I don’t think he’d help that much. Can I trust you?” She asked, and you agreed, taking your father’s pickup truck and driving it down from the mountains and into town. Once you made it to the basement, you saw the extent of his ruin.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, his eyes red and blotchy, matching his flushed cheeks. He’s still leaning over you on the basement couch.

“Just keep breathing,” you tell him, though you really don’t know what to do either. Your parents weren’t thrilled when you came out, but they certainly didn’t kick you out of the house. “Live day by day, hour by hour… minute by minute, if you have to.”

“They’re gonna take me back, right?” He says, practically pleading with you, as though you have any pull on what happens.

“I think they will,” you murmur, your eyes flickering down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. Truth wouldn’t help either of you in this situation, so you decide your soft lie would work best.

“Maybe I was wrong,” his head hangs low between his shoulders, “maybe I’m straight. I don’t wanna be gay. I - it’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“Kenny…” did you really have to come out to him? You had made no effort to hide it. Maybe he’d forgotten? “I’m gay, remember?”

“You’re not wrong, though, like I am,” his words start to come out choked, and he strains to keep talking through the tears burning his thoughts away. “Your parents still love you. Mine - I don’t want to… I don’t…” He doesn’t blink, hoping desperately that the gathering tears will recede but they fall nonetheless, one from each eye till he’s sniffing, cheeks burning as he tries to stop crying in front of you.

“Your parents still love you. Give them time,” you settle on. It’s a precarious situation, and you can’t tell what’s the right thing to say, or if saying anything at all will help.

At last he collapses, the strength of his arms giving out as he falls into you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck he hides away from the world, from his self-hating thoughts, from everything besides you. In a moment you’re all that exists to him, your arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him up so he doesn’t slide away. His warmth burns you, electrifying every nerve you have but you ignore it. There’s more important things to tend to. His breathing is uneven, so you slow your own breathing, instructing him to follow you. Half shivering he attempts to follow your lead, slowly calming from sobbing to napping away the mental exhaustion of the evening.

As he sleeps on top of you, you kiss his temple, running your hands through his hair in a fashion you hope is comforting. When your freezing fingers touch the back of his neck he shivers, so you try to keep away from his bare skin, till you fall asleep. the weight of his body lulling you into a doze.

He wakes up around 4AM, which you only know because when he wakes he jostles you, stuttering and mumbling to himself as he crawls off of you. With a deep breath you open your eyes, looking up at him, still sitting in your lap, but clearly embarrassed.

“Oh jeez. I’m, uh, really sorry for, um.. sleeping on top of you. Oh god,” he grumbles, switching between covering the lower and upper halves of his face.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, still drowsy with sleep. Unsure of what exactly you’re doing you reach for him, grasping his wrist and pulling him close as you sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Alright, I guess,” he says, just as soft as you, his expression falling. “I’m… glad you’re here. Less lonely.”

“’S what I’m here for. Did I tell you Valerius called me? She thought you liked me more than Larry,” you chuckled, the words escaping your mind before you gave them any thought.

“Who’s Valerius?”

“Larry’s mom.”

“You mean Victoria?”

“Mm… yeah.”

“I like both of you plenty,” he says, indignantly, a slight frown on his face that you can’t help but find adorable. It shows on your face, too, a smile too wide cracking open. He notices, and it only furthers his confusion. “What? I’m telling the truth.”

“I know. You’re just so adorable,” you admit, and when his eyes widen and he pales, you come back into yourself, and realize what you’d just said. “Oh, uh, you know what I, uh, mean. You know?” You stutter a lame excuse.

“I’m not adorable,” he whispers, staring straight into your eyes.

“No, handsome,” you correct yourself, making the situation infinitely worse.

“Handsome?” He practically wheezes out, losing his words and coherent thought.

You keep a firm hold on his wrist, making sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead he wraps his fingers round yours, and, staring at where you meet, he holds your hand. As enthralling as it is for you it soothes him, breath instantly slowing as the pressure of his fingers trills against the back of your hand. For the moment, you put away your anxieties, and let him relish in a comfort unknown. It wasn’t illogical to assume he’d never held hands, never kissed anyone, and certainly not a boy. You had experience with this - Europe was pretty gay, and Italy awarded you your first kiss. Yet somehow, your roles had reversed; the experienced a blushing mess, as the virgin held the others’ hand in a warm composure.

His eyes close slowly as he leans in, heading for a kiss you knew would be heart wrenchingly beautiful, but you pull away.

“You’re - no. I adore you but… I can’t complicate your life. Not now,” you murmur, pressing your hand against his chest and pushing him from you. In an instant, he thinks he’s entirely at fault, and he unwinds himself till the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch, neither of you touching the other in any way.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and you can tell he’s about to cry again.

“It’s not your fault,” you rush out, scooting closer to him, but he curls into himself, and you relent. “Kenny…”

He hides his face in his hands, and he’s definitely crying now. You wait a moment before you continue, waiting for the worst of it to be over, but seeing him in any kind of pain twists your gut.

“Kenny…” you slowly move his hands away from his face, and with a soft touch, you direct him to look at you. “I just don’t want to hurt you. You understand that… right?” He nods, and looks away. “There’s so much going on in your life. I don’t want to add to that.”

“But you make everything better,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his knees raised to his chest, hiding his face again.

“I’m flattered you think that,” you reply quietly, at a loss for words. “I… how about.. I sit here, and you can do what you want, or make me do anything you want. For tonight.”

“What?” He sniffs, and looks back up at you.

“I’ll do anything you want. Anytime you ask. Starting tonight, my love is yours in any way you want it,” you tell him, eyes darting nervously around his face for any sign of agreement or disgust.

“Anything?”

“Yeah. Anytime.”

You’re trusting him with a lot, you both know that - but truly you do trust him, more than you trust yourself. He graces your cheek with his fingers, trailing across your imperfections as you close your eyes, melting into his touch. Shifting, he moves closer, till he’s once more sat in your lap, and you can feel his hot breath against your skin, electrifying you in the same way you keep ignoring. It’s about him, don’t ruin this with your anxiety, you tell yourself, but it gets harder to listen to that voice in your head when he begins to kiss at your bare neck. Your hands shoot up, grasping at his waist as he does this, dotting your skin, up to your jawline until he lands a peck at the side of your lips, so loving, as though you give him the only reason to breathe. At this time, he pulls away, and you open your eyes.

He’s examining you - just as you had done to him, waiting for any sign of renunciation of your promise. But you just sit there, gazing into his eyes like they hold the universe, every answer to be asked for swirling in the gold round his pupil. So he leans in, and at first it’s just a touch; you’re pressing your lips together, still and quiet. The time passes so slowly it might’ve not been passing at all, till he leans in, and you feel the pressure so intensely that a fire could be raging around you and you wouldn’t’ve noticed. You copy the feel of his adoration with just as much tenderness, and a tiny whimper escapes him. He pulls away blushing, leaving you with a dumbstruck smile on your face.

He does a lot more to you that night, and in every second of it you swear you’re in heaven. The memory of it trails you, constantly at the forefront of your thoughts at any given moment. When you meet in school again, he holds your hand like a comfort in a world of pain, and to him it is. You exist, and that’s enough to soothe the ache of rejection, but it doesn’t fully heal, not until his parents finally take him back.

On that day, he asks, “Are… is… are you.. still mine?” He worries, needlessly, if your trust was only to comfort him in a hard time.

“I’ll be yours as long as you want me,” you tell him, and it ends up being a lot longer than you ever would have anticipated. You’re not that stupid, you know the statistics for high school relationships, but your love persists so long there’s no other word for your relationship other than soulmates. Life deals softer blows by his side, and love adores each of your imperfections till the days die away.

Baby, my love is yours

longer than words we adore -

So trust the tremor in my touch

Cause baby, my love is yours.

#rami malek #kenny al bahir #kenny al bahir x reader #war at home

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thinkingaboutyoungroyals · 7 years ago

Text

We Keep This Love In A Photograph

(This one-shot request is from an anon and is based on some of my headcanons. This is also available to read on AO3. Hope you like it, anon!)

Locker doors opened and shut. Feet shuffled against the cold but clean linoleum floor. Students chattered left and right, hugging, giving each other high-five’s, and exchanging stories from their summer vacation. A couple expressed their lament about the end of the summer, but others were thrilled that they could see their friends every day again.

Amidst the throng of excited students, Cyrus stood in front of his locker, eyes trained on the neatly-arranged books and notebooks. He made sure they were all arranged according to his class schedule for easy access. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the back of the locker door. It was bare for now.

Cyrus reached into his book bag and took out a mini pouch of fun-looking magnets, post-it notes, and a single photo.

With his lips jutting out in concentration, he neatly arranged the magnets in a line. Above them, he stuck 3 stacks of post-it notes in yellow, pink, and green. And above those, his class schedule, already color-coded. Then, he took the photo and placed it underneath the line of magnets before taking one of the said magnets (one with a bright smiley face on it) and used it to hold the photo in place.

TJ’s signature smirk stared back at him, his arm around a smiling Cyrus throwing a peace sign. They had taken it during one of their many dates at the park.

Cyrus sighed, sadly. God, he missed TJ.

He thought he would be able to handle his boyfriend’s absence in school a bit better. But, now that that day had finally come, he realized that it just felt too strange and odd not to have TJ waiting for him with a chocolate chocolate chip muffin or meeting him at his locker so he could walk Cyrus to homeroom.

His chest was all tight and he kind of felt like crying, but he had to try and remain strong. He promised TJ that he would be fine and he would do his best to be. He couldn’t rely on his boyfriend always being there to give him the push he needed. It was time to do that, himself.

“Hey, Cy! Ready for class?”

Andi and Buffy walked up to him, all smiles and cheer. But, seeing Cyrus’ face, their excitement turned worried.

“Are you okay?” Andi asked.

Cyrus cleared his throat and nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be? I get to see you guys every day now!”

He turned back to his locker to grab his things for the day, still smiling. But, when he moved to close his locker, his eye caught the photo. His smile disappeared again and he sighed before he could stop himself.

Quick as lightning, Andi and Buffy sidled up to his sides and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, offering comfort.

“It’s okay, Cy,” Buffy said. “You guys will meet up again.”

“Yeah,” Andi agreed. “And for the record, I miss Jonah too. So I totally get it.”

Cyrus suddenly felt sheepish, realizing that she, too, must be feeling forlorn. Jonah had also graduated (though, he was going to a different high school than TJ.)

“Sorry,” he said to her, feeling guilty at forgetting.

“Don’t be,” Andi reassured him with a smile. “We all miss our boys.”

Buffy snorted. “Your boys. Not mine.”

Andi looked offended. “Oh, come on, admit it. You miss them too.”

“I miss that I can’t beat TJ on a one-on-one in front of the entire team anymore. That’s what I miss.”

At that, Cyrus felt himself laughing for the first time all morning. Buffy would never admit it but she probably missed her frenemy more than she realized. After all, no one else in school challenges her competitive side more than TJ did. (Except maybe Marty from the party but they didn’t talk about him much anymore.)

Like always, his friends always knew how to make him feel better.

“Thanks, guys,” he said to them, gratefully. “Let’s take a selfie to commemorate this day! We’re 8th graders!”

With a cheer, Cyrus took out his phone and handed it to Buffy, who had the longest arm among the three of them.

“Say, baby taters!” he said.

“Baby taters!”

Buffy took the photo and Cyrus immediately posted it online, captioning it: “8th Grade! Will be a blast with the GHC! #friendship #GoodHairCrew #Squadgoals.”

As he clicked on “post”, he got a sudden idea. He opened up a text window and typed, “First day of 8th grade! Feels weird without you. Miss you! *kiss emoji* *sad face emoji* *heart emoji*”

Satisfied, he sent it to TJ. He hoped it would make him smile on his first day of the oh-so-scary new environment called high school.

Taking one last glance at the photo on his locker and smiling at it, he closed the locker, grabbed his things, and linking arms with his best friends, they walked to class.

......................

A mile or so away, in Jefferson High School, TJ was also at his locker. He had taped his schedule to his locker door, taking the tip from Cyrus to color-code it so he could keep track of what he needed for the day.

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he thought of his boyfriend, only a couple of miles away yet he felt even farther than just the 20-minute walk between the two schools. He knew he could still see Cyrus during weekends but it was different seeing him every day, walking him to class, eating lunch with him, and doing homework with him... and, maybe, sneaking in a kiss behind a locker door or a book when no one was looking.

Well, one thing was for sure, his first year of high school was not going to be fun. He had gone to Middle School with some of the students here, but it wasn’t like they really talked to him back then.

Before Cyrus, he was just an unapproachable bully whose only saving grace was being captain of the basketball team. And after he and Cyrus started hanging out and eventually dating, he mostly hung out with him and his friends. But, obviously, the GHC were all still in 8th grade and Jonah Beck had gone to a different school that had an ultimate frisbee team.

Great. He missed Cyrus AND made himself feel even more like a lonely loser who had no friends.

Just as he closed his locker door with a loud ‘slam’, his phone ping-ed with a text. It was from Cyrus.

His lips twitched into a smile as he opened it up. A photo of his Cyrus, Andi, and Buffy stared back at him. They were all smiles but he could see that his boyfriend’s smile wasn’t up to his ears.

“First day of 8th grade! Feels weird without you. Miss you! *kiss emoji* *sad face emoji* *heart emoji*”

TJ’s chest felt warm as he giddily texted back: “I miss you too. *cry emoji* *broken heart emoji*”

It was a simple exchange, but he felt his mood improve and he felt more ready to start the day. Cyrus had a way of doing that.

God, he really missed him.

........................

Every day, for the entire week, Cyrus would start his school day by staring at TJ’s smirking self on his locker door before taking out his cell phone and taking a selfie. Then, he would send the selfie to TJ with a cute text about missing him and how he hopes he has a nice day at school.

He kind of felt silly doing it so much, but he couldn’t help it. He just really, really, really missed TJ. They couldn’t even meet after school because apparently, high school meant having a lot of homework in the first week so TJ had been staying after school working with his Math teacher since they hadn’t found a tutor for him yet.

On Wednesday, TJ had sent him a photo of his locker. TJ’s middle school locker had been bare except for his books, but this time, it wasn’t. Tacked on to the metal door was his class schedule (specially color-coded by Cyrus himself), a pad of post-it notes, and, Cyrus’ favorite, a photo of the two of them. It was one they had taken at TJ’s graduation dinner at the Spoon with the GHC and Jonah. Cyrus had wrapped his arms around TJ’s neck and tucked his head onto his shoulder, both sporting tooth-y smiles as they looked at the camera. It was one of Cyrus’ favorite photos of the two of them and now, clearly, one of TJ’s as well.

Thursday came and went with nothing remarkable happening. Except for when he got hit in the head with a basketball during Gym class. He told TJ this, who, in turn, told him that they would continue working on his basketball skills.

(”I’m a lost cause! You know this!” Cyrus had said to him on the phone.

“No, you’re not, we can work on it,” TJ had replied, calmly.)

And before he knew it, it was Friday.

The week couldn’t have ended faster. Cyrus just wanted Friday to end so Saturday could start and he could see TJ again.

And, finally, finally, FINALLY, the final bell rang. Cyrus joined his fellow classmates in heading out the door and to their lockers. Andi fell into step beside him. Buffy didn’t have the same last class as them so they would have to meet her at her locker.

“So, are we going to the Spoon today?” Cyrus asked. “Since we survived our first day of 8th grade, I think it’s a cause for celebration with some baby taters, and milkshakes! What do you say?”

Andi flashed a smile. “Yes! Of course! Meet with Buffy at her locker?”

Cyrus gave a thumbs up and headed for his locker while Andi broke away so she could run to hers. (Why must their lockers be on separate floors?!)

Opening his locker, Cyrus’ eyes immediately locked on the photo there. He smiled, touching the image of TJ’s face, softly. He couldn’t wait to see him. Maybe he should text him and see if he could meet them at the Spoon later.

So, he took out his phone and sent a quick text before putting it away and gathering all of the things he needed for the weekend. He didn’t have much homework. His teachers were merciful this first week.

Ready for the weekend, Cyrus strolled through the halls towards the first floor where Buffy and Andi’s lockers were. Andi was already there, chatting with Buffy. She caught sight of him and waved him over.

“Hey, guys, ready to go?” he asked, smiling with excitement.

“Actually, I think I need a minute, I can’t find my Science textbook,” Buffy said, pouting.

“Oh, do you need help looking? Maybe you left it somewhere.”

“Yes, we’ll help, definitely!” Andi piped.

Buffy looked through her locker once before sighing. “I think I might have left it in the Science lab. Or in homeroom. Or maybe the library. I’m not sure.”

“Oh, I know! I can look in the Science lab and Buffy can look in homeroom. Cyrus, why don’t you look in the library?”

Cyrus furrowed his eyes in confusion, wondering why they just couldn’t look together. Nonetheless, he shrugged and headed back up the stairs towards the third floor, Buffy trailing behind him. The Science Lab was on the first floor and Buffy’s homeroom was on the second.

He scanned the library tables, in between bookshelves, and even rummaged through the “return” box, but Buffy’s science book was nowhere to be found. He thought about getting on his hands on the floor and check the gap under the bookshelves when Buffy sent him a text, saying that she found it in the lost and found and to meet them outside.

By then, there were barely any students left. A few had stayed behind for extracurriculars but otherwise, the halls were empty.

Finally, he made it out of the school and he was more than ready to just head to the Spoon and indulge. Just as they said, Buffy and Andi were waiting outside.

“Ready to go?” he asked them.

The two girls flashed each other mysterious looks before Andi looked down at her phone.

“Actually, can we wait here for about 2 more minutes?” she asked.

Cyrus frowned. “Why? Are we waiting for someone?”

“Yes, yes we are,” Buffy said with a smirk.

Confused, Cyrus just said, “O... kay?”

All of a sudden, Andi let out a squeal. “He’s here!”

“He?”

Buffy grinned. “Cyrus, turn around.”

Still confused, Cyrus obeyed, slowly turning on his heels. At first, he wasn’t sure who or what he was supposed to be looking at. But, the sight of familiar light brown hair bobbing in the air had him gasping in shock and surprise. He blinked several times to be sure he wasn’t imaging things.

But, sure enough, there was TJ, in the flesh, running up to them, his backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder.

Cyrus was no athlete but he felt his legs willingly move forward, breaking into a run towards the high schooler who had now stopped in his tracks and dropped his backpack on the ground. Cyrus, with all the little strength he had, practically leaped into TJ’s waiting arms, wrapping his own arms around the older boy’s neck.

“You’re here!” Cyrus cheered, happily as TJ’s hold on his waist tightened. “You’re here! I missed you! I missed you so much! You have no idea!”

At his ear, TJ let out a laugh, making Cyrus’ heart skip a beat. How he missed that sound too!

“I think I have a fair idea,” the older boy said, teasingly. “I missed you too, Underdog. Really, really missed you.”

Cyrus wasn’t sure how long they stood there, hugging. But, he was perfectly content staying like that. TJ’s hug. TJ’s smell. TJ’s little chuckles. They were all overwhelming his senses, he was afraid his knees would buckle.

But, all good things had to end, sometimes.

“Come on, you gross lovebirds! Aren’t we getting baby taters and milkshakes?” Buffy called out, sounding annoyed.

“Yeah! And Jonah is already there waiting!” Andi added, a bit more playfully.

Reluctantly, Cyrus pulled away from TJ, but refused to move more than a step away from him. He had missed him so, therefore, he would invade his personal space until Cyrus was satisfied.

Buffy pretended to throw up as she linked her arm through Andi’s and began to tow her away from the sickeningly sweet couple.

Meanwhile, TJ had picked up his backpack from the ground and swung it onto his shoulder. With a soft smile just for Cyrus, he held out his hand to him.

“Shall we, my kind sir?” he asked, politely.

Cyrus felt proud as he slipped his hand into it, linking their fingers. “Lead the way, my gallant knight.”

Together, they followed after the two girls, hands swinging playfully between them.

Even though Cyrus knew that they were going to be apart again, at that moment, all that mattered was that TJ was right there next to him, holding his hand. And he wasn’t planning on letting go any time soon.

#tyrus #tyrusdrabble

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clubofinfo · 8 years ago

Text

Expert: Here it goes again! The same old tired and predictable tune, the same recognizable chorus. Once again the world is told what to think and what to believe. The world is also given both rhythm and leitmotif, so the grotesque and crooked dance could begin. Who could resist, really? The lyrics of the tune are recited in perfect English, and with that air of moral and cultural superiority, which is supposed to disperse all doubts. On February 19, 2017, RT published the following: The Telegraph, as a favored mouthpiece for British intelligence service disinformation, is a part of psychological warfare operation against Russia, said independent journalist Martin Summers. Another accusation is being thrown at Russia as a British newspaper published a story about Moscow being allegedly behind a plot to kill Montenegro’s Prime Minister last October… According to the article, Russia wanted to overthrow the country’s government to stop them joining NATO. So now it is Montenegro. Yesterday it was Crimea, Donbas, and the US elections. Evil Russia again! Evil China, evil socialist Latin American countries, evil Syria, Eritrea, Zimbabwe, South Africa, North Korea, Philippines, evil all those who are laughing at the notion of Anglo-Saxon superiority. ***** This time I’m actually not intending to write some long, philosophical essay on the subject of “shamelessness of British propaganda”. I’m just taking a short break from my 10 thousand-word ‘paper’ for the China Academy of Social Sciences (CASS); a paper analyzing the impact of the 1917 Soviet Revolution on the world. I just want to state what I believe should be so obvious, but somehow isn’t, at least to billions of people all over the world: “Those British blokes running the mainstream media outlets and global propaganda network really cannot be trusted. For centuries, no other country brought more grief to the planet, destroyed more lives, ruined more nations and cultures, and stole more natural resources from the ‘natives’, than the United Kingdom.” All this was done with a straight face, all explained and justified by the most advanced propaganda apparatus on earth, all ‘morally defended’. The entire twisted concept of British-style ‘justice’ was first introduced at home, and then exported to many corners of the globe. It went on for several long centuries, and it goes on until now: the rapists are introducing globally accepted moral codes. Mass murderers are running international courts of justice. Notorious liars and thieves are teaching the world about ‘objectivity’. Gurus of disinformation are even ‘educating’ their own children, as well as the children of elites from all parts of the world, in their ‘prestigious’ factories of indoctrination – schools and universities. Of course, there are some countries that have tried very hard to outdo the UK in terms of brutality, greed and tactics of deception. It is worth mentioning such candidates for genocidal world leadership like France, Germany, Spain and lately the United States. They really have been competing determinately and zealously, but despite all their efforts, they never truly managed to come close to the forerunner. Please, just think about all this, if you haven’t already done it for years. Then wash your eyes thoroughly, and look anew at those tabloids and ‘serious publications’ that are printed in the UK. Look at the indoctrination television channels. If you are still able to retain at least some detachment and common sense, please compare what they are saying and writing and showing, with the reality outside your own window, wherever on this Planet you may be. ***** For many years I worked all over the world, on all continents, in some 160 countries. For many years, I was told stories, shown evidence, about the most monstrous and barbaric crimes that the Brits have been committing almost everywhere on this Planet. To compile even some semi-complete list, one would need to compose at least a sizable brochure, if not an entire book. Let’s just mention a few of the most obvious horrors that ‘Great’ Britain is responsible for: Slave trade and destruction of entire huge parts of Africa with tens of millions people directly or indirectly killed. Monstrous occupation of the ‘Sub-continent’, with tens of millions of lives lost (including those in several artificially triggered famines). Ransacking of large parts of China, murdering and participating in breaking the most populous nation on earth. Brutal attacks against the young Soviet state. Horrid treatment of colonized peoples of the island nations, from Oceania (South Pacific) to the Caribbean. Gassing, bombing, literally exterminating people of the Middle East, from what is now Iraq and Kuwait, to Palestine. There were invasions of Afghanistan and the ‘reign of terror in Kabul’ in 1879. There were many other things, many nightmarish crimes, of course, but today I’m being brief… In the “New World”, consisting of countries like the US, Canada and Australia, the most terrible massacres of the native people were committed by the first and second generation of Europeans, mainly the Brits. Britain actually never ceased to commit crimes against humanity. Since WWII it has been tutoring the United States, strategically and ideologically, in the art of how to run the Empire and how to manufacture unanimity inside the West itself, and even among the population of the colonized nations (in the neo-colonialist context). It has also been involved in some of the vilest acts in modern history, related to countries like Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Congo as well as entire areas of Asia Pacific and the African Great Lakes. Again, that’s only a brief and incomplete summary. ***** Having experience with occupying huge parts of the world for centuries, knowing first-hand how to ‘pacify’ the natives, the Brits gradually developed and then passed on to the rest of the Western world their highly effective and successful indoctrination methods. These were eventually spread further – mainly among the elites of the colonized nations. As a result, fully standardized global perceptions evolved, and were implemented and upheld until this very moment. They included the general worldview, ‘principles’ and ‘moral standards’, law and justice (including such concepts as ‘human rights’), and even the set of overall values. The English language (especially well articulated; spoken with certain recognizable and ‘acceptable ‘accents) became the main linguistic tool embodying both truth and authority. News presented in a certain ‘objective’ way and with a certain accent (or acceptable set of accents) became subconsciously, for the great majority of people, much more trustworthy than that which would be delivered by individuals whom a great Polish journalist, anthropologist and philosopher Ryszard Kapuscinski used to define as ‘the others’. ***** This ‘perfect’, seemingly bulletproof system produces intellectual laziness, submissiveness, even servitude. It is successfully upholding the status quo. Lies are mounting on top of lies, and even the most obvious fabrications lately do not get challenged, except in some marginal and ‘extremist’ (defined by the Western regime) outlets. The colonialist empire managed to survive. It is now fully in charge. It dominates the psyche of both the colonizers and the colonized. Advances that were made by liberation and independence struggles, by the anti-colonialism fighters during the post-WWII era, have been skillfully annulled. Then, it was officially declared, “colonialism is over”. At some point, the Anglo-Saxon demagogues invented ‘political correctness’, one more highly effective tool designed to neutralize and ‘pacify’ any serious resistance. Political correctness claims that all nations and races are equal; it is even glorifying those ‘little people’ and almost all ‘cultures of the under-developed nations’, at least verbally, while in reality the Empire keeps plundering and manipulating the planet, as it has been doing for ages. In the colonies, the only individuals who are gaining are the elites; those morally corrupt rulers of the deprived and still enslaved world. ***** As in the past, the regime pragmatically chooses its enemies, and it then applies the most proven and spiteful tactics, launching defamation campaigns, dehumanizing citizens and leaders of adversary states, creating often phantasmagoric but highly effective conspiracy theories. The British media, the British propagandists, in fact, the entire British establishment, had reached absolute perfection in the field of mind-control and brainwashing. How else, otherwise, would anyone in his or her sane mind trust the words of those who are responsible for tens of millions, perhaps for hundreds of millions of lost human lives in all corners of the world? How could the primary architects of our insane global arrangement be taken seriously, unless they managed to fully indoctrinate their ‘subjects’? Some would suggest that we are living in a world where the ‘normality’ could be found only in an insane asylum; where the only place for a decent man or a woman could be behind some barricade, or behind bars. However, not many would have such thoughts, as even reflections are now almost fully standardized and controlled. So much glorified freedom has been reduced to just a handful of personal, very limited, often self-serving choices that one is still allowed to make while being generally fully locked within the existing system. This British, European, in fact, Western obsession with controlling, with ruling over everything in this world, has actually fully derailed natural human evolution. Instead of much higher aspirations, instead of optimistic attempts to build an egalitarian, compassionate and joyful society, our humanity is once again stuck in some master-slave morass, in something that appeared to be on its way out even during some periods of the 19th century, and definitely later, in the 20th century. ***** How to fight this nightmare? I wrote it many times before, and I have to repeat it again: To change things, one has to first understand reality. But it is not only about knowing the facts; it is mainly about how to analyze them, how to perceive the world and essential events. We are being bombarded, in fact flooded with information, data and ‘facts’. What is missing is a totally new approach towards sorting and analyzing the reality within which we live. The Empire is not withholding the facts. It is doing something much more sinister: it is depriving people of learning how to analyze them in the most logical ways. Let us begin with absolute basics: “Mass murderer cannot be a judge”. “Indoctrinator and brainwasher cannot be a teacher”. “Those who are shackling, enslaving billions, should not be allowed to preach about freedom.” The reality is: we have a handful of deranged, mentally disturbed nations and cultures that have been subjugating, raping and robbing entire nations and continents, still in charge of our beautiful but already terribly scarred Planet. These morally defunct nations have no compassion left, and no real rationality. This fact they have proven again and again. One million victims, tens of millions of victims – it means nothing to them, as long as they can continue to rule. Ruined nature, disappearing islands, poisoned air, it matters nothing to them. People turning into indoctrinated, intellectually and emotionally uniformed cattle; good, who cares? It is an extremely unsettling reality, but reality it is. The sooner we recognize it for what it is, the better. ‘Great’ Britain should sit down on its ass and cry in horror, recalling all crimes it has been committing, imagining the concentration camps it built in Africa and elsewhere, recalling the famines it triggered in India and elsewhere, remembering all those innocent people it murdered on each and every continent. It should be howling from shame, because of the nihilism it has been spreading, while ruining enthusiasm, beautiful dreams and hopes of our human kind. It should stop and weep in horror, picturing instructions it provided to countries like South Africa, the United States or Rwanda – instructions that brought terrible bloodbaths, instead of harmony and progress to our world. Why all this terror? Just so the UK and its cohorts could continue to rule! It is not about greed only, or natural resources, it is about control. ***** I don’t want their analyses, anymore. I don’t want their news, their films, their books, and their propaganda materials. Even in the dark solitude of some cave, one could understand the world much better than when reading their disinformation sheets, or when watching their indoctrination channels. All this is just designed to confuse people, to make them passive and submissive. Their announcers as well as their writers are like some sad lobotomized robots: there is no life, nothing new, nothing daring or revolutionary in their words. They function, somehow: they move, they eat, shit, repeat what they are expected to say, but they are not alive. They only smear, but don’t inspire. If there is any optimism, it is always false, pre-approved, and mass-produced. If you think about it, it all actually makes sense: A torturer cannot be a visionary, or an idealist. Compared to China or Iran, the UK is a relatively young culture. But it feels old, tired, spent, and obsolete. Too many crimes and too many lies can exhaust and depress even a young person. Were England a person, operating in a normal society, it would be either in prison or in a mental institution. The same could be said about the rest of the West. We have nothing to learn from some murderous maniac, do we? The only concern should be: how to put a straight jacket on such an individual, how to prevent him from killing and harming others, and how to do it as quickly as possible. I also highly doubt that with such a background and monstrous track record, our dangerous maniac should be allowed to interpret the world publicly, to teach people, and to even participate in the discussions touching the most essential issues facing our planet! http://clubof.info/

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